No matter how self-sufficient and worldly a girl is, sometimes she just needs to talk to her dad.
I paid the parking ransom and drove out of the Bryant and Sixth Street garage, then punched the speed dial number for my parents’ home. Dad picked up on the first ring, which told me he’d been expecting a phone call since he usually let the answering machine pick up.
I told him everything I knew. As usual, he refused to give in to fear or negativity.
“Mom’s going to be fine, Brooks,” he assured me. “She took a refresher course in Vedanta last week.”
“Ah, Vedanta,” I said, vaguely familiar with the ancient Indian philosophy that taught one to live life according to higher ideals in order to achieve inner bliss. “Why was I worried?”
“Exactly,” he said, pleased that I appreciated the significance of Vedanta. “Still, I’d better get my butt down there.”
That was the first note of stress I’d heard in his voice.
“I’ll meet you there,” I offered as I pulled into my building’s parking garage, shifted to Park and turned off the engine. Homicide headquarters was nothing if not convenient to my place. I’d made it home in less than five minutes.
“No, no, you’ve been through enough. I’ll call Carl and his pack of lawyers. They’ll take care of everything.”
“Dad, you know Mom’s innocent, right?”
He actually chuckled. “Of course she’s innocent. Your mother wouldn’t knowingly hurt a flea. It would skew her karma and jeopardize her samsara for lifetimes to come.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” I glanced around the cold, dark, deserted underground parking lot and made a mental note to insist on better lighting at the next homeowners’ meeting.
“So, I’d better get cracking here,” Dad said.
“Okay, but, Dad, I’m afraid Mom confessed because she’s trying to protect me.”
“Really? What did you do?”
“Nothing, I swear! But could you please tell Mom it’s not necessary?”
“What’s not necessary?” There was a pause; then he said, “I’m going to need to write this down, aren’t I?”
I could picture him scratching the side of his head as he searched for a pad and pencil. I sighed. “Never mind, Dad. Just please call me as soon as you know anything, okay?”
“You bet your boots, honey. Peace, out.”
“Uh, yeah, bye.” My parents were nothing if not semicurrent with their lingo.
I limped to the elevator, unsure what Dad could do to get Mom out of jail after she’d come forward and confessed to killing Abraham. Short of confessing to the murder himself.
“Oh no, he wouldn’t.” It felt as if a tendril of ice were sliding down my spine, and I pushed that thought firmly out of my mind.
As I slammed the elevator gate shut and pushed the button for the sixth floor, different scenarios ran through my head of my mother being grilled by two determined homicide inspectors.
I could just imagine her giving them some half-baked reason for killing two men in cold blood. Then she’d flash them her Sunny Bunny Face and invite them to next Saturday’s barbecue.
Now that I thought about it, the inspectors probably needed more of my sympathy than Mom did.
Dad was right. Mom would be fine, while I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The police really wouldn’t keep her in a jail cell, would they?
As soon as I got inside and took off my shoes, I was going to call Inspector Lee.
The elevator trembled to a halt. I shoved the gate back and walked down the hall to my place, grateful for the skylights and wall sconces that kept the long hallway light and welcoming instead of dark and gloomy.
I was anxious to shut myself away and do what I always did when my world was going crazy-bury myself in work.
I turned the corner and staggered to a halt. My front door was ajar.
A thousand nerve endings pulsated, stabbing my skin like so many needles. I tried to replay the day in my head. Had I really been so distracted when I left this morning that I’d-no. I never would’ve left my door open.
Someone had been inside my home. They might still be there.
Every rule in the book told me not to go inside. And after a few seconds of debate, I complied. I ran to Suzie and Vinnie’s place down the hall and around the corner. I hammered on their door, praying they were home.
“What the fagoo?” Suzie said as she opened the door. “Brooklyn! Whassup? Whoa, you look freaked. Come on in.”
“No. I need to know if you saw someone go into my place today. Did someone-oh God. I think someone broke into my place.”
“No fucking way,” she said. Looking over her shoulder, she shouted, “Vinnie, stay in the house. Lock the door behind me.”
Suzie grabbed my arm, said, “Come on,” and pulled me all the way to my front door. “Shit, somebody punched the lock straight through.”
“How?”
“You don’t wanna know,” she said grimly. “You ready?”
Damn, this girl was tough. I guess that was a prerequisite if you worked with chain saws all day.
“I’m ready,” I said.
“ ’Kay, we’re going in.”