Love Me If You Must

29

I tiptoed to the window and peeked through the glass, shielding my eyes to block the glare. I could vaguely see movement almost directly below me at the basement window over the cistern.

I squinted and craned for a better view. Could be a dog.

I bit my lip. Or the person who did in Dietz.

My heart kicked into overdrive. Oh, for a pair of outdoor floodlights.

I heard scratching, like someone prying at the window casing.

I slunk toward my bedroom, avoiding the squeaky spots on the floor. I dug through my jean jacket for my cell phone and dialed Brad’s home number. I’d had enough of the criminal justice system to last the rest of my life. I sure didn’t want any more officials at my door. But maybe, if Brad was off duty, he could come by just as a friend and nab whoever was outside peeling my paint.

“Hello?”

I almost sagged to the floor in relief. He was home.

“Brad. Hi. It’s Tish. Um, I think there’s someone behind my house, and I was hoping you would take a look for me. Unofficially, of course.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Sure, Tish. I’ll be right there.”

Ten minutes or more passed. I heard a knock at the back door.

I opened it to find Brad standing with Jack Fitch.

“I found your visitor.” Brad glanced at Jack.

“Jack?” I said his name in a high-pitched squeak. “What were you doing back there?”

“I didn’t get to finish. Have to finish.”

I shook my head, bewildered, and looked at Brad. “Finish what?”

Brad touched my elbow and spoke to me in a low voice. “Can I talk to you alone for a minute?”

I glanced at Jack. He seemed consumed with his cuticles.

I shrugged. “Sure. Come on in.”

Both men entered. Jack stood in the kitchen while I led Brad to the new love seat. We sat down at the same time. I scrunched back into my own corner as far as I could go. Our knees angled toward each other, almost touching.

Brad blew out a breath and looked at the fireplace. “Jack has a bit of a compulsion. He likes to finish what he starts.” He smiled and looked at me. “A lot of people are like that. But with Jack, it’s really hard for him to let go of the waterproofing project he helped with last year. He wasn’t there when the crew finished, and he worries that it got left undone.”

“Did you bring him down there and show it to him?”

“Yeah. He’s seen it. But he always insists it isn’t finished and he has to finish the job.”

“Okay. So he was trying to get in my basement just now to finish a year-old project that’s already done?” No wonder Dorothy had flinched at my mention of ghosts that day on the porch. She figured Jack was doing the haunting.

Brad tapped his fingertips together. “Something like that. This has happened before. I talked to Dorothy about it last week. She was supposed to keep an eye on him.”

My eyebrow lifted. “You talked with her about it last week?” I remembered Brad hugging Dorothy on her front porch that one day. He must have been speaking to her about it then.

I bounced my fingers on my thigh. “You mean, the stick-in-the-window thing, that was Jack?”

“Most likely.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“To protect Jack’s privacy.” He leaned toward me. His voice softened. “Listen, no harm has been done. Jack’s no killer. He was at home with Dorothy when Dietz was murdered. And now that you’re aware of the situation, you can be on the lookout. It’s hard enough for Dorothy. Please don’t make it worse just because you’re mad at me.”

“Mad because you respect Jack’s privacy but not my own? Imagine that.” I crossed my arms.

It had taken Brad all of thirty seconds to spread the rumor of my background in October. I hated double standards. My look must have said it all.

“Whoa, Tish. I’m doing my job as a peacekeeper. Dietz’s murder in your basement couldn’t exactly be kept under wraps.”

“I’m not talking about Dietz. I’m talking about my grandmother.”

Brad’s brow shot up. “I didn’t release that information.”

Pressure built up behind my eyes. “Maybe not just now. But you knew about it last month. How could you go around telling everyone?”

His forehead creased. Brown eyes stared into mine. “You’re wrong. I read about it in the paper this weekend, along with everyone else.”

“You looked me up in the police computer and saw my rap sheet.”

“No. I didn’t.”

“You already knew my name. The second day I was here.”

“I saw Dorothy the next morning. She’d talked to the realtor and knew your last name. That’s all. The only reason the story’s out now is because some reporter did his homework.”

“I wish I could believe you.” I almost choked on the lump in my throat.

“Why don’t you?”

“Because you’re a cop.”

“And that makes me a liar?”

“Let’s just say I have a basic mistrust of anyone in authority.”

“And why is that?”

I wanted to slap him for asking so many questions.

“Because I spent three years behind bars and found out that jerks run the system.”

Brad looked off toward the window. “A uniform doesn’t make someone good. It doesn’t make someone bad. It’s just a uniform. People are human everywhere you go.”

“Well, some people have an obligation to be better than human.”

“Does that include you?”

My hands yearned to strangle him. “I’m not exactly in a position of power. If I mess up, I’m not wrecking other people’s lives.”

“What about your grandmother’s?”

I stared at him a second, shocked that he could even make the implication. His needle came a little too close to popping my balloon.

I jumped up and stumbled toward the kitchen. “How are you doing in here, Jack?”

He stood at the water dispenser, holding down the lever. Water dripped to the floor.

“Hey, buddy.” I smiled and headed his way with a towel. “Someone’s going to slip in that puddle.”

He took the towel and wiped up the spill. “I like this. It’s better than the small bottles.”

“Cheaper too.” I swung my arms. “So, Jack. I heard you did a great job down in the basement. Who else worked on it with you?”

I felt Brad’s aura enter the room. I glanced over my shoulder. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, listening.

Jack put up a thumb and a finger. “There was Mr. Lloyd and his son Josh.”

That was old news. I knew about Lloyd & Sons’ participation back in July when I started canvassing for a contractor.

Jack put up another finger. “You know David. I saw you with him the other night.”

I remembered my surprise to learn that David Ramsey had earned a key to my house from his efforts on the project. It was hard to picture him wearing work clothes and wielding a sledgehammer.

“There was Mr. Hershel. He used to live here.” Jack added a finger to his count.

I’d only met Rick Hershel briefly, but from what Dorothy said, Rick was having a hard time letting go of the Victorian himself.

Another finger made a full hand. “And I helped,” Jack said. “I carried buckets of cement down the steps. I dumped it in the holes.”

“You did a great job.”

Incredible. It was hard to picture myself actually living in a neighborhood where people would work together like they had on this one waterproofing project. When I was growing up, Grandma always complained that no one would lift a finger to help her out. Of course, she’d never admit she needed help.

Rawlings had that good-neighbor element that so many towns lacked. Then again, a year after the project, one man was dead, bashed by one of these so-called neighbors. And there was the possibility that another body was beneath the surface of a waterproofing project gone bad.

I poured myself a cup of water and took a sip. “So, Jack, do you remember seeing Mr. Dietz in the basement?” I glanced over my shoulder to see what Brad was up to. His stony features hadn’t moved.

“I saw him sometimes. He came down to talk to Mr. Hershel. He got in a fight with Mr. Lloyd one day.”

“A fight, huh? What was it about?”

“Mr. Lloyd wasn’t doing it right. He wanted to dig a hole for the water to run into. Mr. Dietz said no, he had to put in a pump. The hole could be outside, not inside. Mr. Lloyd said, ‘What do you think that cistern is there for anyway?’ Mr. Dietz said he better not catch him digging holes in the basement unless he was hooking up a pump. The job better get done right, or Mr. Dietz would make sure Mr. Lloyd lost his license.”

I could almost picture the scene between the two men. Tall, gray-haired Lloyd versus stocky, bald-headed Dietz. One bare basement bulb reflecting off their sweaty brows. Gentlemen, take your corners.

“Sounds like Mr. Dietz was really mad.” I imagined veins popping from his temples, ready to burst.

“He yelled really loud. Jan came down to see what was wrong. She told Mr. Dietz to get out, but he wouldn’t go. Said he wasn’t done inspecting the project. She went back upstairs and called Officer Brad.” Jack nodded toward the off-duty Brad.

I turned, intrigued. “So, you broke up the neighborhood brawl?”

“Dietz was gone before I got here. Jan was pretty upset, but Rebecca and Dorothy came over and helped her calm down. As usual, Sandra came by later and smoothed everything over for Dietz.”

“Of the four women you mentioned, three of them aren’t around anymore.” My unspoken question hung in the air.

Brad nodded once. “Rough year. Three relationships down the tubes.”

I pursed my lips. “You don’t sound very sorry for the trouble you caused.”

Brad raised an eyebrow. “What trouble was that?”

“Please. Don’t pretend you weren’t all over Rebecca Ramsey.”

Brad squinted. “I don’t know where you got that information, but it’s incorrect.” His voice took on a ragged quality. “There was never anything between Rebecca and me.”

I blinked, wondering whom I should believe. David, who swore Brad was after his wife. Or Brad, standing there close to tears, seeming to wish there’d been something more between him and Rebecca than merely friendship.

And maybe there had been.

I moved a step closer and squinted at him. “How does Rebecca like California? Hot enough for her?”

Brad gazed down at me. “We don’t correspond.”

“Well, maybe now that David’s out of her picture, she’ll be back in touch.”

“Highly unlikely.” Brad closed the gap between us. “Am I missing something? You called me. So why do I feel like you’re annoyed I’m here?”

I stood my ground. “I’m not annoyed. I’m ready for bed.” I ruffled my fingers through my hair. “Thanks for coming by.”

I turned toward my other visitor, who toyed with the nozzle on the water jug. “You want a to-go cup, Jack?” I looked at Brad. I wanted in the worst way to be polite to him. But somehow, manners would signal a truce. And I wasn’t ready for that. I pushed Brad and Jack out the door using only eyebrows, crossed arms, and tapping fingers.