Disk of Death Page 2

  “Yep.”

  “He wasn’t freaking fine for you, was he?”

  Before I could defend my relationship with Rick, the announcer stepped up to the mike to hand out free money again. Everyone surged forward with anticipation and longing for the five-thousand-dollar giveaway.

  “I’m gonna win me some shit, you know what I’m saying?” Dwayne yelled over the noise. “Pay me!”

  Thankful for the change in topic, I waved to the announcer, and pointed at Dwayne. “Pay him!”

  The master of ceremonies smiled at us. He was used to our inebriated, boisterous type. He pushed some buttons, and a name appeared on the big screen. The words didn’t register at first until Dwayne slapped me on the back.

  “Fuck a duck! That’s you, Wall-ass!”

  Chapter 3

  Three bottles of champagne later, after having my picture taken for the winner’s wall of fame and playing the one-armed bandits, I hugged Dwayne goodbye and promised to look him up soon. He told me he would if I didn’t, and that made me feel good. At least I had one decent person on my side with no ulterior motives.

  Well, I had Katie, my best girlfriend, but she was in Ireland. I couldn’t even call her. The nerve of some people to pursue a dream when their friends were in need. Sheesh.

  Behind the wheel of my car, I headed down the highway. Headlights flashed against my dirty windshield, and once or twice I noticed lightning off in the distance. All I needed was rain, and I would be in serious trouble. The road didn’t exactly look straight to me.

  I leaned forward and glanced up. The moon beamed overhead like a streetlight, reassuring me no such weather catastrophe would unfurl. It was probably just heat lightning streaking across the summer sky.

  My mind wandered. I kept thinking about Rick and as if by magic, I found myself transported to his apartment complex. My car knew the way. What could I do but hang on for the ride?

  I twisted the steering wheel, swerving into a parking space sideways. If I’d been in my right mind, I’d have been thankful for missing all the other cars.

  I threw open the door and crawled out. The door ajar alarm beeped behind me. I wasn’t going to be long—just enough time to tell Mr. Shithead a few things. Like give me back my iPod, you smooth-talking ass-wipe.

  I lurched up to his door and banged. What time was it? I’d left my cell phone in the car and had no way to know but I was certain it was past midnight.

  “He’s asleep, you drunken dimwit.”

  I giggled and tried to shush myself. Impossible. I hollered for him to open the door and banged a few more times. “Gimme my freakin’ iPod.”

  No answer.

  “Open the damn door, Rick! God! Why are you doing this? Do you hate me now?”

  Was that stirring behind the door?

  Swaying dangerously, I stretched up on tiptoes and peered into the security hole. “Woo-hoo! I see you!”

  No response. No movement.

  “You bastard! You fucking, no good, lousy, bastard! I hate you!”

  That got a response. He yanked open the door and sneered at me from behind the door chain. “I called a cab company to come and get you. Do yourself a favor. Get in and go home. You don’t want to do this.”

  “Oh yes, I do wanna do this. I wanna know why you fired me and why you broke up with me and why you’re holdin’ Lady Gaga for random—um, ransom.”

  He shut the door, moved the chain off, and reopened the door. A wad of money appeared in my hands. “Shannon, you’re drunk, and you’re disturbing everyone’s peace. You can’t come in, and you can’t fix things out here by shouting and being a bitch. Go home.”

  He shut the door and replaced the chain. I started crying. I didn’t just sob. I wailed. I knew I was being childish, and when his neighbor, old Mr. Yoshi, gaped at me from where he had cracked his door open, everything felt worse.

  Amusement lit Yoshi’s wrinkled face. Damn all men.

  “For God’s sake,” Rick screamed from behind the door, “I gave you the money, don’t do this!”

  That convinced me. I threw the money down and staggered away. I didn’t need his sorry ass or his free cab ride. I’d make do without him, without his stinking job, and without Katy Perry on replay.

  I fell into my car and shut the door.

  By the time I’d made it to the Donut Hole on the corner of Greenman Road and a side street, the first wave of nausea struck me. The last thing I remembered before passing out was aiming the car into a slot, pushing the door open, and depositing a lot of alcohol on the ground.

  In the blaring light of a new sunrise, tapping on my car window woke me. A huge donut appeared behind a man with a toothy grin and a silver-streaked mustache.

  I lowered the glass. “Is there a problem?”

  He leaned into the interior and sniffed. “Not with me. Long night, huh?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  He patted my car door. “Yeah me too, lady. Better hike it outta here, though. The cops like to visit us on Saturday morning. You don’t want them to find you sleeping in your car, right?”

  I nodded, mortified he’d realized my sodden condition. He sauntered off to unlock the place to start his day. As I started the car and pulled away, the immortal words of Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz echoed in my brain.

  There really is no place like home.

  Chapter 4

  I live in the oldest part of South Lake, Mississippi, over by the middle school. The apartments are designed into quads, two up and two down, with a central staircase on the outside. I opted for an upstairs efficiency, making life harder for burglars. South Lake, as a general rule, is a pretty safe place to live, especially since our closest neighbor is Memphis—the top of the FBI’s list of most dangerous cities. But a girl can’t be too careful.

  Also, I didn’t want anyone stomping overhead. And I wanted a view, which ended up consisting of the parking lot on the backside of my place and the swimming pool on the front. Beat the heck out of overlooking the dumpsters.

  I eased out of the car, one eye squeezed shut against the light and the agony of a pounding headache. No way to stroll nonchalantly into my place when my legs still wanted to wobble. With a death grip on my purse, I slumped up to the apartment. As I stood outside the door, I considered my dim outlook. The five thousand would be enough to keep me going for a little while, but I would have to acquire a job soon. I like being able to shop and eat.

  My prospects reeked like my smoke-drenched clothing. I didn’t have any special skills other than the usual business/office assistant stuff. Typing, filing, and computer operation wouldn’t pay very well once you got down to it. I might as well be a Donut Hole clerk. I kick myself mentally whenever I remember passing on a computer technology degree.

  Since leaving college, I’d done everything I could think of to make a living. I’d gone to beauty school only to discover I’m allergic to hair dyes. I’d sold cosmetics at home shows but ended up keeping the products for my own use; when you have to buy a beauty kit for $300, you want to get something more from it than setting it on a table and letting strangers gawk at it. I even worked at the Pampered Poodle Parlor as a dog-washer, but after spending more time wet than dry and leaving every night wearing the scent of Eau de Stinky Dog, I gave up that plan.

  Working with Rick had been the answer to my dreams. Fine, Fine, Fine Furnishings paid decent wages, offered good benefits and friendly, albeit a bit gossipy, co-workers. As a bonus, I got to use some of the business courses I had taken in college. Where was that sense of accomplishment now?

  Gone.

  Now I was just a big failure.

  I shoved the door open with more force than necessary. It bounced off the doorstop and flew back to smack me.

  Damn it.

  I ignored the couch that enticed me to come lie down and remember cuddling with Rick. I likewise ignored the television, which could be turned up loud enough to drown out the memories in my head. Instead, I went straight to my bedroom. My personal sp
ace.

  It hadn’t changed much since I was a teen. The same French provincial furniture and orange sherbet-colored linens. I flopped on my bed, spread-eagled and fully dressed, in need of some advice. My stomach growled, and I yawned. Too hungry to sleep, too sleepy to eat.

  Sleep won.

  Chapter 5

  Late afternoon sun greeted me through the cream-colored mini-blinds. Another steamy day in the neighborhood. I wiped gunk from my eyes and tried to figure out what time it was; what day it was. Oh yeah, the first day of the rest of my unemployed, unwed life.

  My stomach griped over last night’s liquid diet, so I promised it that in another half-hour we would be sitting with a plate in front of us. I showered; pulled on blue jeans, a tee shirt, and sandals; shoved my still-damp hair into a ponytail; and jumped in the car headed north toward Aunt Tillie’s restaurant in the historic part of South Lake.

  In this part of town, any antique collector would find heaven. Narrow streets swept to pristine cleanliness nestled antique shops, arts and crafts boutiques, sports memorabilia stores, and a barber shop and feed store. Standard businesses for small-town America.

  My family’s claim to fame, a bustling eatery called Tillie’s Home Cookin’-IT’S GOOOOD!, stood right at the intersection of River’s Edge and Town Square. If anyone knew how best to use the five thousand dollars I’d won, it would be Tillie, or her sister, Nancy. They were my father’s sisters, and the two most precious ladies in the whole wide world.

  I came to live with them when I turned ten and Mama and Daddy met Jesus in a tornado in Kansas. The Mamas — my nickname for them — did the best they could for me through the years, making sure I graduated from high school and then on to college.

  They never married. It was not something everyone was meant to do, they’d said, quoting specific Bible passages to illustrate their point on the matter. They didn’t have to bother. The men my aunts attracted would turn any woman with a lick of sense off the idea of marriage. Probably why I was still single.

  I parked in a space two doors down from the restaurant, which jammed with guests long after lunch. I grabbed my tote bag with one hand and shoved down the car door lock with the other.

  As I walked toward the door, I noticed two old men perched on wrought iron chairs outside the barber shop, talking.

  “Damn shame a man ain’t even safe in his own home anymore,” one said.

  “I know. Agnes and I bought our first dining room set from his daddy.”

  I kept walking, half-listening. Tillie’s place was a hotbed for gossip, and soon I would be the most talked about person there. Or rather, my newly acquired five grand would be. Wonder what the Mamas would say when I told them about the money? I was genetically unlucky as a rule, generally getting stuck with the stuff nobody wanted. Winning meant my luck had turned. I grinned as I pulled open the door.

  Inside, I stood in line behind a man in khaki shorts. He gabbed with a brown-haired woman in need of a dye job.

  “It was on the news this morning, but they didn’t give out any names at that time. I guess they wanted to contact the family,” he said. “They think a robbery went bad.”

  “Did they say anything about the store being held up? I wonder if that means they’ll have a sale,” she asked, giggling. “Oops, did I say that?”

  “A sale? Yeah, that was pretty cold, Denise.”

  They followed Connie, one of my aunts’ better waitresses. While I waited my turn, I watched the television attached to the wall behind the bar. The weather segment was on. If the little suns were indicators, we were in for a heap of hot days. I leaned sideways and tried to see into the kitchen. Where was everybody?

  Connie reappeared, grabbed a menu, and came toward me. When she realized who I was, she stopped and motioned wildly for me to go to the kitchen. I hesitated. Had someone called in sick? I didn’t feel up to spending my day washing dishes.

  “Shannon, hurry up,” she called over the noise.

  I thought about turning tail and running back out the door but knew I would never hear the end of such cowardice, so I followed her.

  We passed prep cooks clattering containers of food against the stainless steel counters and workers loading plates with salads.

  Connie led me past the coolers to where Aunt Tillie frantically manned pots. I tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Shannon!” she exclaimed, grabbing for a rag to wipe her hands. “Honey, I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Oh oh. Here it comes.

  I stuck my hand out to stop her. “Hey. I came by to tell you and Aunt Nan some news before you found out from another source.”

  “I know.” She gripped my arm. “Oh honey, I am so sorry!”

  “How on earth did you—” I looked over her head at Aunt Nancy who whirled around the corner carrying a stockpot filled with water. The scent of boiling noodles and tureens of homemade spaghetti sauce wafted to my nose. My stomach twisted with hunger. “Hey, Aunt Nan. You are never going to believe what—”

  Aunt Nancy shoved the pot on a stove eye and quickly pulled me into a hug. “Don’t break down in front of Tillie, you hear?” she said in my ear, before kissing my cheek. “You know how she is.”

  They stood staring at me, like they were working hard not to cry.

  “Who died?” I asked, dreading the answer.

  Nancy glanced at Tillie before gazing at me with a squint. “You haven’t heard?”

  “No. I slept in all day. That’s why I’m here. I wanted to steal a meal. Well, maybe not steal...I wanted to tell y’all about-”

  “Come on,” Tillie said abruptly, pulling me by the hand to the tiny office at the back of the kitchen. “Sit.”

  I did. Whatever was going on had them both edgy. The gossip in the restaurant over a news story flashed through my mind.

  “What’s going on,” I asked. “Has something happened to one of your workers? That would certainly bring the ghouls to eat here. Curiosity seekers are the best customers.” I didn’t know why they thought I needed to be isolated to tell me the news however, so I frowned at them and waited.

  “Shannon, it’s all over the news. Honey, I don’t know how to tell you this,” Tillie said. Tears welled in her bright blue eyes, and she shook her head. She sat in the other chair with her shoulders slumped.

  Nancy took over. “It’s about Rick,” she said, wiping already dry hands on a striped kitchen rag.

  My heartbeat fluttered, taking half of my breath away. “That no-good jerk? What about him?”

  “Sugar, prepare yourself now. Someone murdered him last night,” Nancy replied, a bleak look on her face.

  Time ceased, and the air seemed sucked out of the room. Then the room began to spin, and nausea crept up the back of my throat. Sound faded into the pounding of my heart rushing through my ears.

  “You’re kidding. Rick Fine? My Rick Fine?”

  I didn’t recognize my voice. The sorrow on their faces and quick nods of their heads hurt more than any words they could have spoken. There was no way this was a joke.

  I rose to my feet and shrugged off their hands as they reached out to stop me. I ignored their pleas to come back and walked straight past the kitchen help into the dining room. I grabbed the remote to the television and flipped through channels, trying to find the local news. I didn’t have long to wait for the breaking news story to be recounted. My favorite anchor, a young blond man, gazed seriously at the camera and gave the latest.

  “And now, breaking news brought to you here first. Richard Fine, the son of furniture magnate, Thomas Fine, was found stabbed to death in his apartment early this morning. Police investigators are checking evidence found at the scene and statements given by the victim’s neighbors and family. We have a news crew on the scene and will have a full report on the evening news at five.”

  Everything moved away from me like the mirrored glass in a fun house tunnel. I stood still as a multitude of colors swirled. The words reverberated in my head.

  …stabbed�
��this morning…evidence…this morning…

  Then, as if the sudden pain of Rick’s death hadn’t created enough chaos, another more insidious thought crept into my mind. This morning? When this morning?

  I backtracked the last twelve hours in my head. I remembered going to Rick’s apartment. I remembered driving home this morning. Everything between point A and point B was fuzzy or blacked out. My head throbbed. Too much input on an empty stomach.

  The Mamas approached me with uncertainty.

  I couldn’t take this now. I didn’t think I could contain the scream rising in my throat, and if someone said how sorry they were or what a damn shame this mess was, I wouldn’t even try.

  It was a mistake. Somebody was wrong, had the wrong Fine.

  I skirted my family and all the informed employees whose eyes followed me as I rammed the door with the heel of my hand.

  If the cops questioned anyone at the office, they knew I’d been fired yesterday and had been hostile about it. If they’d spoken to Mr. Yoshi, Rick’s nosy neighbor, he would have told them he’d seen me last night. Or was that this morning? God. It had been around midnight, I remembered that much.

  Me? A killer?

  I threw my tote purse into the car, and it thumped against the far door.

  I didn’t kill him. I couldn’t have.

  I wasn’t that drunk, was I? Had I developed a split personality?

  Drunks wrecked their cars, escaped without a scratch because of their condition, and usually didn’t remember a thing about what had happened. Could that be me? I had been as mad as I could get, that much was true.

  I backed out of the parking space and shoved old Betsy into drive. An overwhelming sense of urgency enveloped me. I raced down a side street and headed for my apartment.

  I was in big trouble.

  Chapter 6

  I cruised through my apartment complex looking for a cop car or anyone sitting in a vehicle surveying my place. Nobody lurked about, so I passed two adjacent buildings and parked.

  The car door groaned when I eased out. If sounds and subversive actions made one look guilty, I qualified as the perfect criminal. I crept down the sidewalk, purse held tightly in front of me, eyes scanning left, right, ahead. When I gained the shelter of the stairs, I drew a deep breath. Apparently, no one waited to ambush me.