Follow The Queen - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Of all of our senses, our sense of smell is the strongest when it comes to evoking memory. It doesn't matter whether it's the aroma of freshly brewing coffee first thing in the morning, or the slightest tantalizing whiff of a lover's cologne, memories will always flood back to haunt us when we least expect it. Unfortunately, not all of the associations are enjoyable.

The coppery metallic scent of blood assaulted my senses as I lay in an expanding pool of my own blood. I lay there, hoping someone heard the gunshots and called the police.

***

Far off in the distance I can hear the wail of sirens heading this way. In the moonlight, I can see Kevin Davis' body as it lay on the concrete, facedown in a pool of his own blood. I knew that he was dead; he had to be. I saw the bullet as it penetrated his chest. He was dead, and it was entirely my fault. I had no choice. It was either his life or mine.

Killing someone feels strange to me. That fact weighs heavily on my mind to this day. I still haven't quite sorted it through. It moved me into the same camp with soldiers and maniacs.

I can hear the chatter of police radios and the flashing of lights coming from both patrol cars as well as those from the ambulance. As the paramedics approach me, I can feel my grip on consciousness slip and darkness fills my vision.

When I finally come back to reality, I'm in a hospital bed, looking up at the ceiling. As I turn my head, I can see my ex-wife, Detective Sheila Wells resting in a chair at my bedside.

"Finally decided to re-join us again, eh, Alex?" she asked, her voice light and casual. "Care to tell my what happened?"

"Hi, Sheila," I croaked, my voice thick with pain. "I don't know that it will make any sense. I'm still not entirely certain of all the facts myself."

"Just tell me as much as you can, Alex," she tells me. "I need to know what happened, and why a man is dead by your hand."

"Well," I begin. "It all started two days ago..."

***

Friday afternoon was typically sunny one here in Rosewood. The sky was a clear azure without a cloud in sight. Two blocks away, the ocean rolling onto the beach made a subtle, almost subliminal hiss. That was the constant backdrop to my life in town. In the twelve years I'd been living in Rosewood, I had never gotten used to that subtle susurrus of sound. I had just rounded the corner to my apartment, coming back from my daily job on the beach when a familiar voice called out to me.
"Alex, you got a minute, honey?"

"For you, Clara, anything, doll," I replied catching sight of my landlady, Clara, hanging out her kitchen window.

Clara Simms. She's the type of woman my mother would have called 'a pistol-ball'. A retired baker, she still practices her profession and sells the results to the local restaurants and for charities. "Just to keep my hand in," she says. When she's not elbow deep in flour, or whatever it is she's working on, she's forever and a day trying to get me into her weekly card games. Bridge, pinochle, canasta, it doesn't matter. If it's a card game, she knows how to play it well and usually has a group of her regular friends coming around to play also.

Stepping into her kitchen was like walking into a tiny Danish bakery. The aroma of fresh baking filled the air, there were fresh loaves cooling on every available surface, and loaves that were rising, or whatever it is that bread does, spread all over the room.

"So tell me, honey, what can I do for you?" I asked, taking a seat at her kitchen table. Inhaling the aromas around me, I was immediately transported back to my grandmother's kitchen.

"First off," she said, handing me a still warm loaf of bread, "you can take this loaf of honey wheat, I know it's your favorite. Second, can you take me downtown later? If you don't have anything planned, that is. My friend Olivia's daughter, Sylvia, is going to look at this tooth that's been giving me fits."

"Well, sure. You know all you had to do was ask. I've just got to head into the office for a little bit. I need to send my final reports for the cases I just finished. After that, the rest of the day is mine. And just between you and me? I'm looking forward to the break. Remind me to never work two cases at the same time again. What time do you need me to give you that ride?"

"Well, she's doing me a favor by seeing me after hours tonight. Her office closes at six, and she said for me to be there about seven and she'd see what she could do. Hopefully, she'll be done in time for me to see my show. You know that they're going to finally show what happened to Kevin Thorndale tonight." I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Her 'show', as she referred to it, was South Bay Shores; one of the plethora of hospital shows Clara had been trying to get me to watch with her for years. I own a television, but I'd much rather settle down with a book rather than vegetate in front of the tube.

"Well, like I said, I don't have anything planned right now, so I'll be more than happy to take you over there," I said.

"Thanks, honey. See you when you get back," she said.

Crossing the yard Clara and I share, I opened the front door to my apartment and dropped the loaf of bread off in my kitchen before heading upstairs for a shower.

Freshly dressed in my favorite jeans and t-shirt, I locked the door behind me as I trotted around the corner of my apartment, gym bag thumping against my side, to retrieve my car.

Traffic was light at this time of morning; most people already at work. My office is located in a corner of a larger suite of offices that house Wallace and McCaffrey, an insurance agency that I used to work for as a claims adjuster specializing in fraud investigations. I do a certain number of fraud investigations for them, in exchange for the two small rooms, complete with separate entrance and a balcony overlooking State Street.

There wasn't much that I needed to do to finalize the two cases I'd just closed, but I wanted to go ahead and get it out of the way so it wouldn't be hanging over my head when I came back to the office Monday morning. After going through the few pieces of mail, mostly junk, I dropped both final reports into the outgoing mail next door, locked up my office and headed over to the gym.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm far from being a gym bunny. I hate having to workout. But I know that with the way I eat (mostly junk food when I'm working a case) isn't exactly healthy, so I try to either workout, or jog three miles, at least five days a week. The next two hours were full of clanking weights, muttered curses and sweat. I usually tried to distract myself from the pain and sweat by checking out the bodies of the men surrounding me just as surely as they were checking out mine.

I stepped out of the gym at 2 p.m., freshly showered, and headed back to the parking lot, I noticed the cute trainer I'd had my eye on for some time walking through the front door on his way in.

"Hi, Alex. You're headed out early," he said as we passed each other just outside the entrance.

"Hi, Terry. Yeah, I've done my penance for today," I replied, laughing. "Fortunately, the rest of the day's mine. I was going to take my friend, Clara, out to dinner tonight, but she's going in for some dental work in a few hours. So unless a better offer comes along, I'll just pick up something on the way home." Looking back, I can see that I was shamelessly flirting with him. At the time, I didn't see it that way. I was just making conversation, trying to keep him in front of me as long as I could, drinking in the sight of him.

"Well, in that case, since you don't have anything definite planned, what would you say to having dinner tonight at Emilio's with me later? They've got a fantastic view of the harbor from their deck," he said. His words were casual, as he leaned against the brick façade of the building, hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans.

"Sure, sounds fine to me," I said, shrugging. "Say, eight o'clock?"

Winking, he said, "It's a date. Meet you there."

Visions of Terry flooded my imagination as I headed home to get a few things done that I'd been putting off for way too long. Knowing that I had a few hours to kill before I had to take Clara to her appointment, I wrote out checks for a few bills that, thanks to clients with good bank accounts, I was able to get paid, balanced my checkbook, and did some laundry. I even made a trip to the grocery store when I noticed that I was down to pickles, mustard and something that probably started out life as broccoli, in my fridge. How that got there, I had no clue. I curled up on the couch--after putting the groceries away--with a late lunch of hard-boiled egg sandwiches slathered with mayo and tons of salt. I promptly lost myself in one of my favorite books until I noticed that the cover had come completely detached from the repeated readings. When I finally looked up it was almost six. I reluctantly closed my book, making a mental note to stop by a bookstore and replace it, I jumped into the shower then put on my favorite clothes and headed out my door to pick Clara up and drive her to her appointment.

A wolf whistle greeted me when she came to her kitchen door to answer my knock. "Hot date tonight? Must be, you're wearing your 'Come and get me, boys' outfit."

I couldn't help myself. I had to laugh. I couldn't deny Clara's words. When she's right, she's right. Without even meaning to, I had chosen the one outfit in my closet that never failed to get me attention when I was 'out on the town' as Clara called it. It consisted of soft leather boots, a gift from an old lover, dove gray slacks, and a deep wine colored silk shirt that played off my naturally dark complexion. I could feel a blush creep up my cheeks.

Clara laughed at the look of embarrassment that crossed my face at her choice of words. "Oh, Alex! You do my old soul, good. You know that? The look on your face! Oh, if only I was 30 years younger, and you were straight, we'd paint the town fiesta red every night." Crossing to stand in front of me, she struck a flamenco pose; bringing to mind the type of hell raiser she must have been when she was younger. "So tell me, who's the lucky guy? That trainer fella at your gym you’ve been drooling over for months?" she asked, tucking her arm under mine.

"You're right, I do have a date. And it is with the 'trainer fella' as you call him. Terry and I ran into each other this afternoon in the parking lot at the gym. When I told him about you having your dental work tonight, and that I was probably going to just pick up something to eat, he suggested that we meet down at Emilio's for dinner." As I was talking to Clara, I escorted her out to my car parked at the curb just outside the gate.

"You told him that you had to haul my old bones around town? Are you crazy?" she said, a shocked look on her face. Sweetie, you should have said something. I could have gotten Olivia to take me."

"Hey, it's not a problem. I told you I could take you down there. Besides, we're not meeting until eight anyway. Do you need me to swing back by and give you a ride home?"

"Nonsense. I'll have Sylvia drop me off on her way home, or I'll call Olivia and she can come pick me up," she said.

Sylvia Burke's offices were located in the part of town where private homes were slowly being taken over and converted to commercial use. Sprinkled amidst the old age pensioners valiantly propping up their sagging rose bushes were businesses that were in a state of perpetual 'Going Out Of Business'. Between the consignment shops and cut-rate stereo equipment stores were chiropractors, free clinics, veterinarians and dental offices offering twilight sleep and 'Free Credit. Financing Available.' The last caused me to wonder what would happen if you missed a payment. What would they do, send some kind of dental Gestapo out to repossess your uppers?

Ever since we turned into the neighborhood where Sylvia's dental offices were located, she'd been fidgeting restlessly. "Calm down, Clara. The sooner you get this fixed, the better," I reassured her, patting her hand. "You know this has to be done. You've put this off for two years. Don't you think it's time to do something about it? Besides, you've known Olivia for years and she'd never have recommended Sylvia if she wasn't sure about her abilities."

"I know you're right, Alex," Clara said, "It's just that I don't like going to the dentist."

"Tell me someone that does," I said, wheeling the car into one of the vacant slots in the parking lot behind Sylvia's office. "Come on, honey. Let's get you inside so Sylvia can get started working on that bad tooth of yours. The sooner you start, the sooner you're done."

"You're not fooling me for one second, Alexander DeVane. I know what you're doing. You're trying to get rid of me so you can get to your date with that trainer fella," Clara teased, giving me a mock pout. "Fine thing that is. I give you the best ten years of my life, and what do you do? Toss me aside for some fine young stud the first chance you get. Alexander, you are shameless."

"You know it." I told her, simply.

With a laugh to ease the tension that was building in her, Clara stepped out of my car and we crossed the parking lot to the door of Sylvia Burke's dental office a little before seven PM. The parking lot behind the office was almost empty aside from what I could only assume was Sylvia Burke's car. Who else besides a dentist would have a vanity plate that read 'Fls Tth'?

Sylvia stepped out as we approached the back door. She seemed friendly enough. But, that was something you would expect from someone that deals with the public on a daily basis. Quite honestly, I just plain don't have the patience for it. My line of work tends to keep me a loner, which for me happens to be one of the perks. I have friends that can't stand the thought of being alone. Myself, I never had a problem being alone. It gives me a chance to unwind, relax and recharge my batteries; especially when the day has been crazy and quite honestly, I'd had more than my fair share of crazy days recently. Quite frankly, I was looking forward to the time off to catch up on my reading and maybe ending my dry spell when it came to sex, if everything worked out with Terry tonight.

"Hello, Sylvia, dear," Clara spoke up when she caught sight of the woman who'd just stepped out into the parking lot, "I hope I'm not late."

As Clara and I crossed the small parking lot to where Sylvia Burke stood, I studied the woman we approached. She wasn't what anyone would call a typical southern California woman by any stretch of the imagination. Rather than the stick thin, perpetually bronzed, beach bunny state most women in their mid-thirty's try to attain, Sylvia Burke created a vision in distinct contrast. Her hair, of a particularly brilliant shade of red resembling a new penny, was easily enough to make her stand out in a crowd, but there was more to her than just that. As Clara and I drew closer, I took note of the professionally added highlights and lowlights that added depth and texture to her hair. Her clear, porcelain skin was expertly touched with make up to enhance her eyes and accent the beauty-mark just above her upper lip, low on her right cheek. Her individuality didn't stop there, however. She'd eschewed the gym body, and looked comfortable in her own skin, even with the extra fifteen or twenty pounds that most other women would stress over.

"Of course not, Miss Clara. Mother said you'd be here about seven. I just snuck out to have a quick smoke. Horrible habit, I know, but I'm trying to quit. Mother would skin me alive if she knew I was smoking again."

Clara just tipped a sly wink at Sylvia. "Don't worry, honey, I know when to keep my mouth shut. Oh, where are my manners? Sylvia Burke, this is Alex DeVane. Alex rents the little studio apartment behind my house." She leaned in close to Sylvia and whispered, "Alex is a private investigator."

"So, I finally get a chance to meet the infamous Alex, huh?" she said, laughing. Sylvia had a rather infectious laugh. "Mother's told me all of the Alex stories Miss Clara's told her. I'll be honest with you, I was beginning to think that I'd never have the chance to meet you."

"You'll have to overlook Clara, Miss Burke, she gets a little thrill out of telling people I'm a PI. It's nowhere near as glamorous as most people think. Most of the time, it's about as interesting as watching paint dry."

"Please, call me Sylvia. And at least you don't have to spend days on end buried up to the wrist in people's mouths," she said, her mouth, pulled to one side in a barely suppressed grin. Her eyes, a startling contrast of an icy gray when compared to her mane of dark, shoulder length auburn hair, twinkled with amusement.

"Well, you do have a point there," I said, laughing. "Please, call me Alex." Turning to Clara, I asked, "Are you sure you don't want me to swing back by and give you a ride home?"

Sylvia Burke spoke up, "That's not necessary, Alex. Miss Clara's place is on my way home. I can drop her off on the way back to my place."

"Would you mind, dear? Alex has a hot date tonight with some fella he's been drooling over for months," Clara said, adding a lascivious chuckle. "Do you think we'll be done in time for me to catch my show?" she asked turning back to Sylvia. "They're finally going to show what happened to Kevin tonight on South Bay Shores."

"We should be. I'll do my best to get you home in time to watch your show. We better get started if we're going to get you home in time, shouldn't we, Miss Clara?" Turning to lead Clara inside, she spoke to me over her shoulder. "Don't worry, Alex, I'll make sure she gets home okay."

"I'll see you in the morning Alex, and I expect full details of your date with your trainer fella at breakfast. That is, if you're not making him breakfast." Reaching up to pull my head down, she gave me a peck on the cheek. "Go on, sweetie. I'm fine here. Go. Have fun." Laughing at Clara's parting words, I headed to my car and drove down to the restaurant.

I arrived at the restaurant early. The maître d' told me that the table Terry had reserved would be ready soon and suggested I wait in the bar. The owners of Emilio's prided themselves on maintaining the idea of one of the grand hotels from the golden era of Hollywood when it came to the interior of their establishment. From the grand sweeping entrance with the dark stained hardwood floors, to the separate bar area where I waited, the patrons could have easily been extras in a movie starring Myrna Loy. In the bar, where I waited for Terry to arrive, they had taken particular pains to maintain that air. The massive bar, an expanse of teak and mahogany rescued from a building scheduled for destruction dating from the era the owners tried to re-create, filled the left hand side of the rather generously proportioned room. As I took a seat at one of the barstools across from the long expanse of mirror, complete with the reflected sparkle of liquor bottles, I found myself wondering what sort of life this bar had during it's heyday.

"Welcome to Emilio's," the bartender greeted me when she arrived. "What can I get for you?"

"I'll take a Cape Cod," I told her, bypassing my typical white wine. I had a sudden craving for the tart flavor of cranberries and the smooth taste of Vodka. "I'll be meeting someone in a few minutes, and I'll take care of paying for both drinks."

With a nod, she crossed to the liquor bottles, removing one of the more expensive brands of Vodka, before heading off down the bar to fill my order. The bartender had just set down my Cape Cod when Terry walked in. Damn, he looks good tonight, I thought.

I couldn't remember that last time I'd been out on a date. My job tends to make any sort of long-term relationship a hazard. There are not many men that can put up with my single-mindedness when I'm working on a particularly trying case. Consequentially, I have been single for the larger portion of my dating life. Not that I minded all that much, but there are times when a body just craves that human touch. Right now, my body was craving the man in front of me like a smoker for that first cigarette in the morning.

I was unable to stop my eyes from wandering over the man standing close beside me. His tan, ubiquitous to anyone living in southern California, provided a pleasing contrast to his bright green eyes. His hair, a dark chocolate brown, was lighter here and there, where the sun had kissed it. He was dressed in mocha colored slacks. He also wore a cotton sweater of a lighter shade closer to one of my favorite foods, peanut butter. To top that off, he had on a leather jacket that matched the coffee-colored slacks that looked as if it were buttery soft to the touch. He looked like a peanut butter cup with one bite taken out of it and I wanted the rest.

"Our table should be ready soon," I told him, reluctantly tearing my mind away from the fantasies he'd stirred inside my head. "How about a drink while we wait?" I asked, motioning the bartender over. I took a sip from the Cape Cod sitting in front of me while he ordered. Watching his reflection in the mirror across from where I was perched on my barstool, I was barely able to conceal a grin. Just as I'd done when he walked in, I saw Terry's eyes wandering over my form. Mentally, I wondered what he was thinking as he continued his visual survey. When the bartender moved off to make it, I turned to back to Terry, "So, how has the rest of your day been?"

"Not too bad. I only had three clients today. Tomorrow is going to be the real pain in the ass. New client. He's already stood me up twice already, so if Mr. Quentin Phillips plays true to form, he'll not even bother to show up and the rest of the day will be mine. What about you?"

"Pretty boring really. I managed to get a few things done that I'd been putting off while I was working."

"Oh, what kind of work do you do?"

"I'm a private investigator," I told him. "Fortunately, I just closed two cases I was working on, and their checks cleared, so I was able to get my bills paid." We both had a chuckle at that. "So until I decide to take on a client again, I'm pretty much set for now."

"I'm glad you've got some time free, right now. I've been wanting to talk to you while you were at the gym, but you were always gone by the time I got a chance to talk to you," he said, a slow smile crossing his face.

"Well," I said, matching his sly grin, "I'm free right now, so my time is all yours. And that's a good thing too. I usually charge $750 a day, plus expenses and mileage, for my time." God! Did I just say that? I thought.

He just laughed, flashing dimples at me that drove me wild. "Wow! I guess it's a good thing all my clients paid me this month, just in case you decide to change your mind."

The maître d' came over and told us our table was ready. Taking our drinks with us, we headed outside to the deck. The view of the ocean from the deck at Emilio's was as breathtaking as he'd said it would be. And tonight proved no exception. The ocean, crashing against the breakwater sending up plumes of spray, reflected the brilliant display of orange and scarlet playing across the sky.

I turned back to see an odd gleam in Terry's eyes. "Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked him.

"Oh, no reason," he replied, with a slow smile spreading across his face. The sunlight playing across his face flashed in the dimples in his cheeks, sparking emerald fire from his eyes, and I just couldn't help myself. I leaned across the table, put one hand behind his head, and pulled him in and kissed him.

Now don’t get me wrong. I've kissed my fair share of men in my life, but kissing Terry was something else entirely. Electric would be the closest I could come to describing it. I could taste the white wine he'd ordered on his tongue as my own gently explored his mouth. After a moment of hesitation over my brashness, I could feel him lean in and begin to actively participate in the kiss.

After what seemed like an eternity, we broke apart. "Suddenly, I'm not all that hungry, are you?" he asked, his eyes molten with desire.

"You know, now that you mention it," I replied, "food is the furthest thing from my mind. What do you say we get out of here? My apartment's just a few blocks away."

"Lead the way, I'll follow you there," he said.

Both of us headed for the parking lot, and when I pulled out, I could see Terry in my rearview mirror. I can't believe I'm doing this. But hell, it's been six months. I need this, I thought. Terry pulled in behind me when I parked my car half a block away from my apartment. Terry dogged my footsteps as I pushed through the gate leading to the yard Clara and I share, and headed for my front door. I couldn't see the light on in her kitchen when I led Terry around the corner to my front door, so I assumed Sylvia wasn't finished with Clara yet. If she'd been home, I'm sure she'd have had something to say in the morning about my coming home so early, and especially not alone. Quite frankly, at this point, I didn't care what she had to say.

I could feel the heat coming off of Terry as he came up behind me as I unlocked at my door. Wrapping one arm around my waist, he kissed my neck right behind my ear. How he knew that was one of the spots that make me weak in the knees, I have no idea, but I wasn't about to start complaining. I could feel the sexual heat was radiating off of him in almost palpable waves. I couldn't get the door open fast enough. Pulling him inside, I shut the door, pushed him against it, and kissed him again. We explored each other's mouths, running tongues over teeth, palates, and just plain reveling in the sheer joy of kissing someone you're attracted to. With a supreme effort, I pulled away from him and looked at him. His lips were red and slightly swollen, as I'm sure my own were, from the kisses we'd just shared, his face flushed with blood, his breathing ragged, his eyes like dark pools of ocean water at midnight.

"Follow me," I managed to get out in a voice husky with emotion. Taking his hand, I led him up the staircase to the loft that held my bedroom. Turning on the lights, I crossed over to the CD player and selected my favorite CD. Anita Baker's smooth voice came from the speakers filling the space between us with her sultry, smoky tones. Suddenly feeling shy, I slowly turned back to Terry. As if he could sense the sudden shift in my mood, he just slowly smiled and beckoned me to him with one finger.

Biting my lip, I walked around the bed and came to his side. "What's wrong?" he whispered, wrapping his arms around my waist, dipping his head down to look at my face where I was staring at the floor.

"I don't know," I said. "I just don't want you to think that I sleep with every man I go out with."

He just laughed. "Is that all? It's not like I make a habit of it myself. Besides, if I didn't want to be here, I would have left after that first kiss at the restaurant. Do you have any idea how many times I've wanted to have you in a situation like this? How many times I've dreamt about what I'd do to you? It's taken every ounce of strength I have not to ravage you in the gym when I've seen you there."
I couldn't help myself. I had to laugh. "Well, what stopped you?"

"Because, no matter how sexy you are when you're covered in sweat, I wanted to be the one that caused that sweat," he stated simply.

Those words released every bit of apprehension I held onto. Leaning in to take his mouth again, my hands began a slow exploration of his body. I could feel the firm muscle beneath his sweater as my hands slid across his back. The strength in his arms, as he wrapped them around me, was a comforting pressure. Like an archaeologist working on a dig, we slowly began our removal of the clothes that came between us leaving them strewn on the floor of my bedroom wherever they landed.

Making love with Terry was like falling into a warm cloud. Effortlessly, he attended to every desire I'd ever had. There was no holding back, no reserve. Sexual energy flowed back and forth between us with no hesitation.
We made love more than once. At first, there was too much hunger, too much heat. We came at each other with an intensity that welcomed no tenderness. We crashed against each other much like waves on the breakwater back at Emilio's, surges of pleasure lashing straight up, curling back again, leaving me breathless with their intensity. Images of pounding assault, boom and buffet and battering rams came unbidden to my mind, reducing walls I'd built up for my own protection to ash and rubble.

He raised himself up on one elbow and then leaned down to kiss me long and sweet and began all over again, only this time going at his pace. He moved at half speed, agonizingly slow like the gradual ripening of grapes on the vine. I could feel myself melt into a pool of honey and oil at his slow, teasing touches and caresses. A mellowing ease filtered through me like a sedative.

We lay there afterward, laughing and sweaty, out of breath from our actions, our bodies sheathed in sweat. He wrapped his arms around me as sleep began to claim both of us, the weight of his arms pinning me to the bed. Far from feeling confined, I felt reassured and protected, as though nothing could ever hurt me as long as I stayed within his shadow. A sheltering cavern of warmth and flesh, where I was tucked away until morning without waking once. As sleep claimed both of us, little did I know that, two blocks away, a man lay dead in a puddle of blood.