Praise for What Doesn’t Kill You, the debut novel in the Willa Pennington, PI Mystery Series: “Tight plotting, edge-of-your-seat suspense, and a protagonist in PI Willa Pennington you’ll want to read about again and again. I couldn’t put this book down.” —Maggie Barbieri, author of Once Upon a Lie “A debut that saddles tough-girl noir with the heart of a cozy.” —Kirkus Reviews “This is a solid beginning to a character and setting that could go on to very good things.” —RT Book Reviews “Aimee Hix is an up-and-coming author everyone should watch.” —Crimespree Magazine “The book has plenty of twists and surprises, but what stands out is the tight writing and fast narrative of the author’s debut novel.” —Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine
DARK STREETS
COLD
SUBURBS
DARK STREETS
COLD SUBURBS AIMEE HIX
Midnight Ink
woodbury, minnesota
Dark Streets, Cold Suburbs: A Willa Pennington, PI Mystery © 2019 by Aimee Hix. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including internet usage, without written permission from Midnight Ink, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Edition First Printing, 2019 Book format by Bob Gaul Cover design by Shira Atakpu Editing by Nicole Nugent Midnight Ink, an imprint of Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Hix, Aimee, author. Title: Dark streets, cold suburbs / by Aimee Hix. Description: Woodbury, Minnesota : Midnight Ink, [2019] | Series: A Willa Pennington, PI mystery. Identifiers: LCCN 2018044221 (print) | LCCN 2018046050 (ebook) | ISBN 9780738756004 () | ISBN 9780738754703 (alk. paper) Subjects: | GSAFD: Mystery fiction. Classification: LCC PS3608.I95 (ebook) | LCC PS3608.I95 D37 2019 (print) | DDC 813/.6—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018044221 Midnight Ink Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd. 2143 Wooddale Drive Woodbury, MN 55125-2989 www.midnightinkbooks.com Printed in the United States of America
For Eric. With you, everything is possible.
C HAP T E R
1
The windows were already fogged from the humidity inside the building clashing with the icy February night. I hesitated for only a second; out of the corner of my eye, an image, a reflection in the glass—two men coming at me too fast. I had just enough time to drop my bag and turn to block the blow. I wrapped my fingers around the first man’s wrist and twisted while pressing my thumb into his median nerve. He dropped a blade. Taking the offensive, still holding the first man immobile at the wrist, I stepped forward to kick the knee of the second man. Block. Hold. Target. 1
Strike. “Go, now,” I barked. “Call 911.” I set my mind to the situation and felt the immediate shift. My adrenaline amped down. Not flight, fight. Letting go of the man’s wrist, I danced back two steps and put my hands up to block. Prizefighter stance. Neither noticed my back leg planted and when I pivoted and slammed the taller of the two with a roundhouse kick to the ribs, he toppled. One attacker on the ground, I took a wider back turn to set my foot down and kept turning, throwing my elbow high into the shorter man’s face. Spinning the rest of the way, I grabbed the back of his neck, bringing his face down to my knee. I pushed him off me and turned my attention to the instigator. The taller man scrambled to his feet and glanced briefly at his partner then eyed me angrily. He was furious at being put down by a woman. I could see it in his eyes and knew it would cause him to make a mistake. He did. Instead of taking a moment to assess what to do, he just rushed me. He got within a foot of me and I sidestepped, punching him in the kidney as he passed. He fell forward. I took two steps over to him and kicked him in the sternum as he scrambled to his feet, knocking the air out of him. I felt another attack coming and threw my arm up to protect my head. “Stop.” I looked at the instructor. He was smiling. “Great job, Willa.” “I missed the third attacker.” “You immobilized two armed men efficiently while urging your partner to flee and call for help,” Adam said. “I couldn’t expect you to do any better.”
2
“Clearly you could have or you wouldn’t have sent in the third attacker. I want to do it again.” “I think we’re done for tonight.” He smiled, but it was firm. Adam turned to the men—boys, really—playing the attackers. “I appreciate you guys coming in tonight for this drill. It was extremely effective.” “Your girl is a bruiser, Adam. I thought she was going to break my knee but she pulled it at the last second. You sending her to the ring?” the second attacker asked. “I’m not his or anyone else’s girl, jackass,” I said. “Sorry. Woman, female, lady, whatever,” he said. His tone made apparent that he didn’t understand, or care, why I was annoyed. I grabbed my water and took a long drink. Putting it back, I turned to eye the teenage MMA students who’d been drafted as attackers. The other students sitting on the floor, most of them young women, watched us wide-eyed. I was the oldest woman in the class. A woman, not a girl. “Listen, meathead, when you’re done playing at being a brawler with pads and headgear, ask me about the neo-Nazi I had to fight last year. Until then, keep your sexist, macho crap to yourself.” “Bullshit,” said the guy with the fake knife. Adam frowned, possibly at the curse, but didn’t say anything or make a move to step in. I nodded, biting my lip to keep the harsher expletive I wanted to say inside my mouth and dug my phone out of my bag. Pulling up the photo album, I tossed it to him. “Talk to me about bullshit now, junior.” They clustered around, looking at pictures that Seth had taken at my insistence. I was still in the hospital and the harsh, florescent lighting exacerbated the purple and blue. Butterfly tape on my eyebrow, stitches in my lip, blood in the white of my left eye, elastic bandages on my right arm and ribs, the machines all in full view. I looked at 3
them when I was tired of training and felt like quitting. Nothing was more motivational than your own battered features staring back at you, reminding you what you were training for in the first place and it wasn’t a fucking trophy or belt. Adam reached over and plucked my phone from the boys. “Well, with that lead-in, I guess it’s time for you to share your story, Willa.” My gaze found the others in the room like me. The ones with watchful eyes, suspicious and appraising. The ones who had secrets they weren’t ready to share. Stories that were probably worse than the others even dreamed of. Stories like mine, of being attacked in their homes and brutalized. One looked me dead in the eye, her fragile smile encouraging. Acid poured into my stomach. I wasn’t ready to go tonight. I wanted to sit in the back like every other time and listen. I wasn’t ready for these people to know the details of what I had been through, but I’d mouthed off and gotten everyone curious. I slipped on my workout jacket as slowly as I could, debating a swift retreat. I didn’t care if it looked like I was stalling. While the room was settling down after the drill and verbal altercation, I had a moment to get this fear under control or let it take me down. “Hi. Welcome. I see we have a few new people tonight. I’m glad you’re here. The more, the merrier. I do want to reassure you that you won’t be expected to do a drill like you just saw. Willa isn’t one of the beginner students, as you may have realized, but I’ll let her tell you her story.” I slowly walked to the front of the room, pulling the lightweight fleece fabric of the jacket tightly around me as if it could shield me from the looks I knew I’d be getting. Me and my stupid mouth. I needed training to get that under control. 4
“Like Adam said I’m Willa.” “Hi, Willa.” Their expectant faces looked back at me. “Wow, I never realized how much this looks like those AA meetings in the movies.” That earned a mass chuckle. “I’m a former LEO. Uh, that’s Law Enforcement Officer. And, I, um, well, I’m former because I quit about a year ago. My best friend was killed in Afghanistan and I decided that I didn’t have it in me to be the person on the porch telling someone their loved one wasn’t ever coming home again.” It was so much harder than I’d feared. I was struggling to push down a quiver that was threatening to turn into shaking. Hand-tohand with a bigot had been terrifying, but physical pain was a lot easier to deal with than letting people see what I had on the inside of me. It was hard enough with loved ones; strangers, some who had mocked me a moment before, was a mountain I wasn’t used to trudging. All the stuff I didn’t ever want to share with anyone was the top of the peak. “So that was about nine months ago, Michael’s death. I kind of went into a tailspin after and bailed on my life for a while.” I had gotten through talking about Michael without feeling like I’d swallowed a rock. My therapist would have been proud. “My dad, former military intelligence, former cop, is now a private investigator. I decided to come back and work with him. While he was out of town I kind of ended up caught in a case and it got out of hand. Like crazy out of hand. I can’t really talk about the specifics because it’s an ongoing prosecution but … I mentioned a neo-Nazi a minute ago. He wasn’t a fan of mine, for obvious reasons.” I gestured vaguely to my mixed-race skin and female form.
5
I could hear muttering. Sweat poured down my back like I’d been exercising hard for hours. My heart raced and struggled to keep my breath even. I unzipped my jacket and stripped it off. I had been babbling a little. I was definitely going to lose some eloquence points from the European judges. Oh well, I’d try to stick the landing. “Sorry, public speaking’s not really my thing.” Adam nodded encouragingly. I wasn’t done yet? “Anyway, I ended up learning a lot of important lessons on that case. The most important is that as a woman, I couldn’t ever rely on brute strength like a man can. I don’t have the muscles for that. I needed to learn how to use what I did have. My brain. My training, definitely. But the training we received in the justice academy wasn’t enough. I mean, they gave us guns and tasers and batons. A uniform alone is a self-defense tool. Very few people walk up to a cop in uniform and start shit. That’s suicide. But I didn’t have the uniform anymore. I needed some new tools. So the second I got clearance from the doctors, I started training with Adam. Hard. I don’t let up. I can’t. Because the most important thing I learned is that sometimes it’s fight or die.” I was done. I weaved my way through the stunned women wearing pink sweats and sorority t-shirts. In my gray ATF t-shirt and black leggings, from day one I had looked like a rock in a carton of Easter eggs. I’d started in private lessons because, honestly, even weeks after I left the hospital I hadn’t been ready for a public class. Or a public anything. Seth knew Adam Carson from the Army and wouldn’t stop bugging me until I agreed to meet him. He had an unexpectedly gentle and non-threatening nature for such a big guy. He’s like the human version of a Muppet. 6
We worked one-on-one for weeks; mornings before he opened the dojo, evenings after he closed, Sundays when there weren’t any classes. I needed the privacy. I was bruised and battered and scared shitless. Our first few sessions we just sat and talked about movies, dogs, anything but the incident that landed me in the hospital. The fourth day I walked in to find my brother, Ben, waiting for me. Adam positioned Ben behind me and said, “Defend your brother.” He gave me no other warning before he lunged and I had less than a full breath to decide what to do. I fought back. My wrist, badly sprained still, screamed at me with every grapple or blow blocked, but picturing Ben bruised and beaten like I saw in the pictures of my own face spurred me on. Adam stopped the drill after a minute. I’d been gasping for breath within ten seconds. As he iced my wrist, Adam asked me why fighting to protect Ben got me past my fear. I didn’t have an answer other than I loved him and I’d been protecting him for seventeen years. But I had gotten over the hill. I was in for another mountain, so I strapped in and started climbing hard. I left most of those sessions frustrated. I was impatient. It took too long to learn skills, I lagged in energy, my decision-making stalled if I was overstimulated. I berated myself for tiny mistakes. Adam patiently explained that my body needed time to catch up to my will. Adam clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. The MMA dudes were doing pushups in the corner. That made me smile. I looked around and my gaze landed on one woman standing by herself, wearing a Rolling Stones hoodie. She had an I don’t give a damn expression and a nervous habit of rolling her ankle out. I hadn’t seen her before. I nodded my head over in her direction, silently asking Adam. He shrugged.
7
I walked over, intrigued. She reminded me of myself. Especially the go away vibe she radiated. Another rock, like me. “First class?” Up close, she was much younger than I had thought. She’d dyed her hair darker. Like she wanted to look tough. Late teens, at most. I could see her fighting the urge to say something snarky so I decided to let her off the hook. “I can tell because you don’t look like a frosted cookie yet.” It probably wouldn’t make Adam happy to hear me make fun of the other students, but I sensed that she needed an ally more than the rules needed to be unbroken. And I’ve got my own smartass issues. She giggled, confirming my assessment of her age. I wondered if she went to Ben’s school. “You’re wondering if this is the right place for you. You don’t see yourself in these other women.” She nodded, biting her lip, her eyes following the duck line of women walking behind Adam. “If you’re here to learn, you’re in the right place. And it looks like you’re stuck with me as your partner, so you’re going to learn a lot. Not to brag or anything, but I’m Adam’s favorite.” I moved to the front of the room, feeling the girl trail behind me, and took my place near Adam. The girl stood in front of me, uncertainty on her face. Adam ran us through some basic drills to help us work on our muscle memory, stuff I’d mastered months ago. My new friend did a good job. She kept her focus and when she made a mistake she didn’t act silly like some of the pastels. She worked hard too. We were both sweaty before the halfway mark and I had stripped off my t-shirt to my sports bra. The Rolling Stones hoodie stayed put. We stopped for a water break. Our guests were still doing pushups in the back. Adam had been very annoyed. I watched the other women 8
pull out their color-coordinated water bottles. The fountain was closer than my gear bag and good enough for me. I knew Adam kept the place spotless. “I’m Aja, by the way.” The girl had followed me to the water fountain even though she had a water bottle too. “Like the continent?” a voice asked from behind us. It was one of the college girls. Her shirt had the school mascot on it. One of the other non-pastels. Aja blushed. “Uh, the album title.” “Cool. I haven’t heard of it, but that’s still awesome.” College Mascot girl took her place at the water fountain I’d just abandoned. “I agree. It is awesome. I love Steely Dan,” I said. “Oh my god, you’ve heard of them?” Aja asked, blushing a pretty shade of rose that was at odds with her attempt at toughness. “My dad is a big fan.” Her smile was suddenly shy, like a little girl. My chest squeezed a little bit. Adam didn’t work us as hard physically during the second half of the class. We ran through some scenarios—how to be aware, what to look for, giving yourself options. I could see some of the candycolored women weren’t really engaged. These were harder exercises. They required you to imagine yourself in danger, needing to think several moves ahead like the scariest game of chess you’d ever played. That some students were disconnecting from this part of the class wasn’t a surprise. “I know it’s hard to think in abstracts. Try imagining it’s a television show you’re watching. It’s late and dark. The lead actress is playing with her phone and absentmindedly starts walking to her parking space after her shift at the bar. What are you yelling at the TV?” Adam asked. 9
“Put your phone away.” “Have your keys out.” “Check your car first.” “Walk with friends.” The whole class was getting into it, yelling answers. Adam was an astute teacher to take them back a step, noticing they were resisting playing the victim. I knew what it was really like to be in danger. You yell those things at yourself too. After. Pay attention to your surroundings. Even at the grocery store, shopping with your boyfriend and your brother. Full-on daytime, store packed with yuppies looking for quinoa and arugula. You found yourself checking the locks at stoplights. You felt them look at you, knowing what you were doing, not saying anything, not having to. Because you saw it in their eyes. And then those close to you start doing it too. Before you can. Wanting to make you feel safe. Wanting to take some of it off you. Wanting to make it better. And knowing that they can’t. Adam ended the class with a reading from one of the dozens of inspirational books he had in the dojo. He firmly believed that it was his job to help people learn how to master their bodies and their minds. I watched as Aja packed up her messenger bag. I took a chance and got out one of my new business cards. I wrote my cell number on the back and handed it to her. “Pennington Investigations? Your initials spell out PI and you’re a PI?” I nodded. Dad found it amusing. I found it slightly less amusing. It was a conversation starter if you needed one beyond a fatherdaughter private investigation business. Or girl PI. That one was annoying. Those two were novel enough for most people. Aja went up again in my estimation.
10
“Look, I don’t normally do this, but if you need help, you can call me. Any time, day or night.” “Why?” Her face had that wannabe-tough look again. “I can tell you’ve got something going on and that you don’t want to talk about it. That’s fine. But I’ve got a brother who’s about your age. If he needed help, I’d want someone to make sure he got it.” She looked down at my card and shoved it into the pocket of her hoodie. “Thanks.” She skirted around me and was out the door so fast I hadn’t even bent to pick up my own bag. I took my time getting cleaned up, letting the other women file out the door. “Looks like you made a friend. Good for you.” Adam knew I didn’t have many women friends. Or any women friends. I’d never been the kind of girl who had girl friends. I’d had Michael. And I hadn’t needed anyone else. Then I didn’t have Michael anymore. At least now I had Seth, though in a very different way. “I’m not sure we’re friends just yet but she interests me.” Adam gave me a knowing look. “You’ve found a project then. Something else to think about and worry about instead of dealing with all the stuff you need to deal with.” “I already have a therapist, you know.” “I know. The practice is mental and physical. When you’re in a bad place mentally, you’re not a good martial artist.” “So I’m not a good martial artist?” It was a pointless question. We both knew that wasn’t my goal. “You have the skills and the right intention. The rest we can work on. It’s the intention that matters most.” “So tell me about Aja’s intention.” Adam smiled and shook his head. “You’re not fooling me.”
11
C HAP T E R
2
I
stared at
Seth sleeping. He looked so unguarded. And hot.
Sweat matted his short hair to his scalp, darkening it from blond to brown. The air in the room was stuck on eighty and I didn’t dare go to the motel’s front desk to get it fixed. Mostly because I didn’t want to risk missing anything on the surveillance job we were on. Okay, the surveillance job that I was on and he came along on to keep me company. Keeping me company being a euphemism for trying to get into my pants. His plan had some merit, as he was the only thing in the place I would have felt comfortable letting my naked skin touch. Except I wasn’t about to have sex in a place where I’d have to keep one eye open to make sure the cockroaches didn’t steal our wallets. 12
I didn’t think anyone working this hellhole would do anything about the temperature even if they could do something. You stayed in a by-the-hour motel, you got what you paid for. Which wasn’t much. Four walls, a ceiling, a door with a flimsy lock, and the filthiest space I had ever seen in my life. I didn’t need a black light to know the place was crawling with enough bacteria that it had formed its own civilization and was holding elections. I was afraid if I squinted too hard I’d actually see the “dirt” move. I wanted the money shot so I could get home and get a hazmat shower. Wash the whole damn day off me—class, baring my soul, and a cheating stakeout that was just gross on principle. On the bright side, it was likely we’d both developed immunity to pretty much every disease known to man and probably a few percolating on the edges of the human gene pool. Using a tissue, I pulled back the curtain the barest inch. The black Cadillac my mark drove still sat in the parking space in front of the room I’d been surveilling. “Dammit.” Seth snuffled awake and sat up rubbing his face. “What’s wrong?” he asked. It was little more than a slurred mumble. The man slept like he had an off switch. If I’d yelled out in panic, he’d have been full-on awake and doing a detailed threat assessment but my quiet curse hadn’t alarmed him. He could fall asleep at a stoplight if it ran too long. After struggling with insomnia for the better part of a year I wouldn’t say it was his most annoying personality trait, but it was up there. “My subject is just hunkered down in that room. Something needs to happen before I lose my mind.”
13
He snickered. I glared at him, the man who’d been sleeping for the past four hours, daring him to laugh again. He’d never touch my bare flesh again. “Sunshine, just chill. It’ll happen when it happens and you’ll catch it. Especially since you won’t be in the bathroom anymore bitching about getting hepatitis from the toilet.” “Says the man who doesn’t actually have to touch anything in order to pee.” “Look, this is surveillance. If you can’t handle this simple job, tell your dad and—” If glaring could kill, he’d be dead five times over. “Why are you here again? You can annoy me and act like a superior ass when I’m not trying to work.” “Are you working? I thought you were bitching about working.” I gathered up his clothes, also just lying on the floor, and barely avoided gagging. I pressed them into his body where he was standing too close to me for the tone of our encounter. “So we getting out of here? You giving up the game?” “No. I’m throwing you out. While you were sleeping you were annoying me and now you’ve pissed me off so much my options are kick your ass out or kill you.” His motions were stiff as he dressed and while I knew the mattress was old and full of dead coils, I was pretty sure it was because he was mad at me. Fine. So be it. If I hadn’t had a job to do, I would have stepped toe-to-toe and started something. I had gotten better at not taking the bait on slights with him lately, but I wasn’t immune. I checked the parking lot again. Nothing happening. “You’re seriously telling me to go?”
14
I stared at him, wearing a look that indicated I was baffled by his behavior. Possibly the look was more what crawled up your ass and died? but it was open to interpretation. Seth, standing barefoot on the grime-crusted carpet, looked angry out of proportion to my “offense.” He’d bitched and moaned when I’d ended up in one of his cases and I’d never said one word about his attitude or professional capabilities. Not unprovoked anyway. It was four in the morning and I’d been in this grimy motel for hours waiting on a cheater and had he not been in the place, he’d never have heard my complaints. Yet, he’d invited himself to my job and critiqued how I did it and how I felt about it. He’d interfered when I was setting up the camera and tripod. He’d even bitched that I got the room in the first place, insisting real surveillance was done from the car. He’d put in his two, three, and four cents on every decision I’d made then lain down and fallen asleep, clearly exhausted from criticizing me. And I’d taken it all with aplomb because I loved him and he had been “just trying to help.” That was done. I was full-on done. “Seth, are you under the impression you are the aggrieved party? Do you feel like your behavior or treatment of me has been appropriate?” I was busting out everything I’d learned in therapy. And I had some big damn guns to use too. I kept my eye on the screen of the DSLR camera. I had a feeling something, besides the fight that was brewing, was getting ready to break open. He must have, as well, because he kept his mouth shut. The door across the way opened a crack. I held the shutter button down and let the action mode do the work for me. A man and a woman perfectly silhouetted in the doorway kissed. Money shot.
15
I pivoted the camera slightly and trailed the man from the door to his car. Closeup on the license plate. A little frisson of excitement worked its way up my spine. “Hey, you were right. It happened when it happened. Thanks for the bumper sticker platitude. Super helpful.” I dissembled the tripod and stowed it and the camera in the bag. He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me. His skin was still hot with sleep sweat. “I’m sorry, Sunshine. I’m tired and cranky.” I didn’t move to get free, but I also didn’t make any motions to hug him back. The heat on his skin had intensified the spicy smell of his guy shampoo. I wanted to close my eyes and lean back into him. I didn’t though because that was his MO—the hit-and-run fight. He laid traps for me and waited while I set them off and then bailed on the fight, making me look like the bad guy. “Next, you’ll try to blame it on PMS. Don’t you think it’s kind of shitty to take out your fears and frustrations about my safety on me? Your ‘suggestions’ about how to do my job are about you, not me. So you can quit trying to manage me. I’m a grown-ass person and if I want to bitch about my job or where I have to do it, then that’s none of your business.” “You know, Will, there are places in the world worse than this crappy motel.” “And I don’t want to work in any of them either, but I did my damn job.” He dropped his arms and stepped back. “I don’t want to get into anything this morning,” he said. And yet he clearly did if his body language was any indicator.
16
“Me either so I’m out of here, but we’re all paid up until noon if you’d like to stick around and prove what a trooper you are.” He threw his hands up in the air. I was momentarily distracted by his hip cuts hovering just above the waistband of his unfastened jeans. I regained my faculties after a brief struggle with a naughty fantasy that involved his handcuffs. Fatigue was wearing down my defenses against the crazy amount of physical chemistry we had. But it wasn’t good enough to make me entirely forget that Seth Anderson was the one being a giant ass, not me. “What? What are you so annoyed about? I’m the one who should be mad. You’ve been bitching since the moment you got here except when you were asleep. And you were probably bitching at me in your dreams.” “It’s called constructive criticism, princess.” Constructive criticism? Princess? And I’d never been more offended by a name. Not mongrel bitch. Not even being called the C word. I wasn’t pulling a punch on this one. He drops in on my case, offers unsolicited “constructive criticism,” then calls me a princess? Loud banging on the wall broke into our bickering. Clearly, our fight had disturbed some of the other patrons. I felt bad for them being woken in the wee hours of the morning to the sounds of fighting from the next room. It shouldn’t have surprised them considering the venue, but I still felt a little guilty. “You could at least be grateful for the company and help.” His voice had dropped to a harsh whisper. I started to wonder if he’d had a stroke or suddenly developed some previously unknown fast-acting mental illness that resulted in his bizarre behavior. Maybe he had recently had a blow to the head.
17
“Grateful? For your help? You’ve belittled me and questioned my professional skills and commitment. That’s not help. That’s sabotage.” “I—” “And now, for the record, I’m super motivated to move in with you, she said sarcastically.” “You already live there!” The pounding began in earnest again. I walked over and slammed my hand against the wall three times. “I am a cop on a stakeout and my boyfriend is with the ATF. You bang on the damn wall one more time and the next thing we’ll fight about is who gets to arrest you.” The banging abruptly stopped. A moment later we heard the door slam as our neighbor fled. “Nice,” Seth said. Another criticism. “They’re no longer annoying me, unlike you, and odds are, based on their hasty exit, were here doing something illegal. You wanna go catch them to apologize? Feel free.” I snatched up my bags and jacket and wrestled the door open. I managed to remotely unlock and open the passenger door, slinging everything into the back seat. I was so mad I didn’t even spend a moment admiring the new-to-me truck. I wanted to get the photos to my dad and close this case. As I backed out of the parking lot I saw the door to the room was still sitting open. I contemplated going back but decided that Seth was a big boy and he could take care of himself. Sunrise was three hours away. Nothing was open yet. I had to go home. Not back to the apartment, since that was the first place Seth would go and I was really afraid I might get physical with him if I saw him again so soon. Not the good kind of physical either.
18
When I pulled up in front of the house, I could see Dad sitting in the kitchen. Like he knew I was coming. I made sure I was quiet opening the door so I didn’t wake up the rest of the family. Ben had at least another hour before he had to get up, despite the ridiculously early start time for his high school. Of course, he probably would just bounce out of bed and make breakfast. He was a morning person. So was our mother. And Dad and I were the ones up at an hour even the Army considered the middle of the night. I’d like to cash in on their we do more before nine a.m. bet—I guarantee that documenting infidelity, thwarting a possible crime, and contracting a new strain of diphtheria was a winning hand. I dropped down in the chair next to him and dug the camera out of the bag. Sliding it in front of him, I raised an eyebrow at him. He didn’t normally accept cheating spouse stakeouts (what can’t you get via a cell phone and computer anymore?) so I was curious about this aberration. He took the camera and popped out the memory card. I raised my eyebrow a bit higher. He put the memory card into the pocket of his robe. My eyebrow reached my hairline and I feared I’d sprain it if I pushed it any farther. “Dad. Give already. What’s up with this case?” “You needed to do a stakeout.” He looked guilty. I couldn’t believe it. I had just been scammed. No, I’d been hazed. By my own flesh and blood. I got up and poured myself a cup of coffee. “Seriously, you’re the worst boss ever.” I was only half kidding. That motel had me contemplating any other career where I would be exposed to fewer germs. Like sanitation engineer. Or Peace Corps nurse. Or Band-Aid handed out by a Peace Corps nurse to a sanitation engineer. “I’m not your boss. I’m your partner. And why are you here?”
19
I was just hoping I made it through my apprentice hours and got my license and didn’t get his revoked in the process. I hadn’t even been thinking about partnership. “I came to do my write-up on the case and … weren’t you expecting me? Why are you up?” “Oh, I was expecting you but not for five more hours. I figured once my friend left the motel, you’d head home.” “I am home.” I avoided his eyes as I blew across the top of my coffee.
20
C HAP T E R
3
“He’s
been antsy and distant. Cranky, picky, stubborn. Pretty
much the textbook signs of a cheating spouse. Not that I studied for my stakeout or anything.” Choke on the guilt, old man. “You two have a lot of history. It’s not always going to be easy. And he’s not cheating on you. He wouldn’t dare.” I wasn’t sure if Dad was intimating that I would do something to Seth or that he would. “I’m not expecting it to be all easy. Or even any easy. I am expecting to be an equal partner. But he doesn’t … he won’t treat me like one. He doesn’t want to let me out of his sight, but when we’re together he’s picking fights.” 21
He chuckled. And I saw the humor in it too. Or rather irony that I was the one complaining about people picking fights, since I was the master at it. “I’m saying that he’s picking fights and even I’m looking back at them and being baffled. It’s about everything now. Popcorn and the dishwasher. It’s like we jumped from the conflict mediation to the honeymoon phase and then we jumped twenty years into the future to old married couple who can’t get along once the kids have gone off to college. Again, classic cheater behavior even if we both think we know better.” “I very much hope that when we get your brother off to college, your father and I have something in common still. If only that it’s planning a big party when you get your PI license. And Seth’s not cheating on you. He adores you. He’s adjusting.” I hadn’t even heard her sneak into the room. I’d consider it an indictment of my sleuthing skills, but my mother—stepmother, technically—was the queen of stealth. It was in the handbook, I was sure. “Shit, Mom, I’m … and now I’ve said shit. I know you hate that. Crap. I’ve woken you up and—” “Sweetie, it’s fine. You guys were being quiet. I just had a hard time sleeping with you out on that stakeout.” I got up and started to make her a cup of tea. In my peripheral vision, I saw her run her hand over Dad’s head and lean into him. For some reason, that little gesture said home to me regardless of where I lived and it made me feel safe. I knew they were solid and trusted each other. And then she was at my elbow with her hand on my back. How do moms know? “What’s going on, sweetie?”
22
Therapy had made my emotions too easy to access, in my opinion. I was sure normal people thought that was a wonderful breakthrough and something to be pleased about, but the fact was I didn’t feel like myself. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him or me or maybe both of us. I’m not acting like me anymore and I think that’s a problem for him.” “Anyone who really loves you wants this for you, Willa. You’ve always been reserved, but when Michael died you closed off almost completely. You changed when Seth came back into your life. You got your spark back. Hold on to that.” I rubbed my hand over her arm. It was possible that my mother was a better therapist than the one who had her shingle out. Then again, she knew me a lot better. “How’s the sex? That’s still fine, right?” I could feel Dad cringe from across the room. And since he’d sent me on a fake stakeout at Motel Disgusting, I was going to torment him more than a little. I turned around to face her. “No, that’s still amazing. Like, uh-mazing. Even when we’re fighting we’re one step away from tearing each other’s clothes off.” I heard a clank as Dad banged the mug down on the table before fleeing. She laughed, smoothing my hair down and then caressing my cheek for a moment. Then she reached around me to grab the tea I’d started for her. “We’re terrible for torturing him like that,” I said. “That’s what he gets for sending my baby on a made-up case.” She winked at me. Never mess with Mom. He hadn’t learned that lesson in the almost twenty years they’d been married. I slid down the stairs to my room. It had been mostly denuded since I’d started spending more time at the apartment with Seth.
23
And it was true. It was a mere technicality that I was holding onto saying I didn’t really live over there with him. And it wasn’t just the fear that once I made it official, we’d pack up the last of Michael. I didn’t want to lose my space. A place that was just mine. I checked my phone. Nothing from Seth. I couldn’t deny something was going on with him. The only thing I was sure of, bone deep sure, was that he wasn’t cheating on me. I’d mentioned it to Dad mostly to make him feel guilty for my fake stakeout. In high school, Michael and I spent a lot of time bantering about Seth being a player, but he’d never been a cheater. And if he was going to start, it wouldn’t be with the woman who knew his whole playbook. Would he? Dammit, he was making me doubt all the things I thought I knew about him. He wouldn’t be pushing me so hard to move in if he was trying to get something over on me or trying to end it. I had to hold onto that faith in him. I had to believe that whatever was bothering him wasn’t about us. If it was his work, I couldn’t do much of anything. Maybe I could check in with Gordon, Seth’s de facto partner. After last fall, I trusted him and I knew he’d be honest with me, as honest as he could. If it was a case, he’d tell me. Maybe it was his family. Seth’s relationship with his parents had gotten extremely rocky since Michael’s death. Seth and I hadn’t spent much time with them since we’d gotten together. Barely an hour at Christmas. He’d been in a bigger hurry to get out of there than I had. They had both been excited to see us and even happy that we’d reconnected after the years apart. Neither of us had enlightened them to our “reconnection” being a drunken hookup the night of Michael’s memorial service. They didn’t need to know and, honestly, it wasn’t something either of us were particularly proud of. He’d even forgone Thanksgiving with them. I was still a mass of injuries and physical damage. It had made sense he’d want to be with 24
me and that I’d want to be with my family. I hadn’t even thought about the Andersons and what they were doing with no children home for Thanksgiving. I took a quick shower, just to wash off the feeling of cheap motel and stupid fight. I had time to have breakfast with Ben before he left for school. What greeted me in the kitchen was pancakes. Real pancakes. Nothing wheat germ or flax. Pancakes and syrup and, god bless the woman, bacon. I gulped down half my cup of coffee from earlier. It was slightly warmer than room temperature but that left room for a top off. Ben played it cool but he was happy to see me. He must have been because he didn’t say a word as I slathered butter all over my stack of pillowy, carb-laden heaven on a plate and dumped a cup of syrup over it. I chewed a piece of bacon and watched him spread allnatural almond butter on his. No butter or syrup. Mom had a single pancake on her plate. A cup of herbal tea seemed to be the only thing she touched. Dad used the rest of the bottle of syrup on his plate, drowning the bacon too. Talk about a house divided. I had just cut into my stack when I heard the front door open. The pancakes had been a trap. I gave my mother a look filled with betrayal but she just shrugged. Either I was losing my touch and my expression of pain and outrage had come across as merely vexed or she’d had nothing to do with Seth’s presence. I looked at my father and he had conveniently found a newspaper to read. “Dad?” “Hmm, yeah, sweetie?” “Why is Seth here?” “What makes you think Seth is here, pumpkin?” “The awesome skills of deduction you’ve been training me in literally my whole life.” 25
I slammed my fork back down on the table and got up. I got another plate and filled it with the now understandable overabundance of pancakes. I set the plate in front of Seth as he sat down and returned to my seat across from him. Dad offered him a faint smile. It was like blood meant nothing to him. Ben passed him the butter dish. Traitors in my own family. “Good morning, Nancy,” Seth said. I stuffed a large forkful of pancakes in my mouth and chewed viciously. I had just wanted a few hours to process the whole scene at the motel. Why in the hell did he have to show up and ruin breakfast too? “Willa.” I swallowed and shoveled in another forkful. If I kept my mouth full it would be impossible for us to fight. If we couldn’t fight then I wouldn’t cuss. If I didn’t cuss, Mom would be happier. I was doing it for her. I was literally eating my feelings. Of course, once I was full or the plate was empty then I’d be out of excuses to avoid talking to him. “She’s really pissed, dude.” And there was my baby brother wading into the emotional sewage for me. I really loved that kid. “Yeah, I know she is, man. She’s right to be. I was a jerk.” I took a deep breath forgetting I had five square inches of gummy pancake paste in my mouth. I coughed hard and then ran for the sink so I could spit the food out before I choked. I spit a few more times to make sure I had it all out. And to buy myself some more time. I turned back to the table to find all four sets of eyes watching me. I noticed no one got up ready to give me the Heimlich, just in case. Nice. “Seth admits he’s wrong? The apocalypse is imminent. Do we have a Bible?” “Be nice,” my mother said. 26
I thought I was being nice. I hadn’t thrown anything at him. I hadn’t walked out. I hadn’t even cursed. I got any nicer and I’d have to offer him a mint and hot towel. “No, she’s right to be skeptical, Nancy. I’ve been pushing her buttons and then apologizing when she reacts. This morning I crossed the line big time intruding on the fake stakeout and trying to boss her around.” He’d known it was fake too? And he must have realized his mistake because he started to stand. “You move from that chair and I will make sure it’s the last thing you do. You knew. You not only knew but you kept me there while you took a goddamn nap. You are so dead it’s not even funny.”
27
Mystery
In a heart-pounding mystery featuring apprentice PI Willa Pennington, a long-standing cold case turns hot in a hurry. People move to the suburbs for a better life—nice houses, good schools, safe communities. But there’s no place you can go that’s completely safe from danger. Willa Pennington knows this all too well after her first PI case almost got her killed. Helping her old mentor review a decades-old cold case seems much safer. Then she reaches out to a teenager in trouble, and suddenly a new case rips into Willa’s life in a way she could never have predicted. It seems menace is always lying in wait behind someone’s door. Especially on the dark streets of the cold suburbs. PRAISE FOR WHAT DOESN’T KILL YOU, BOOK 1 OF THE WILLA PENNINGTON, PI MYSTERY SERIES:
“Aimee Hix is an up-and-coming author everyone should watch.” —CRIMESPREE MAGAZINE
“The book has plenty of twists and surprises, but what stands out is the tight writing and fast narrative of the author’s debut novel.” —ELLERY QUEEN MYSTERY MAGAZINE
“Tight plotting, edge-of-your-seat suspense, and a protagonist in PI Willa Pennington you’ll want to read about again and again. I couldn’t put this book down.” —MAGGIE BARBIERI, AUTHOR OF ONCE UPON A LIE
$15.99 US ISBN 978-0-7387-5470-3 51599
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