“Exactly,” I said.
We were heading up Kellogg, turning left at the History Center at the top of the hill, then right at the Cathedral continuing West down Selby with the sun in our eyes. I’d be home in three blocks. After my day being interrogated and now Louie’s car I was debating if I should toss my clothes in the trash or just burn them as hazardous waste.
“Oh, oh,” Louie said pulling up in front of my place. He ground a good quarter inch off the side of his tires rolling against the curb before he came to a stop.
Crime scene tape crisscrossed the front door, yellow tape, maybe four inches wide with large black letters, all capitols, CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS. There was a red notice taped to the inside of the glass on my front door. I could read the heading from the street, No AdmittanceBy order of the Saint Paul Police Department “Are you kidding me?” I said.
“Doesn’t look like anyone’s kidding.”
“That God damn Manning, he knew about this,” I said. “This is his idea of a joke.”
“I’d say he’s got a pretty lousy sense of humor. What’d you ever do to him?”
“I’ve no idea, believe me.”
Crime scene tape crisscrossed my double garage and there were two more red notices taped to the garage door just in case I missed one.
Fortunately, I’d been deliberately over-served the night before and rather than thread a path up my driveway I’d parked at the curb across the street.
“You need a place to land, tonight?” Louie asked, “I got a recliner,” he said, still staring at the yellow tape fluttering against my front door.
“Thanks, but I’ll be okay.” I’d spent a night or two in Louie’s recliner, before I ever did that again I’d stake out a park bench.
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow, see what we can do to get this place opened up for you,” Louie said.
“Yeah, you bet,” I didn’t sound all that sure.
“Come on, it won’t be that bad, we’ll get it worked out. Sure you don’t need a place to land tonight?”
I nodded, then groaned as I crawled out of Louie’s passenger door. I stuck my head back in the window.
“Thanks for the help, today, Louie. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Take care man,” Louie said, then accelerated down the street, a bluish cloud of exhaust roiled up around me and drifted down the street in the wake of his Sentra as he drove off into the setting sun.
I decided there was no point wasting time calling Justine. So I phoned Carol hoping that French guy had dumped her by now and I could scam a place with benefits to stay for the night. She answered almost immediately; “Oui,” she said, sounding just a little too cheery.
“Hi Carol, Dev Haskell.”
“Oh,” she suddenly sounded decidedly colder and followed up with a long pause. I blinked first.
“Just checking in, wondered if you were doing anything tonight.”
“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t call me again,” she said, then hung up.
I tried Kristi, but my cell displayed a ‘number blocked’ message.
Naomi’s number had been changed with no further information available.
I left a message for Patti, but she was probably still pissed off about the little cigar burn I left on her great-grandmother’s heirloom dining room table. I didn’t hold out much hope.
I reluctantly phoned Heidi Bauer. I didn’t want to, but I was pretty much out of options.
“Hello,” she sounded happy.
“Hi Heidi, Dev.”
“Yeah,” she said, suddenly cautious.
“Hey, I realize it’s pretty short notice, but I was just checking to see what you’re up to tonight.”
“What I’m up to? Really? You mean you don’t want something, bail money, a ride somewhere?”
“Man, when did you become so cynical?”
“Oh I don’t know, maybe after getting you out of a half dozen different jams, posting bail, retrieving various cars from the impound lot, hiding you from the authorities, sooner or later even I start to catch on,” she said.
“Look I know it’s late, I’ve just been working a lot, had a halfway open night, wondered if you wanted to get together, that’s all. If it’s going to present a problem I can call another time.” I hoped I didn’t sound too desperate.
“I suppose you’d expect a late dinner?” she said, softening.
“Actually, I was thinking I would pick something up, what do you feel like?”
Twenty-five dollars worth of Chinese take-out and four bottles of wine later I pulled up in front of Heidi’s. She opened the front door as I came up the walk.
“Well, at least you parked in front so you’re not hiding, this time.”
“Why do you think there has to be something wrong before I want to come over and see you? Can’t you just accept the fact I enjoy your company? I thought maybe spending an evening listening to your conversation would be reward enough.”
“Yeah, that’s what you’re after, my conversation.”
“That might be part of it, find out what you’ve been up to? Who you’re seeing? When…”
“Just stop. I’ll figure it out sooner or later and you’ll be busted, but for right now come on in. Pork fried rice, right?” She blocked the doorway and nodded at the grocery bag full of little white containers.
“And dim sum,” I added.
“Okay, get your ass in here,” she said, stepping aside.
As was our custom we ate directly out of the containers. Heidi ate all her dim sum then moved on to mine. I made a point of never letting her glass go empty. She had finished the better part of three bottles of wine when she attempted to make grasshoppers for dessert, that didn’t work so well under the circumstances so we moved on to the bedroom course.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Oh God, what kind of cheapo wine was that? My head’s killing me,” Heidi groaned from under her pillow.
“Couldn’t have been the three bottles you had,” I said.
“You were drinking, too.”
“I had a glass to every one of your bottles. That was before you decided to make the grasshoppers.”
“Grasshoppers?”
She lounged in bed groaning for another forty minutes, working up the courage to face the day. I tried to get something romantic happening with the proverbial back rub, but it didn’t work. Eventually we climbed out of bed and wandered out of her bedroom.
My clothes were scattered around the living room. As I pulled on my jeans I heard Heidi in the kitchen.
“God, I don’t remember any of this,” she said. She was standing naked in the middle of the room. You could tell she was running through her memory files and they were all coming up blank. Even hung over she still looked beautiful.
I couldn’t say that much for the kitchen. Almost a dozen little white take-out containers littered the granite counter top. Bits of rice were scattered here and there, a half eaten dim sum. There were two wine glasses, one was still partially full and the other, sporting a half moon of lipstick, had been drained dry. Three empty wine bottles stood on a distant counter next to the refrigerator, a fourth lay on its side and had rolled up against the microwave, barely a swallow left inside. We had left the ice cream out on the kitchen counter, next to her underwear.
Heidi stared at a puddle of melted ice cream that had dripped onto the kitchen floor. The blender had a sort of green glop sitting in it and judging from the spray pattern across the kitchen wall she must have run the thing with the top off.
“Not to worry, you made up for it in the bedroom,” I said.
“Apparently. Want some breakfast?” she said, placing an aspirin bottle on the kitchen counter then filling a glass up at the refrigerator tap.
“What have you got for breakfast?” I asked.
“I don’t know, any of that pork fried rice left?”
Unless we planned on eating puffed rice cakes and melted ice cream, I knew better than to check for any food in her house.
“I’ll go get us something, how’s that sound?”
“And a Latte, a double,” she pleaded.