CrissCross (Crossroads Book 1) Page 10

  After she locked the door behind her, she lugged the trash down the stairs, out the door and around the corner of the building to cut across the parking lot to the dumpster. By the time she neared it, the bag was feeling pretty heavy. It was such a hike out to the dumpster, she didn’t carry her trash out as often as she should, paying for it by struggling with heavier loads. Every week she vowed to herself that she wouldn’t do that again. But every week she did. It was funny that Jimi never minded carrying Willy’s out like she minded her own. Of course, Willy’s never weighed as much as Jimi’s either.

  When Jimi got close to the dumpster she could smell the usual trashy smells, but there was a pungent aroma overlaying it. It was a sweet skunky peppery smell she’d recognize anywhere because she’d grown up around it. Sometimes she thought of it as the scent of her childhood. Sighing, she lifted the dumpster lid and hoisted her bag to fling it inside. She heard shushing sounds from behind the wooden fence that surrounded the trash bin on three sides. Wondering if whoever was behind the structure was so high they had forgotten that smoke and sound traveled, she skirted the structure and peeked around the corner. Shad and two friends sat, their backs to the fence trying to hide the joint from her. The smoke still rising from it continued to give it away.

  “Shad,” she greeted him wryly. “School let out early?”

  A burst of pot smoke escaped as he lied, “I don’t have a class seventh hour. It’s a free period.”

  She knew better. Carrefour High School didn’t offer free periods. She didn’t contradict him, though . . . just stared him and his friends down before turning and walking away.

  As she cut back across the parking lot, Chance’s Charger pulled in with a rumble. Pausing on the sidewalk, she watched him slide out of his car with a smile before remembering how awful she must look. She had her hair piled in a mass of curls at the top of her head and most of the makeup she’d applied that morning was most likely worn off by now. She wore her oldest cotton shorts and a ratty gray tee with the words, Not Today Satan, printed on it. She hadn’t even put on shoes to take out her garbage and the fact that she was in dire need of a pedicure was in full display. She sighed. Oh well, he may as well see her as she was sooner rather than later.

  “Hey there, peaches,” he greeted with a huge smile.

  Holy moly, he’s beautiful, she thought as she watched him approach. Blonde, tanned, and hunky. And the tattoos were hot, hot, hot. She hadn’t had a chance to really study them yet. After he got a load of how bad she looked, she wondered if she ever would.

  “Hey,” she greeted back. “I keep meaning to ask . . . what’s with the ‘peaches’?”

  “I don’t know. You’re just so peachy,” he stopped in front of her, looking her over. “All pink and peachy blonde.”

  “Most people call it strawberry blonde.”

  He shrugged. “I’m not most people.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” she muttered.

  “Not sure how you mean that, babe,” he commented, “but I’ll choose to take it as a compliment and return it back to you.” Jimi laughed and they turned to head toward the entrance. “You taking the day off?”

  “It’s my short day. I only work until two on Mondays. Then I come home and clean the apartment.”

  When they entered the building they found Shad’s mother vacuuming the vestibule. She shut off the motor and stood watching them.

  Jimi spoke first, “Hi, Anita.”

  “Jimi. How are you?” Anita responded.

  Anita was around forty years old, but looked older. None of the residents could say they knew her well because she was very standoffish, but it was a well-known fact that she drank. A lot. Her husband did a little more drinking than he should as well, but he didn’t imbibe as heavily as she did. There had been several occasions when they’d been overheard arguing bitterly about it. There was no evidence the fights had ever gotten physical, but they had gotten pretty nasty nonetheless.

  “I’m doing good, thanks,” Jimi answered with an upbeat smile. The smile seemed off to Chance, but it didn’t appear that Anita noticed.

  Anita looked up at Chance. “Chance,” she murmured.

  “Anita.”

  Jimi chirped, “The family doing okay?”

  “Yeah, fine,” Anita answered, the barest bit of discomfort showing beneath her response.

  “How about Shad? He’s a sophomore this year—right? Boy, the summer just flew by.”

  “Yeah, he’s a sophomore.” Anita’s eyes got a little shifty. “He’s doing great.”

  “Now, is he int—” Jimi began pushing with a question she never got out.

  Anita interrupted with, “I really have to get back to work. I want to get the vestibule and the downstairs hall vacuumed before I go pick Shad up after school.”

  “Oh sure. I understand. Bye,” Jimi commented. She started for the stairs.

  “Hang on, Jimi,” Chance said. “I’ll walk you up.”

  She stood on the first step while he used his key to open his box on the mailbox wall. After pulling out several envelopes and a magazine, he joined her and they made their way upstairs, hearing the sound of the vacuum start back up.

  At the top, Chance confronted her. “So, what was up with the third degree about Shad?”

  She bit her lip. “Did it come out as an interrogation?”

  “The beginning of one, but probably only to me because I’ve studied the art. Maybe not to Anita, though.”

  She exhaled a breath of relief. “She did seem reluctant to talk about her son—didn’t she?”

  “She seems reluctant to talk about anything to anyone, if you ask me.”

  “That’s true.”

  “What’s up? I can tell something is up.”

  “Well . . . for one thing, she really doesn’t need to drive over to the school and pick him up because I just now caught him behind the dumpster smoking weed with his buddies. I predict she’ll be getting a phone call telling her he’s made plans with friends so she can skip taxi duty.”

  “Wow. Okay, then. Why didn’t you tell her?”

  She shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know. I can’t figure out the right thing to do. I don’t want to tattle . . . but at what point is it not tattling and it’s doing the right thing? I really don’t want to get on Shad’s bad side. He’s a little punk, but I’m afraid he has some scary friends.”

  “Right. And some parents are really touchy when you confront them about their kids.”

  “There’s that too.”

  “How about if we catch him skipping school again . . . oh, I don’t know . . . twice more, we talk to Ben?”

  Jimi nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good. We’d do it together?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. That’s enough talk of other people’s family issues. I made lemonade. You want some?” she asked.

  “You made it fresh?”

  She laughed. “Fresh from frozen concentrate. And it’s pink,” she said in a warning tone.

  Chance grinned. “I’m not too good for pink lemonade.”

  They entered her apartment and he could smell the scents of lemon furniture polish and disinfectant bathroom cleanser. Her place was sparkling clean. She bustled around, putting rugs in their places in front of the sink and the stove now that the tile was dry after being mopped.

  While pouring their drinks, she tossed, “So, what have you been up to today?” over her shoulder.

  He pulled out a chair at the table and dropped into it. “I just left the police station.”

  “Oh!” she exclaimed. “You made a report about your car?”

  “Yeah. After that, I also talked to a Lieutenant Walsh. I believe you may know him,” he drawled.

  Jimi almost bobbled the glass she’d just picked up. “Lieutenant Walsh? Oh . . . umm . . . yeah, of course. Bobby. Bobby Walsh. He’s in my Sunday morning Bible study class.”

  “You don’t say. Well, he showed up before I left the station telling me someone told hi
m to watch for me because I might be interested in a position at the CPD.”

  She studied his face carefully trying to gauge whether he was irritated or not. “I may have mentioned that you could be considering finding a position locally.”

  “And gave him my background.”

  “I did fill him in on the fact that you were special forces in the military,” she admitted as she slid his glass across the table and sat across from him. “Are you mad?”

  “No, but I figured you’d give me your opinion about my future before you gave it to strangers.”

  “It’s not exactly my opinion that you should stay in town and give up the military contractor job. It’s just that I think you need more information to make your decision.” She bit her lip. “I told Bobby you might be by to make a report on your car, and that you’ve been mulling over looking into the local job market so he could watch out for you and see if you and the police force would be a good match. When I told him about you being an ex-Navy SEAL, he seemed interested.”

  “I assume so, because he had feelers out to everyone who would possibly take my report to let him know when I came in.”

  She leaned in. “How did your talk go?”

  “Good. He had some interesting ideas.”

  “Like what?”

  “I can’t say now. I have to talk to the powers-that-be over there and, if that goes well, I still have to decide if it’s a move I want to make. If all of the pieces fall together, I can talk about it. But, that’s a big if.”

  “Right.” She decided to let it drop.

  Apparently he did too, because he asked, “How was your nap yesterday?”

  “Restful,” she laughed. “How was your visit with River?”

  “It was good. We watched the game, dozed a bit ourselves, and went out for burgers.”

  “Did you talk about possibly changing jobs?”

  “I thought we were giving that a rest.”

  “We are. I just asked if you talked to River about it.”

  Chance sighed. “I did. I think you can guess what his opinion is.”

  “I think I can.”

  He changed the subject again. “I had breakfast with Willy this morning. She seemed a little less jittery, but she’s still pretty shaken about last night.”

  “I would be too if I thought someone broke into my place. Poor Mrs. Wilson.” Jimi took a sip of lemonade. “Did you make her waffles or pancakes?” she teased.

  “Oh, I didn’t cook. Willy always cooks for me. Sort of.”

  “Sort of? What does that mean?”

  He laughed. “Today she microwaved Jimmy Dean sausage breakfast sandwiches and we had instant coffee.”

  “Oh, my,” Jimi murmured.

  “Willy loves to cook for me, but she doesn’t actually cook. My favorite meal she ever made for me was Gorton’s frozen fish sticks with a side of Kraft mac’n’cheese. It reminded me of my childhood when I’d fix dinner for River on the nanny’s night off.”

  “It’s the thought that counts,” she reminded him.

  “It is. I really love Willy. Back when she taught me language arts in high school, I never saw that coming,” he chuckled.

  “I forgot she was a teacher,” Jimi said. “She’d retired by the time I was a sophomore, so I never had her.” A banging came at the door, startling both of them. “What the frig?” Jimi stood up and moved toward the door. “Do you smell that? Is that what I think it is?” she asked excitedly.

  After she opened the door, Chance couldn’t see who was there from where he sat, but he watched her give a little hop of joy and hold her hands out, fingers wiggling. “Gimme, gimme, gimme,” she chanted.

  Axel stepped in, forcing her to step back. He was cradling a large brown paper bag against his t-shirt covered chest. The bag was stuffed with something that set Chance’s saliva glands to dancing. He had a half case of beer dangling from his free hand.

  “Zip had the smoker going the past couple of days,” Axel announced. “He’s stocking up for the rally next weekend and I got away with three fresh slabs.” Zip was Axel’s father, but he’d called his dad Zip from the time he could talk. It had never been Dad, Pops, or anything else. “Oh hey, Chance,” he said when he noticed his neighbor sitting at the table.

  “Hey, Axel,” Chance answered. “Got enough for me too?” He looked over to see Jimi was already grabbing three plates and an entire roll of paper towels to bring over to the table.

  “Sure,” Axel said easily. He dropped the bag along with the beer on the table before pulling out three foil-wrapped slabs.

  After Jimi divied up the plates and paper towels, she and Chance pushed their lemonade to the side and Axel slid cans of beer in front of each of them. They placed one of the packages in the middle of the table and opened the foil to reveal the most beautiful dry-rub ribs that Chance had ever seen . . . or smelled.

  “Got any of that vinegar barbecue sauce, cuz?” Axel asked.

  “Sure,” she answered as she rose to dig the sauce out of the ‘fridge.

  They dug in, eating ribs and drinking beer. Who needed side dishes when the main course was that good? No one said much until they began to fill up. And then it was just an easy, light conversation.

  Chance was watching the cousins and realized he’d believed their relationship was contentious because he’d seen them bickering so much. He understood now that they really did like each other, and any bickering they did just showed how much like siblings they were. It was very telling that Axel had gotten the ribs and brought them directly over to share with her as if it was not an unusual occurrence.

  After the three of them had devoured all but half of the third slab, Jimi and Chance switched back to lemonade and they all moved to the living room. Jimi sat close beside and tucked under Chance’s arm on the couch.

  “So, what’s happening between you two, anyway?” Axel asked.

  “Mind your own business,” Jimi snapped.

  “You are my business,” Axel shot back.

  “I don’t get in the middle of you and your women.”

  “I don’t want to get in the middle of this, either. But I’m going to keep an eye on it. How did it start?”

  Chance informed him nonchalantly, “I picked her up at the football game Friday night.”

  Jimi elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Chance! What the frig?! It wasn’t like that.”

  “Is it true?” Axel asked, humor glinting in his dark eyes.

  “Yes and no,” Chance laughed, rubbing his ribs. “We ran into each other there and just hung out.”

  “So you’re just hanging out then? A couple of buddies?” Axel clarified. “Because I have to warn you that Aunt Nova’s been telling everyone she lit one of those love spell candles she got from Gypsy and chanted your names over it.”

  “Gah! I keep telling her she should not be messing around with that stuff Gypsy gives her. That witchy stuff is dangerous,” Jimi huffed.

  Axel laughed and Chance smirked, but admitted to himself that it was a little creepy.

  “When exactly did she light that candle?” Chance asked—mostly to tease Jimi.

  “I don’t know. Why?” Axel answered.

  “’Cause I suddenly had this weird longing overtake me around . . . oh, I don’t know . . . the witching hour of eleven-fifty-seven on Frid—”

  “Stop that!” Jimi snapped, her elbow catching him in the same spot she’d got him earlier.

  “Geez. You stop that,” he laughed. “I didn’t know you had a violent streak.”

  “You have no idea,” Axel said blithely, draining the dregs of his beer and rising from his seat. “I’m gonna get going. I have a Vagabonds meeting about next weekend’s rally logistics. I think you two are able to handle each other just fine.” He gave Chance a serious look. “Just be careful, bro. Alright?”

  “I will be,” Chance answered, suddenly serious. “You don’t have to worry.”

  “Good.”

  Jimi’s heart fluttered at the realization th
at both those men were only showing that they cared about her. She stood up suddenly and rushed her cousin. “Thanks for the ribs, Ax,” she said as she threw her arms around his neck and squeezed.

  They both knew she was thanking him for much more than that. Even Chance sensed it.

  • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

  A few hours later, Chance was stretched out—back to front—with Jimi wrapped in his arms as the credits rolled on the TV screen. She shifted until she was on her back and looking up at him. “Well? What did you think?”

  “I think Hollywood needs to learn there are limits to how security footage can be enhanced and that we’re not all a bunch of morons,” he said disgustedly.

  Jimi laughed. “Wow. If you were a screenwriter and weren’t allowed to fudge things, how would you have solved the serial murders?”

  “First of all, I’d show the first victim that escaped with her life a lot more respect and take what she said seriously. I mean, if they’d listened to her and put her with any decent profiler, they’d have figured it all out sooner and there wouldn’t have been those last two victims.” He tapped his forehead with his index finger. “That woman had clues to the guy’s psyche just by telling her experience, but because she happened to be a prostitute, they discounted her. It was a travesty.”

  “It was,” Jimi agreed. “But it was also fiction, so simmer down. You don’t have to get so upset about it, Lucky Seven.”

  He grinned. “Sorry.”

  “No problem.” She studied his face for a long moment. “You have a scar under your hairline,” she commented absently. “I never noticed that.”

  “Yeah,” he brushed the hair that normally fell over his forehead back and showed her where it went from just in front of his hairline and jagged back then curved down behind his ear.

  “Oh my gosh!” she exclaimed. “That’s huge.”

  “About eight inches.”

  “How did that happen?” she gasped. When he opened his mouth to answer, she interrupted, “I know. If you told me you’d have to kill me.”

  He snorted. “We were on a mission to rescue a kidnap victim in a country that will remain nameless and as we were approaching our extraction point, the bad guys shot an RPG in our direction. I dove for cover, and went head first into a rock face.” She was watching him with wide eyes. “I barely felt it at the time. It didn’t register until hours later when we were safely away. With the hostage secured, by the way. So it was a successful mission.”