Dead Running (7 page)

“Speak for yourself,” Detective Shine said, rubbing his bald pate. “Why can’t I be Detective Fine?”

He really wasn’t bad looking, but seriously. I pointed to his tall, blond, and perfect partner. “Do you really have to ask?”

Detective Shine shrugged in defeat. “Next time I come I’ll bring somebody fat and old.”

“Looking forward to that.” I sat in the overstuffed chair, pointing towards the couch and really hoping there wasn’t a “next time.” These two seemed to think I was their responsibility since they were always there for my tragic moments. “My parents have been dead two years now. No men with knives showing up lately. Do you guys really have to keep visiting?”
           
Detective Fine frowned, settling into the cushions. He clung to a small notebook.

“We heard about your discovery Saturday,” Detective Shine said, sitting next to his partner.

I shrank into the plush chair and rubbed at my forehead to stop the headache he’d just initiated. As if my nightmares weren’t enough reminder. Last night I was chased through my slumber by the man with no face and that Panetti psycho. The only bonus was Jesse had rescued me. I forced my mind back to the present. “The police asked me questions on Saturday. Do we have to rehash this?”

Detective Fine leaned forward. “Cassidy, with all you’ve been through, have you ever met with a good psychiatrist?”

So they weren’t here to question me about the body. They were here to “help.” My fingers dug into the bridge of my nose, but didn’t relieve the pressure building inside my head. “I have a friend who’s setting me up with one.” I realized how that sounded and reddened. “I mean, setting me up an appointment. I’ll be fine.” I stood. “If there isn’t anything else?”

Neither of them budged. I sank back down. “Okay. What?”

“Just a few more questions about Saturday and we’ll let you go.”

I nodded. They had badges and guns. What choice did I have?

Shine leaned towards me. “Do you remember anything strange about Saturday morning?”

“You mean besides finding a dead body with no face?”
           
“And no fingers,” Fine muttered.

My throat tightened. I coughed once. “Excuse me?”

“The man’s fingers had been removed. Add that to no facial features, no teeth, no match of his DNA to anyone in our system, and no missing persons reported . . .” Detective Fine’s voice trailed off as he was rewarded with a glare from his partner that would’ve frozen a barbecue grill.

The room turned so cold I had to pull one of Nana’s afghans from the rack near her chair. Wrapping my legs underneath my body, I piled the afghan over me. It didn’t help much. “Why would somebody do such a thing?” I asked.

The detectives exchanged a look. Detective Shine shrugged. “Who knows? Cassidy, did you notice anyone strange at the race?”

“You think one of the runners killed him?”

“Maybe. Approximate time of death was only an hour before the race started.”

I shuddered from my grown-out roots to my chipped toenails. Neither of the detectives said anymore. I sat there and thought about the race. Anything unusual? Jesse and Damon both sought me out. That was unusual. But my police protectors wouldn’t be interested in either of them like I was. Then I remembered two other men.

“There were two Nasties,” I murmured.

Fine and Shine exchanged a look.

I elaborated without their prompting. “You knowugly dudes who stare. The big one got too close and tripped me.” I burrowed deeper into the afghan. “I saw them at Café Sabor later that night. Just the way they looked at me.” I shivered again.

Shine made some notes then focused on me. With much detail, I started describing Nasty Muscle Man. Near the end of my monologue, the back door popped open.

“Hello,” Nana called out. “Are those good-looking detectives here to see us again?”

“I’ll text you the rest,” I muttered, Nana did not need additional stress.
 

Detective Shine handed me a business card. “I understand.”

Relief washed over me. Maybe I should rename him or maybe I could explain to him that Shine was for Knight in Shining Armor, not his shiny head.

Nana floated into the room. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

Detective Fine stood and received the standard hug. “Just coming by to check on our favorite girls.”

I marveled at their understanding of my need to protect Nana. Even though I dreaded seeing this pair of detectives, they really were wonderful men.

Nana blushed. “Well, you must be hungry. Cassidy, why didn’t you feed the detectives?”

“Waiting for you to come be the Happy Hostess,” I muttered.

She frowned at me but lost her glower when she refocused on the detectives. “Well, you’d better come in this kitchen and let me take care of you.”

Shine and Fine dutifully followed. I stayed behind to catch my breath. No face, no fingers, and no missing body reported. Had the Nasties killed that man? I prayed it was just coincidence that I'd run into those two twice, but feared I hadn't seen the last of them.

Raquel studied my training schedule with a wrinkled brow. “You have to start this
when
?”

I paced the length of her living room, needing my sister-in-law’s support, but somewhat prepared for her to second Nana’s opinionI was a nut job. I gnawed at a hangnail. Raquel usually believed in me, but this marathon idea was insane. At least that’s what everyone kept telling me. I squared my shoulders and pried my finger from my mouth. Nana and Tasha not supporting me just gave me more incentive to succeed. Impressing Raquel, and even though I didn’t want to admit it, my dead parents had been the initial motivation, but now I was determined to prove to everyone I wouldn't quit.

“The race is on October 4
^th
," I said, "so I’ll have to start the first of June.”

Her head jerked up. “The marathon is on October 4
^th
?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I'm due the 15th.” Raquel gripped the sides of her chair. “What if I come early again? You were the only reason I got through Tate’s delivery. You promised me you’d be there.” Her words per minute revved. “You know Jared passes out at the sight of blood. My mom lives too far away. You can’t miss the hospital. You can’t.” She was getting hysterical. Pregnancy hormones.

“No way will I miss it.” I swallowed. “I’m not going to miss the delivery of the second little person who’s going to love me more than anybody else in the world.”

Raquel chuckled. Her pinched face relaxed. “You think Tate loves you best?”

“Of course. I’m the coolest aunt ever.”

Tate bounded into the room. “Auntie.” The four-year old launched himself at me. “What treats did you bring me?”

“To prove my point.” I twirled my nephew until he was dizzy. “Nothing too great, buddy.” I set him on the carpet and fished a Blow Pop out of my purse.

His face brightened. “A sucker!” He ripped the candy from my hand, planted a kiss on my leg, and tore off for his room again.

Raquel glared. “You need to stop giving him treats.”

“But that’s why I’m the favorite. The next little guy will love me almost as much as Tater does.”

“If you spoil him as much.” She refocused on the training schedule. After several long minutes she set the papers on the coffee table, leaned back against the cushions, and rested her hands on the slight bulge of her abdomen. “Um, Cassie, I think this schedule is too intense.”

“What do you mean?” I plopped onto the thick beige carpet in her living room and folded my legs around each other.

“This schedule will probably kill you,” she clarified. “If you survive, I can’t imagine the injuries you’ll suffer.”

“I don’t care.” I grabbed onto my ankles and rocked slowly back and forth. I’ve dealt with pain before. “I researched training schedules online. This one had great testimonials. It’s supposed to be
the
training schedule to qualify for Boston.”

“I’m sure whoever claims that is right. If you don’t injure something and put yourself out of the race.” She whistled. “This schedule has you running five to six days a week. Repeats, tempo runs, insane long runs.” Her eyebrows arched. “You have three long runs that are twenty miles or higher.”

I gulped and squeaked out, “Twenty?” I wanted to prove I wouldn't quit, but did I want to prove it that bad?

Raquel looked down at me, her brown sugar eyes brimming with sympathy.

I cleared my throat. “Twenty milers will be fun.” I bounced enthusiastically like a child waiting for a trip to the park. What I had gotten myself into? “I’ll have lots of time to . . . think through stuff.”

“Uh-huh. You can solve the world’s problems.” Raquel’s lips compressed. “Speaking of problems, I heard your detectives showed up again. Was it about the body?”

I nodded tightly. “Thanks for bringing it up. I almost went half an hour without that horrifying image in my head.”

Raquel’s gaze softened, but she didn’t back down. “Who do they think killed him?”

I shrugged and studied the granite fireplace. “They don’t even know who
he
is.”

Raquel was quiet long enough, I was forced to look and see what delayed her response. Finally, she clasped her hands together and muttered, “I wonder if it’s an identity crime.”

I swayed back and forth, trying to assuage my fears like a mother would do for a child. Sadly, I had no mother and Raquel was not helping like she usually did. “Identity crime?”

“Yeah.” She rubbed her hands together, looking almost excited. Out of character for her usual sweetheart mode. “I saw it on CSI. This guy killed another guy and hid his identity so he could steal the dude’s life. It was psychotic.”

I bobbed my head along with my body’s rotations. “Sounds psychotic. So, I had a good run this morning.”

Raquel arched a brow. “How did your pace this morning compare to Saturday’s race?”

“Actual running pace is a bit fuzzy, but I did cross the distance from home to the gym and back and I really sprinted the last block.” I smiled, remembering my conversation with Jesse this morning.

“A mile each way?” She leaned into the plush cushions. “Don’t let your memories of high school running mess you up. You’re going to enjoy running once you wrap your mind around it. It’s just a mental block, you know?”

I did know, but I didn’t need another reminder of my high school humiliation. At my debut track meet I spewed on the shoes of the boy who our yearbook featured as best athlete, best body, and best face. Why couldn’t anyone forget? “Hey, I started at zero. This is progress.”

Raquel nodded, elevating her eyebrows. “Outstanding progress.”

“Those first two miles are the hardest. They’re like a warm-up, right?”

Raquel twisted her face down and to the side. “Um, sure.”

“So, that’s the mistake I made. I just need to push out more miles. Running to and from the gym is stupid. I never really get warm because I stop and start. Tomorrow I’m starting my real training program. I’m going to do six miles, six days a week.” I gave her a significant look, trying to convince both of us that I could really run six miles. “If I do that for four weeks, I should be more than ready to start
this
.” I poked at the paper in her hands.

Raquel stared. After several moments of dumbfounded silence, she rose from her chair, walked to her bookshelf, and retrieved three books on running and a stack of
Runner’s World
magazines. She crossed the distance between us and dumped the pile in my arms. “Here. You’re going to need these.”

I didn’t remind her I’d learned most of this in college; guess I was due for a refresher course. “Thanks.” I turned to leave. My brother would be home from work soon and I didn’t need the grief he would give me about my latest passion, my choice of men, or the fact that everyone knew Detective Fine and Shine were coming around again.
Thank you, Nana.
“Tater, come give your auntie a hug goodbye.”

Tate raced from his room, threw his arms around me, and knocked several magazines from my hands. “Do you have to leave?”

“Yeah. Your dad will be home soon and
they’ll
want family time.” I nodded towards Raquel.