Cold Summer Nights Page 10

  He couldn’t hear the boy’s response because of an ambulance screeching to a stop fifteen feet away.

  The boy continued coughing.

  “Who’s the one I want?” Ron yelled.

  Two medics pushed past him and went to work on the driver. Ron stumbled backwards like a walking stiff, gazing out across the blurry faces now filling the closed off intersection.

  The knock at Nick’s front door made him flinch and spill beer on his clean shirt. "Shit!" he whispered, wiping it with his hand on the way to the door.

  Summer stepped inside, a bright smile gracing her face and strawberry perfume crop dusting him as she went by. She dropped her overnight bag onto the floor, turned and kissed Nick on the lips before he could even shut the door. She pulled back and looked at him, her face drooping. "What's wrong?"

  Before shutting the door, he took a good look around outside. "You're going to need a glass of wine for this," he said, going into the kitchen.

  She frowned and followed him. "For what?"

  "Rusty and I had a detective pay us a visit today," he said, pouring her a glass of red wine.

  A puzzled expression rippled across her insipid face as he handed her the glass. "A detective? Why?"

  In the living room, he turned on some music and told her about Amy.

  Summer inhaled sharply, covering her mouth with a hand. “Oh my gosh, that is horrible!”

  “It gets worse.”

  Her eyebrows dipped.

  “He wanted to know where you lived and worked.”

  "Me?" she gasped, clutching her chest with one hand. "Why me?"

  Nick shrugged. "The whole love triangle thing, I guess. Who knows?"

  She laughed. "I’ve never even met the girl. Plus, I didn't know she had tried kissing you and even if I had, I doubt I would kill her for that."

  "I know. He's just covering all of his bases. That's what cops do."

  She brushed a long dark strand of hair from her face and snorted, her grasp on reality disappearing almost as quickly as the wine in her glass. "That doesn't make any sense."

  "I know," he said, pausing briefly before continuing. "But there's something else that makes even less sense."

  Her head tilted. "Like what?"

  Nick pulled the missing persons flier from his back pocket and reluctantly handed it to her.

  Tentatively, she took it and began unfolding.

  He studied her expression when she saw her picture with blond hair. She wasn’t nearly as surprised as he thought she would be.

  She looked up and met his eyes. "Where did you get this?" she asked, the tone leaving her voice.

  Nick paused before answering, briefly considering telling her the cop had given it to him. "Rusty found it online," he said instead.

  She folded the paper back up and handed it back to him. "And why was Rusty even looking in the first place?" she asked, leaning back on the couch and crossing her slender legs.

  Nick shook his head. "Doesn’t matter. What matters is this," he said, waving the paper in the air. “Why are you on a missing persons flier?”

  She glanced down to her wine glass and ran a thin finger around its edge, producing a high-pitched hollow tone. "It's a long story."

  He laughed hard. "I think I’ve got the time!”

  She took a long drink of the cabernet and swallowed slowly. "I was in an abusive relationship for three years," she said heavily.

  Nick restrained himself from interrupting.

  "And if I didn't leave him, he would have killed me. It was that bad."

  Nick’s eyelids narrowed. "Yeah but…"

  Her hand shot up and cut him off. "And if anyone, even my own mother," she continued, tears welling up in her eyes. "Would have known where I was, I would have ended up dead."

  Nick frowned, trying not to laugh. “What are you talking about?”

  "If anyone finds out where I am,” she said very clearly. “Especially the cops, I'll be dead in less than two weeks."

  A cold stare was his only response, his batting average with women plummeting right before his very eyes. “Oh my God," he groaned, dropping into the armchair and knowing she was obviously psychotic. This whole thing had been too good to be true, just like all of the women in his life.

  She took another sip, not taking her hazel eyes off him.

  "What? Like he’s in the mob or something?"

  She swallowed and nodded.

  He snorted and lowered his voice. “Bullshit.”

  She took a deep breath and sighed. “He was from Chicago and for two years I thought he was a financial trader,” she snickered. “Although, I had my suspicions he was up to something else.”

  Nick’s eyes darted around the room, searching for his next question.

  “Nick,” she said, scooting up onto the edge of the couch. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I got you involved in any of this. I should’ve have just kept doing what I had been doing, but I was tired of being alone. Tired of always dealing with everything by myself.”

  Nick got up and started pacing the room. “Why would he kill you?”

  “Because I left him and took his secrets with me.”

  He stopped pacing. “What secrets?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve told you too much already.”

  “Oh I doubt that,” he scoffed, returning to wearing out the flooring. “What else have you failed to mention?”

  She looked back down to the wine glass in her hand.

  He stopped pacing and glared at her. “Do you even work at Wells Fargo?”

  Her mouth opened just when someone knocked on the front door.

  Nick’s head snapped to the door, the old lady with the carrot cake flickering through his mind.

  His eyes turned back to Summer’s. It was hard to tell whose were bigger. He shot a finger up to his lips and eased over to the bay window, peeling back the blind. “He’s back,” he whispered.

  Summer’s dark brown lashes blinked. “Who’s back?”

  “The cop,” he said, gently releasing the blind.

  She glided up off the couch with her glass of wine and pointed to the basement.

  He nodded and waited for her to grab her bag and quietly disappear downstairs before opening the door.

  “Hey Nick, me again,” Detective Hubbard said, wearing a different sports coat this time and looking much paler than before. “I catch you at a bad time?”

  “Uh, no, come on in,” he said, stepping back.

  “Sorry about the pop in but I had another question I wanted to ask you, and I’m sure you can understand the urgency of the matter.”

  “Yeah sure,” he said, shutting the door.

  Ron sat in the same chair as before and wrinkled his nose. “Smells like strawberries in here.”

  Nick’s mind felt like it was flipping through a thick sludge. “Probably a glade plug-in somewhere,” he managed to pull out.

  The detective’s eyes narrowed as they took stock of the place. “Are we alone?” he whispered.

  Nick stared at him. “Yeah.”

  Ron nodded and crossed his legs. “So…who’d ya call right after I left here earlier today, Nick?”

  Nick’s heart spiked. He opened his mouth while his mind ran through different options. “Uh, Rusty.”

  “Why?” he asked, producing his pad and pen.

  “Because,” Nick said slowly. “I just had a cop question me about a murder and it seemed like something I might tell a close friend.”

  “Okay,” the detective laughed. “And you weren’t calling him because you wanted to make sure your stories were straight before I got to his apartment?”

  Nick’s brow folded. “What? No.”

  Ron quietly evaluated the response, his foot wagging in the air.

  Nick broke eye contact and began picking at the label on his beer bottle.

  Ron exhaled tiredly. “Come on, Nick. What’s going on here?”

  “I’ve told you everything I know.”

  “
Bullshit!” Ron snapped.

  Nick jumped and a dead silence followed.

  “It’s been a long damn day and I want the motherfuckin truth!”

  Nick’s heart beat thickly in his ears as he tried to round up a plausible response. He swallowed hard, not sure what to say next.

  “Nick listen,” the detective started in a calmer voice. “Lying to me any further is only going to result in a much harsher punishment. I’ll remind you that interfering with a murder investigation is a felony.”

  Nick’s stared into Ron’s piercing eyes, seeing himself behind bars in their reflection.

  Detective Hubbard leaned forward and pointed at him. “Do you want to ruin your career? Your life? Your family’s lives?”

  “I told you everything I know,” he mustered.

  Ron leaned back in the brown chair and sighed. “There is no record of a,” he said, glancing down to his notepad. “Summer Sorenson working at the Jordan Creek Wells Fargo, or any other Wells Fargo for that matter.” He looked up to gauge Nick’s response.

  Nick’s eyebrows dropped and the detective cracked a thin smile at him.

  “In fact, there is no record of your girlfriend anywhere. The DMV, the IRS, triple fucking A, nada!”

  Nick’s breathing became heavier and he set his beer down. “That’s impossible,” he wheezed.

  “Now, what is going on here?” Ron asked through gritted teeth.

  The flier whisked through Nick’s mind, like it was caught up in a swirling breeze.

  “Nick, don’t throw your life away over this. Trust me, it’s not worth it. You hardly even know this girl, and she’s either lying or you are. Now which is it?”

  Nick envisioned a man, wearing sunglasses and a fancy suit, shoot Summer in the back of the head with a gun he clutched in gloved hands.

  “The truth will set you free, Nick. Otherwise I’ll bring my heel down on you and Rusty,” Ron whispered, tapping his pen on the pad and not taking his eyes off of Nick. “I swear to fucking God.”

  Nick’s throat clicked when he swallowed. He grabbed the beer and took a long pull.

  Detective Hubbard watched him intently. “She’s in here, isn’t she?” he whispered, peering around the room again.

  Nick swallowed and took another drink.

  “Isn’t she?” he repeated more firmly.

  Grudgingly, Nick nodded and pulled the wrinkled missing persons flier from his back pocket and handed it to the detective.

  Ron snatched it, his eyes getting thin as he digested the information. He looked back up to Nick. “This her?”

  Nick nodded. “I just confronted her about it right before you got here,” he whispered. “I don’t know what’s going on, but she says she was in an abusive relationship with a guy who is in the mob.”

  Ron’s face wrinkled. “What?” he laughed lightly.

  “Said it was the only way to leave him without getting killed.”

  “Where’d you get this?”

  “Rusty found it online.”

  The detective glanced around the house again. “Where is she?” he whispered.

  Nick pointed to the basement.

  Ron quietly got up and gestured for Nick to lead the way. At the basement door in the kitchen, Ron grabbed Nick by the shoulder and took the lead. Gently, they crept down the staircase, one step at a time. Ron grimaced with each creak of the wooden steps. Nick’s pulse raced at the thought of Summer being arrested or, worse yet, murdered. He would never forgive himself if something happened to her because of him. There was still a chance that things could work out between them, but not without some help. At the bottom, they let their eyes sweep the small basement. There was no sight of her or her wine glass. They eased in deeper with Ron leading the way, checking each nook and cranny as they went.

  At the other end, Ron stopped and held his arms out. “Where is she?”

  Nick stared at the empty basement with disbelieving eyes. “I don’t know.”

  Ron stared at the two tiny basement windows. “Unless she can turn into a cat, I doubt anyone could’ve gotten out of here.”

  Nick’s eyes refused to believe that she was gone. It was impossible. He had watched her go down the stairs with his own eyes. “I don’t get it.”

  “What kind of car is she driving?” Ron asked, pulling out his cell phone and heading back up the stairs two at a time.

  “A red Honda Accord. It was parked right in the driveway.”

  Ron stopped in the kitchen and Nick ran into him from behind.

  Ron slowly turned around. “The only car in the driveway when I got here was yours.”

  Nick looked at him like he was mistaken and walked past him into the living room, where he raised a blind to see the detective’s Prius sitting just inches behind his Jeep in the driveway. He dashed over to the front door and yanked it open.

  “Hey!” Ron shouted, running to catch up.

  Nick’s chest rose and fell on the front porch as he scoured the night with wide eyes. “That’s impossible,” he murmured. “She was right here.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Rodriguez,” came out of the Prius speakers.

  “Hey, I just came from Foley’s house and I need you to check out a Summer Parker for me,” Ron said, steering the car with one hand and holding the missing persons flier with the other.

  “Summer Parker,” Rodriguez repeated.

  “Check the Illinois missing persons data banks and see what you come up with,” he said, listening to Rodriguez typing in the background.

  “Got it.”

  “Hey, any word on the kid in the pickup?”

  The typing stopped and the humming tires gripping pavement filled the car.

  “Hello?”

  “He didn’t make it,” Rodriguez said somberly. “Skull fracture.”

  Ron stared blankly out across the open road ahead. “Damn,” he whispered. The wheels picked up the slack in conversation and droned on. “Did he say anything else before he died?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  The boy’s words floated back through Ron’s mind as the streetlights flipped by. He knew that somehow the teen’s words were connected to whatever happened to Amy Miller. Something was off and he always listened to his gut. “Alright get back to me as soon as you find anything out.”

  “I’m on it. And hey, Hubbard?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Watch your back out there. I got a bad feeling about this one, amigo.”

  Ron thought about giving Rodriguez shit about the voodoo crap he was always spouting but didn’t. “Me too,” he said instead.

  Ron clicked the phone off with a button on the steering wheel and opened the box of donuts on the seat next to him. “Sonofabitch!” he cried, seeing the box was empty.

  When he looked back to the road, he noticed someone in the rearview mirror. “Holy shit!” he yelled, as a passing streetlight briefly lit up a woman’s colorless face, draped in shadows in the backseat behind him. A surge of adrenaline mainlined through his veins. His face twisted in the flickering light.

  Her head suddenly twitched and came to rest at an awkward angle.

  He stared in silent horror at the black eyes staring back at him in the mirror. His foot came off the gas pedal just as her cold hands clamped around his neck. Her strength surprised him, causing his foot to reflexively press the gas pedal to the floor. The Prius lurched forward, its engine revving to a high-pitched squeal. With one hand on the wheel, Ron used his other to wrestle with the icy claws digging into his neck. Stars began streaking across his field of vision as he tried navigating the car and his airflow at the same time.

  The tiny motor whined. Other drivers laid on their horns as he sailed wildly past, missing them by inches.

  He gasped for air and managed to pry one of her cold fingers loose. The car bounced over a curb and the finger snapped off in his hand. His other hand left the wheel and joined in the fight. Darkness blurred his vision around the edges. Frantically, he fought
the scaly death grip with everything he had just before the Prius crashed head first into a car wash’s cinderblock wall, ejecting Ron’s body through the front windshield.

  For a few minutes, Nick thought he was going to jail for sure and the life he had known was all but over. People don't buy houses from criminals. Even if they did, companies don't hire criminals to sell houses to anyone. But instead of cuffing him, Detective Hubbard had taken the flier and given Nick the old don't leave town treatment.

  Nick tossed and turned in bed, replaying events that didn’t add up. He refused to make matters worse by looking at the clock next to him. His grandma’s funeral was at ten o’clock in the morning and he was going to need some sleep, but his racing mind refused to shut down. What remained of her family and friends would be at the funeral and then the reception at Matt’s house afterwards. It was going to be a long day, filled with small talk he couldn’t imagine making. Not now. He wondered if it was past midnight and almost opened his eyes.

  Unanswered questions shuffled through his head. Where had Summer gone? And how had she gotten her car out of the driveway without running over the detective's car? He could still hear the female recording telling him her cell phone was out of service. Suddenly, there was no trace of her existence and, subsequently, his story now had more holes in it than a miniature golf course.

  The more he thought about it, the more it pissed him off. Rusty was right. There was something off about her all right, just like there was with all of the girls he had ever dated. Some turned out to be psycho, some were drunks, and some ended up being two-timing cheaters. But a missing person on the run from the mafia was a new one. He snorted into the darkness, staring at the ceiling fan’s outline above. Hubbard was right too, she wasn’t worth going to prison over.

  He felt the mattress compress as someone sat down next to him on the bed. His breath clenched and his eyelids flipped open. He screamed when he saw the dark silhouette sitting next to him. He scuttled across the bed, knowing it was Amy’s murderer, knowing he was next. He fell off the other side of the bed, hitting the floor with a thud. The smell of strawberries wafted past him.