My Novel: Chapter 5

Running:

Occasionally I wonder if someone will stare at my neck in shock and shriek, "What happened to you?" as they run their finger over their own throats in a jagged gesture.
I'll reply, "I had a run in with a neurosurgeon. He got away with a pocket full of money, and I came away with a titanium "spider" securely screwed inside my neck. We both won."

Writing: 

I'm excited to post chapter 5 today. I'm almost giddy knowing there are only 60 more chapter to reveal! (After I read and edit, I mean play, with them!)

See my spider? I haven't tried it out in airport security yet. That should be interesting... Oh, and look at those cute little post earrings that turned this into my Frankenstein x-ray! With only 6 legs, who could really call that thing a spider? I consider it some fancy titanium part recycled from an old mountain bike that went over a cliff. Except those screws. Now, they are some SERIOUS screws!)

Secrets at Midnight

Leona Palmer Haag

Chapter 5

Usually at this hour Jenn would be setting aside a good novel—something so spooky she couldn’t finish in the dark, or so sappy she couldn’t see through her tears. Never before had she found herself seated across from Matt Jensen after half the Dallas police department inspected her property and probed her with a million questions. What would Matt think about the wrong turn her settled and ordinary life had taken? The last thing she needed was him acting like a stupid male—mocking or scolding or teasing or rolling his eyes and all the other things guys might do. But with it feeling like Nick was ten-thousand miles away when she couldn’t reach him on his cell phone, she was stuck with Matt. He was a good second choice, but still, he was the kid she'd vowed to marry when she grew up—and the guy she’d refused after she did. She shifted positions, stretching out her cramped legs.

“Your toes are bleeding,” Matt observed.

Jenn jumped before remembering what made the dark stain. “It's bean juice.”

He scowled. “It’s what?”

“The tomatoey stuff from the bottom of a can of  baked bean.” She sighed. Beans were a good place to start her explanation.

“It looks like blood. What’s it doing on your foot?”

Jenn rolled her eyes. “Don't you know what blood looks like?” He gave her a dumb shrug. “It’s gross and nothing like tomato juice. I spilled bean drippings and stepped in it when I took out the trash. It's smeared all over the kitchen floor now, thanks to every cop in Dallas trekking through it like it wasn’t there—or worse, like I always had gunk spilled on my kitchen floor. Not one of them bothered to grab the dishcloth a whole five inches away to clean it up. Maybe you’ll be the exception.”

“Why were cops walking all over your kitchen through bean juice?”

“I invited them over.”

He laughed. “That’s out of character for you. You’re kind of the private type, and when you throw a party you basically only invite me and Monica. You serve chocolate cake with inch thick frosting and we never dance in bean juice.”

“This was impromptu. The menu….” She stopped. It appeared that at two in the morning Matt was at his best, slipping into silver-tongue mode, making light of things and trying to put her at ease. It helped, but he would probably morph into his jokester persona within seconds. When he laughed at her she'd kick him out. “I'll explain everything fast so you can leave, and please, don’t step in the bean juice. I detest messes,” she said.

“Take your time. I'm in no hurry.” He settled into a chair to prove it.

Jenn sighed. She’d asked him to come, but now she had to face him. She rubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand as images she'd tried to block out sprang forward. “I took out the trash. It was heavy and off balance. Everything…” She flung her arms out and Katie twitched, so she grabbed her tightly again and lowered her voice. “Trash went everywhere.”

Matt patiently smiled. “So you called the cops to clean up, and they proved ineffective?”

“No. I swore. Nothing tame. I’d repeat it, but I’d singe your ears.”

He chuckled. “If you need to, go ahead and tell me I'm different than I was back when we were kids. Straighter. Lots more fun, but with a mouth scoured cleaner than the bottom of your oven.”

Her mouth twitched and she almost smiled, but one wouldn’t surface. “I never said you’re more fun, only different. I thought about that when I said.... Do you want to hear it?”

He shook his head. “Not really, just go on.”

“Okay. It’s not important anyway. If you can clean up a potty trash mouth, I can too. It might take me longer, but...” She studied her hands. “…but I had to deal with some really bad trash tonight, and I dumped a lot of filthy words into it.”

He rested his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward, but remained silent—a first. She studied the only person besides her husband and brother she completely trusted, then went on. “I started picking up garbage. I'm neurotic about being clean—couldn’t leave it until morning, worried some dog would scatter it further and I’d need a full body suit to get it done, and anyway, I….” 

Matt smirked and rolled his eyes.

“I’m not that neurotic, am I?”

He sobered. “Not at all.”

A glint in his eye begged her to continue her story, but she had repeated it so many times that she wanted to scream if she gave one more detail, even to Matt. He waited, oozing good nature and charm, so she rushed to get the distasteful task finished so she could boot him out of her house. “I grabbed trash. Some was really disgusting….” Her words halted and a long silence expanded between them.

“Can’t be worse than dirty diapers,” he finally said, urging her on.

Jenn lowered her eyes. “Oh, believe me, it was much worse. I stepped on a wrist.” After a long silence she finally looked up and found Matt expressionless, staring at her. But his right hand bounced on the arm of the chair a couple times before settling with his fingers gripping fabric.

“A wrist,” he mimicked after a giant pause.

She nodded and chewed her bottom lip.

He remained silent so long she wondered how many twisted jokes his brain could form before he shared the one he liked best. Maybe bad news was better delivered at this hour to Matt Jensen than earlier in the day when his wits were sharper. She watched as his bland expression slowly shifted and one eyebrow cocked slightly. “A wrist.”  It sounded like a delayed echo, and thankfully, still lacked humor. He released a long breath, lifted his arms above his head and stretched, then slowly lowered them as if reducing tension. It was a stupid reaction in her estimation. Totally meaningless. What could possible stress him out? He hadn’t done any garbage removal or stepping on body parts. His hand thumped the chair arm again. “Okay, a wrist. Tell me about it.”

“Can I ask a question first?”

“Shoot.”

“Do you think I want attention because Nick's out of town and nothing is broken and I'm lonely and....” Her voice rose. “You know I don't make things up, so don’t turn this into some crazy-lady thing and...”

He held up a hand to stop her. “I've known you since you wore diapers so I'd have to say you shoot straight and haven’t lost it yet. Give me the rest of the story.”

“It's not a story. If you don't believe me, go home. Now would be fine. Bye.” She nodded toward the door.

“I’m staying. Start at the beginning—at the trash or wrist or where ever you think is best. Tell me everything. Every tiny little detail that would cause you to call me.”

She stared at Matthew Willard Jensen, seeing a part of him she’d never known, but had heard hints about. “If I remember correctly, ages ago you graduated from a police academy. I'm sure you're rusty and have forgotten everything they taught you since you left police work, but I wanted you to come over. I really did step on a wrist. That’s it.”

“But you didn’t call me first. Why?”

“You’re not a cop. Remember what you said to me once about making a career change? Why would I even consider calling you first? I’d hate having you step on clues—or whatever they call it.”

“Evidence. I haven’t forgotten everything. Give me a few details. Maybe it will jog my memory. I don’t know, maybe I can pretend I'm a cop again.”

Jenn pulled a face. “Pretending stinks. Just ask me, the pro.”

“You stepped on a wrist, then what?”

“Don’t ever do it—it was horrible.”

“I’ll take your word for it and avoid it.” He nodded her on.

“I wasn’t looking where I stepped so I didn’t see it. I felt something soft and looked down expecting a diaper, hoping the insides weren’t on the outside, and you can easily guess why, but it was a woman's wrist. She was dead.”

Almost zombie-like, without any feeling, Matt heard her and didn’t blink. “That doesn’t sound fun, but how could you tell it was a woman's wrist?”

“The size. You know, for being an ex-cop, you should be able to figure that out too.”

He chuckled and tension crackling in the air eased a bit. “You’re right, but kids have small wrists too. Did you see the woman’s face? How did you know she was dead?”

Tension picked up again as Jenn glared at her new interrogator and raced to end the questions. “I saw her figure. She had on a black top. It wasn't low cut or ultra-tight, but she had breasts. She was wearing a gold chain—thin—like women wear.”

Matt was silent for several seconds before asking, “Was it Monica?”

Tucking her feet under her again, Jenn shifted. She rested her head on a throw pillow and closed her eyes. “Stop teasing me, Matt. If you don't believe me, go home, but please don't turn this into a sick joke because that's not funny.”

“Monica didn't come home tonight.”

Jenn's eyes flew open. “I don't dislike your wife enough to kill her, and if I did, I wouldn’t do it in my backyard and then call the police. I’d pick a mall—or some place like that—probably the back of a nail parlor—and it would look like she couldn’t choose a color and shopped until she dropped. Got that? ”

“Really?”

“No. I’m not going to kill Monica. Stop it and go home.”

“Okay, but first, are you sure it wasn’t Monica’s wrist? Was there a watch or ring or something else to identify the person? Black, white, Hispanic? What about the woman's face? Exactly what did you see?”

Leaning toward him, Jenn said, “Where is Monica, Matt? She’s your wife, so where is she? I swear she’s not in my backyard.”

“She’s not home. I haven't been able to reach her on her cell phone. Did you step on Monica? Tell me straight.”

“I already did. Why would you think it might be her? Did you kill her and hide her behind my trash can?”

Matt leaned back in his seat. His hands clinched before smoothing flat on his thighs. “That’s not funny and you know it. She called me this afternoon and said your computer kept doing weird things. I thought she might stop by after her class at the fitness center tonight. I assumed she was here.”

“Here's news to help you keep track of your wife: She came over before her class. I had the number lock on. She stayed for ten whole seconds, then left acting like she could solve every crises with one key stroke. I saw her drive off—laughing. I’m sure you’ve heard about it already.”

“Are you sure the body wasn’t hers?”

“Yes! I did not kill your wife!” Katie whimpered and Jenn clamped her mouth shut.

“Are you sure?” Matt whispered.

“Yes!” Jenn hissed. “I’ve never killed anyone. I didn’t kill Monica—I swear. I haven’t even thought about it, which might shock you. I’m not that kind of a person. Is that another shocker?”

Matt visibly relaxed. “No. I believe you.”

“I swear that woman, whoever she is, was already dead when I stepped on her, and it wasn’t Monica.”

“I’m still wondering—how do you know it wasn’t her? She wears a lot of black. Did you see the woman's face?”

Jenn took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I’m exhausted. Can we drop it?”

“No.”

She sighed. “You’re unbelievable. Totally wack-o.”

He forced a smile. “I know.”

Jenn shot him lethal looks, but he waited, acting like she wasn’t aiming anything at him. She gave in. “Okay, listen up, because I’m only saying it once: there was a plastic grocery bag over her head. I didn't see her hair or face, except her chin—but nothing else except her wrist and halfway from her chin down to her waist. Got that?”

Matt leaned forward. “I hate asking this, but if it had been Monica, would you have known?”

Jenn leaned forward, and for the first time noticed sweat beading on Matt’s brow. “I hate to answer, but yes. The woman's fingernails were done similar to your sweet Monica's, but your wife wears hers more natural. She never embellishes them with little jewels—unless she did it after she left here today. Oh, and yes, I did notice your wife’s fingernails because she was tippity-tapping on my keyboard with them like she could work magic.”

He shook his head as if dislodging her sarcasm. “Describe the fingernails.”

Relaxing into the sofa pillows, Jenn said, “It looks like the cop in you is resurfacing. I saw two fingernails. Both had tiny glittery jewels.”

“Could you have been mistaken?”

“No. Enough, okay? If you’re going to ask questions, trust my answers.”

“It’s a deal.”

A short sizing-up match followed, like had happened more than once in the olden days when they both turned stubborn. Matt ended the stand-off. “How did you know the woman was dead?”

“She didn't flinch. She didn't scream. But I did—like I was the next murder victim. Did you hear me?”

He slowly smiled. “No, I missed it. Sorry. I would have been here sooner.” He slowly stood. “Do you mind showing me what happened? Where the body, uh, wrist was?” He expectantly waited.

Jenn’s eyes darted to Katie's tiny face. “I'd rather not. I don't want to go out there again. Ever.”

Matt walked to the front window and pulled the curtain aside a few inches and peered out. A moment later the fabric fell back into place. “You don’t mind if I look around?”

Terror shot through Jenn’s veins. “The cops did it already. They said there's nothing. Period.”

“I’m sure they were thorough.”

“Very.” She shuddered. “They dragged me along. And they're right. There's nothing there anymore. Nothing. She's gone...”

He slipped the dead bolt out and in. “This door is secure.”

Jenn’s heart pounded as he walked back to the chair and sat down, perched on the edge like a winged creature eager to take flight.  “It won’t hurt to have me check too. Want to come with me?” There is was—Matt stretching his wings. She cowered back. He couldn’t drag her outside—not with a million chains, ten-thousand threats or any amount of silver promises. He rose. “I can do it alone if you’d prefer. I’ll hurry.”

Jenn might not live long enough to witness his return, but she knew it was impossible to stop him. She was half his size, and at the moment, entirely made of jelly. He was on his own, without her watching his back.

End Chapter 5

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Watch for Chapter 6, and I hope you're enjoying this novel.