A better part of valor, p.41
A Better Part of Valor, page 41
part #3 of Valorie Dawes Thrillers Series
“This is him,” Nick said, showing her his phone. The screen showed a much younger version of the man with LeeAnn, wearing a UConn basketball jersey. According to the accompanying text, Brandon Schofield flamed out of pro basketball after a single season, victim of a career-ending ACL tear. He married LeeAnn a year later and joined a Hartford insurance firm.
“What did she give Kent just now?” Val wondered aloud.
“I don’t know, but it sure pissed off her husband,” Nick said. “I wouldn’t want to be her right now.”
“What, you don’t think married couples fight?” Val frowned. Okay, if she wanted to learn about him, she might need to go first. “I think my parents fought more than they drank. Which was a lot.”
Nick sighed. “Sorry to hear. That can be tough to live with.”
Val shrugged. “I only had to live with half of it. After I turned fourteen, anyway. Mom couldn’t take it anymore, and she left. Dad…he’s still fighting. The bottle, I mean. Winning lately, so I hear, but I can’t baby-sit him, you know?” She stopped, and her heart skipped a beat. “Damn, I haven’t told anybody about that, besides Beth and my grief counselor when I was sixteen. What the hell, Nick? Did you cast some sort of magic talk spell on me tonight?”
Nick grinned and waved an invisible wand. “You are under my spell,” he intoned in cartoon-wizard-like fashion. “Speak!”
“Nope, your turn,” she said. “What was it like in the Evans household growing up?”
His smile faded and his eyes clouded over. “My parents didn’t fight, for the simple reason that my dad never dared contradict Mom. Nobody did. To call her overbearing would be the understatement of the century.”
“Are you close?” Val asked.
“To my dad, yes,” Nick said. “To my mom’s everlasting horror, I resented her, chafed at her bossiness, at her always telling me I wasn’t good enough. Mom had high standards. I never met them, and she let me know it.”
“Hence, you went away to college,” Val said in a soft voice.
“Bingo. And changed my major in sophomore year so it took me an extra semester to graduate.”
“So, why not go to grad school, or move somewhere else?” Val said. “I mean, it’s not like there are a ton of jobs around here.”
“I thought about law school. But…” Nick grew serious, his eyes downcast. “Mom’s stage four, liver cancer,” he said. “Inoperable. She has less than six months left.”
A football-sized lump formed in Val’s throat. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
“It was a mistake,” he said. “When I visited her in the hospital, at first she refused to see me. Told me I was an idiot for getting such a useless degree, and why wasn’t I married? And, was I gay? She actually asked me that, out loud, and not in a loving, understanding way,” he said, his voice bitter. “By the way, in case you’re wondering, I’m not.”
“I kind of guessed. Anyway, I’m sorry. That sucks.”
“You’re telling me!” Nick jumped up from the bench and crossed his arms, facing Val. “I wanted to tell her the truth—that she’s the reason I’m not married, why I can’t seem to relate to women, particularly strong women, in a healthy way. Of course I can’t, because…I don’t know. I just can’t. Even though I find strong women attractive. I can’t relate to the wilting flowers out there, who want their husband to do all their thinking for them—and yes, they do still exist. Especially in Ivy League schools, I think.”
Val stood and, smirking, pressed her hand against Nick’s folded arms and gave him a gentle push.
He stumbled but regained his footing, arms flailing. “What the hell?”
“You seem to be cured,” she said, her grin widening. “Here you are, with a strong woman, and you’re relating just fine.”
Nick stared at her, then burst into laughter. “Touché,” he said. “Damn. Thousands of dollars spent on shrinks for the past eight years, and you cure me with a simple shove. What do I owe you, Doc?”
“About an hour of your time, helping with cleanup,” Val said. “Come on, let’s get inside. This party’s almost over, and Beth’s probably about ready to send out a search-and-rescue team for me.”
He smiled and bowed low. “After you, m’lady.”
Val led him back inside, and a thought struck her. Nick’s difficult relationship with his mother led him to idealize strong women, yet unable to relate to them. In a sense, so did the Shoeless Schoolgirl Slayer.
Could that be the missing link needed to round out the killer’s profile? Might that provide the clue she needed about his background to narrow down her search?
***
The reunion ended with more of a whimper than a bang. Guests followed the lead of Amy and Kent, ducking out early for after-parties around the city. That left only a few dozen hangers-on in the space when the DJ announced the last song—a slow one, of course. The final few desperate singles eyed each other, weighing the pros, cons, and odds of a hookup with the remaining eligibles. A few took the plunge, along with the couples who’d arrived together. The drunk jock from earlier in the evening found another victim before he could reach Val. Nick cocked his head at Val, a questioning look aimed her way. She pretended not to see him and got a jump on clearing off and breaking down the unoccupied tables in the room’s dark corners.
Beth joined her after the event ended, sending Nick off to help a group of guys remove decorations that required ladders to reach. “I hope that’s okay,” Beth said. “I don’t want to mess up your plans with him, if you had any.”
“No, that’s cool,” Val said. “No plans to mess up.”
“That’s too bad.” Beth swept a stack of empty plastic drink cups into a garbage bag and paused a moment. “I was kind of hoping you and he…”
“Don’t you have, like, a dozen volunteer teams to supervise?” Val said, rolling a wad of used napkins into a ball and tossing it into a garbage can. “I’ve got this.”
“The more I get my own hands dirty, the sooner we get out of here,” Beth said. “So, why not Nick Evans? He’s smart, good-looking, athletic, and socially awkward. You’re two peas in a pod.”
“Thanks. You should create a Tinder profile for me. I’m sure I’ll get all swipe-lefts. Or is it right? I can never remember which one I want.”
“I’m not sure which one you’d want, either,” Beth said. “Most gals would def swipe right for Nick. Come on, what’s wrong with him?”
“Who said anything’s wrong?” Val said. “Not everyone knocks boots with a guy five minutes after meeting him.”
“So you do like him.” Beth followed Val to the next table.
“Sure. He’s a nice guy. All the things you said. Help me get this tablecloth off.” Val picked at the tape attaching the plastic to the underside of the table.
“Why not bring him to Kent and Amy’s after-party, then?” Beth said. “Get to know him a little better.”
“Because I’m not going.”
“Why not? You have better things to do at midnight?”
“Yes. Sleep.” Val tugged at another piece of tape, once again without success, and wondered if Gil had gone to bed yet.
“Come on, Val. Live a little. You have tomorrow off, right? You can sleep in.”
“I’m helping Gil in the morning.” Val gave up on peeling the tape and ripped the plastic, leaving a tiny stub behind.
“Helping him what? Hey, don’t tear the tablecloths like that. We’re hoping to reuse them.”
“Whatever he needs. Look, I can’t go to the party, okay? For a lot of reasons.” She checked to make sure no one was looking, then mimed smoking a joint. “I can’t even risk second-hand exposure. One positive drug test as a rookie and I’m fired forever.”
Beth frowned and stacked up some plastic chairs. “Sorry, I forgot about that. Well, the two of you could go get a drink or something.”
“Beth, please. I know you mean well, but I can take care of my own dating needs.”
Beth exhaled a gust of air and sat down in the only remaining unstacked chair. “Val, I worry about you. You’re an amazing person in so many ways, but in this one important way, you’re so…hard. On yourself, I mean.”
“Not this again.” Val pulled the table away from Beth and flipped it onto its side so she could fold its legs in.
“I’m sorry.” Beth thought for a moment. “I know I’m a broken record, but ever since Josh and I got together, I’ve realized how fabulous it can be when somebody gets you. When you let somebody get you. It’s something I wish everyone could have—especially you.”
“Why me?” Val said. “Why does my being single bother you so much? Because I’m such a weirdo?”
“No,” Beth said. “Because you’re my dearest and closest friend. It wouldn’t bother me if you were happily single. But you’re not. You’re miserable being a loner. There’s a big difference. Look, I saw how you were when you partnered with Gil. When you saw him every day, you were a different person. Happy. Energetic. It thrilled you to go to work each day, and it wasn’t because you loved arresting people. You two were a great team, and it meant a lot to you.”
“Where did that get me? I nearly got him killed.” Val dragged the folded-up table over to the wall next to some others, where a crew could come by to gather them later.
“It didn’t diminish how he feels for you, or you for him.”
“You don’t know that.” Val moved to another table.
Beth followed and grabbed a paper towel to wipe up a spill. “Here’s what I know. Whether it’s Gil, or Nick, or some other guy or gal, you owe it to yourself to open up your heart to another person. Let yourself love someone else and let them love you. It’ll change your life. I promise you.”
Val stopped cleaning and rested both hands on the table, palms down. “You know why I don’t feel open to that. You, of all people.”
Beth circled the table and stood next to Val, hands folded in front of her. “I also know that you haven’t let that stop you from caring about other people. I know what motivates you to find that schoolgirl killer and protect the girls who haven’t yet been victimized. You have a big heart, my friend. Someday, somebody besides me deserves a chance to see how much love lies within it.” She wrapped her arms around Val, squeezed her tight for several seconds, then stepped away, wiping a tear from her cheek. “I need to go supervise the idiot boys over there. Someone needs to teach them how to mop.” She walked away, head held high, as if they’d been discussing the weather or travel plans to Europe.
Val reached under the table and peeled away the tape, careful not to tear the plastic cover.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CLEANUP OF THE cafeteria took only about a half hour. Beth and Josh offered to drop Val off at home, but she declined. “It’s the complete opposite direction,” she said. “I can take an Uber.”
Nick Evans stepped in. “I can give you a ride,” he said. “Please.”
Beth’s eyebrows danced on her forehead. Do it! she mouthed. Then she mimed a kiss and raised her eyebrows again.
That settled it. “Thanks. I’d rather not this time.”
His face fell, and Val felt horrible. She did like the guy and he shouldn’t suffer rejection because of Beth’s pushiness. She smiled at Nick and extended her hand. “Give me your phone.”
He eyed her with mock suspicion, unlocked his phone, and placed it in her palm. Val punched in her digits and handed it back. “Call me next week?”
“I’ll wait with you for the Uber,” he said, smiling.
Fair enough. She assented.
When the car came, she braced for the inevitable kiss or inappropriately long hug. Instead, he took her hand in both of his and squeezed it. “I’ll talk to you soon.” Then he walked away with a slight spring in his step.
The driver, a young Asian man, chatted aimlessly as he drove. Val ignored him. Beth’s words ran through her mind, and the truth underlying them blasted through her friend’s intrusiveness. Val did put up a protective shield around her heart, never letting the slightest vulnerability show. She’d done it her whole life—since the rape, anyway.
Except once. Or, rather, with one man. The only man that made her feel better about herself, who understood that she needed to be about something more than just herself. That it was all about what she could do for others, especially for young women at risk from male predators. One man, and only one, celebrated who she was, and made her feel that was enough.
She sent a text. He was probably asleep, but no big deal if he saw it in the morning instead: Talk?
The reply came moments later. Anytime.
Now?
Several seconds passed. A minute. The driver chatted on about God-knows-what.
I said ANY time. Now, tomorrow, next week. ANY.
“Driver,” she said, interrupting him mid-sentence, “change of plans.”
***
The lights in Gil’s house shined like a welcoming beacon when the driver let her off, and she found the front door unlocked. “Burglar!” she shouted into the living room before letting herself in.
“S&W .45,” came the response from the kitchen. Gil limped in, paused, and extended his arms, resting his elbows on the pads of his crutches. “Get in here, you.”
She didn’t remember crossing the room, or opening up her arms and wrapping them around his thick, muscular torso, or him pressing her close. Didn’t remember dragging him to the couch, still enclosed in his embrace, or how long it all took. Didn’t remember seeing the pot of coffee already on the table, or letting go of him long enough to pour them both hot, steaming mugs of the delicious brew. But she believed him later when he insisted that’s how it happened. It explained the lightness in her heart, how her body shed the exhaustion and tension she’d borne all evening, and how she couldn’t. Stop. Smiling.
“I’ve missed you so damned much,” he said some minutes after Val’s sense of time and reality returned.
“It’s only been three days,” she said. “Hasn’t it?”
“If by days, you mean eons,” he said. “Fill me in on everything. Don’t leave out a single detail. Start with why you’re wearing such an amazing dress. Hell, why you’re wearing any dress. I didn’t know you owned one.”
“It’s brand-new,” she said. “I bought it for the high school reunion tonight.”
“Seriously?” Gil laughed. “First off, you went to a reunion? I didn’t think you did stuff like that. Much less in formal dress. And those fancy shoes!”
“Long story. The short version is, Beth,” she said. “Here’s the curious thing, though. Guess who showed up?”
“The mayor?”
She smacked his chest with the back of her palm. “Spoil sport, guessing right off. How did you know?”
Gil pointed to the TV. “It was on the news. They missed the real story, though. They should have led with ‘Val Dawes wears a hot dress.’ Seriously, you look, dare I say it, sexy.”
“Stop it. The news? I didn’t see any crews there.”
“They didn’t show your graduating class.” He winced and shifted his weight on the sofa, her sign to break the embrace with him. “Everything Megan Iverson does is news these days. Her poll numbers are looking good—thanks to you and the WAVE Squad, I might add.”
“That’s kind of what I want to talk to you about,” Val said. “Not about Megan, though. It’s her husband. Curtis still creeps me out, and something tells me he has something to do with these Shoeless murders.”
“Lay it on me,” Gil said, wincing again. “This sounds good.”
“Are you feeling okay?” Val said. “You look like you’re in pain.”
“I am. Hot tip from a pro: don’t re-break your hip.” He grimaced again and leaned back on the sofa.
“Do you need your meds or anything?” Val asked.
“No!” His arm shot out, bumping her chest and preventing her from getting up. “I mean…I’m taking myself off the meds. Too freaking addictive.”
“Gil, is that wise? Shouldn’t you consult with your doctor first?”
“I will if it gets worse. I’m fine. Talk to me.” He stretched out his good leg and let out a slow breath.
“Okay.” She kept an eye on him as she talked, glad that she’d come over after all. If he needed a trip to the hospital, she could ensure he got one. “I analyzed the case from the point of view of the victims. What did they have in common? And whom? What did each of them need that would let them get trapped by a serial killer?”
“Good approach,” he said. “What did you come up with?”
“First, the obvious stuff,” Val said. “They’re all high school juniors or seniors. All active in school sports and clubs—things that build a resume. All had ambitions to go to a top-of-the-line college—Ivy League or close to it. Yet they all came from families that could never afford it. Not in a million years.”
“Right. So they needed help to get in, and to pay for it. Like that last girl, Sierra—she did some drug dealing, right?”
“Right,” Val said. “Now, I don’t see Sierra as a Shoeless Slayer victim. I think she’s the victim of a copycat. Drug deal gone bad, and they dressed it up to look like a Shoeless case. But they missed an important detail we withheld from the public.”
“What’s that?” Gil said. “You can tell me. I’m still on the force.”
“Technically I shouldn’t,” Val said, “but they threw me off the WAVE Squad, so screw them. The Slayer tagged each of his victims with a tattoo on their lower leg. We call it the Chingona tattoo—Rosie the Riveter’s face and arm with Chingona written underneath.”
“Why that?” Gil asked. No more wincing in pain. Maybe police work made it all feel better.
“It translates, roughly, to ‘Girl Power.’ I think it’s an ironic reference to the Slayer’s attitude toward women. He’s selecting victims who appear strong—empowered—and who are also vulnerable. Girls who need a little help to bust through the glass ceilings holding them back. Financial limitations, gender expectations, and racial bias.”
“Exploiting their vulnerabilities somehow to gain their trust,” Gil said, nodding. “How does he get them tattooed, though? That’d take some time, and word would get out.”
