Devil take me down, p.21
Devil Take Me Down, page 21
part #2 of Clementine Toledano Mystery Series
She took a deep breath before continuing. “So, I didn’t know, at all, how to respond to what he was saying. I didn’t know he was serious and he was just trying to tell me that he loved me. So, I didn’t say anything and he walks away, telling me he’s said his peace and he’ll call me a cab,” she remembered. “But as I’m getting ready to walk out the door, he says something like, ‘Have a nightcap with me, darlin’. I promise, no funny business, just a friendly drink and a game of pool. I just want to spend some time with you.’”
“But he had other plans?” Sanger asked.
Q shook her head. “No, it was all me. We were racking up the balls and he leaned over me to put the last one into the frame and I told him I missed him, too. Because I did.”
Her voice trailed off remembering what came next. “How much further do you want me to go?”
Sanger finished his note and looked up. “That’s good. I think I can fill in the blanks unless you think there’s anything relevant.” She didn’t, so he continued, “Do you think anyone looking in through one of the windows could have seen something?”
“Sure. Probably got a really good show,” she said, yawning as fatigue finally began to take hold.
“How long did you stay at the Cove after everyone left?” he asked.
“I don’t know a couple hours, maybe?” she guessed.
“No wonder you and Ben are always in such a good mood,” he teased.
She reached down to pick up discarded throw pillow and flung it at him. “Fuck you. We did eventually play a game of pool.”
He easily dodged the incoming projectile and ignored her. “Where did you go after you left the Cove?”
“We were supposed to go to the apartment. I’d promised him that I’d spend the night. He said wanted to cook me breakfast. Wanted to take me to the zoo and walk around Audubon park the next day. But once we got outside I changed my mind…” she suddenly stopped talking.
“Why?” he asked.
“It was the stupidest thing, but there was this shadow under the live oak. The one that sits right next to the apartment? It was just a still, dark shadow, nothing really, but it creeped me out. Reminded me somehow about the night I was raped. Threatening, not safe. Anyway, it was a cold shower and after that I just wanted to go home. Ben was really hurt, but he took me home, anyway. I don’t know where he went after that.” She paused for minute. “Do you think it was him? Under that live oak?”
He nodded in agreement. “Yes, I do. So, stay with me here.” Sanger looked through his notes, “Let’s say our guy was one of the afterhours crowd at the Cove that night. He sees you fight with Ben, maybe even sees his opportunity to turn your attention to him instead. So, he waits outside for you to come out. When you don’t, he sticks around and gets a free show. But it had to have pissed him off. I mean, until then, he knew you were with Ben, but he didn’t have to watch. So, he gets angry. Really angry with Ben and decides to steal himself a get-out-of-jail-free card to save for later, that would fuck Ben’s world up at the same time.”
“Blech,” she grimaced.
“Blech, indeed. But it would narrow down the suspect pool. Have to be someone who was there that night and who had keys,” he said with a wink.
“So…Josh,” Q frowned. “I was so hoping it wasn’t him, but that would put him in the hot seat.”
“Nobody else has keys? Other employees? Friends? Family?” he asked.
“I’d have to ask Ben… or Josh,” she said. She stretched and yawned. “You really think that’s what happened?”
“It’s not the craziest idea we’ve had. You’ll need to try and remember who all was there that night and we’ll need to figure out the keys, but it’s at least a lead.” He stood up and smiled encouragingly. “It would also explain the Aster scene. Whoever did that was enraged. Maybe he found out about her and Ben getting back together. That negligée was almost ripped clean in two.
Q stood up with him and directed him towards the guest room. “Now that I’m thoroughly creeped out, I think we should get some rest and take a fresh look in the morning,” she said. “Remember, best sleep ever.”
He stopped as he passed her and kissed her on the temple. “It’ll be alright, Clementine. Get some sleep.”
She watched him walk into the kitchen before double checking the alarm and the deadbolt. Once she was upstairs in her bedroom, she peeled off her clothes and crawled into bed, hugging Ben’s pillow, trying to entice sleep to come. She finally rolled over and reached for her phone. Scrolling through her saved voice message until she found the one she was looking for, she pressed play, putting her phone to her ear.
Ben’s gravelly voice purred through the speaker, “Hey QT pie, I was just missin’ you. Thought I’d call and tell you that. I won’t be late. Meet you at home. I love you, darlin’.”
When the message ended, Q pressed play again, repeating it over and over until her eyes fluttered and sleep finally came.
~~~
Q buzzed around the kitchen, humming to herself over the steady rhythm of the water flowing in the guest shower. Having another being with her in the house filled her with a delirious sense of normalcy. Having finally put together a plausible scenario for how Ben’s DNA had been found on a dead woman's mouth simultaneously filled her with relief.
Ben didn’t do this.
She smiled to herself and leaned over the counter, tapping her fingers to the beat, beat, beat of the brewing coffee. When it started its death rattle, she snuck a quick cup and danced to the refrigerator for some cream.
She had just taken a delicious sip, feeling the caffeine soothe her mild hangover headache. Humming quietly to herself, she looked at the list in front of her, still trying to fill in the names of everyone who’d been at the Cove that night in January over a year ago.
Ben didn’t do this.
The doorbell rang and she skipped to open it. She flung open the door without looking through the window and was surprised to find Frank Bettendorf standing on her doorstep. In his hand, he held a bag of what Q could only assume by the smell was fresh beignets.
“Hi, Frank. What’s going on?” she asked, taking a sip of coffee.
Ben didn't do this, but maybe this motherfucker did.
“I just... well, I knew you were alone and I thought you could use some company and breakfast,” he said, holding up the bag.
Before she could utter a response, Sanger walked into the living room, shirtless and barefoot in yesterday's wrinkled pants. His towel was slung over his shoulder and he was still using it to dry his hair. Despite herself, Q found herself staring at the example of masculine beauty before her. She blinked in surprise. Polo shirts and khakis went a long way to hide Aaron Sanger’s obviously obsessive fitness regimen.
Oblivious to his audience, Sanger shook out the remaining water in his left ear and asked, “Hey do you have a big shirt or does Ben have a small one I could borrow? Mine reeks of failure and whiskey.”
He paused when he saw Frank in the door.
Q turned to Sanger and said, “Sure, baby, I have shirt that might fit you. Come meet Frank Bettendorf, my neighbor. He brought us beignets. Isn’t that sweet?”
Ben didn't do this. And if this motherfucker did, I’m going to prove it. One giant dose of jealousy, coming up, you potentially psychopathic asshole.
Momentary confusion flickered across Sangers face until he noticed Frank glaring at him as he approached. When Q slipped her arm around his waist, Sanger quickly caught on. He lay a possessive arm around her shoulders and held out his hand to Frank, who reluctantly took it.
“I’m sorry,” Frank said. “I thought Q’d be alone.”
“Aaron is a family friend. My grandmother actually wanted me to marry him instead of Ben.” She gave Sanger a conspiratorial squeeze, enjoying watching Frank squirm. “Anyway, he saw that horrible story on the news yesterday and came over to be with me.”
Frank started, “So you and Ben are…”
“…on a little break, maybe. I don’t know,” she finished. “It’s just too much. I mean, I love him, but…”
“… you never really do know somebody,” Sanger finished.
Frank said firmly to Q, “I know Ben. You do, too.”
Frank’s sincerity threw Q’s confidence and she snatched the bag of beignets from his hand, thanking him for his kindness before turning to Sanger and saying, “I’ll go find you something to cover up all those muscles.”
She removed herself from Sanger and headed upstairs, carelessly discarding the beignets on the table in the foyer on her way. As she climbed the stairs, she heard Sanger say, “Thanks for stopping by, man, but Clementine needs her friends right now.”
The door was closing by the time she got to the top of the stairs. She rummaged through her basket of faded swag shirts and finally found a men’s large that looked like it might fit Sanger. As she was heading back downstairs, she heard low voices arguing below. She sat on the top stairs to listen, peacefully sipping her coffee.
“You need to back off, brother,” Frank was saying. “Q doesn’t need someone trying to get in her bed. She needs a shoulder to lean on.”
Sanger said, “You’re right, brother. And right now, I’m that shoulder. She doesn’t even know you.”
“I know her better than you, and there’s no way she’s just leaving Ben for you,” Frank snarled. “Back off, I’m warning you.”
“Clementine is a grown woman. She can decide for herself who she spends her time with,” Sanger replied calmly.
Q decided to throw a little gas on the fire and came lightly down the stairs, saying, “Aaron, baby, I hope you like kitschy alligators because all I have is this old blood donation shirt.”
She snapped the t-shirt over his shoulder. Sanger lifted the shirt off his shoulder and put it to his nose, inhaling deeply, before turning around to her.
“Mmm, and it smells like you,” he said in a low voice, and leaned down to kiss her. Q instinctively pulled away and tried to play it off as if she just noticed Frank still standing there.
She slipped around Sanger and said, “I’m sorry, Frank, I thought you’d left.”
“I’m leaving now,” he said, looking at Sanger, not her.
Q followed him onto the porch. “Frank,” she said. “I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t tell anybody about Aaron. I mean there really isn’t anything to tell, but, it wouldn’t look good for Ben and I don’t want to make things worse for him.”
Frank smiled. “No, of course not. Hey, why don’t you come to my place for dinner tonight, get your mind off things.”
Nice move, Clementine.
Her mind raced for an excuse that wouldn’t involve Sanger spending the night again.
“It’s Saturday. Damn it, Frank. I have rehearsal,” she explained. Bonus points for being the actual truth.
“Tomorrow?” he asked.
“I’ll have to let you know. I’m under contract for this big production, that I can’t talk about, and it’s going to eat up a lot of my time,” she said. “I promise, if I get an evening free, you’ll be the first call I make.”
He squeezed her hand and said, “Take care of yourself. I know this isn’t easy, but you’ll get through it. Don’t give up on Ben just yet.”
Q nodded and walked back inside.
Sanger closed the door behind her and watched Frank cross the street through its window.
“I like him,” he said, pulling on his borrowed shirt.
“You do?” she asked, nonplussed. “I think he’s strange as fuck. Nobody is that nice.”
“No, I mean I like him for the doer,” he explained, walking over to the table to fetch the beignets. He opened the bag and took one out. He shook copious amounts of powdered sugar back into the white paper bag before taking a bite.
“You’re eating a serial killer’s beignets?” she asked.
“I’m a cop,” he replied. “I never turn down free donuts.
Q laughed and said, “You’re getting powdered sugar everywhere. Come on and eat that in the kitchen, please.”
They sat at the table and Sanger tossed her the bag. She pushed it back to him.
“Not such a fan of sweets in the morning,” she said. She sat back and sipped her coffee, handing him her unfinished list. “I started making a list of everyone I remember being at the Cove that night, but right now Josh is still the only viable suspect we have.”
Sanger got up and poured himself a cup of coffee into the waiting mug Q had left out for him. “He’s our only viable suspect only if he’s the only one with keys to the Cove and if that’s where the sample was stolen. And if the sample was stolen on Sunday, not Monday.”
“Thank you for calling it, ‘the sample’, you don’t know how tired I am of talking about Ben’s semen,” she remarked.
“You and me both,” Sanger agreed. “What if he got it here? Frank, I mean…from Ben’s trash, the day after the actual murder, instead. Monday’s trash day, so Ben would have left it out Sunday. You spend the night, Frank gets jealous, gets a little evidence from the garbage, and goes back to frame Ben. They didn't find Aucoin for four days. He had plenty of time. He could have got the beer bottle from the Hunter scene the same way.”
Q shook her head. “No, Ben was with me all day that Sunday. I don’t remember him putting out the trash bins before we left the house. Besides, how would Frank have known to look in the trash for used condoms…and why that night? And later on, how would he have known the bottle was Ben's, not mine?"
Sanger finished his beignet and reached for another. “Fair points, all. Anything different about that night? The night Tracy Aucoin was killed?”
“It was the first night I spent here,” Q offered.
“You mean all night?” he asked.
“No, I mean ever. I’d never been to his house before,” she said. “That’s pretty weak.”
“Everybody’s relationship evolves differently,” he reassured her.
Q swatted at an invisible fly, again, catching herself. Oh, god, I’m turning into Bubbe.
“No, it’s a weak reason for somebody to rummage through seven days of garbage, searching for one or two used condoms,” she explained. “Let’s face it, Aaron. We’re grasping. We’re no closer than we were yesterday.”
She put her head down on the table and started to cry before she could stop herself. Sanger sipped his coffee and didn’t say anything, waiting for her to regain her composure.
“We’ll find him, Clementine,” he said when she finally looked up.
“That’s what we keep telling ourselves,” she replied cynically, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “But in the meantime, Ben’s in jail and everything’s falling apart. Not to mention Frank is probably calling Sheila Jordan and/or every one of Ben’s friends telling them what a cheating whore I am.”
“That was smart,” he said.
“You think?”
“Yes, actually,” he said. “Frank is nice. Too nice. I’m with you on that. If he wants you for himself, he’ll call the news…because it hurts Ben. If he wants me out to protect Ben’s interests, he’ll call their friends.”
“And if he doesn’t tell anyone?” she asked.
“Then maybe he really is that nice and we really are back to where we started.”
Into Darkness
When Q arrived at the monolithic brick warehouse off Tchoupitoulas, a rumble from within was breaking dusk’s silence. Alethia whistled and opened her window. She leaned her head out of the cab, looking up at the building.
“Baby girl, you sure you have the right address?” she asked.
A sign in gold script over the black door read:
Through me you pass into eternal pain
and primeval Love.
Eternal, and eternal I endure.
Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
“This is definitely the place. Thanks, Ms. Alethia,” she said, handing her the fair.
“I’m gonna wait a few minutes, just in case, make sure you get in alright,” she said, maternal worry stitching her arched eyebrows together.
Q gave her shoulder a grateful squeeze and got out of the cab. When she approached the door, she heard a low buzz and the door swung open easily at her touch. She squinted into the darkness. A bored looking man in his twenties sat on a barstool with a clipboard on his lap. His curly red hair was pulled back into a pony tail.
“Name?” he asked.
“Clementine Toledano, I’m…” she began.
“Not on the list,” he finished.
“I should be, I’m supposed to be rehearsing here in twenty minutes,” she said, confused.
He shrugged in vague disinterested. “I don’t know what to tell you, lady, you’re not on the list.”
“Check again, please. Clementine Toledano. T-O-L-E-D-A-N-O,” she repeated, losing her patience.
He scanned the list. “Nope.”
She pulled out her phone and sent an annoyed text to Derek. Within minutes, he appeared at her side.
“What gives, Cincinnati? You want me here for stage rehearsals or not? Your little minion says I’m not on the list,” she repeated her text message nearly verbatim.
“I read your text, Q. I wanted to escort you through to the ballroom myself. I’ve arranged a dress rehearsal just for you and the rest of the Angels. It’s the only time you’ll get to see the circles, this year…except your own, of course,” he smiled graciously.
“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “This gonna be a normal thing? Me having to call you to come through?”
“Add her to the list,” he instructed.
The redheaded minion whined, “I can’t spell that name.”
“Q,” Derek replied. “Just write ‘Q’. And memorize her face. It won’t be difficult.”
Derek took Q’s unwilling arm and led her down an illuminated walkway to a doorway curtained in red velvet.
“You’ve already made it through Limbo, now onto Lust.” He opened the curtain with a dramatic flair.
Red smoke swirled around her feet, blown by a cold wind. Sheer white fabric hung around them and hedonistic moans filed the air. Q jumped when naked bodies began to writhe against the wall of elastic white cloth on her right. The billowing translucent curtains on the left revealed couples entwined in various erotic poses.
