A Lise Norwood Mystery
by Andrew Nance
It was late afternoon as I struggled with the huge picture frame, squeezing Nick’s Christmas present into the backseat of my Mini Cooper. I had found a big 18th century map from when Florida was two British territories, East Florida and West Florida. Also known as the 14th and 15th colonies. It would look great in either of Nick’s offices, at the university or at his home.
The frame shop’s door opened, making the overhead bell jingle. I loved jingling bells at this time of year. Marty, the framer stuck out his head and said, “Merry Christmas, Lise.”
“You too, Marty, and great job as usual.” He’d found some old weathered oak planks, sanded them smooth, and fashioned the frame.
My phone rang just as I got in the driver’s seat. Being Christmas Eve, I answered, “Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas.”
“Oh Lise. Are you busy? Can you swing by?” I recognized the voice. It was Marjorie Katherine Hamilton, billionaire, philanthropist, and like they might say in the old black and white movies I so loved, a nice old broad. Before I met her, she had followed me through the newspapers after I helped the local police in the arts aspect of a violent crimes case. When she had found herself in need of a private investigator, she’d hired me. I’m happy to say I brought that case to a successful close within a month. Since then she’d been acting like an agent and sent several cases my way.
“Hi Marjorie. You mean today?”
“I’m sorry Lise, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
“See you in a few.”
She was a friend, and I would have gone over whether or not she had more gold than Midas. Her almost block-sized estate sat right in the middle of San Marco’s historic district, though few people knew it was there. It was hidden by coquina walls and surrounding historic houses and buildings. I pulled up to her driveway which was blocked by a solid gate. She had given me a swipe card when she first hired me, and I used it to open the gate. Via the rearview mirror, I saw a number of tourists gazing in at the property before the gate closed. The landscape was populated with Florida native plants, and I drove up the driveway to the big house. I figured it was probably eight thousand square feet and done up in a style that combined historic Spanish and English architecture.
While she employed groundskeepers and housekeepers, Marjorie wasn’t big on having a lot of servants, and so she answered the door when I rang the bell.
“Thank you for coming.” She took my arm and ushered me into a cavernous living room, which always struck me as masculine, with its leather furnishings, and dark colored walls. “Lise, this is my good friend, Agnes Townsend, and her daughter, Elizabeth Childress.”
Like Marjorie, Agnes was around seventy, her daughter looked to be in her upper forties. Agnes was birdlike and small, but Elizabeth was a big woman, not fat, but a woman who’d probably been described as big-boned her whole life. The women had two things in common, an expensive wardrobe and an expression of anxious worry. We sat around a coffee table, and Marjorie poured me a glass of lemonade from a pitcher. I’d had her homemade lemonade before, and it was special. More tart than sweet, it hit the spot on a hot day.
I sat there a moment with three pairs of eyes on me, and finally said, “What’s up?”
The three women looked at one another and then Marjorie stood. “Agnes, why don’t you and I take a stroll in the courtyard and let your daughter explain the situation to Lise.”
Agnes looked to her daughter. Elizabeth nodded and Agnes stood.
When it was just Elizabeth and me in the room, she cleared her throat and spoke, emotion tinging her tone. “My daughter called me this morning and said she needed help.”
“Help with what?” I asked.
“I don’t know. All she said was, ‘help me.’ And then the call ended.”
I put a hand on the woman’s arm. “Let’s back up a little. Tell me about your daughter.”
She nodded. “Darcey was a beautiful child. Very loving. When she became a teenager, that loving child vanished.”
“Happens to a lot of families,” I said.
“When she was thirteen and fourteen, she started getting sassy, talking back, acting like she was the only intelligent person in the room.”
“Like I said, it happens a lot.”
She focused her gaze on a window. “At age fifteen she started hanging with the wrong crowd. At sixteen she got a boyfriend from that bad crowd. Finally, after years of constant arguments and confrontations, she and her boyfriend ran away. She was seventeen. The police looked for her until she turned eighteen. By then she was considered an adult and they couldn’t force her to come home even if they found her.”
I thought about what she’d told me. “I’m assuming drugs were in the mix.”
Elizabeth started to answer, but her lower lip trembled and she nodded instead. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Drugs, sex, ignoring rules and curfews, flunking school.” She looked directly at me and admitted, “It was my fault too, both her father and me. He’s, by nature, distant, not much affection. Because of his job, he travels and is away four to five days a week. I’m a controlling person, and the more she acted out, the more controlling I became.”
“How long ago did she run away?”
“Lise, I haven’t spoken to my daughter in over three years.”
Nothing for three years and she calls out of the blue. I scooted closer. “When she called this morning, what exactly did she say, her exact words, yours too.”
Elizabeth nodded, collecting her thoughts. “The phone rang early, a little after six. I was asleep. I said, ‘hello.’ How she spoke gave me goosebumps.”
“What do you mean?”
“She sounded like she was in pain, Lise.” Agnes cleared her throat. “I said, ‘Darcey? Is that you?’ She said, ‘Mom, help me,’ and then the call ended.”
“She didn’t say anything else?”
“I think she was going to say more. Right after she said, ‘help me,’ she said, ‘uh,’ but the call ended.”
“So, she said, ‘Mom, help me, uh –’ and that was it?”
“Yes. I wanted to call back, but her phone had a blocked number. Can you help me?”
She was asking me to work Christmas Eve, and more than likely Christmas day. I thought about it and drank some lemonade to stall. Nick and I had planned to spend tonight and tomorrow hunkered down in my house, bingeing on Christmas movies.
I told her, “That’s not much to go on Elizabeth.”
“I know, but Marjorie said you can help, that you can find her. Darcey’s in trouble, I know it. We have to find her, help her, before it’s too late.”
“Before what’s too late?”
“I don’t know. I just know it’s bad, I can feel it,” Agnes said, dabbing a tissue at her eyes.
If I turned the job down, I’d just spend tonight and tomorrow feeling guilty about it. I sighed and said, “I can’t guarantee I can find her. But I’ll try.” I took out a notebook with a pen from my pocketbook. “Give me your daughter’s full name, same with her boyfriend, and any friends you remember from what you called a bad crowd.”
It was on the dark side of twilight when I left with a piece of paper that included Darcey’s boyfriend’s name, Abe Lowder, and three of Darcey’s old friends. I drove my Mini Cooper toward San Marco University looking for my sometime employee, Elliot the Slim. By every definition, he was homeless, but because he suffered from an intense fear of being indoors, there was no way he could have lived inside. He claimed the city was his home and thereby he couldn’t be homeless. When working for me, I bought him cheap pay-as-you go phones. He usually sold them after the job was done. Still, I tried calling him on the latest phone. He answered and told me where to find him. I made another call.
“Hey beautiful,” Nick answered.
“Aw, don’t get sweet on me, I have some work to do.” I explained that I’d agreed to help Marjorie’s friend and wouldn’t be home until later. Then I made a third call.
A gruff voice answered. “Good lord, can’t even get away from you during the holidays.”
“Merry Christmas to you, too, Baker.”
Baker was a stereotype curmudgeonly cop. I’d met the homicide detective when I was hired as a consultant because of my knowledge of art history, and because a madman was killing and leaving his victims posed like specific pieces of classic art. He’d saved my life and I’d saved his and a bond had formed.
“What do you want, Norwood?” he asked.
“At some point, to give you your Christmas gift. Here’s a hint, it’s wet, brown, and tastes like whiskey.”
“I am intrigued.”
I slowed to make a right turn. “But right now, I can use some info. You’re not at home, are you?”
“Nah, I stopped in the station to finish up a couple of things. What do you need?”
I picked up the piece of paper with the names on it. “I’m working a case, trying to track down a missing daughter.”
“A minor?”
“No, not anymore. Darcey Childress, she’d be twenty now. Her mother thinks she’s in trouble. I’d like to find out anything about her boyfriend, or at least her boyfriend three years ago, Abraham Lowder. In the same age range.”
“I’ll see what I can find. Call you soon.” He ended the call before I could say goodbye.
I’d have missed Elliot the Slim in the dark had he not been leaning against a streetlight. I pulled over, lowered the driver side window and called, “Elliot! Over here.”
He crossed the street and put a hand in a brown knit glove on the window jamb. “Hey Lise. Got a job?” He wore a worn khaki military jacket and a stocking cap. The temps were in the mid-forties with a strong wind, which is arctic weather for Floridians.
“Yeah, if you aren’t busy,” I said.
“Never too busy for you.” Elliot got in the passenger seat.
I passed him the paper with four names on it. “I’m trying to find this guy, Abe Lowder. The three other names were friends of his a few years ago. The mother of Lowder’s girlfriend is trying to find her. Said they were into drugs. They ran off three years ago and I thought that they might be street people.”
Elliot tapped the second of the three names. “I know Daryl Myers. Goes by D.M.”
“You know how to find him?” I asked.
“Maybe. Drive me over to St. Benedict House. He’s usually there for dinner. I’ll look for him, see if he knows where this Lowder guy is.”
I started the car and we headed to the local homeless shelter. “Get any background on Lowder and his girlfriend, at least she was his girlfriend three years ago, Darcey Childress.”
Elliot fished a well-chewed ballpoint pen from an inside pocket and scribbled Darcey’s name next to Lowder’s. He tore the paper and handed me back the three names of friends. It was dark when we got to the shelter. A number of porch lights illuminated a few homeless guys and one woman huddled in front of the large two-story house that served as the shelter.
Elliot got out, and before closing the door, said, “I’ll call you if I find him.”
A block later my cell phone started playing Darth Vader’s theme song, my ringtone for Baker. I answered by saying, “I bet you get a lump of coal tomorrow.”
“Maybe, but Santa Lise has promised whiskey, so this Christmas is already a win.” His tone changed. “Not much on your boy. Abraham Lowder, age twenty-two, has two priors. The first was for possession of a controlled substance, meth. The second was possession with intent to distribute. That was pot. Both times he got out of court without having to do time.”
“Anything else?”
“I have his parent’s address. Thought you could talk to them.” He rattled off the address and he ended the call with a, “Merry Christmas, kiddo.”
Twelve minutes later I pulled in front of a small brick ranch. An inflatable Santa stood by the porch, hand raised in a wave. White Christmas lights hung like glowing icicles from the gutters. I tromped up to the front door and noted the cracked plastic doorbell button, so I knocked on the screen door instead. The door was opened by a man in a red and green sweater. In his forties, he had a receding hairline, and a pleasant half-smile. When I told him who I was and the purpose for my visit, he ushered me into the living room. I felt a little like ol’ Saint Nick, sitting in a chair next to a Christmas tree wound with blinking lights.
I rehashed the call Darcey’s mother had received, and then asked, “Have you spoken with your son since he ran off with Darcey.”
With a sigh, he said, “I wish, but no.”
“Do you think your son and Darcey are still together?”
He gave a helpless shrug. “Who knows? It’s certainly possible. It was first love for both of them and that can be intense. On the other hand, first love can come crashing down hard and fast. But I can say that three years ago, Abe was devoted to Darcey.”
“Darcey’s mother says that your son was part of a bad crowd.”
He laughed humorlessly. “Darcey included. They were just a bunch of mixed up kids who got into things that should have been left alone, drugs being the main culprit. I kept hoping that Abe would grow out of it. I mean, he’d been a good kid, a really good kid. Starting about ten he talked about becoming a priest, if you can believe that.” He stood and went to take a framed photo from the wall. He handed it to me. I saw a young teenager wearing a white robe, holding a golden cross that was as tall as him. He grinned broadly as he stood before the altar in St. Andrews. “He’d been an altar boy. Started when he was eight, he’s fourteen in this picture.” He took back the photo and stared at it with a forlorn smile. “He used to go with me into work on Saturdays and help out.”
“What do you do for a living, Mr. Lowder?”
“I own and operate a regional chain of storage facilities, Securely Safe Storage.” He gazed off blankly. “I’d hoped that after college, he’d work for me, and then take over.”
There was a knock at the door, and Mr. Lowder smiled as he got to his feet. “That’ll be one of my employees. Be right back.” A minute later he came into the room holding a box wrapped in Christmas paper, trailed by a young man in his early twenties. “Lise, please meet the manager of my little storage empire, Daniel Baskin.” We shook hands and Mr. Lowder said, “Lise is a private investigator working for Darcey Childress’ mother. She’s trying to find Darcey, and so Lise is also looking for Abe.”
Daniel looked down. “I hope you find them. Abe was my best friend when we were kids, before –” He looked up at me, discomfort evident. “You know, before things turned for Abe.”
I thought a moment, and asked, “When did things turn?”
Daniel opened his mouth to respond, but Mr. Lowder put out his hand. He sat on the couch, set his gift next to him, and folded his hands between his knees. “His mother, my wife, died a day before Abe’s fifteenth birthday, cancer, and that rocked his world. He tried to find solace with the church, but instead found it with friends who were starting to experiment with pot, then coke and acid, and then moved into crack and meth.”
Daniel was not part of the group of those friends, so there wasn’t much he could tell me. The result of speaking with Lowder was that I got some background information on Abe, but not much to work on. As I stood to leave, my cell rang, and I saw it was Elliot calling. I answered, told him to wait a minute, then bade Lowder and Daniel goodbye.
As I walked to my car at the curb, I said, “Hey Elliot, find our man?”
“Yeah, D.M. was at St. Benedict House. His turn to wash dishes after dinner.”
“Get anything useful out of him?”
“Maybe, Lise.”
I drove back to St. Benedict House and picked up Elliot. Not much was open on Christmas Eve, so we hit a convenience store and I bought him a coffee and a plastic wrapped Danish. We sat at the curb of the parking lot.
Elliot used his teeth to open the Danish and then told me what he’d learned from D.M. “When they ran away three years ago, their plan was to take Darcey’s car to Orlando, sell it, and use that money to live on. The car, however, was in her father’s name, so they had to sell it under the table for a fraction of its value. They ran out of money pretty quickly and they returned to San Marco. They lived in dumps with other druggies, and started selling meth and pot to make money and to support their own habits. They sold for Martin Diaz, a friend of Abe’s, who, through a cousin down in Miami, had a connection with the Cholos Boys. You know them?”
I sipped my coffee. “Yep.” They were a violent Hispanic gang down in South Florida.
“One day, Abe and Darcey left San Marco without telling anyone. They also took three thousand in profits that was supposed to go to Martin. This was about a year and a half ago. No one knows where they went. Word was they went out of state. Martin leaned on their friends to see if anyone knew for sure, but no one did.” Elliot popped the last of the pastry in his mouth and I started to ask if that was all, but he held up a gloved finger. He chewed, swallowed, sipped, and then brushed crumbs from is coat. “Here’s where it gets interesting. Abe showed up last week, wanting a face to face with Martin in a public place. Says he wants to pay his debt and settle things so that he and Darcey can move back to San Marco.”
“He wants to pay back the three thousand dollars?”
Elliot shook his head. “He wants to give Martin six thousand to settle the score. But since they’ve been gone, Martin’s operation has grown and he’s developed a reputation as a bad ass when it comes to those who rat on him, betray him, and especially anyone who steals from him. He put out the word that when he finds Abe and Darcey, he’ll kill them.”
“I hope they’ve gone to ground.”
“It gets worse, Lise. Darcey is pregnant.”
“Oh.” I placed my coffee on the curb next to me. “I don’t feel good about this.”
Elliot stood. “Thanks for the coffee and Danish, Lise.”
“Wait, Elliot.” I got up and opened the passenger door and glove compartment. I handed him a Christmas card in an envelope. When he opened it, he’d find a two hundred-dollar gift card for Gordo’s, his favorite food truck in San Marco.
“Thanks, Lise.” He stuffed it in one pocket and pulled a slightly stained card out of another. “This is for you.” He handed me a card without an envelope. The front of it was a beautiful rendition of the three wise men traveling over a desert dune, under the star of wonder. One of San Marco’s local artists had painted the scene and made cards from it. I knew this because that was the very card that I’d given Elliot last Christmas. I was deeply touched that he’d kept it all year and then returned it to me.
I got in my car and rolled down my window. “Merry Christmas, Elliot.”
“You too, Lise.” He took a couple of steps and then came back and with his hands on the Mini Cooper’s roof, leaned down and said, “This is like two thousand years ago.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Two thousand years ago, Lise. King Herod was looking for Joseph and Mary because he wanted to kill their baby. Now Martin, king of his little drug empire, wants to kill Abe and Darcey, an act that will kill their unborn child.” He shrugged at me. “Different reasons, same outcome.”
I drove to the parking lot of a small nearby park. I climbed out of the Mini Cooper. Even though it had dipped into the upper thirties, I got on the hood, lay back against the windshield, and looked up at the Christmas Eve sky. Hugging myself, I thought about Darcey being pregnant and calling her mother for help. “Help me, uh…” It worried me, scared me. I called Nick again, and after explaining what was happening, he told me to do whatever needed doing, and then said if he could help, just point him in the right direction. Another reason I loved the man.
I hopped off the car and strolled around the playground, wondering where Abe and Darcey could possibly be hiding. My mind returned to Lowder discussing how his son had been involved in the church as an altar boy with dreams of becoming a priest. If Abe came back and needed help, would he confide with his old priest? I got my cell and looked up the website for St. Andrews Catholic Church. I checked the times for their services and saw they had two masses for Christmas Eve, a vigil mass and a midnight mass. I smiled, that meant the priest would still be on property. Then I saw the times listed. Even though they called it a midnight mass, it started at 7pm. There’s a lot of old folks in the state, which is why we have things like the early bird dinner special, happy hours starting at three o’clock, and midnight masses at seven.
It was almost ten, but Christmas services could run long, and perhaps the priest was still at the church. When I got to St. Andrews, the church and grounds were as dark as a Dickens’ graveyard. Over the years, I had attended two weddings and a funeral there. I’d also attended a mass with my friend Adolph Hurst, who’d just this past year become a Catholic. Afterwards we’d walked the nearly ten acres of property. I drove slowly over the road through the parking lot. The church was on my left. During the day, it was a beautiful building with brightly colored stained-glass windows. To the right was the administration and social gathering hall. A little further on, I knew, was the original church, a small thing that was now where the youth groups and the Knights of Columbus met. Between the current church and the old one, were garden like grounds, and a small chapel with a dozen pews and a statue of Mary.
I thought I saw a dim glow in that direction, so I parked and turned off the ignition. A flickering of orange was visible from the entrance of Mary’s chapel. I remembered there was a stand of twenty or so votive candles in red glass that people would light as they prayed. Makes sense that after a Christmas Eve mass they’d be lit. I saw something else. There was a very large pickup truck on the lawn next to Mary’s chapel.
Thinking that maybe a caretaker was present, I got out and started in that direction. If the priest wasn’t around, maybe he’d tell me how to get in touch with him. After stepping onto the curb and walking no more than ten feet, the truck roared to life. Headlights blazed, and a lightbar on top of the cab flared on. The engine revved and the truck started for me, accelerating fast. I turned and ran for my car. Leaping off the curb, I dug in my pocket for my keys. The way before me was lit up like it was noon, courtesy of the truck lights. The engine’s roar got louder as it got closer, so I ran harder. Gazing over my shoulder, I saw I was just a second from being run down.
Something hit me hard from my left, knocking me to the right. Instead of being dead center of the truck’s grill when struck, I was hit by the right-side fender. It spun me through the air, and I crashed into the parking lot pavement head first. I slid forward several feel before coming to a rest. My eyes were open, but I couldn’t seem to move as I watched the pickup truck slow and then stop. A second later it started to turn in a big circle.
Someone knelt over me, their breath cold on my face. “Get up, or he’ll kill you.” The stranger helped me stand.
He pushed me into a slow run and we headed for a row of bushes across the parking lot from Mary’s chapel. We ducked behind them just before the truck’s lights swept over them. When they passed, the person got me stumble running again. We ducked into foliage that extended jungle-like along the side of the administration building.
Speaking like a drunk, I said, “Who are –”
“Shhh,” he said.
The trucked slowly circled the parking lot. I couldn’t get my eyes to focus as I watched it stop, idling like a panting predator. The headlights went out and both doors opened. The driver got out. A second later a man as big as an NFL lineman got out of the passenger door. They walked slowly around the truck, then to my car. The driver opened the door and the interior light seemed blinding. He went through my glove box and I saw him open the soft plastic case that held my registration and insurance. Well great, now they knew who I was and where I lived. They went back to the truck and drove off.
I turned to my savior, and put a hand over my right eye, which made things less blurry. He’d been eight years younger in the photo I’d seen, but it was him. “Abe Lowder.”
He nodded.
“That was Martin Diaz?” I nodded in the direction of the truck.
In a dark hoodie and jeans, Abe nodded again.
“Darcey’s in trouble. She called her mother.”
His voice was scratchy. It sounded like it hurt to talk. “I know.”
“She needs help. Where is she?”
Something stirred in the woods behind the admin building. I gasped and turned to look.
Abe leaned close and whispered. “Daniel will tell you.”
I had trouble registering what he meant. I played it back in my mind a couple of times and turned my throbbing head to ask him, but he had gone.
I was seeing better now, but it seemed like my body was on auto-pilot as it carried me back to the car. Somehow, I managed to drive my car and without consciously picking a destination, found myself in front of Lowder’s house. There was an awful pain in my head as I pulled over and parked with a front wheel up on the curb. I blanked and time skipped and the next thing I knew, I was banging on the screen door. Lowder opened the door, stepped out, and reached for me a moment before I collapsed.
“What happened? You’re bleeding…a lot.”
“Daniel,” I said.
“We have to get you to a hospital.”
I grabbed his arms and put my face in his and shouted, “Daniel!” I shoved my car keys in his hand and blanked again.
When I next became aware, I was in my passenger seat in the parking lot of an apartment building I didn’t recognize. I blinked several times and saw Lowder hurrying toward me with Daniel at his side. I managed to get my door open, but had to lean against the car once I got out.
I grabbed Daniel by his jacket and pulled him toward me. “Abe said that you’d tell me.” It had an effect on Daniel and his eyes went wide.
“Daniel?” was all that Lowder said.
“Okay, follow me.” He got into a pickup truck a few spaces down from my car. I was happy to see it didn’t have a light bar on the cab.
Lowder drove as we followed Daniel.
We made a turn and Lowder said, “What the hell?”
I blinked at the illuminated sign that read, Securely Safe Storage. “Your place?” I asked.
“Yes.”
Daniel leaned from his truck window and slid a key card into a black box. A second later the gate rolled open and we followed him through. Daniel drove between rows of storage units and stopped at one in the back. We got out and joined him just as he opened a rolling door and heard a crying infant.
***
“Would you stop doing that?” Nick’s voice was strained as he held my hand in both of his.
“Doing what?” I asked.
“Getting yourself hurt.”
I noticed his eyes had teared up. Sitting on a hospital examination table, I pulled him close and we hugged.
He sniffed and whispered in my ear, “I’m proud of you.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” I said, and looked at my boyfriend, all scruffy in a wrinkled X-Pensive Winos t-shirt, jeans, and flip-flops.
Baker rushed into the curtained space in the ER where I’d been for the past hour. I told him what happened.
He took a moment to ask, “Are you going to be okay?”
I touched the stubble on the side of my head where they’d shaved enough to clean my injury and put in nine stitches which were now covered with a bandage. I had road rash from forehead to chin on the right side of my face and that cheek bore a bandage as well. I wore a soft flannel shirt, sweatpants, and an old pair of Uggs that Nick had brought with him since so much blood had soaked my coat and the blouse underneath.
I told Baker, “Abe needs help.”
He nodded and left. A nurse showed up to take me to a room via wheelchair. Apparently, they were admitting me. Nick carried a bag holding my ruined clothes. I lay on the bed and the nurse helped me lift my feet onto it.
The nurse told me, “The doctor says it’s okay for you to get a little sleep.”
I wanted to tell her I didn’t feel like I’d get any sleep for the next week, but dozed off before I could. When I woke, it was light out, though it looked like early morning. Nick stood at the foot of my bed talking with Lowder.
Seeing I was awake, Nick turned with a smile. “Good news, Lise.”
Lowder moved to my bedside and took my hand. “Mother and daughter are fine. Darcey had a difficult labor and lost a lot of blood, but, thanks to you, we found her in time. And the baby, Mia, is healthy.”
“Mia?” I asked.
“Yes,” It was my wife’s name. They named her after Abe’s mother.
“Mia? We’d thought that when she’d called her mother, Darcey had said, ‘Help me,’ and then, ‘uh.’ What she’d really been pleading for, was someone to help her baby. ‘Help Mia.’”
“Darcey’s still out of it, but her mother spoke with her briefly. Abe and Darcey had been living sober up in North Carolina. Abe’s been working construction, Darcey waited tables. With Darcey pregnant, they wanted to come home to their families again. I understand you know about their debt.”
I nodded.
“They saved enough to pay it off, to pay double. The man they owed wanted blood, not money. With Daniel’s help, they hid under my nose at my storage facility. Determined to make good on their debt, Abe left Darcey in the storage unit the night before last. My son called the man he owed and went to meet him to pay him back. Their plan was to get in touch with me and Darcey’s parents once it was safe for them. But Abe never returned and Darcey went into labor.”
“He saved my life,” I said.
Lowder looked at me strangely. “Abe? But –”
There was a knock at the door. Baker stood there. “Mind if I have a moment with Lise?”
Nick looked at me and I nodded.
“Sure.” Nick turned to Lowder, and said, “Can you use a coffee?”
Looking at me confused, Lowder said, “Well – yes – all right.”
Baker sat in the nearest chair, leaned over, and spoke softly.
When he finished, I said, “Take me there.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I sat up and swung my legs over the bedside. “Take me there.”
Ten minutes later I sat in the passenger seat of his undercover, huddled in his overcoat.
Baker glanced at me. “Guess who we found parked down the street from your house.” He waited, but my mind was still too foggy to make intuitive leaps. “Here’s a clue, he was sitting in a big, fancy pickup truck that has a lightbar over its cab.”
“Diaz!”
“Yep. He was waiting for you to show up.”
Driving down A1A, Baker hit his blinker and then we turned into the drive for St. Andrews Catholic Church. The San Marco PD crime scene van was parked next to Mary’s chapel, but on the opposite side of where Diaz had parked his truck the night before.
My cell sounded Nick’s ringtone, but I let it go to message rather than having to explain to him why I wasn’t in my hospital room. I was still shaky and Baker took my arm as we approached the little chapel. Crime scene tape was already up. The priest stood nearby talking to a patrolman. A couple of techs were working their way around.
We moved to the door and I looked in to see Reuben Busby, head crime scene tech, kneeling over a body. By the clothes I could tell it was Abe Lowder. He was on his left side in a fetal position and blood had spread under his body. His right arm was extended and his hand clenched. Above him was the shelf of votive candles. They’d all burned out except for one that flickered as it dwindled and would soon die. Busby looked up and saw us.
Approaching, he said, “Heard you were involved, Lise. You okay?”
I looked at Abe’s body and said, “Thanks to him, I am.”
Busby looked at me from the corners of narrowed eyes. “Come again?”
I looked at Abe’s form and his clenched fist. “What’s he holding?”
Busby looked behind at the corpse, and said, “A taper. Looks like he’d just lit one of the candles when Diaz came in and shot him. First shot punched through his throat, he’s got two more in his chest. The young man was already in rough shape when he got here. He’d been badly beaten and had abrasions on his wrist to indicate he’d been tied with a rope.”
Baker said, “Diaz has a beach house a quarter mile south of here. We got a crew there. Looks like he was holding Abe. Abe escaped and made his way here sometime after midnight mass had ended and everyone had left.”
I looked from Abe to the statue of Mary and her tranquil expression. “He’d been an altar boy here. He came for sanctuary, to pray. And ended up saving me.”
Busby gave me that look again, and said, “Lise, I’m not sure what you mean by –”
Baker grabbed my arm and pulled me away, “Thanks Busby, I’ll talk to you later.” He got me back in the car, and slid in the driver’s seat. “Let’s get you back to hospital, kiddo.”
After a few minutes on the road, I asked, “What aren’t you telling me?”
Baker adjusted the rearview mirror before answering. “It couldn’t have happened the way you said it happened.”
“What couldn’t?”
“Your run in with Diaz. Abe didn’t help you.”
I turned in my seat feeling some a special kind of anger that only Baker could instill. “Abe save me from being crushed like a bug, and he hid me until it was safe.”
“Ah shit.” Baker pulled to the side of the road and turned on his emergency blinkers. He looked at me, and said, “Diaz killed Abe before you showed up at the church.”
“Uh-uh, that’s not right.”
“Here’s the timeline. Night before last, Abe goes to settle their debt, but gets taken by Diaz and his stooges instead. The next morning Darcey, having gone into labor, called her mother. Her phone hadn’t seen a charger in a couple of days went kaput. Last night Abe escapes from Diaz and makes it to the church where he’s found and murdered. You show up just afterwards and Diaz tries to kill you. Abe was already dead when you got there.” Baker took my hand. “What I think happened, Lise, is that after hitting your head, you imagined Abe helping you. Being the sharp investigator you are, you figured out subconsciously that Daniel knew where Darcey was and used the fiction of Abe being there to bring it to your consciousness.”
“Bullshit.” Frustration turned my response into a near shout.
“The guy with Diaz, a dumbass thug named Arnie Fields, folded like a cheap card table and started talking the minute we got him into an interview room. He confirms it. Diaz murdered Abe, and you showed up just as they were leaving.”
Baker waited for me to say something, but I sat in silence. He started the car and pulled out onto the road.
“Lise?”
“I’m fine.”
“Let’s get you to your hospital room.”
I opened the passenger window and leaned my head out to look at a Christmas morning sky and feel the cold air. I saw what I saw, I experienced what I experienced, and I knew what I knew. I pulled my head back in and rolled up the window.
Smiling at Baker, I said, “Before you take me to my room, let’s go look at baby Mia.”
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