She's Not There - Madison Marla (книги без сокращений .txt) 📗

64             

On New Year’s Day the thermometer remained stuck at twenty below zero. TJ woke up lying on her stomach in a strange bed, the delectable smell of coffee and frying bacon summoning her from under the covers. Turning over, she remembered where she was and why.

She wondered if Jeff had left the bed because he’d been feeling a twinge or two of regret for the night before. The last thing she wanted was to complicate his life—or hers. Too late, though, she’d already done just that. Remembering, she smiled and decided she wouldn’t dissect it now, just enjoy. She stood, slipping into a white, terrycloth bathrobe she found at the foot of the bed.

He was setting the table for breakfast, and smiled when he saw her come into the kitchen. “I hated to leave you, but I was hungry. We never ate anything last night.” He took her in his arms and held her for a few seconds before giving her a lingering kiss. “Last night was wonderful.”

TJ read the question in his eyes. He wanted her to agree, tell him they hadn’t made an impulsive mistake.

She smiled back at him. “Yeah, it was.” She held him, never wanting to let him go, but knew reality would soon intrude on their afterglow.

He broke the embrace. “I don’t want you to think I’m sorry about anything. I know this is happening too soon, but it’s not like either of us were planning it.”

Best to keep things light. “Honey, I been plannin’ this since the day we met.”

Jeff laughed, pulling out a chair for her. “Sure you have.”

He served her half of a fluffy cheese omelet sided with bacon, toast, and orange juice. She picked up her fork.

Alone in her apartment that night, TJ experienced that lovely, after-new-sex mood that made a woman feel all warm and tingly inside. But soon, thoughts of James Wilson dispelled her good spirits. Hate was an ugly thing, and it was burrowing into her life like a maggot. She had to convince Lisa to up their timeline.

After TJ left, Jeff turned his energies onto his neglected home, wanting it looking its best for TJ’s next visit. They’d agreed to take things slow, but he couldn’t wait to see her. She’d suggested a movie Tuesday night, but it felt like weeks away.

He was surprised when the doorbell rang and walked to the door hoping it would be TJ surprising him. When he opened the door to James Wilson, he didn’t know what to think. “Mr. Wilson. What can I do for you?”

James Wilson stepped inside. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I’ve been thinking about some of the things you and your friends talked about at Eric Schindler’s place. There are a few questions I forgot to ask. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Sure. I’ll answer them if I can. Come on in.”

Wilson slipped his coat off and entered the room, taking a seat on the couch. “Nice place you have here.”

“Thanks. Can I get you something? A glass of wine, maybe? I have a bottle of merlot open.”

“Sure. Whatever you’re having.”

After Jeff left the room, Wilson reached for Jeff’s glass, deftly adding a fine white powder to the dark burgundy liquid.

65             

Shortly after ten Monday morning, TJ’s cell phone rang as she was about to leave her apartment. She didn’t recognize the number on the small screen.

A deep male voice asked, “TJ?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t know me. My name is Jon Engel; I’m a friend of Jeff Denison.”

“Sure, Jeff talks about you.”

“This is probably nothing to get worried about, but—“

That spooky feeling crept up the back of her neck. “Probably nothing to worry about,” usually turned out to be something for which the word worry was an understatement.

“Jeff’s supervisor called me because Jeff didn’t come into work today and didn’t call in. They tried his parents first, but I think they’re out of town. I know you’re a good friend of his, so I thought maybe you’d know why he isn’t at work. It’s not like Jeff to be a no-show without calling.”

It isn’t. “No idea. I haven’t talked to him today.”

“I hope you don’t mind my calling; I looked up the number of your security business. I’m getting worried; he’s not answering either his cell or his landline. Maybe I should go over to his house and see if he’s there.”

Rivulets of fear trickled through her. “Do you have a key?”

“No. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“I’m about twenty minutes away from Brookfield. I’ll drive over and check it out.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

TJ closed the phone and rushed out the door.

It took her longer than she’d counted on to get to Brookfield. Getting out of downtown Milwaukee quickly was hopeless during winter. Stacked snow, heavy traffic, and road closures turned the area into a maze. Her fear for Jeff niggled at her, while visions of them together on New Year’s filled her thoughts. She didn’t know what the two of them were all about; she just knew that right now she needed him in her life. When she finally pulled up at Jeff’s townhouse, an extended-cab pickup sat parked in the driveway. A tall red-haired man approached her as she got out of her car.

He held out his hand. “You must be TJ. I’m Jon Engel. Did you bring a key?”

“Nah. I have other resources.”

He shuffled from foot to foot in the frigid air and watched as TJ pulled out a small leather case. She selected a tiny silver tool and began working the lock on the front door. It didn’t take long until it opened; she’d warned Jeff his security was pitifully inadequate.

Jon Engel frowned. “Maybe we should wait.”

“For what?”

“I think we should call the police. His car is in the garage. He could be injured—or sick.”

“Has he told you what we’ve been workin’ on?”

Engel froze in place. “You think something’s happened to him because of that?”

TJ read concern in his face, but nothing would keep her from entering the house. “I’m goin’ in.”

She stopped in the opened doorway. “Wait here. If this place turns out to be a crime scene, the fewer people in here the better.”

TJ edged into the foyer, letting the front door swing shut behind her. “Jeff? Jeff?”

The palpable silence drew her into the living room. An all too familiar smell permeated the warmth of the room, its presence in Jeff’s home a terrifying message of doom. TJ’s throat constricted as she entered the room, which appeared to be in order. She glanced at the recliner she’d slept in only two nights ago, the one she’d vacated to share her bed with Jeff. The memory of their lovemaking failed to dispel her fear.

She looked up to see the body of a man hanging suspended by the neck from the railing of the loft, the body dressed in Jeff’s clothes. TJ felt like she’d been hit in the stomach by a cannonball. Her knees buckled as she screamed, “No!”

It was too late for paramedics; Jeff’s face was the color of winter twilight. Silent tears poured down her face as she collapsed to her knees, struggling to remind herself to respect the room as a crime scene. When her legs would support her again, she walked, sobbing, back into the winter air.

Jon Engel took her in his arms, drawing her away from the door.

She managed to croak, “Jeff’s dead,” then sobbed against his chest, fighting nausea, berating herself for not preventing Jeff’s murder. She wanted to scream out the name—James Wilson.

She hadn’t thought Wilson realized her suspicions. But what if he’d seen her following him? If he had, then Jeff’s death rested on her.

Jon trembled against her, struggling to stay in control of his emotions. She had to get a grip on hers.

She wiped her face on her sleeve. “I have to call Maggie. She’s a detective we’ve been working with. And the Brookfield guys, too.” Her fingers fumbled for her cell phone, while her every instinct wanted her back in the house, searching for evidence.