Devil take me down, p.5
Devil Take Me Down, page 5
part #2 of Clementine Toledano Mystery Series
“Wait,” Ben said, sitting up in bed. “What is with you this morning?”
Q thought for a moment and decided to be done with the Sock Drawer Secret once and for all. “What could possibly be wrong, Ben? You’ve been talking about one of the many, many, many women in this city who are in love with you for the past two days solid, and then there’s that little thing in your sock drawer. It’s been there for three months and nothing. So, what is it?"
“You’ve been looking in my sock drawer?” Ben asked, perplexed.
She rolled her eyes and strode into the bathroom, calling, “You needed socks. I washed them. I was trying to be a good girlfriend - whatever the hell that means. And there it was….” Q turned on the shower before peeking back into the bedroom and saying, “I shouldn’t have looked, I know, and I’m sorry. But I found it and I know you bought a ring months ago. So maybe you changed your mind and that’s okay, but I’m tired of wondering about it. Maybe we just need to figure out where we are…”
She ducked back into the bathroom. She hated to feel needy or weak in any way, but she was scared. As sure as she was that Ben loved her, knowing that he had bought a ring and had not given it to her yet, after so many months, shook her confidence.
“I thought you musicians understood timing,” he called after her.
Fucking timing. Again, with the fucking timing.
Having failed to come up with a laconic response, Q started her shower and whispered prayers for Ben to join her and explain his reticence.
He loves you. Calm down.
She showered slowly, trying to regain her composure. When she came back into the bedroom, she found that Ben had vacated the premises for more favorable climes. She put on jeans and an ‘As I Lay Dying’ t-shirt, mainly because she knew that the subtext of that particular band name aggravated Ben, and marched downstairs. The ambrosia of freshly baking biscuits and simmering gravy washed over her the further into the ground floor she walked.
She entered the kitchen to find Ben barefoot in a white t-shirt and jeans, stirring the gravy. A steaming cup of chicory was already on the table, topped off with just the right amount of cream and sugar. She sat down and took a sip.
Ben stirred the gravy in silence for several moments before saying, “I couldn’t find the right time. I picked it out. I got it sized. And I waited and waited because someone like you deserves one perfect moment.”
He stopped stirring and said to no one in particular, “I love you, Clementine Toledano.”
Q took a guilty swallow and told the old wood table, “I love you, too.”
She closed her eyes and opened them to find Ben on his knees before her. He pressed something into her palm.
“Marry me,” he said simply.
Q shook her head and closed her eyes again. “Not like this, please.”
“Not like what?” Ben asked. “In our home, in the same spot I first told you that I loved you; with your favorite breakfast cooking; after a morning, of what I would consider - and I’m speaking from experience here - better than average orgasms.”
She opened her eyes and focused on his amber stare, suddenly mute.
“Are you seriously going to make me convince you after that riot act you read me upstairs?” he asked with a crooked grin.
Q laughed and shook her head. After long moments of silence, he whispered, “Marry me.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
Ben slipped the ring on her finger and pulled her to him. He kissed her slowly and intensely before saying mischievously, “Breakfast’s going to be a bit, what shall we do to pass the time?”
Q pulled his t-shirt up over his head. She kissed him, before pulling off her own shirt. Holding each other bare-chested, Ben unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them down in a single fluid motion. She started to reciprocate, but he held out his hand to stop her. Ben knelt before her, his thumb sliding up along her inner thigh until it reached her clitoris. Q gasped.
He watched her as his hand resumed its careful manipulation and her pleasure intensified. A guttural cry emanated from her lips. She grabbed his hand in a futile attempt to push him away. He slipped two long fingers inside of her and the orgasm that crashed down on her erupted through her throat and she screamed in non-syllabic pleasure.
She was still shivering as he stood her up and pulled her towards the door and back upstairs to their bedroom.
“The gravy’s going to burn,” she chided, breathless.
“Fuck the gravy.” He turned and lifted Q off her feet and over his shoulder. She giggled helplessly as he carried her upstairs.
Later, as she lay naked under the ceiling fan, tangled up with her newly minted fiancé, eating biscuits with fig jam and mildly burnt gravy, Q suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been worried about.
~~~
As they were leaving the house for Sunday dinner with the Bordelon clan, Q finally conceded that Ben was right and they should probably check on Beth.
“Itching to show her that ring on your finger, aren’t you?” Ben teased as he locked the door.
Q slapped his back. “No, jerkface.”
She started to take the ring off, but Ben covered her hand with his. “That stays put, darlin’,” he said. “Come on, let’s go interrupt that fuckathon. Just promise me, you’ll keep your ‘I told you so’s’ to yourself.”
She grinned as he kissed her cheek. “Deal.”
It was late afternoon when they pulled up to Beth’s address in the lower Garden District. Beth’s apartment was on the lower floor of an old Victorian. Its weather-beaten, bubblegum pink paint resembled a manicure that had seen better days. They walked through the sagging chain link gate and around the side of the house. The lawn had long ago been replaced by weeds and patches of cracked earth.
Ben walked up the steps to the side porch and Beth’s apartment door with purpose, quickly rapping on the door. Q tapped her foot impatiently and waited for it to open. When nothing happened after several moments, she said, “Maybe she’s not here.”
Ben knocked again and said loudly, “Beth, it’s me, Ben. I’m not mad, darlin’, just worried about you. Q and me wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
Several moments of silence greeted him in response. Ben knocked and turned the door handle. The door opened easily and he peered inside before exclaiming, “Q, call 911.”
He rushed inside, leaving the door open wide. Q followed him inside with horror, fumbling with her phone. The inside of Beth’s apartment was in chaos. The pictures on the wall behind her couch hung at lopsided forty-five degree angles and the coffee table was crushed. A lamp lay shattered in the corner. Beth’s body was lying in the middle of the kitchen floor. Her face was badly bruised and a pool of blood had formed beneath her head.
Ben was on his knees beside her, feeling for a pulse, yelling her name.
The familiar roar of a panic attack filled Q’s ears as she struggled to remember to breathe. She futilely attempted to unlock her phone before finally giving up and tapping the Emergency button on the screen.
“911. What is your emergency?” The operator’s voice floated in the distance behind her panic’s constant roaring.
The operator repeated his question. Q’s mouth moved uselessly trying to form words until she finally gasped. “Ben…he…. Beth…”
Ben looked up in time to see Q’s strength failing her and crossed the room to take the phone from her. He wrapped his arm around her waist to support her, guiding her out of the room and onto the porch, as he instructed the emergency operator where they were and what they had found. By the time he sat Q down on the top step of the porch, her vision had faded and she struggled to resist the pull of unconsciousness.
She tried to focus on slowing her breathing. Closing her eyes, she began whispering the chord changes of the first song she could think of. “A7, D9, D, B-minor 7, F# minor, B7, F#-major, G-major, F#-major, E-minor 7, E-diminished, G-major…”
She was halfway through the second verse before she realized Ben was speaking to her.
“Q, darlin’, talk to me,” Ben was crouched on the ground below her, staring up at her.
She inhaled deeply and opened her eyes, giving him a wan smile. “You’d think I’d be used to seeing dead bodies by now, wouldn’t you?”
“I thought you were going to pass out.” Ben stood up and sat next to her on the porch.
“Funny how that happens when you forget to breathe,” she said, leaning her head on his shoulder.
Ben put his arm around her and held her tightly. "She's dead," he said plainly.
Q nodded and rested her full weight against him. They sat in silence until they finally heard sirens in the distance coming closer. Ben helped her to stand and they both walked to the front of the house.
Two cruisers and an unmarked sedan parked behind Ben’s Audi and a familiar face emerged. Before Q’s godfather, Uncle Ernst, had retired, Detective Aaron Sanger had been his partner and although he was much closer to Q’s age then Ernst’s, the two had become good friends as well. He walked over to Q and Ben, slicking his curly chestnut brown hair back with his left hand.
“Trouble likes to follow you around a bit, Ms. Toledano,” he said, holding out his hand to her as two uniformed officers strode past them towards Beth’s apartment. “Saw your uncle the other day. He spends more time at his camp than in town these days.”
Q took his hand, relieved to have a brief small talk reprieve, feeling the last of her panic attack fade away. “That boat of his has been in virtual dry dock for the last two decades. Glad he’s finally getting some use out of it. Just wish he’d share some redfish a little more often.”
“He probably wishes he caught enough to share.” Detective Sanger grinned momentarily before flipping an internal business switch to the ‘on’ position. He settled his gun-metal grey eyes boring down like a laser, seeking to uncover any secrets they might be hiding. “You want to tell me what happened?”
Ben stepped forward. “Probably better for you to see for yourself.”
Sanger scratched the back of his neck. “Like to hear it from you first. While it’s still fresh.”
Ben nodded and explained, “Beth, she’s been working at my place for five years gone at least.”
“Beth is the victim?”
“Yes, sir. Beth Hunter. She’s always been a great employee. Reliable. Trustworthy. But the past month or so, she hasn’t been herself. My head bartender said she’d started seeing someone and was all strung out in love or something," Ben said, shrugging his shoulders. "Anyway, this past Friday, she was a no show for work. Sent me a text almost an hour after her shift was supposed to start, saying her car was broken down way the hell down in the ninth ward on Villere. So, I text her back, telling her I’ll pick her up and bring her to work, but the address she gave me was just an empty lot. I get there, no Beth, no tow truck.”
“You try calling her?” Sanger asked, taking some notes.
“A few times,” Ben told him, “but she didn’t answer. While I was waiting, trying to figure out what to do, Q called and needed me, so I called in some reinforcements for the Cove and went on home.”
“What time did you get home?”
“I don’t know,” Ben said, shaking his head apologetically. “Eleven. Eleven-thirty? It was about nine when I left the Cove to get Beth. It wasn’t a quick trip.”
“That’s one hell of schlep down through the Quarter and back on a Friday night during Southern Decadence.” Sanger said in sympathy.
“You’ve got that right,” Ben agreed. “So, last night we’re slammed. Sold Out. The Soul Queens reuniting for one night only at the Cove. Now, nights like that, we all make money, good money, but Beth, she sends me this text.”
Ben took his phone out of his front pocket and pulled up the message for Sanger, before handing him the phone.
Sanger read out loud, “Sorry, bossman. Can’t come in tonight.”
He handed the phone back to Ben. “This something she does regularly.”
“Hell, no. I tried calling to find out what was going on with her, but she didn't answer. So, I left a couple of pissed off messages before I gave up and asked my manager to call in a friend of his to help out. She didn’t get there until way past eleven and walked out with nearly a grand in tips. Beth would have made a month’s pay in one night, easy. No way she’d turn that down,” Ben explained.
“That why you got worried?” Sanger asked.
“Yeah, it just stayed with me. If she was in trouble, I’d want to help. If she was just fucking off, she’d have to go. We keep a small staff so everyone can make as much money as possible. You don’t want to be on the team, you need to go work for someone else.” Ben paused suddenly. “I should have gone to check on her yesterday. I should have known she was in trouble.”
Q put a supportive arm around his waist.
Sanger nodded towards the house. “You touch anything while you were in there?”
Ben shook his head, “I don’t think so…the door, obviously, and I felt for a pulse, so maybe the floor? I can’t remember. It all happened so fast and Q, she started to faint…”
“Panic attack.” Q interrupted to explain. “I get them sometimes since the whole Niko thing. I saw Beth and I forgot to breathe, it was stupid. I might have touched the door frame. Maybe the desk? I know better. Sorry.”
Sanger looked at her closely, worried. “You need medical attention?”
“I’m fine now, really. It comes on fast, but thankfully it goes away about as quick.” She smiled reassuringly.
“You getting treatment for it?” he asked.
“PTSD?” she asked.
Sanger nodded.
“Only when I can’t control it. Usually I can.” Her panic attacks had come roaring back after Niko had tried to kill her. Lucky for her, the first ER doctor that treated her for one, had given her a trick that actually worked. That she was master of her own terror had filled her with enough confidence that they became rarer and rarer.
A uniformed officer returned and Sanger followed him into Beth’s apartment. Q turned to Ben, massaging her right temple, “This is one hell of a way to start our engagement.”
“They’ve got to find who did this,” Ben said. His eyes followed the activity on the side of the building. He turned to rest his lips on the top of Q’s head.
“You have any idea who she was seeing?” Q asked.
“Not a one,” he replied. “There were a couple of regulars who were sweet on her. Maybe one of them? She kept it a big secret. I don’t even know how Joe found out. You don’t think her boyfriend did this?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time…” she said pointedly.
“No way someone who loved her did this,” Ben said, setting his jaw in disgust.
“Not every man loves the way you do,” Q smiled, but it only made Ben’s face fall.
Sanger came back to them holding two plastic bags. He handed it to Ben. “Any idea why Ms. Hunter would have these on her nightstand?”
Q regarded the framed pictures. Beth and Ben smiling, his arm around her waist. Beth and Ben dancing, him twirling her around. “These are from the Cove's Facebook page,” she murmured. “I took these at the Hannumas party last year.”
“Hannumas?” he asked, confused.
“A joint party to celebrate Christmas and Hanukkah,” Q clarified. “We threw it on the last night of Hanukkah last year. It was also Christmas eve.”
Sanger looked at the pictures again before asking, “Any idea why she would frame these?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she just liked the way she looked in them. But to be honest, I always thought she had a little crush on Ben.” Q shrugged.
Sanger turned to Ben, “Would it surprise you if she was infatuated with you, Mr. Bordelon?”
“Yes…” he began emphatically.
“No,” Q interrupted. “Look, Detective, Ben’s beautiful. Women stare at him and flirt with him constantly. Beth was one of those women.” She shrugged nonchalantly.
“You don’t seem too bothered by that,” Sanger said, mildly surprised.
“He doesn’t stare or flirt back, so no, I’m not bothered by it. Ben’s a one-woman man and right now I’m that woman.” Q held up her left hand for emphasis.
Sanger momentarily dropped his detective mask and smiled. “Mazel tov. I didn’t know.”
“Just happened this morning,” Ben said, proudly.
“This is one hell of a way to start your engagement,” Sanger said, sympathetically.
Ben grinned and pointed his head to Q. “That’s what she said.”
Sanger paused briefly and looked through his notes. “Look, I’d normally need you two to come down to the station and answer some questions, but I'm sure you have family you’re itchin’ to tell, so I’ll take your statements and then you can come in sometime this week. Sound good?”
Ben replied, “Whatever you need, we’re here to help.”
“Do you have any idea who she was seeing?” Sanger asked.
“No, I was just telling Q that. I didn’t really get into her personal business much. I know a couple of regulars were sweet on her, but I have no idea how far that went.” Ben paused. “Look, you should know that Beth and me, we dated for a minute about six or seven years ago. It didn’t amount to anything, but that might be why she had those pictures.”
“Why do you think she kept those pictures, Ms. Toledano?” Sanger turned to Q. “I always trust a woman more in these instances.”
“I always figured she had a thing for Ben. She didn’t like me one bit. Not always, but after I moved in with Ben, the AC definitely got turned down to freezing. She wasn’t pleased," Q said. “I even tried to fix her up with one of my bandmates, just to get her onto someone else.”
“How’d that go over?” Sanger asked.
“Seeing as how she found Charlie in the storeroom screwing our opening act that same night, not too well.” Q sighed.
“So we can probably rule out Charlie.” Sanger grinned.
Q shook her head, “Pretty safe to say.”
Sanger turned back to Ben. “Any way you could get me the names and numbers of the rest of your staff?”
