Gunning For Angels (Fallen Angels Book 1) (21 page)

All truth is simple…is that not doubly a lie?

–Friedrich Nietzsche

Groggily, Bud reached for his cell phone that rang relentlessly into the dark room. He glanced at the clock and groaned: two in the morning. His first day back to work had been exhausting. If they weren’t so short-staffed, he was sure they would have sent him home. It had taken everything he had to slug it out till five o’clock.

When he and Chip got home, he found all his clothes dumped on the floor in the guest bedroom and Bunnie was giving him the silent treatment. Chip had gone to the store to get them sandwiches, which Bud was too tired to eat. Bud retired to the guest room to “read” but, once the door was closed, he sank into bed and was asleep before his socks hit the floor.

“Detective Orlean,” he muttered into the phone.

“Sorry to call so late, Bud,” Jenson said peppily. “We have a situation that requires you
and
your chauffeur. John C. on Central, Room 314.”

Jenson hung up, leaving Bud frowning into the phone.
“John C.” referred to the John C. Lincoln Hospital on Dunlap, which was a ten-minute drive.

Bud rousted Chip out of bed, which took some effort. Once Chip was driving, Bud leaned back and enjoyed the view of the city at night.

“I don’t understand why I have to be there,” Chip said. “What’s it got to do with me?”

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

“I don’t think I like being a detective,” Chip said.

“You’re not.”

Bud watched the city unwind, his thoughts turning to Bunnie. The thought of losing her made the city look ugly. He tried to picture himself “retired” and he saw a ridiculous version of himself standing in Bermuda shorts and Hawaiian shirt – doing nothing. He shuddered. Without work, he’d be lost. 

Without Bunnie, I’m lost.

“Do you think mom’s serious?” Chip said.

Bud frowned. “Word on the street is you and Eve Hargrove are picking out china patterns. Really, Chip? If this is an I.Q. test, you’re flunking.”

“I called her,” Chip said.

“Did she happen to confess to murdering her stepfather? Or is she playing coy?”

“I didn’t say she called back. Yet.”

“Pretty sure of yourself, huh?”

“I’m sure I want to see her again.”

“So, on your date, illuminate me. What constitutes sociopath chit-chat?”

Chip tightened his lips.

“Weather? Price of beans in China? Oh, I know, why she cut her father’s heart out and sent it to me.”

“There’s no way she did that.”

“If you
don’t want to pop your bubble of academia and step into the real world, that’s fine, but stop with the pretty-boy playboy crap and start using your brain – or that woman will cut it out and mail it to me. Wake up and stop being so naïve.”

“I’m not naïve.”

“Then you’re an idiot.”

“I know more about the real world then you think.”

“You were always idealistic. You always see the best in people – even when there’s nothing to see.”

“She’s actually – ”

“Don’t say sweet.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Are you going to see her again?”

“If she calls back, hell yeah,” Chip said.

Bud grimaced, put his hand to his chest.

Chip glanced at him, concerned.

Bud dropped his hand. After several moments, he asked, “Remember how Polo used to run away?”

“Now I get a dog story?
” Chip said. “You’d send us walking through the neighborhood, carrying dog food, shouting his name. Yeah, I remember.”

“Tomorrow, we’re making an appointment for you
– with Polo’s vet.”

“What? To have me fixed?’

“I’m going to have Dr. Flanderhann implant a doggie LoJack in you – so I can find your body after she cuts your heart out.”

Chip laughed. “Are you crazy? They won’t agree to that.”

“He owes me,” Bud said.

“You’re serious?”

“I don’t want your mother wondering whether you’re dead or alive – this will simplify matters. Give her closure.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.”

“You’re the genius dating a murderer.”

“I like her.”

“I like a butcher knife for cutting meat, but you don’t see me taking it home to meet my mama.”

Chip pulled into the hospital parking lot. They walked in silence to the third floor. A nurse directed them to Room 314, where Jenson and a policewoman watched as a nurse adjusted a line.

Enid lay in the hospital bed. Both hands were bandaged and her forehead boasted a bruise the size of a cherry tomato.  

“That’s Jack Fox’s daughter,” Bud said. “What happened?”

Jenson said, “I didn’t know Jack Fox had a kid. You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Jenson turned to the policewoman, “Jack Fox. Find him and get him down here.”

“I’ve heard of him,” she said as she turned to leave. 

Jenson turned back to Bud. “The kid…”

“Enid,” Bud said.

“No identification. She didn’t ask for her dad – they must not be close,” Jenson said. 

Bud picked up her
chart listing her as “Jane Doe.” He crossed it out and wrote “Enid Fox.”

“Hit-and-run,” Jenson said. “Neighbor found her in the road. Nobody saw the vehicle. No broken bones, but her hands are torn up, a mild concussion. Doctor says she’ll be all right.”

“Why am I here?” Bud said. 

“The kid’s been spinning us some stories. They have her on heavy meds, but she has been able to tell us –
her boyfriend is, and I quote, “a hunk of hot eye-candy” – also known as Chip Orlean.”

Chip looked at him in astonishment. “What?”

Jenson’s eyes twinkled. “She described you to a ‘T’ – eyes the color of the Pacific, lips like an angel.”

Chip flushed pink.

“Anything you want to tell us?” Bud said to Chip.

“I met her once and I didn’t even really meet her – you were there,” Chip said.

“Case solved,” Bud said. “Jane Doe is Jack Fox’s daughter and she’s got a schoolgirl crush.” He shrugged, turned to leave, “Next time text me a pic and save me a trip.”

“Not so fast, pard’ner.” Jenson reached for a plastic bag. “Our little friend was packing heat.”

Bud frowned at the Smith & Wesson .357 inside the bag.

“I got to thinking about the Wanda Stills case,” Jenson said.

“You can’t tell me that’s the same gun as the Wanda Stills case. No way they can I.D. it that fast,” Bud said.

“My own personal speculation,” Jenson said.

“What’s it mean?” Chip said. 

Jenson nodded at Enid. “Our victim is a chatterbox.”

“So what? She cheated on her algebra test, or what?” Bud said.

“She says she killed a man. Strangled him.”

Bud stared at Jenson in amazement. “You’re telling me this kid, ninety-eight pounds wet and belly-full, is carrying a gun that may be connected to an unsolved murder case and, if that’s not enough, she
strangled
a grown man?”

“From what she says, she was locked in a dungeon where she strangled a killer-clown – possibly to death – with her bra.”

Bud stared at Jenson, dumbfounded.

“Why would she say I’m her boyfriend?” Chip said.

“That’s what’s troubling you in all this?” Bud said. “Not wondering about the teenage gun-welding strangling-bra clown-killer but, our concern is,
why
she said you’re her
boyfriend
?”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Chip said.

Bud looked at Jenson, hooked his thumb at Chip, “Jenson. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Keen observation. Perhaps we should call a detective.”

A woman knows the face of the man she loves as a sailor knows the open sea.

–Honore de Balzac

Out of the haziness, Enid picked out
his
voice and said, “Honeypie.”

The voices stopped. She struggled to open her eyes and was surprised to see her future father-in-law.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said. Chip’s face popped up and she felt a flood of happiness.

He found me.

“Hey, Enid,” Chip said. 

She held out her hand and said, “Darling.”

Chip and Bud glanced at each other.

Enid smiled, happy that she was wearing her chiffon gown and tiara with sparklers. 

Chip moved closer to the bed. “I, uh, understand we’re dating?”

“I love you,” she said, enjoying the sea breezes and the sound of the surf as it crashed against the shore. 

Bud stepped forward. “Enid, I understand you told Detective Jenson – you strangled a man?”

“Hope not, but – yeah. He deserved it,” she said.

“Enid. Focus on what I’m saying.” Bud said.

“’K.” Enid blew Chip a kiss, “Catchy-catchy.”

Chip grimaced.

Bud nudged Chip
. “Catch the darned thing.”

Chip awkwardly caught the imaginary kiss.

“Wait in the hall,” Bud said to Chip. “You’re a distraction.” 

“I need to hear it – for my research. Besides, it involves me,” Chip said.

“Stand behind the bathroom door,” Bud said.

“Harold.” Enid clapped her hands, “More bubbly.” 

“Harold?” Bud said, “Is that who you strangled?”

“Don’t be silly,” Enid said.

“Who’s Harold?” Bud said.

“The
butler.”

Chip rolled his eyes, retreating to hide behind the bathroom door.

“I see you,” Enid said, craning her neck.

“Further,” Bud said, waving him back.

“We’re going to name our dog Daisy,” Enid said.

“Enid, about the killer clown?” 

“He wasn’t a clown,” Enid said.   

“Good,” Bud said, “and you didn’t strangle anyone, right?”

“I wouldn’t have, but he locked me in the dungeon.”

“What dungeon?”

“Not a dungeon – a room.”

“Who?”

“I thought he’d be a clown,” Enid said. She looked down and saw a bug crawling across her chiffon gown. She knocked it away, uncomfortable on the dirty mattress they were making her lay on. She shook her head, trying to clear it. 

“Who?” Bud said.

Enid remained silent, worrying that the crashing waves were getting too close.

“Enid, I need the name of the man who locked you up,” Bud said.

“She’s on too much medication. Maybe we should wait till later,” Jenson said.

“I want my mom,” Enid said, tears filling her eyes. 

“What about your dad?” Bud said.

“He didn’t come for me. He broke his promise,” Enid said, chest tightening with sorrow. 

Bud frowned, “Did he know where you were?”

“I had to do it.” Enid could feel the waves coming to get her, coming to wreck her beautiful dress. She put her hand up to her head. The tiara was gone. The ravens stole it and hid it in their cave. She frowned, knowing they would eat the sparklers and choke to death. “Paris – for the honeymoon.”

Bud sighed.

Enid drifted onto the pink beaches of Paris where she and Chip were kissing till her head hurt. She could hear the ravens talking.

Are they talking about me?

“What do you think?” a raven said.

“I intend to take it seriously until proven otherwise,” another raven said.

Well, of course we’re serious. We’re in love.

For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.

–Vincent Van Gogh

Five minutes at the designated spot, twenty more minutes of circling the neighborhood and a phone call that went to Enid’s out-of-service phone was enough for Jack to decide to get her out of the wayward girls’ home himself.

He rang the buzzer and a woman’s voice cracked through the intercom. “What?”

“My daughter Enid checked in this morning, I’m here to get her out.”

Silence.

“If you can’t rustle up my kid, then you can get Vivian Hargrove out here right now,” Jack said.

“She’s not here.”

The intercom went dead.

Jack walked down the steps and around the side of the building. He picked up a pebble and threw it at one of the windows. He threw more pebbles. The window jerked open. A girl with spikey hair leaned out. 

“I’m looking for a girl who checked in this morning – name is Enid. Do you know her?”

“How do I know you’re not some perv?” The girl said.

“She’s my daughter. Do you know her?”

The girl held a finger up to her lips and motioned for him to wait. She disappeared.

Jack glanced around, nervous. That’s all he needed, the police asking why he was lurking under a teenage girl’s window.

After what seemed like an eternity, a skinny girl stuck her head out the window. Two other girls hovered behind her.

“Who are you?” the skinny girl said.

“I’m her father. If Enid is here, just get her.”

“She said her dad was dead.”

“Ladies, I need to talk to my daughter.”

“She left.”

“When?”

“They took her,” she said.

“Who took her? Where?”

“Ask Mrs. Hargrove.” The girl shut the window and the room went dark.

Jack stared up at the window, feeling strangely helpless.

They took her? What did that mean?

Regret twisted in his stomach at the thought of having involved Enid in the case. 

What if she’s in trouble?

He drove the twenty minutes to Vivian’s house, which stood dark against the night sky. The gate was locked, so he climbed over the wall and searched the grounds, half expecting to set off a burglar alarm as he tested every door.

The place was empty.

Climbing back over the wall, he barely registered the sound of his pant leg ripping. He jumped down and walked to his car.

He sat behind the wheel, thinking. He called Eve and left a message for her to call back and started driving in her direction.

When he reached her house, Horace was at his post in the guardhouse and said she wasn’t in.

“Where can I find her?” Jack said. 

“Another death in the family?” Horace said.

“My daughter lied to you, I know.” He held up his hands in exasperation, “I don’t know, she’s missing. I’m trying to find Eve to find her mother, who might be able to help.”

Horace stared at him a few moments. “Got a kid giving me trouble, too. You didn’t hear it from me, but she’s at her sister’s gallery.”

“Thanks.”

“You can thank me by not hearing it from me.”

Rachel’s research had shown that Laura owned a jewelry and art gallery in the heart of Old Scottsdale.

Within fifteen minutes, Jack
stood looking in the illuminated windows of empty jewelry displays. They were closed for business, but a photo shoot was in progress. Eve sat off to the side, her head bent over a book. Behind her, a handsome dark-haired photographer took pictures of Laura as an older man interviewed her.

Laura wore a teal dress that made her skin glow like pearl. Jack looked at Eve who, dressed simpler, eclipsed everything. 

Jack walked back to his car and dug his oversized camera out of the glove compartment. Combined with an “I belong here” attitude, the camera gave him the credibility he needed to get into places that he had no right to be.

He knocked on the glass door.

Eve glanced up, eyebrows knitting in irritation. She walked to the door.

“What do you want?” she said, opening the door wide enough so he could talk, but not enter.

Jack heard the interviewer ask Laura, “What was your inspiration behind the Desert Fire line?” 

“I need to find Vivian,” Jack said.  

“I’m not my mother’s keeper.” Eve tried to shut the door, but Jack shoved his foot into the space and pushed it open.

“I wasn’t asking,” he said.

“You have ten seconds to leave – or I call the police.”

Jack glanced around. The place was classy. Lots of glass and subtle lighting on display cases filled with artfully arranged jewelry.

“Get her on the phone,” Jack said.

“I don’t like to be bossed. Especially by a paid employee.”

“We can do this the hard way – or easy. Take your pick.”

Something in his eyes convinced Eve. She pulled out her phone and called. After several moments, she left a message for Vivian to call. She ended the call and gave him a pointed look. “You’re not her type.”

“I’m looking for my daughter.”

“What’s Vivian got to do with her?” Her eyes lit up. “Oh! Is your daughter a wayward girl?” Eve laughed and sauntered back to her stool. She picked up her book. “Out of the running for Father of the Year, Mr. Fox? Feel free to stay till Viv calls, but keep your mouth shut and stay out of the way.”

Jack removed the lens cap and walked toward Laura. He snapped a burst of pics.

“Who is he?” the photographer said.

“Just do your job, Jerry,” Eve said.

The interviewer scowled, “I thought we had an exclusive?”

“You do,” Eve said.

Jack took a burst of photos o
f the scowling group. “An exposé,” Jack said. “I guess I don’t need to tell you folks what I’m investigating.”

The interviewer’s mouth went slack with surprise, he stepped back.

“Give me a moment,” Eve said to the group. She pulled Jack to the front door. “You want Vivian – you can wait outside.”

Jack snapped a picture of Eve’s face.

“What the hell is your problem?” Eve said.

Jack turned and took another burst of photos of Laura, who was sitting tensely on the stool.

The interviewer shoved past him and out the front door.

“Where are you going?” Eve said.

Once on the street, the interviewer broke into a run toward his car.

Jack couldn’t resist the urge to snap a shot of Eve’s startled face.

“Are you mental?” she said, trying to shove him out the front door.

Jack planted himself in the door, so that Eve couldn’t budge him. “I know an Italian place – I want to see what you look like there – with me.”

“In your dreams.”

He grabbed her waist and pulled her close. “Eve Marie Alexandria Hargrove,” he buried his face in her hair, spoke softly in her ear, “you’re the best damned thing I ever seen.”

She stood frozen as his lips moved toward hers, lingering.

Her lips parted and she leaned into him. 

“Eve,” Laura said.

Eve pulled away from Jack.

Disconcerted, Eve said to Jack, “You’re out of your league.” 

“I know,” he said.

“Not
interested,” Eve said.

“Sure you are.”

Eve eyed him. “Aren’t you looking for your daughter?”

“You’re chicken-shit scared.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Go out with me,” Jack said. “If you’re still not interested, you’ll never hear of me no more.”

“Is that a promise?”

Jack grinned, made a “don’t count on it” face.

“Eve!” Laura said.

Eve’s head snapped in her direction.

The photographer had an iPhone camera on Laura. “What about the rumors that it was you and your sister who murdered your stepfather?”

“We had a deal, Jerry,” Eve said.

Jerry pushed closer to Laura, “They say it was you that cut his heart out and mailed it to that detective. Why’d you do it?”

Laura staggered past Jerry as Eve bounded to her side, supporting her.

“Give me that,” Eve said, making a snatch for Jerry’s iPhone even as she still held Laura around the waist.

Jerry held the phone over his head and behind him, grinning.

Jack came up behind him, took the iPhone, grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm back and put him facedown on the floor.

Jerry gasped in pain.

“You can get up nice and quiet and leave or I break your arm. What is it?” Jack said, pocketing the iPhone.

“Leave,” Jerry said.

Jack eased off his arm and watched as Jerry got to his feet and beat it to the door.

Eve rushed to the door and locked it behind him. Laura burst into tears and fell to the floor in a heap of teal.

Eve stared at Jack with hard eyes. “How much do you want for it?”

“Not even a thank-you,” Jack said to Eve. He looked at Laura. “You okay down there?”

Laura attempted to pull herself together, gulped down a sob with a nod.

“Get your stuff, Laura. I’m taking you home,” Eve said.

Reluctantly, Laura got up and came to Eve.

Eve put her arm around Laura’s waist, pulled her close as Laura cried on her shoulder.

“They’ll never leave us alone,” Laura said.

Jack’s eyes lingered on Eve, admiring her fingers as they gently caressed Laura’s hair. Eve whispered something to Laura.

Laura’s eyes softened. She nodded.

“Get your purse,” Eve said to Laura.

Laura nodded and disappeared to the back.

“I want that iPhone,” Eve said to Jack.

“I want you. Doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.”

“I don’t go out with losers,” she said.

“Eight o’clock?”

“Five. Dress nice.”