Chapter Five
Mike lived in a condo, a newish one, probably filled with people our age, married and single. His two-story unit was decorated with spare, modern taste and a tendency toward southwestern decor—who would have guessed? I was glad I’d worn my turquoise jewelry.
“A final glass of wine?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Follow me into the kitchen. You want to stick with white wine?”
“Yes, please.”
From the kitchen, it appeared that he liked to cook, and I thought I should ask him to cook more at my house—or bring the girls here for supper. Granite counters were lined with small appliances—a food processor, a coffee grinder, a state-of-the-art coffee maker, an electric juicer. There was an Aga stove, larger than the one in my new house, but it looked less used.
“I inherited that stove,” he said when he saw me glancing at it. “I bought this place only a year after it was built, but the guy who had it was a gourmet cook—or at least that’s what he told me.”
He poured two glasses, and then asked if I’d like to see the rest of the place, and of course I said yes. Much of it was what you’d expect from a mid-thirties bachelor—Nordic track in the bedroom, fairly bare walls, and so on. I looked for pictures of old girlfriends but saw only a framed photo of his parents—or at least I assumed that’s who they were. Mike rarely talked about family, and I didn’t ask, though I knew his dad wanted him to be a lawyer.
But the surprise came in his office, the smaller of the two upstairs bedrooms. In contrast to the bare neatness of the rest of the house, a roll-top desk was cluttered with papers and books. A flat-screen monitor sitting on a credenza next to the desk indicated a computer somewhere.
“My secret hobby,” Mike said. “I’m interested in early law enforcement in Texas, and I’ve been doing some research on the first police in Fort Worth. I’m particularly interested in the men—no women back then—who died in the line of duty. There’s a huge movement in law enforcement these days to memorialize our heroes. Fort Worth might as well be part of it.”
I stared at him. This was another whole new part of Mike Shandy that I’d never guessed. I felt self-centered because I’d been concentrating on my life and my feelings and not reaching out to him. “Mike,” I said, “I . . . I didn’t know you did this research. I mean, you’re accumulating a lot of historical information, and it doesn’t seem right to just keep it to yourself.”
“Who knows?” He grinned a little bit. “Maybe I’ll write a book someday. I’ll just see what happens. Meantime, I’m having a lot of fun. It’s what I do when I’m not working or not with you and the girls.”
While we finished our wine in the living room, he told me the story of Longhair Jim Courtright’s miraculous escape from marshals who’d come to arrest him. “It’s sort of a legend in local law enforcement lore. After all, he was once the marshal. And then there’s his death—shot by Luke Short, a gambler and gunman. Nobody knows who drew first.” Old West gunfights didn’t do much for me, but if Mike was interested, I’d try to be too.
By then, we were sitting close on the couch, closer than usual, and every bit of me was aware of Mike’s physical presence next to me. I felt my skin tingle, and I turned toward him, “Mike….” He shut off whatever I was going to say with a deep lingering kiss, his mouth exploring mine, his hands roaming over my body, until my hands clutched the back of his neck, pulling him close. As we both got more intense, I fleetingly thought—hoped?—that maybe he’d just pick me up and carry me upstairs to that bedroom.
He didn’t. Instead, he glanced at his watch. “Holy Cow, Kelly! It’s nearly midnight. Let’s go relieve Claire.”
I drew back, my emotions a tangled mess, and Mike reached for me again. “Kelly, this relationship has got to change. It’s been on hold too long.”
“You’re right.” My voice was shaky. “I want that.” Good one, Kelly, come right out and tell the man you want to sleep with him.
Claire was sound asleep in one of the big leather chairs when we came in, but she roused herself to ask, “Did you kids have a good time?” Without waiting for our answer, she went off to her bed. We stood in the kitchen eating molasses cookies that Claire and the girls made and laughing at each other.
“Like two kids,” Mike said. “Finishing a date with cookies. No more wine, no coffee, no Coke. Just cookies.” And then he added, “And kisses.” And kissed me again so soundly I shook myself back to the present.
I walked him to the door and hugged him when he put his arm around me.
“Kelly, I think I’m in love with you. Even though you are a pain about police work.”
“Thanks a lot,” I said. “I think I’m in love with you…but I want it made clear I’m not a pain!”
As he left, I remembered to tell him that Em wanted a date with him, and he said, “I’ll take her for an ice cream cone sometime.”
“You’ll have to take them both,” I warned.
“Separately, though,” he said and waved as he walked down the flagstaff path.
I went to bed happy but confused.
****
Keisha gave me one of her long looks the next morning. It was nine-thirty before I hit the office. “You running a little late this morning?”
“Yes, I am.” My attitude was less defensive than devil-may-care. I was happy, and I didn’t want her breaking my mood. But that’s just what she did.
“That Mr. Conroy called. You need to call him.” She handed me a slip with the number. “He said first thing.”
“Right away,” I said, but I was slow about settling at my desk, organizing myself for the day, and finally picking up the phone. Keisha watched my every move, and I began to consider the advantages of partitions in offices. I didn’t want to work in a cubicle—I just thought sometimes it would be helpful if she were in one.
“Buck Conroy? Kelly O’Connell returning your call.” I left a message, grateful that he was out. But before I could hang up, I heard Buck’s voice saying “Hold on. Don’t go anywhere. I’m here.”
“Oh.”
“Disappointed, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Thanks. I wanted to tell you that we discovered that Florence Dodson has two nephews. They stand to inherit under her will.”
“Inherit what? A redo house in Fairmount and not much else?” I’d told Mike about those nephews days ago. Conroy did just find out.
When he told me she had almost half a million in various investments and twenty thousand dollars hidden around her house, I sat back in my chair, stunned. “Really? Why was she so frugal?”
“Beats me. Lots of old people do that. I guess they’re still saving for their old age. But I didn’t tell you this for your information or so you could proceed with your own private investigation….”
I wanted to say something unladylike, but I didn’t. Maybe it was Keisha watching me. Now about that cubicle….
“I want to know if you ever saw the nephews, or know anything about them.”
“I thought I saw them come visit her occasionally or take her out for Sunday dinner, but I don’t know a thing about them. Tell me.”
“Police business, Ms. O. I just wanted to check out what you know.” And he hung up.
I was left with a thousand unanswered questions, and I couldn’t, wouldn’t call him back. I’d ask Mike that night.
****
When the girls and I got home, Em went out to see Claire and Emily. I was still stewing about what to fix for supper when she came in and solemnly announced,
“Miss Claire has never been to Curley’s Custard.” It was the girls’ favorite place for soft-serve and hot dogs, good Kosher hot dogs. “She has to go tonight,” Em finished.
I looked at that serious face and could barely keep from laughing. “Did you ask her?”
She nodded.
“Well, I’m game. And you know Maggie will like it.”
Claire came in about six, and I verified Em’s story.
“I’d love to,” she said.
So we went to Curley’s, ate hot dogs with mustard and relish, drank Cokes, and ate the frozen custard flavor of the month—peach, in honor of Texas peaches which reached their peak in July. Curley’s has no inside seating, just a patio, and it was a typical hot, muggy July evening, with mosquitoes buzzing—not the kind of night I wanted to picnic, but I didn’t complain. I savored the food and the small breeze that wafted through every once in a while. Claire was like a little kid on a picnic.
“These are the best hot dogs I’ve ever eaten,” she said.
“They’re Kosher,” Maggie told her, a bit of superiority creeping into her voice. .
“Do you know what that means?” Claire asked, and Maggie hung her head and shook it in the negative. Claire talked about Jewish dietary laws.
“Why do they taste so good?” Em demanded.
Claire shook her head. “I don’t know. Kosher food is often spicy, like these hot dogs, and irresistible.”
Maggie looked at her. “Yeah, they are.”
****
Mike was late that night—tied up on a short-lived standoff, he explained. A couple got into an argument that turned physical, the wife escaped and called the police, and the man holed up inside their falling-down house, one of the worst in Fairmount. After a couple of hours, a negotiator talked him out but then Mike had to file reports and all that. It was after midnight, and I was in bed, having given up on his usual night visit. I was dozing but not quite asleep.
Mike used the key I’d given him after his suggestion that he’d wake the girls. He turned off the alarm and then came down the hall. “Kelly? You asleep?”
He knew that I was asleep or headed that way. The lights were out, the alarm was on until he stopped its beeping with the code I’d given him—what more did he need to know? Except that I knew he wanted to talk.
“Mike?” I called, my voice groggy. “I’m in the bedroom.”
He came in and sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry. I woke you.”
“It’s okay.”
“I wanted to talk to you. But now maybe I just want to crawl into that bed next to you.”
“Not with never-sleep Maggie on the alert,” I said with regret. The longing was there though, crying out to me.
I wore my usual T-shirt and underpants, and I didn’t know whether to get out of bed or not. Then I said, “Go in the living room. I’ll be right there.” I didn’t figure I needed to parade before him in underwear, even in spite of our whispered confessions of the night before. I pulled on a pair of workout pants and didn’t worry about a bra.
He helped himself to a beer. “Want a glass of wine?”
“It will put me to sleep, but yes, please.” He was as at home in my house as his own.
When we were settled, I asked about his day and he told me about the standoff. In fact he talked at such length about it that I knew that was why he woke me. He wanted to share that picture of domestic violence with me, partly to get it out of his mind. I was glad he wanted to share, but I didn’t like having that picture in my mind. I changed the subject.
“I have a question,” I said, “or several of them. Did you know that Mrs. Dodson’s two nephews were found?”
He nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He spread his hands. “Because it didn’t have anything to do with you, Kelly. It’s police business.”
“But she was my neighbor, and I’m interested. I care about what happened to her.”
“I know, but I don’t want you to run off and talk to the nephews.”
“If I promise not to….”
“I won’t tell you their names, but I’ll tell you about them. They’re a piece of work. They’re in their late thirties, early forties, and the older one appears to be fairly successful, works at a medium-sized advertising agency, drives a Lexus, married with two kids. Probably has a lifestyle he can’t afford. The younger one is single, drives BMW convertible, lives in a high-rise downtown, and doesn’t seem to have a job. He told Conroy he was ‘between positions.’ Conroy asked him what kind of work he does, and he was vague, said marketing and development. I’d say definitely has a lifestyle he can’t afford—and maybe some other problems, like drugs or gambling. We’ll do thorough checks.”
“Have they become the best suspects?”
“Conroy thinks one of them is good for it, probably the younger one.”
“Conroy does?” My voice rose in a squeak. “I know she had more money than anyone expected, but still…they didn’t take the money in the house.”
