Booty Call (Episode Seven: The NIghtshade Cases) Read online

  “I’ve been seeing Cici Panther for several weeks now,” she said.

  Gerri swallowed. Okay. Well, they were sharing a therapist. Whatever.

  Kinsey looked up through her bangs, blue eyes locking with the detective’s.

  And Gerri suddenly understood.

  “You’ve what?” First off, her rational mind knew it was none of her business who Ray was banging. Come on, they were grown adults, right? And they all needed to find a little warmth and comfort where they could. But the bheast in her—and she fully accepted that was the part with the nasty temper and the boiling point she could barely control—roared into protective mode in a rush of rage.

  Ray winced but didn’t back down. “It’s none of your business.” She glared at Kinsey who flushed. “Or yours.”

  True, all true. And yet, Gerri was going to kill Cici when she saw her next. Had an epiphany about the therapist’s behavior lately. God damn it.

  The elevator dinged one final time, pulling Gerri’s eyes away from her friends, her focus from the fight about to go down in the bullpen, a very loud and public fight she wasn’t sure she’d be able to ask forgiveness for later. If it had been Cici Panther who walked through the door at that moment, Gerri was certain she would have killed her.

  Torn her limb from limb and drank her blood for taking advantage of Ray.

  Instead, all the heat and fury went out of her and she found herself gaping, frozen, as the slim brunette with a cold expression and flat eyes, dressed impeccably in a designer suit, clicked her high-heeled way across the bullpen and came to a halt next to Ray.

  “Children,” Victoria Hunter said in the most condescending tone Gerri had ever heard before patting Ray’s ghostly white cheek with one gloved hand. “There, there, dear,” she said. “Whatever’s the matter, Mummy’s here to fix it.”

  ***

  INT. – 9TH PRECINCT BULLPEN to CAFÉ DOM – AFTERNOON

  Ray wanted to throw up, all over her mother’s polished leather shoes. She would have done so only a short six months ago if not for the friendships she’d renewed, the strength she drew from the presence of the two women who stood, gaping, at Mummy.

  As it was, they would never know just how much stability they offered Ray, even not saying a single thing, while her mother watched her with icy, calculating eyes and the soullessness with which Ray was oh-so familiar.

  “Mummy.” Dear God, she’d just said the word out loud like some child caught being naughty. Ray’s mouth flooded with saliva, bile rising in the back of her throat and, she feared, Gerri and Kinsey notwithstanding, she was going to heave her guts up after all.

  How charming.

  Mummy’s hazel eyes tightened, a sure sign she’d missed her latest Botox treatment. It had been years since Victoria Hunter had been able to show much emotion, or any emotion at all, as far as Ray knew. Or, maybe it was her natural, hateful state that kept her face so flawless, line free and perfect, a face Ray stared at in the mirror every morning. One more constant reminder of where she’d come from and who she could be, if she let herself.

  “Ms. Hunter.” Gerri’s voice was rough with what, anger? At Ray still, over Cici? Or the fact her absentee Mummy rarely showed her face? Like that was Gerri’s business. Sure, the detective knew some of Ray’s history with her mother. Didn’t like her on principle, had told Ray so many times.

  Did it matter which reason set Gerri off?

  Mummy ignored the redhead, hand falling to Ray’s, gloved fingers tightening in an iron grip that had nothing to do with greeting or kindness or compassion. “Rachel, darling. I’ve been looking simply everywhere in this ghastly city for you.” Punishment for making her look was pending. And Ray, still a hurt girl inside and fully aware of the power her mother’s disapproval had over her no matter how often she told herself to grow a spine, crumbled under Mummy’s touch and coldness.

  “What are you doing here, Ms. Hunter?” Kinsey’s tone held a challenge. Ray wished she wouldn’t. This time, though, the interruption caught Mummy’s attention, enough she paused to answer. Shocking. And made Ray pay attention.

  “Am I not permitted to visit my own daughter?” Haughty, arrogant. But wait. What was that hint of something foreign in her mother’s eyes? In the soft quaver at the end of her question? Was Mummy scared… of Kinsey?

  That made no sense at all.

  Mummy’s hazel eyes met Ray’s, shattering the question and her focus.

  “Since you obviously care nothing at all for me,” Victoria said, flaying Ray with her words while Ray shivered and waited for her chance to apologize, “or the state of affairs I’ve been forced into hunting you down, I would think you’d be happy to see me.” She tilted her head ever so slightly, chin forward, cheek presented. And Ray, dutiful and practiced, heart an icicle in her chest, pressed her cold lips to her mother’s pale flesh. The good daughter.

  Dear God, she was going to throw up for certain.

  Ray turned as Mummy’s grip tightened, painful. An outsider would never know just how bruising her fingers could be, how Ray’s bones would ache for days. That she’d have hidden marks on her arms and legs by the time Mummy was gone, marks delivered subtly, with seemingly casual gestures and caresses, threats and abuses long practiced, long endured.

  Ray hated her mother so much she could barely stand it. And had no idea what drove her to stand there, the picture of the obedient daughter, staring with mute eyes and expression at her troubled friends, letting Mummy take over.

  “If you’ll excuse us,” she said in a perfect British tone that said in no uncertain terms Mummy didn’t give a damn what the girls thought, spinning and leading Ray away. Kinsey looked like she wanted to stop the exodus, but Ray didn’t encourage her. She had to deal with Mummy, appease whatever reasoning she had for being here, and get her to leave as soon as possible. Kinsey or Gerri pissing her off would only make things worse.

  So much worse.

  And Ray, as she climbed into the elevator with her mother, realized the saddest part yet. She hated her mother, with a passion so powerful it choked her, made her shake. But, for her weakness, for allowing the control, she hated herself more.

  It wasn’t until they sat down, Ray numb and lost, her mother crisp with the waitress at the café across the street from the precinct, Mummy even spoke another word to her.

  “Rachel,” she said, exasperation in her voice as her fingertips dug into the soft flesh of Ray’s inner arm. For the first time, Ray welcomed the pain, didn’t gasp from it as Mummy would have wanted her to do. Just met her mother’s eyes and waited. “Whatever is the matter? You are happy to see me.” Not a question, not with that dead, flat gaze watching, fingers hurting her, waiting for an answer.

  “I’ve lost someone,” Ray said, for the first time since she was a child not offering the lie her mother wanted to hear. Speaking the truth. “Someone I loved died, Mummy.”

  Her mother’s flat expression darkened lips tight around the collagen injections. Ray almost laughed a barking sound that caught in her throat at the ridiculousness of her mother’s appearance. Really, did she think she was fooling anyone?

  Her inner rebellion finally brought out the gasp Ray usually reserved for pain. And wondered if maybe, just maybe, she might somehow find a way to break Mummy’s hold.

  “Nonsense.” Mummy’s fingers dipped down, caught the skin on the side of Ray’s leg, squeezed so hard tears sprang to her eyes. But again she welcomed it. Let it happen, breathed into the agony and actually smiled as her mother’s pressure hesitated, fell away. She spluttered vaguely, looked away. The smallest victory and yet, to Ray, the greatest one of all. “I’ve taught you better than that.”

  “Than to care, Mummy?” Ray was breathless with wonder and suspense. How would she survive this? And yet, here she sat, challenging her mother—her mother—and the world hadn’t fallen apart. And she was still breathing, existing.

  Victoria Hunter’s gaze snapped with a burst of rage, so rare for her. But, she didn’t try
to hurt Ray again, at least, not with her touch. “Surely you’re not referring one of your disgusting trysts. You really must get over your need to be so vile, filthy child.”

  It should have hurt, driven a spike through her chest. But Ray just smiled, broken inside but not destroyed, not empty. She could feel. And that was more than her mother ever had. The bitch.

  Whatever Mummy saw in Ray’s eyes, it unsettled her. She rose to her to her feet where she waved off the barista with an angry slap of her loose leather gloves. She glared down at her daughter, tossing her curled, dark hair like an angry horse, nostrils flaring.

  “I’m staying at the Melton,” she said, command in her voice, a desperate attempt to rein Ray in? Perhaps. Did she know she’d lost her daughter here in this place, once and for all? “I expect you for dinner this evening.” Mummy strode off, heels clicking on the sidewalk, while Ray exhaled through her mouth and laughed while tears streamed down her face.

  So, this was what freedom felt like. Why did she suddenly want to die?

  ***

  INT. – DR. PANTHER’S OFFICE to YARDLY HOUSE – AFTERNOON

  Gerri towered over Angela’s desk, Cici’s receptionist’s gulp of concern doing little to make the detective back off.

  “What do you mean,” she growled at the girl, “she’s not here?”

  “Dr. Panther is out for the afternoon,” Angela squeaked before clearing her throat, reaching for the phone with a frown forming between her brows though her voice and hand shook. “You really need to go, Detective.”

  Gerri almost laughed. The girl thought she was threatening her, did she? Acting out of control? Crazy? She had no fucking clue.

  But Cici would. Oh, would she ever. Gerri just had to find her first.

  She stormed from the office, not caring if Angela called Captain King to complain. This was about Ray. And while Gerri might not be able to save her friend from that bitch of a mother of hers, there was no way she’d allow the therapist to screw Ray up any worse than she already was.

  Of course, it occurred to Gerri’s logical side maybe being with Cici was a good thing, having the psychiatrist in her life might be beneficial for Ray. But she couldn’t bring herself to accept it, not with the two of them sneaking around like they were doing something wrong.

  Gerri panted her anger into the heat of her Charger’s interior. It took two tries to start the engine, sitting there in the full-blast of the blowing air-conditioning, trying to pull herself together. This was none of her damned business and yet, like the situation with Kinsey and Simone, the detective just couldn’t convince her gut to leave well enough alone.

  She had to find Cici and talk to her. Only then would she be able to let this go.

  Police work. She needed a distraction and she was in the right neighborhood for it. A glance at the file told her she was only a few blocks from the home of Mr. and Mrs. Ted Yardley, the couple who put out the restraining order against Gaylene Striker.

  By the time Gerri pulled up outside their apartment building, cramming her car into a no parking zone, she was at least nominally in control of her temper. The cool interior of the expensive building helped, as did the soothing music on the elevator.

  Aw, hell. Who was she kidding? Gerri would continue to fume and stew until she had a chance to resolve the issue in her own mind. Everything else was just a pain in her ass. There were times in the past she wondered at her single minded focus, grateful for it, at least when it came to work. But now she understood where it came from— the part of her that wasn’t human—it gave her the creeps and pissed her off to the point that when she hammered on the door to the Yardley’s apartment, she was certain the creature inside her showed.

  A slim, attractive ginger with fake highlights and a pinched, worried expression behind her welcoming smile answered the door. She took a half step back, one hand on her chest in surprise. Only then did Gerri draw a breath and make an effort not to scare the shit out of her.

  “Mrs. Betty Yardley?” She flashed her badge. “Detective Meyers, Silver City Police. Can I have a few moments of your time?”

  The woman glanced back over her shoulder, anxiety flashing on her face, but whatever it was she meant to do or say was lost when a heavy set man jerked the door out of her hand and glared up at Gerri. His round belly bounced slightly as he looked her up and down, with the surface arrogance of short men faced with the Amazonian height and breadth of the detective. She was used to it, smiled a grim smile at him, and flashed her badge for a second time.

  Ted Yardley didn’t invite her in. “What’s this about?”

  Betty stood back, eyes huge, lips parted. How a sweet-appearing, beautiful woman ended up with this loudmouth asshat Gerri had no idea. And, for a moment, she felt guilty, knowing she was about to stir up something that likely meant unhappiness for both of them. But she had a job to do and she needed to know if Gaylene Striker was a nut case or might actually be trustworthy.

  “I’m here about a complaint you filed last year,” she said, focused on Ted but keeping her peripheral vision and, more importantly, her gut, in tune with Betty. The woman winced visibly, looked away, while his face darkened. Gerri went on anyway. “You filed a restraining order and charges of stalking against Gaylene Striker.”

  “That psycho,” Ted said, disdain and disgust in his voice. “She claimed my wife was gay. Can you believe that?” He didn’t even turn to Betty to include her in the conversation. “Wouldn’t leave us alone.”

  Betty’s expression, while well-schooled, didn’t hide the emotions racing through her. Gerri let the bheast feel the full extent, sniff the woman's distress on the air even past the nasty cologne her husband wore and knew the truth. “So you took out a restraining order?”

  “Even then she wouldn’t go away.” Ted shook his head, balding pate catching the light, anger in his mud-brown eyes. “Took me having her arrested for her to go away. That and Betty speaking personally to the judge.”

  Betty nodded quickly. “It was the only thing to do,” she said, voice light, crisp, with the right amount of distress. The good wife. Made Gerri sick.

  The phone rang inside, Ted tsking. “I’m working,” he snapped as if his unimportant life was more valuable than a police investigation.

  “I’ll take care of the detective from here, dear,” Betty said, sliding between him and the open entry, a kind and thoughtful smile on her face. “Don’t trouble yourself further. I’m sure she was just checking in.”

  He glared at Gerri a long moment before shrugging his shoulders and disappearing into the apartment. Betty’s fake smile faded ever so slightly, and she whispered as she leaned toward the redhead.

  “I loved Gaylene,” she said, words barely discernible but clear enough when Gerri’s hyper senses paid attention. “I only went through with the charges when Ted found out about us. He still thinks Gaylene was just a crazy woman. He has no idea.” She choked, coughed apologetically into her hand. Met Gerri’s eyes, begging her to not judge, to understand. “For the children,” she finished.

  Gerri didn’t comment.

  “Gaylene’s a good person,” Betty finished as she closed the door. Paused. “I’m not.”

  No argument there.

  ***

  INT. – SILVER CITY COURT HOUSE – LATE AFTERNOON

  Gerri’s second stop was much less fraught with fury and more speculative. While part of Gaylene’s story panned out, it seemed the second half was bunk.

  “No idea what you’re talking about.” Gander Isaacs brushed crumbs from his tie and gulped a drink of coffee while shuffling giant piles of files around on the surface of his desk. His assistant looked about as harried as he should have been, but the District Attorney just looked invigorated. He’d only been elected to his position a few months ago, so she wondered how long his enthusiasm would last.

  “So, Belinda Patterson wasn’t bringing evidence to you against her husband?” Maybe she shouldn’t have been so disappointed. After all, Gerri's job was about findi
ng the truth and solving crimes, not arresting people for fraud. Still, there was something oily and despicable about Daryl she would have been more than happy to insult by tossing his ass in jail.

  “Detective,” Gander said, leaning forward, five o’clock shadow heavy on his thick jowls, neck straining under his white collar, “as far as I know, Daryl Patterson is clean. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do and you’re not part of it.”

  Gerri found herself outside his office door, her phone ringing. The voice on the other end of the line didn’t make her any happier.

  “I spoke with the housekeeper.” She’d asked one of the detectives to interrogate Maria at the Patterson house. Why had Mills taken the assignment? Gerri couldn’t fault the young uniform, though, and held her temper and her judgment of her absentee partner, Jackson Pierce, as Candace went on. Should have been his job, the asshole. “According to her, Gaylene and Belinda are lovers and have been for some time. Daryl did know, would watch videos of it over coffee with his wife.” Gerri could tell Mills struggled to keep her level tone as she spoke and thought even more highly of her for it. She’d make detective sooner rather than later and Gerri would sponsor her if she asked. “So, both sides of the story seem to be true.”

  Gerri hung up, grumbling to herself. Sick people. But, so far, innocent of wrongdoing, if she didn’t count being assholes.

  ***

  INT. – JULIAN BLACK’S MANSION – LATE AFTERNOON

  Kinsey sat behind the wheel of her car, fingers tapping anxiously on the leather, heart skittering like a nervous filly. Grown woman, she chanted to herself. You’re a grown woman. Find your spine and go do what you said you’d do.

  It still took her almost five full minutes to drag herself out into the warm California sunshine. To cross the paving stones to the glass doors of the solarium. To enter the humid room and go to the door leading into the interior of the house. To the room where the artifacts waited.