Getting Rid of Bradley

  “Who does he think he is?” she asked the dogs. “He just comes in here, out of the blue, and tells me somebody’s been shooting at me, and orders me around. Just what I needed. Somebody else ordering me around.”

  Only she hadn’t let him. She’d fought back.

  And it really felt good.

  “I think I’m on to something with this independence thing,” she told the dogs. “I really enjoyed arguing with him.”

  Of course, it hadn’t had much effect on him. He’d just glared at her and charged on ahead. And he hadn’t been all that mad, anyway. A minute after the glare, he’d been grinning at her again. She pictured him again, those bright blue eyes heating her and that crazy grin scrambling her thoughts, and she had to remind herself that she was mad at him. “This is my problem,” she told the dogs. “I’m too easygoing. I should be mad at him. I should want to kill him.” She stopped on the last thought.

  He’d said somebody was trying to kill her.

  Who would want to kill her? That was ridiculous. That was something that happened on TV. A car backfired and kicked up a stone. People did not go around shooting guns in downtown Riverbend.

  He must be wrong.

  Wrong, but gorgeous.

  She pictured him again, much against her better judgment. That grin, that swagger, those blue, blue eyes that connected with hers with such impact on her breathing. “The thing is,” she told the dogs, “even though I know he’s a policeman, he doesn’t look like a policeman. He looks like a very, very sexy bad guy.”

  She heard a noise in the vestibule and looked up to see Zack leaning in the doorway, and she blushed so hard she almost passed out.

  “You talk to the dogs,” he said.

  “Well, of course I talk to the dogs.” Lucy prayed he hadn’t heard what she’d said. “It’s not like I talk to plants or anything non-sentient.”

  “What I was going to ask was why you have such expensive locks on this place. You must have dropped a small fortune on the front doors alone, and from what I can see from the front, the windows are locked, too.”

  “Oh, they are,” Lucy said, eager for a change of subject. “Even the attic windows. Did they really cost a lot?”

  “So they weren’t your idea.” Zack looked satisfied. Smug, even. “Bradley ordered them, right?”

  “No. It was my sister.”

  His satisfaction disappeared. “Your sister was afraid you’d be robbed?”

  “No, my sister hates my ex-husband. She did it to annoy him. She said it was to keep him from taking anything out of the house that I might possibly be able to strip him of in the divorce. My sister plays hardball in divorce court.”

  “I bet she does,” Zack said, taking out his notebook again. “And when was this?”

  “Oh, she had them put on as soon as I told her about...the blonde. I mean, within the hour, the locksmith was here with a crew. That was about two weeks ago.” Lucy thought back. “The end of January.”

  Zack went out to the vestibule. “Do you have burglar alarms?” he called back to her.

  “No.” Lucy followed him. “Look at this place. Does it look like it needs a burglar alarm?”

  Zack glanced around the high-ceilinged hall. “It’s not bad. It’ll be nice when it’s fixed up. So, for protection, you’ve got the locks and the dogs.” He looked down at the three dogs who had followed them to the vestibule and were now sitting in a row, watching him.

  “Don’t make fun of my dogs,” Lucy said.

  “I’m not making fun of your dogs. Dogs are a good deterrent for thieves. They make noise. Thieves hate noise. Killers aren’t crazy about it, but they’ll cope.”

  Lucy folded her arms. “Nobody is trying to kill me.”

  Zack spread his arms wide. “Look. Humor me, okay? Just in case somebody really is trying to get you?”

  “Who would want to get me?”

  He cocked his head at her. “Well, ex-husbands have been known to go after the wives who locked them out of their houses.”

  “Bradley didn’t want this house. He signed the divorce papers without a fight. He didn’t want the house or me.” Lucy stopped. “Sorry about that last part. I’m not really that pathetic, it’s just that—”

  “You’re not pathetic at all.” Zack flashed his grin at her. “Bradley, however, must be an idiot.”

  “Thank you,” Lucy said.

  “You’re welcome,” Zack said. “Now stay inside.”

  ZACK WALKED AROUND the house, checking the windows and the back door. The basement door was in the back near the neighbor’s alley on the right, an old-fashioned, sloping wood door that had two metal bars across it, both with locks. The locks, like every other one he’d seen on the house, were very new, very efficient, and very expensive. Sister Tina either hated Bradley a whole lot or really worried about Lucy.

  And possibly she had a reason to be worried. Zack frowned at the scratches on the basement-door lock. He was peering into the lock with his penlight when someone screamed at him, startling him so much that he dropped the light as he spun around.

  “I’ve called the police so you might as well run off like all those other young punks,” she screeched. “Go on. Go on!”

  “Damn it, lady, you scared the hell out of me!”

  The gray and wizened woman on the back porch of the next house was hunched over the rail in a nothing-colored coat three sizes too big for her. Her clawlike hands waved at him while the pleats of skin on her face worked soundlessly for the moment in indignation. Then her voice came back.

  “Get out,” she screeched. “Smart-mouthed good-for-nothing!”

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” Zack said, gritting his teeth. “I was startled. I’m a police officer.”

  “Well, if you are, the world’s in worse trouble than I thought, and I thought it was in the toilet.” She stared at him viciously, and Zack wondered briefly about the evil eye. If such a thing was possible, this hag could deliver.

  “Hello, Mrs. Dover,” Lucy called out from the back door. “It’s all right. He’s with the police.”

  “I knew this neighborhood was finished when you moved in,” Mrs. Dover shouted back. “Torturing my cat. Bringing those vicious dogs in. Coming and going at all hours.”

  “Lovely day, isn’t it?” Lucy came out onto the porch and looked down at Zack.

  “Torturing her cat?” Zack asked and Lucy shook her head.

  “Phoebe hasn’t been the same since the Porters moved in,” Mrs. Dover said. “I’ve called the humane society, but they won’t do anything. Oh, no.”

  “Usually the sun doesn’t come out much in February,” Lucy said brightly to no one in particular. “We’re very lucky today.”

  “And now this trash.” She gestured at Zack. “Does your husband know you’re entertaining hoodlums?”

  “Actually, I’m divorced now, Mrs. Dover. And Detective Warren really isn’t a hoodlum. I made the same mistake, too, but he’s really very nice.” She looked at Zack. “I think it’s your jaw and the five o’clock shadow. I know you can’t do anything about your jaw, but you would look much more reassuring if you’d shave. And get a haircut. Really.”

  “Thank you,” Zack said.

  A patrol car pulled up in front.

  “Maybe he’s the police.” Mrs. Dover climbed down her back porch steps while she kept an eye cocked on Zack. “Maybe. But I bet he’s on the Most Wanted list Ha! We’ll know soon.” She nodded and hobbled down her driveway to the street to meet the uniforms.

  “Great,” Zack said. “This makes the second time today somebody’s called the cops on me.”

  “Well, as I was saying, I think your image needs work. I realize you’re probably undercover—”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Forget it.” Zack started for the street. Then he screamed in pain.

  A large dirty yellow cat had leaped on his leg, burying her claws deeply into his calf through his jeans. Zack kicked out, and the cat droppe
d away while Mrs. Dover screeched at him from the street.

  “Meet Phoebe,” Lucy said.

  “Damn!” Zack nursed his shin. “What’s wrong with that animal?”

  “I think she’s psychotic. I hate her because she uses my car for a litter box so I have to keep the windows rolled up all the time, even in the summer. And because all three of my dogs are terrified of her.”

  “Her, who?” Zack glared at Mrs. Dover’s back as she gestured wildly to the police in the street. “The woman or the cat?”

  “Both,” Lucy said. “Do you want some iodine?”

  “No,” Zack said, as a young patrolman approached him. “I want to shoot that damn cat.”

  “Sir?” the patrolman began. “This lady has a complaint.”

  Zack looked at him closely. “How old are you? Twelve?”

  The young patrolman stiffened. “Sir...”

  Zack got out his badge again. “I’m sorry. I’m having a bad day. I’m investigating an attempt on this woman’s life.” He nodded toward Lucy.

  “You are not,” Lucy said. “They shot at you, not me.”

  “Shut up.” Zack looked at the patrolman. “Do you ever get tired of defending the public?”

  “All the time,” the patrolman said. “I’ll just have to call this in, sir...” he began, looking at Zack’s ID, and then he, too, screamed.

  “Shoot the cat,” Zack said. “It’s assaulted two officers and resisted arrest. Do it.”

  Mrs. Dover hissed at him, scooped up Phoebe, and disappeared into her house.

  “Is this some kind of a joke?” the patrolman asked, nursing his shin.

  “No. Tragically, no. Go ahead and call that in.” Zack looked up at Lucy as the patrolman made his way back to the car. “What does it mean when everyone you see is younger than you are?”

  “It means you’re getting old. There’s a new teacher at my school. She asked me yesterday what it was like in the old days when I first started teaching.”

  “Did you deck her?”

  “No.” Lucy stuck out her chin. “But I may when I go back in to school tomorrow. I’ve gotten a lot meaner today.”

  Zack laughed. She looked so funny, neat and round with all that crazy dead black hair haloing her face, calmly announcing mat she was a lot meaner today. What a sweetheart.

  Dumb as a rock, but sweet.

  “You’re not going back to school tomorrow,” he told her. “You’re moving in with your sister until I figure out what’s going on.”

  Lucy frowned. “How long will that take? Especially if you’re going to figure it out by instinct. I don’t have that much sick leave. I don’t think anybody does.”

  She wasn’t that sweet. Zack glared at her, and she bunked.

  “Sorry,” Lucy said. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me today.”

  “Forget sick leave,” Zack said. “How much dead leave do you have? I’m not kidding here. You could be in danger.”

  “I think—”

  “Don’t. Trust me on this one. I know what I’m doing. Somebody’s been trying to pick your locks.”

  “What?”

  Zack pointed his finger to the back door behind her. “There are scratches on your back-door lock, and there’s a piece of metal broken off inside this basement-door lock. Somebody’s been trying to get in here.”

  Lucy swallowed. “Bradley?”

  “Well, that would be my best guess. He may just be trying to get his golf clubs back. But then again...” He shrugged. “Somebody shot at you on the street today.”

  “At you,” Lucy said, but her voice held a lot less conviction.

  “Just stay with your sister for a while. She’s got room, right?”

  “Oh, she’s got room. But I’m not going. She can’t take the dogs, and I’m not leaving them.” Lucy stuck her chin in the air. “Besides, I don’t believe this.”

  Zack lost his temper and stomped up the back porch steps. He grabbed her arm and pulled her around to face the door as he pointed at the lock. “See those scratches?” His face was so close to hers they were almost nose-to-nose. “Those were made by a pointed metal tool. Somebody was trying to break in.”

  Lucy blinked at his closeness. “Well, they didn’t get in, did they? So I must be pretty safe.”

  “Only because they’re trying to be subtle for some reason. Sooner or later, they’re just going to smash a window and climb in. Lord knows why they haven’t already. I advise you to move to your sister’s.”

  “No,” Lucy said.

  Zack let go of her arm and closed his eyes and counted to ten. Then he looked down at her with all the patience he could muster.

  She looked up at him, wide-eyed and trusting.

  Oh, hell. If somebody did hit her, it’d be his fault for not taking care of her.

  He forced himself to speak calmly. “Look, just do me one favor. Stay inside tonight. I’ll call you when I find out more tomorrow, okay? And I’ll have the patrol car keep an eye on you. Just until we can get a handle on your Bradley and see what he’s up to.”

  Lucy opened her mouth to speak, and he overrode her again. “Just for tonight and tomorrow. That’s not much to ask. Please.”

  “I’d have to leave, anyway,” Lucy said. “I’m a teacher. Even if I wasn’t going in to school tomorrow, I’d have to take in lesson plans.”

  Zack looked again into Lucy’s huge brown eyes and thought again about how much she needed a keeper.

  Not him, of course.

  Still...

  “I will take them in. Now, about this sick-leave thing. How long have you been teaching?”

  “Twelve years.”

  “And how many sick days have you taken?”

  “None.”

  “That’s what I figured. So how many do you have saved up?”

  “One hundred and thirty-eight,” Lucy said.

  “So if you use a couple, you could still develop a major disease and have everything covered, right?”

  “Right,” Lucy said, “but that’s not the point. The point is, I’m not sick.”

  Why was it he finally found an honest citizen only when it worked against him? “Look. Think of this guy who’s trying to kill you as a life-threatening illness. I do.”

  “I really think—”

  “I told you, don’t think. Just do what I tell you. If it will help, I’ll shave and put on a suit and come back and tell you to stay inside. I’ll do whatever it takes. Because I really do think you’re in danger.” He gestured to the basement door. “These are all good locks. Take advantage of them. Stay inside and I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Well...” Her pointed face was so confused under all that dead black hair mat suddenly Zack’s annoyance faded and he felt protective again. She seemed so helpless, so soft and round and absolutely clueless about reality.

  “Please,” he said. “Just for tonight.”

  “All right.” Lucy swallowed at his earnestness. “But I still think you’re wrong. Anyway, if you give me a couple of minutes, I’ll print out the lesson plans. This is very nice of you. Thank you, Detective Warren.”

  “Zack.” He grinned at her in relief. “Detective Warren is for people who haven’t hit me with a purse.”

  Lucy smiled back uncertainly. “Zack.” She hesitated. “I’m Lucy.” Then she turned and went back inside.

  Cute. A little snippy but very cute. Even with the hair. Very, very cute. And she thought he was sexy.

  Maybe he could convince her that he really had saved her life, and she’d be grateful.

  He tried to picture Lucy, naked and grateful, but all he could see was Lucy, blinking at him, surrounded by dogs.

  That could be a bad sign. He was losing his ability to fantasize.

  Maturity.

  Death.

  “Sir?”

  Zack turned back to the patrolman who had joined him again.

  “You’re cleared,” the patrolman said. “What’s going on here, anyway?”

  “I’m not s
ure,” Zack said. “I need you to question the neighbor.”

  “The old lady?”

  “Yeah. I don’t think she’s going to talk to me.”

  “I don’t think so, either. She wanted me to shoot you. So what do you want me to ask her?”

  “She said she’d seen somebody hanging around here, possibly trying to break in. And the locks have been tampered with.” Zack frowned back at the house. “Find out what she saw, and when she saw it, and get it to me as fast as you can, okay?”

  “You got it. Anything else?”

  “Yeah. Keep a close eye on this place for the next couple of days. I think she might really have trouble.”

  “With neighbors like she’s got, that’s no big deduction,” the patrolman said.

  “You should see her sister,” Zack said.

  “I ALMOST INVITED HIM back in,” Lucy told the dogs when Zack had driven away with the lesson plans. “That would have been stupid.” She pulled back the lace curtain at the front window and looked out at the empty street. “He was just so different, you know? I just didn’t want him to go. So much for my new life. I make these big plans to be independent, and then I cling to the first man I meet an hour after my divorce. Still, you should have been there when he told the other policeman to shoot Phoebe. You would have loved it.”

  She dropped the curtain and turned to the living room.

  Her room.

  Her house.

  She remembered the first time she’d seen it. She’d passed it one day when she’d taken a wrong turn near the university. A big old cream brick house on a hill with a porch and a cracked old driveway and big beautiful beveled-glass windows.

  And a For Sale sign in front.

  And she’d wanted that house with a passion that she’d never in her life felt for a man. A big, safe, warm house she could fill with dogs and books and comfortable things. Beautiful things. A house with a big kitchen where she could make cookies and bread and soup. A house with a huge fenced-in backyard where Einstein could run. And maybe another dog. Or two. She didn’t want Einstein to be an only child.

  A house. A house instead of her cold, tiny little apartment where Einstein took up half the floor space, and the oven didn’t work right, and she never felt safe. A house.