The Evolution of TJ Wilde: Run Aground, Pt 3

…and then the murders began.

Each chapter was sent out to family and friends, just so I wasn’t writing in a void. I needed their feedback, which I accepted gratefully. What I also got were demands for the next chapter and the next. Five chapters in, I realized I was indeed, writing a novel. Besides, by that time, TJ, Colby, Nick, et al, were very much alive for me and I wanted to see how their stories would end. For some, not so great…

THREE

Life is intrinsically, well, boring and dangerous at the same time. At any given moment the floor may open up. Of course, it almost never does; that’s what makes it so boring.– Edward Gorey

“TJ? Are you in there? Let me in.” I pulled the door open, flinging the inquisitor into the room.

“Jesus-fucking-Christ you scared the shit out of me, Jameson,” I said in a terse whisper as Colby came into full view.

“That is some mouth you have on you, TJ.” He moved in close. “And as soon as we figure this mess out, I plan on feasting on it.” He made a point of looking down my loose t-shirt and sports bra, dimly lit by the light from the open door.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to kill him or kiss him. I pushed him aside, closed the door and flipped on the light. I was growing accustomed to his salacious quips. I suspected they were his coping mechanisms. Much better than my coping mechanisms, which fluctuated wildly between barely controlled rage and unrelenting nausea.

The light revealed a spotless interior. I looked everywhere but at Mike. I knew he was embalmed and ready to be prepped for a viewing. His autopsy wounds would be carefully sewn shut and he’d be cleaned up, but that didn’t matter. It was still too much for me. Right now I needed to focus on finding out why it happened. Later today, they would dress and casket him. Then ready him for transport back to his hometown, where he was set for viewing, a funeral and burial with full honors. Maybe before they closed the casket this afternoon I’d be able to say goodbye. For now, I focused my attention on Colby, who was standing too far away.

“I was run off the road by these Scary Dudes in a black Escalade,” I started in a breathless whisper, “about two miles from here. It was too dark to see who they were. I ran the rest of the way on foot. When I got here, they were parked in the front lot.”

“Dammit, TJ, what were you thinking?” he asked, as he closed the space between us. “Going out in the middle of the night without any backup? You should have waited for me.” He seemed exasperated, or maybe it was concerned. I was too tired to make the distinction.

“I couldn’t sleep and you were working,” I responded defensively. He scowled, but then put his arms around me. “Look, I’m sorry,” I said, as I leaned into him. “I didn’t think anything would happen. Up to this point, nothing in my life had prepared me for a time when I might need backup.”

Colby pulled me tightly into him, shaking his head before tucking me under his chin and wrapping me in his arms. “You’re right. You should never have been put in this situation.”

“Well, I’m in it now,” I interrupted – afraid he was going to cut me from the team. He didn’t know it yet, but I was going to work hard to make sure I stayed a part of this. Seeing Mike, slumped over and bleeding, his life slipping away had galvanized me. I would do whatever it took to find out who murdered him. “What do we do about the guys in the parking lot?” 

“They’re not there. I scouted the entire perimeter before I came in. There’s no one out there. I also checked out the first floor before I came down here looking for you.” His voice was deep, vibrating his chest as I pressed against it. For a fleeting moment, I felt safe.

“How’d you know I’d be here?”

“You weren’t at the apartment when I got there. You weren’t answering your cell. I assumed you came here. When I didn’t see your car, I really started to worry.”

“How’d you get in?”

“Picked the lock.”

“Talented.”

“Trust me, that’s not my only talent.”

Reluctantly, I pulled myself away and walked over to the lockers. That nagging feeling had edged its way back even as Colby tried to reassure me. Who was this man I was trusting with my life? For that matter, who was the man dead on the table across the room? I didn’t have an answer to either of those questions, so I took a deep breath, swallowed the rising panic, and resolved to focus only on the task in front of us. “Let’s see if we can find the flash drive.”

We worked in silence as I unlocked the locker with Mike’s personal effects in it. Most of it was neatly compiled in a large paper bag. The rest was in his duffle bag. I listened for Jim as I worked. “What time is it?” I asked distractedly, as I pulled Mike’s badge and ID from the bottom of the bag. I opened it and ran my thumb across his picture, those deep blue eyes staring back at me. No one, including Colby, was going to deter me.

Colby pulled his phone from his pocket to look at it and replied, “Six forty-five.” Jim would be here soon. It would be better if we were gone when he arrived, fewer questions to answer. 

We had everything laid out on the expanse of counter between the sink and the lockers. There wasn’t much. Jacket, badge, a brown case with a few unimportant papers in it, a shaving kit, and a change of clothes, that was it. A heartbreaking testament.

“It’s not here,” I said quietly. It wasn’t that I was surprised, it had been a long shot at best. What did surprise me was that there was anything here at all. I thought the police would have taken everything and then the crime lab would swab it all for trace evidence. That’s what I get for trusting CSI reruns. “I don’t get it. Why is this stuff still here? Why don’t the State Police have it? Why didn’t the Marshals take it?” I asked.

“The State Police were mostly concerned with the crime scene. Everything there was cataloged into evidence. I’ve been over all of it. There was no flash drive. There wasn’t really much of anything personal – his watch and cell phone, surveillance equipment and his service weapon. All they took from his hotel room was his laptop. This stuff,” he gestured across the counter, “from his car and his room, it wasn’t deemed important. They pulled it before the car was returned to the rental company and the hotel room was released. The agency will most likely ask the funeral home to return it to his next of kin.”

“Who is his next of kin?” I asked, saddened. Reminded once again that Mike and I never had a chance to talk about his life outside this case. Colby was behind me now, gently touching my shoulders, sensing my tension. I was holding everything together with adrenaline and caffeine.

“I don’t know for sure. We list it on our paperwork. It could be his parents or a sibling. He wasn’t married that I know of, I can find out if it’s important to you.”

I shook my head. Exhaustion had caught up with me. “I need to get home, I have to shower and get back here. I have a meeting at nine.”

“You’re going to work? Today?” He let me go. I immediately missed his warmth. I turned around and could see the concern filling his green eyes. “You’ve barely slept in two days.”

I had to go to work, had to have some moment that wasn’t surreal. A moment that wasn’t filled with blood, terror, or doubt. And oddly, I knew I was going to find it in an alcove office at a funeral home. I began to put Mike’s belongings back in the locker, then stopped. “Wait, where are his keys?” I asked abruptly.

“I suppose they were turned in with the rental car.”

“No. Not the rental car key. His keychain. It was a small, black and silver carabiner and it had a ring with keys attached to it,” I was getting excited now. “I remember it because he was teasing me about all the keys on my key ring one night. He pulled his keys out to illustrate his point. His key ring only had two keys and the flash drive.” I laughed at the memory. “Then he made me explain every key on my ring and why I needed it.” I paused, trying to focus. “The flash drive wasn’t there Friday night, because he used one of the keys to open the case with the earpiece and camera in it. I don’t remember seeing it then.” I futilely ran my hands over everything on the counter again. “Do you think the key ring was booked into evidence? Maybe he put the flash drive back on it, or maybe the other key could lead us to where he stashed it.”

Colby stood quietly for a moment. I knew he was once again going over the items booked into evidence in his mind. He looked at me. “There were no other keys. Not even his hotel keycard. We had to get one from the front desk in order to search his room.”

I looked over everything spread on the counter. Where was it now? I was beginning to feel stupid for even thinking the flash drive could be important. It was probably filled with his favorite songs instead of crucial evidence in his investigation and was left in his rental car. But it had stuck in my mind…why? Did Mike say something about it? I was too tired to think anymore so I continued to put Mike’s things away.

“This is a needle in a haystack. I’m probably wrong,” I said after I’d put everything back into the locker. I was discouraged and I needed a shower. “Let’s go.”

Colby took my hand and pulled me close. “The first lesson in police work is, don’t ignore your gut.”

“I thought the first lesson was tedium,” I said quietly as I leaned into him and fought back tears.

My apartment was the best thing about being stranded in Peoria. I saw it for rent two days after Peter’s proclamation. Determined to get on with my life, I snapped it up. It was a funky three-story stone castle in the historic district, about a mile and a half from the riverfront. The streets were tree-lined and most of the stately older homes and mansions had been turned into apartments or condominiums. The castle stood out, with her rough-hewn stone and turret, sitting on the corner, proud and regal, overseeing her kingdom. I was the princess who lived in the tower, looking out upon the land. Every day I climbed up three flights of stairs. Past Jeff Avery’s apartment on the first floor, where often I could hear him practicing his cello. Past Mrs. Cavaleri’s apartment on the second floor, envious of whatever aromatic food she was cooking. Then up the narrow stairs to a tiny landing and my door.

Behind it was a true treasure. An expansive apartment, windowed on three sides and a spiral staircase in one corner that led to my bedroom, at the top of the turret that stood guard over the entire block. I loved that room with its 360-degree view and vaulted ceiling. It was tiny, but it didn’t matter, at night I had a view van Gogh would have envied. I could see the city lights, the moon and the stars. Every morning I was awakened by sunlight streaming through the trees.

The main floor was equally beautiful, with wood floors and large windows. The living room looked out onto the quiet street and in back, a sunny kitchen faced a large oak tree filled with squirrels and birds. Mrs. Cavaleri, of course, put up feeders for both. There was a small room off the kitchen that served as both a laundry room and a landing for the back stairs. Below my tower bedroom, behind the stairs, was a curved alcove, perfect for my desk, laptop and easel. The bathroom was between the kitchen and the alcove. It had a big clawfoot tub, to which a shower had been added, along with a shower rod that encircled the tub. The sink and vanity looked vintage. Only the toilet had a modern feel, in deference to water conservation I had to assume.

Colby and I walked wordlessly up the three flights of stairs. I put the key into the lock and let us in. The rising sun cast long, cool shadows across the floor. I left Colby to make phone calls and went to turn on the shower. I stripped off my clothes and checked the temperature before stepping into the tub.

The steaming water cleared my head and when I finished, I felt revived. I wrapped a little flowered robe around me, stepped out of the bathroom and took a deep inhale of freshly brewed coffee. Colby had a mug waiting for me when I padded barefoot into the kitchen. He’d also arranged for my car to be towed to the funeral home, he told me as he rummaged in the refrigerator for milk.

“Do you feel like some breakfast? I make a mean omelet,” he said as he pulled the milk carton out.

I shook my head no, as I took the milk from him and poured a dash into my mug. He was starting to grow on me. His phone vibrated, he looked at it and indicated he needed to answer. I watched him, sitting at my sunny kitchen table, talking on his cell, writing notes, smoldering with innate sexuality.  He looked like he belonged there. I felt a pang of guilt, knowing I spent the morning suspecting him of betraying me. I poured myself another cup of coffee and laughed as I topped off his mug. He’d chosen the one with the tiny red hearts. He smiled up at me and I had to tamp down the urge to drag him upstairs. He continued his conversation, unaware of my lustful thoughts. He had to be one of the good guys, he just had to be.

I left to get ready for work. When I came downstairs, he was leaning against the sink, waiting for me.

“Ready to face the day?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“I’d try to talk you into staying home today, but I think you’ll be safer at the funeral home.”

“You think I’m in danger?” I teased, trying to sound brave. He wrapped his arm around me, kissed the top of my head and steered me out the door.

“I want you to stay there. I have to meet with the State Police and the Marshals on the case, but I should be done around one. I’ll bring you lunch.” He opened the truck door for me. He tried to hide his apprehension, but his eyes betrayed him as he watched me settle in my seat. I was the sole witness to the murder of a Deputy U.S. Marshal and that made me a target. It didn’t matter that I knew nothing more than law enforcement, I was the last person to see Mike alive and that was enough.

We rode in silence to the funeral home in his very bad-ass black Silverado. It suited him. I was quiet. My mind, on the other hand, was in overdrive, rejuvenated by my shower, fueled by fatigue and caffeine. I couldn’t stop replaying everything over and over, like one of those nightmares where you are running from danger but standing in the same spot, unable to get away. I laughed to myself at the thought. I was Scooby Doo trying to outrun the Headless Specter, feet moving at full speed, but going nowhere. Only my specter was real.

I tried to focus on the drive, but the film in my head was relentless. All I could see was Mike’s blood, smell it, feel its warmth, and hear his labored breath. Then it was sensory overload, like I was there again. Dark red everywhere, with the smell of wet copper, burnt flesh and gunpowder hanging in the air. Waves of nausea hit. I rolled down my window, tipping my head out, breathing deep, grateful for the late summer smells of the tree-lined street.

“You okay there Kit-Kat?”

I pulled my head in and leaned back against the headrest. “Yeah,” I replied none too convincingly. “Kit-Kat?” I inquired a moment later.

“It’s safer than calling you a hot pus…” he stopped, cleared his throat and grinned as I rolled my eyes at him. He looked over at me, curled up in my seat, facing him, shoes kicked off, legs tucked under me. “You’re a sweet treat,” he said as he pulled up to a red light. He leaned over and kissed me before it turned green.

I smiled at him. A genuine, warm smile, something I hadn’t done in days. Desire flooded over me, but there was something else. I was teetering precipitously close to the edge of very dangerous emotional ground. I unfolded myself and turned to face front, grateful we were close to the funeral home. Colby turned into the parking lot and parked near the big doors. I began to put on my sandals but realized I had kicked one under the seat. As I bent down to retrieve it, Colby got out, walked over to my door and opened it.

“Thank you,” I said as I slipped on my errant slingback and stepped out of the truck. He closed the door and beeped the alarm. “You don’t have to escort me to the door.”

“I’m escorting you to your office. In case you have forgotten you were run off the road this morning by persons unknown.” His phone vibrated again. He pulled it out and looked down at a text. “Speaking of, your car is on its way here. It looks like it’s okay except for a few dings and a broken window. I’ll have someone out to fix the window this morning.”

Well, that didn’t sound too bad. I knew it could have been much worse because there were no street lights and the road had been dark. It was sheer luck that my car ended up in an empty lot, between an office building and the houses lining the rest of the street. It was an older neighborhood and most of the houses were stone or brick. The trees were large and unyielding. There were low stone walls separating the yards from the street and on one side, a small lake. Somehow I managed to miss all of those obstacles when I was run off the road.

I hadn’t even realized I was being followed until I turned onto that quiet residential street. If I had, I would have taken a more traveled route instead. This was my routine shortcut each morning to work. It was prettier than the more populated Knoxville Avenue. There were fewer stop lights and a slower pace. Many mornings I could see the ducks and swans out on the lake. I drove it out of habit, no idea I was in danger.

My first indication of trouble had been when the lights of the Escalade sped up and loomed large in the rearview mirror, almost blinding me. I slowed to let them pass, but that was not what they wanted. My heart raced as I suspected something was amiss. By the time my bumper took the first hit, I was already calculating my escape. The problem was I didn’t know the roads around the area very well. I could make my way to the funeral home and not much else. However, I did remember that there was a fire station on Knoxville. If I could find a way to double back to the last intersection, I had some confidence I could get there. At the very least, I’d be on a busier street.

I decided I would turn left at the next intersection and swing around. Before I could turn, they hit me again, this time hard enough that I began to lose control of the car. I wheeled hard left and jumped the curb, hitting soft dirt and fishtailing as I went. The Escalade sped past unable to maneuver as quickly. My car continued forward, jumping a small ditch, sliding right and tipping precariously on the uneven ground. I jerked the steering wheel sharply again, slamming on the brakes, barely missing a low wall. I wrestled the car to a stop as a large oak appeared in front of me, illuminated by my headlights. Metal met wood, but without much force.

I put the car in reverse, thinking it was best to keep moving. At that moment, something shattered my passenger window, glass flying everywhere. Afraid it was Scary Dudes, I threw the car into park, turned it off, scrambled out the door, keys in hand, and started to run. I looked back only long enough to see the brake lights on the Escalade as it stopped. When the white backup lights glowed, I turned and headed to the funeral home.

Considering those events, I was pleasantly surprised when Colby said the damage was minimal. I was happy Scary Dudes hadn’t backed all the way up and run over my car a couple of times before following me to the funeral home. I’d have to wait to see if they ransacked the inside.

True to his word, Colby walked me to my office. He leaned on the doorjamb as I flipped on my computer. I saw Dee Miller, the office manager, peeking out of the reception area, clearly interested in my newest suitor. Colby reached over and touched my arm. He reminded me I was not to go anywhere and he’d be back by lunch. Then he was gone. When he left, the void was palpable as my cold reality swept in.

I settled into my morning routine of checking email and phone messages. I readied my notes for the staff meeting. I had set the agenda last week, two lifetimes ago, and my talking points seemed unimportant this morning. But in the interest of returning to normalcy, I diligently highlighted the most important ideas and crossed out the things that could wait. I had to remind myself that no one here had any idea what transpired this weekend. They knew only what the Marshals Service had released to the public: a Marshal had been killed in the line of duty. They didn’t realize how close he was when it happened or that I was the one he was protecting when it did. As far as I know, they didn’t even notice I left the service early.

I gathered my notes and stood up to leave when my office phone rang. It was jarring and I jumped as the sound filled my tiny office. Taking a deep breath to slow my breathing and bring my pulse rate back to normal, I picked it up. “Butterfield Funeral Home, this is TJ.”

“TJ, we have to talk.”

***

And then there was the throwaway line that changed everything. Because suddenly, TJ’s dad showed up. Her dead dad, or at least who she thought was dead. And he stayed. Stayed with all of us to the very end, providing an unexpected, enduring mystery arc through all three books.

What was that line? And why was it so important in the moment that despite the implications, I knew I couldn’t cut it? For that answer, I’m afraid you’ll have to read the book.

***

Next up, TJ finds her way in a new reality. Single again and back in Boston. We’ll look at excerpts from Book Two next time.

TJ Wilde Trilogy available here.