the course of the investigation. “Where you going with this, Champ?”
“Guess what her hobby is, Bobby?”
Crawford didn’t have a clue.
“Fencing.”
Chapter 20
Medical technology has become so advanced that I only had my stitches for about a week. Okay, that’s only half true: the wound didn’t warrant them staying in any longer than that. After I got them out, I had a nice scar on my arm. Talk about street cred. I looked like I belonged in a girl gang. If girl gangs counted middle-aged college professors among their ranks, that is.
Crawford and Champy continued to work the shooting, even though, thankfully, it didn’t fall into the “homicide” category. I really didn’t think that I was a target for anyone and went with the “innocent bystander” explanation, but that even sounded thin to me. I didn’t think any of the Micelis wanted me dead but what did I know about the mentality of any of those people? Maybe Gianna still saw me as a link to Kathy’s death and wanted me gone. I didn’t dwell on any scenario too long because I was convinced that I would drive myself mad.
Although Jackson and Terri’s departure gave me great joy, I continued to ruminate on where they had gone. Nothing makes you look more suspicious than leaving town and not coming back. When I tried to think about where they might have gone I couldn’t come up with anything; I really didn’t know them. How do you go from accusing your husband of murder to recanting that accusation to disappearing with the lunatic? None of it made sense.
I had called Rick Felter at Jackson’s office, but he was as clueless as I was. And I was pretty clueless. He told me that nobody had had any idea that Jackson was leaving, nor where he had gone. He suspected that human resources might have more information but he said that they were especially tight-lipped when it came to giving out details. I thought about that and concluded that I would wait for Max to concoct some kind of lie about why I needed information about Jackson and his whereabouts. She works in a corporation and knows the ins and outs of human resources. But more importantly, she also knows how to lie better than anyone I know.
I lay in bed listening to the rain fall early the following morning. Crawford was working a day tour and then was with his girls for the day; I knew that I wouldn’t see him for at least another twenty-four hours. Crawford had given up on trying to keep information from me. At this point in our relationship, he actually had started using me as a sounding board and tossed a few ideas my way every now and again. He told me that he wasn’t entirely convinced that one of Peter Miceli’s henchmen had murdered Ray, and wanted to look into Jackson and Terri a bit more now that they had done the highly suspicious disappearing act. Right now, all he had was that Jackson was well liked and well respected at work and that didn’t really leave him with anything to go on. Terri, he said, was a blank slate.
I could have told him that.
Trixie was lying in the new bed that I had bought her and looked up at me, surprised to see me at this hour. I noticed that she had taken one of my suede pumps to bed with her and that the heel was chewed beyond repair. I gave her a stern look.
“Trixie, what did I tell you about eating my shoes?” I said, giving her a gentle tap on the nose. She hung her head for a split second and then looked up at me again, her tongue hanging out. She looked at me expectantly. “Okay, I’ll take you out,” I said, and went into the kitchen. Crawford had nailed a fancy hook inside the back door which held Trixie’s leash and a flashlight for nighttime walks. I fastened the leash to her collar and went outside, realizing, too late, that I needed an umbrella.
Between the rain and the fact that it was a little after four-thirty in the morning, darkness enveloped the backyard. I switched on the flashlight and shone it on the spot where Trixie had chosen to do her business. I yawned loudly, looking around to see if anyone else in the neighborhood was awake. I turned toward Terri and Jackson’s vacated abode and watched as a dark-clothed individual made