Don't Touch Me! - 13

 

"I could ask Walt—Detective Milburn—but I doubt he'd give up the information, even if he had it," Brent told Cody.

"Call him."

Brent chuckled. "It's late. After six," he added, glancing at the time in the computer's task bar. "He's undoubtedly on his way home now. Still…" He took out his phone to call the station. He got the operator, who told him Walt was still working but was unavailable. It took a bit of schmoozing on Brent's part, but he finally got the man to agree to send Walt a message to call Brent at his earliest convenience. "Which might not be until sometime tomorrow," Brent told Cody after hanging up.

"If he won't tell you, then what?" Cody asked. "Can you hack into the doctors' patient lists or something?"

"I can't. That's not one of my skills."

Cody looked at him hopefully. "But you know someone who could."

"Nope. Sorry."

"What if the killer chooses them at random?"

"He might, but he'd still have to see them first if that was the case. With two of the victims being invalids, I'd say it's unlikely he saw them walking down the street and decided 'That's my next target'."

"But they would go to their doctors, whether their doctors are in the same building as Mother's was or somewhere else. By the way, why were those two women invalids?"

"Now that is a good question. The news articles didn't say." Brent went back to the obituaries. "Hmm. One of them had Cushing syndrome. It doesn't list a medical history for the other woman, only that she had been confined to a wheelchair for the last four years of her life."

"What's Cushing syndrome?"

Brent ran a fast search. "It has to do with the adrenal glands producing too much cortisol, leading to a build-up of fat. Now that's interesting." He rapped a knuckle on his teeth.

"So she was probably overweight, maybe even obese. What if the other two women were as well," Cody said excitedly.

"Something else to ask Walt if he calls back."

"Are you hungry?"

"That was out of the blue."

Cody chuckled. "I just realized I'm starving—for the first time since all this began. Maybe because I finally think there's hope of finding the killer."

Brent refrained from pointing out it wouldn't take Cody off Walt's radar as a copycat killer. "I could eat something," he replied.

"A full meal or a sandwich?" Cody asked as they went downstairs.

"A sandwich would be fine. No sense in you putting yourself out."

"It's really no bother to fix a real supper. I like to cook, so there's plenty here to work with."

"Naw." Brent carefully went around Cody to pour another cup of coffee. While he did, Cody took what he needed out of the fridge, including the makings for a salad. Brent leaned against the far counter, watching. By the time Cody had everything on two plates, Brent's mouth was watering. They weren't just sandwiches. They were works of art with thin slices of roast beef piled high, topped with tomatoes, onion, mozzarella, and horseradish sauce. Compared to them, the salad was simple—wedges of tomatoes mixed with shallots, red wine vinegar and olive oil.

Don't Touch Me! - 12

 

Cody finally took a drink of coffee. Brent noticed the young man's hands weren't shaking anymore, and chuckled when Cody put the cup down with a 'Guess I am calmer now'," comment. Then Cody asked, "Do you know… Did you ask him if there's anything connecting the three previous victims?"

"I didn't," Brent admitted. "I should have, not that he'd have told me. You and I already discussed the fact two of the three were invalids. Your mother fits within that parameter."

Cody nodded. "So three out of four. Still, that might have been coincidence. They were all older—another connection. I wonder…" He got up, heading out of the kitchen. When Brent didn't follow, Cody stopped long enough to tell him, "My computer's up in the study."

Understanding, Brent followed. When they got there, Cody took the computer out of sleep mode then went online where he started searching for something. Brent came over, standing a safe distance from Cody's side but close enough to see he was looking for news stories about the four murders, his mother's included. He opened a blank document and began taking notes.

"You're doing my job," Brent said with a dry chuckle. "Maybe you should fire me."

"Umm, no? I figured we're both here, so…" Cody kept making notations. Brent saw they were mainly about the murdered women, not how the crimes were committed. When Cody finished, he got up, saying, "Your turn. You probably know better than I do how to find out more about each woman."

Brent sat, going first to the obituaries for each woman.

"See, I never would have thought of that," Cody commented.

"Practice, my boy. Practice." He added to Cody's notes, saying, "Different religious affiliations and different birth cities for two of them. No birth city given for the third woman."

"Mother was born in Schenectady, New York, and when she used to go to church, it was Central Presbyterian."

"Got it," Brent replied, adding that beside her name. She didn't have an obituary since her body was still at the coroner's office. "Did she go to college?"

"Yes. J&W, here in the city, but only for two years. Then she met Dad, dropped out, and married him."

"Okay. None of them went to the same school. You said your father was a factory worker?"

"Yes. A machinist. He was killed on the job three years ago."

"Damn. Sorry." Brent almost reached out to pat Cody's arm in commiseration, quickly pulling his hand back. "Okay, that doesn't match the jobs the other women's husbands held, and two of the men are still living."

Brent continued reading the obituaries, muttering as he did, "No clubs in common, different social levels…"

"So not a damned thing to make the killer choose them specifically, that you can see."

"Not so far, other than their ages. I wonder… You said your mother did leave the house for doctor appointments. Who was her physician?"

"Norman Trent. He has his offices in the medical building at Fifth and Central."

Brent drummed his fingers on the desk. "Now if there was some way to find out if the other women had doctors in the same building…"

"Is there?" Cody asked hopefully.

 

Don't Touch Me! - 11

 

After his visit with Walt, Brent went back to the office. He had two other jobs to deal with before he could even consider paying Cody another visit. They took most of the day, so it was after four when he called Cody to tell him he was coming over.

"What did you find out?" Cody asked the moment he opened the door.

"And hello to you too," Brent replied, chuckling.

"Sorry. Hello." Cody stepped aside to let Brent in.

"You look like hell," Brent said, which Cody did. He had dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks seemed even more sunken than normal.

"I didn't sleep well last night." Cody danced nervously from one foot to the other. "Would you like—I don't know—coffee or something?"

"Sure. Coffee sounds good." Brent followed Cody into the kitchen, standing in the doorway to keep a safe distance from the younger man. "How do you manage to grocery shop?"

"We… I have it delivered." Cody smiled hesitantly. "Go online, order what's needed, and there you go."

"I might have to try that. It would probably save me money. I tend to be an impulse shopper."

"I used to be, before…" Cody poured two cups of coffee. "Sugar? Cream?"

"No, this is fine." Brent came into the kitchen when Cody put the cup down on the table. "Do you want to talk here?"

Cody nodded, taking the chair on the far side of the table from where Brent stood. Brent sat across from him, taking a sip of coffee. He noticed Cody's hand begin shaking as he picked up his cup. Brent barely resisted grabbing it before Cody spilled his coffee. Instead, he said calmly, "Take a deep breath and relax."

"Relax? My mother is dead. The cops think I killed her, and you want me to relax? How the hell am I supposed to do that?" His voice rose angrily with each question.

"Cody," Brent replied quietly. "Yelling is not going to help the situation."

"Bet me!" Cody spat out. Then he slumped back, smiling briefly. "Actually, it did. Now maybe I can look rationally at what's going on. Did you get to talk to Detective Milburn?"

"Yep. He wouldn't tell me why he thinks her killing isn't related to the other ones, but then, I didn't really expect him to. I think I managed to convince him your touching phobia is real. I told him about what happened the first time you met Ashlie, so he's going to talk to her to confirm it. Would you be willing to give the psychiatrist permission to talk to Milburn? It could help."

"I…suppose." Cody then said sourly, "I thought he already believed me about that."

"Not really, I'm afraid. He said he played along because, as he put it, he didn't want to deal with 'dramatic overacting' on your part. Honestly, I suspect he wasn't certain one way or the other and wasn't willing to chance you having a full-blown episode."

"It would have happened."

"I'm sure. Between your mother's murder and the cops swarming the place, anyone touching you would have been the last straw."

 

Don't Touch Me! - 10

"Okay." Brent tapped his fingers together. "Is there any physical evidence pointing to Cody Paige, or is it just some things that don't jibe with the other murders?"

"Brent…"

"Yeah, yeah, you can't—or won't—tell me. Damn it, Walt, I really don't think Cody killed his mother. Among other things, why would he?"

"He got tired of having to take care of her? He wanted a life of his own? He wanted to inherit her money? Pick one."

"None of those wash. First off, I suspect he makes enough money from his books to live comfortably. But more importantly, given what's wrong with him, I don't see him being able to live any way other than how he does—alone, with no one around him to set off his phobia."

"If it's for real. It makes a good story, but so far there's no proof he's haphephobic."

"Yeah, there is," Brent replied. "Several weeks ago, Ashlie saw his reaction to being touched. Long before the serial killer murders started. And, from what he told me, he saw a psychiatrist about his problem, if only once."

"Say what?"

Brent gave him the details about what Ashlie had said happened the first time she'd met Cody. When he'd finished, he said, "You must have had a least a grain of belief he's haphephobic. He said you didn't have him fingerprinted the normal way."

"Let's just say, I wasn't in the mood for some dramatic overacting on his part. 'Oh my God, you touched me. I must scream and faint and what have you'."

"Damn, Walt."

"Well, it's what I was thinking at the time. What you told me Ashlie said might put a different slant on things. I'll go talk with her before I decide his phobia is real."

"Please do."

"Now, is there anything else you want to ask that I won't answer?"

Brent laughed. "Probably, but why waste our time. Just do me a favor. Try to keep an open mind. He honestly doesn't strike me as the kind of guy who could kill anyone, especially his own mother."

 

 

Don't Touch Me! - 9

 

Brent and Detective Walter Milburn were friends, having roomed together for a year while in college when Brent had been a sophomore and Milburn a senior. Milburn had been majoring in criminal justice at that point, while Brent hadn't been certain what he'd wanted to do. He'd only known he didn't want to be a police officer despite Walt's having suggested he might make a good one. Then, the summer following his sophomore year, Brent had gotten a job as a security guard, in spite of his father's demeaning comments about being a 'door shaker'. That had whetted his interest in stopping crime, so he'd taken a few of the courses Milburn had recommended then started working full time with a security firm before deciding to strike out on his own—setting up his private detective agency.

Now, the morning after Brent had visited Cody, the detective looked up when Brent approached his desk. "To what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

"I want to pick your brain?" Brent replied, sitting in the chair beside Walt's desk.

"Again? What's got you stumped this time?"

"Therein lies the rub, to misquote Hamlet."

Walt leaned back, hands behind his head. "Talk."

"I've been hired to try to prove my client didn't commit a murder. Before you ask, he hasn't been charged yet, but he's sure he will be."

"So you want me to find out what the chances are that will happen?"

"I suspect you already know, since it's your case."

Straightening up, Walt looked hard at Brent. "Which one? No, let me guess. The Paige murder." When Brent nodded, Walt said, "That kid is the killer, so drop him fast."

"If he is, why haven't you arrested him already?"

Walt's mouth tightened. "I'm still putting together the case against him."

Lifting an eyebrow, Brent said, "Not enough evidence?"

"Let's put it this way. He did a pretty good job of mimicking the serial killer who is running around right now. But there are a couple of details he didn't know, since we held them back."

"Such as?"

Walt shook his head. "Uh-uh. I may trust you, but I am not revealing that."

"Like the method used to strangle her?" When Walt didn't reply, Brent tried again. "Did the killer come in through a basement window?"

"It looks as if that's what happened."

"You don't agree."

Again, Walt remained silent.

 

Don't Touch Me! - 8

 

"I presume Milburn had one of his people fingerprint you. Did they take hair or skin samples?"

"No. Why would they? I live here. I took care of her. And they didn't take my prints. Well, not like you see on TV. I guess the detective believed me enough he wasn't willing to test whether I'd go off the deep end. So he had one of his people give me a sheet of plastic to hold." Cody smiled wryly. "Sort of like you see in a detective movie where the cop finds a suspect in a bar and steals the glass the dude was drinking from so he'll have prints to run."

Brent chuckled. "I guess Milburn must watch the same movies. Did they search the house?"

"Oh yeah. Not sure what for. It was obvious the killer used one of Mother's pillows to smother her."

"She was manually strangled, like the other victims?"

"Well, there wasn't a rope or anything around her neck when I found her, just bruises, so I'd presume so. But then I'm hardly an expert."

Brent chuckled. "I'd hope not, unless you used strangulation in one of your books."

"I haven't so far. Maybe once all this is over… No. I don't think I can work any of this into a horror story. It's too personal."

"You never know," Brent replied with a smile. "Okay, I think I've picked your brain enough for the moment. Unfortunately, given your phobia—meaning you rarely leave the house—you don't have an alibi for the time she was killed. At least, I presume you don't."

"No. I don't know exactly when she died, but after she was in bed, I went upstairs to write. Then, somewhere around midnight, I think, I went to bed."

"Did you shower first?"

"Yes… Yes! Maybe that's why I didn't hear anything?"

"It's one possibility. Where is your bedroom compared to hers?"

"Come on. I'll show you." Cody took him upstairs. "That's my room, and that,"—he pointed to another door—"is what I laughingly call my study. It's really a third, very small, bedroom. Mother's bedroom is under what used to be her and Dad's bedroom, which is across the hall from mine."

"Far enough away, you might not have heard anything anyway, if she didn't cry out. If she struggled, and the fallen nightstand says she might have, it wouldn't have made much noise, especially since the room is carpeted."

"Meaning I wouldn't have heard it when it was knocked over."

"Probably not. All right, it's time for me to get out of here. I'll be in contact as soon as I've talked with Milburn. Oh," Brent smiled ruefully as they walked back downstairs. "I do need to get a retainer check from you."

Cody nodded, going to the desk in the corner of the living room which he and his mother used when they paid bills. He wrote out the check, setting it on the corner of the desk. Brent picked it up, pocketing it.

"Don't forget to set the alarm," Brent warned on his way out the front door.

"I never do. Forget, that is." Cody smiled wryly. "Mother drummed it into me from day one."

 

Don't Touch Me! - 7

 

"One possibility, of course," Brent replied. "And before you get upset, like Milburn, I need to look at all scenarios. If she awoke out of a deep sleep… How did she sleep?"

"You mean her position?"

"Well, that too, but was she a heavy sleeper?"

"Generally. She was on pain medication for her arthritis, which could knock her out when she was tired. She usually slept on her back, with a couple of pillows because they helped her breath better."

"Until someone used one of them to smother her". Brent winced, realizing how callous that must have sounded. "Okay, I probably shouldn't have said that."

Cody almost smiled. "Probably not, but it's the truth."

"I should have a talk with Milburn," Brent said.

"Would he actually tell you anything? Like why he thinks I killed my mother?"

"Not why, but I might at least get a feel for whether you're just imagining he does. Being interrogated is hard on a person—especially right after they've found a dead body. And when it's a family member to boot…"

"It was no piece of cake. That's for sure."

"Did he say anything about how the killer got into the house? I noticed you have an alarm box by the front door. Does the security system cover everything or just the doors? According to what I read about the other murders, the killer got in through a basement window."

"Mother had it installed after Dad died. I hate to say it, but she was cheap. She thought just covering the ground floor would be enough, even though the man from the security company pointed out a crook would try to get in any way he could. She said we should always keep the basement door locked, which we did."

"Did Milburn say a basement window had been breached?"

"Not to me."

"Okay. Another thing to ask him. The story about her death didn't mention it."

"To be honest, I avoided reading about it or watching the news. It's hard enough living through what happened, so I didn't know that."

"It doesn't mean anything. I'm afraid most of the stories focused on the more lurid details, as always—like the fact she was almost an invalid, just like two of the previous victims."

"That I did know," Cody told him. "I mean…about the others. Mother devoured the stories about the killings on TV."

"Was she worried on a personal level?"

"Mother?" Cody snorted. "Not at all. She figured she was safe enough since she almost never left the house except to go to the doctor."

"Meaning no one ever saw her."

"Well, other than when she was in the backyard. She liked to lie in the sun. Said it helped her arthritis. We do have neighbors."

Don't Touch Me! - 6

"Can Mr. Harding really help me, or am I just clutching at straws?" Cody stared at his computer screen, more worried about the fact he seemed to be in Detective Milburn's sights as a murderer than how to move on with the story he was writing.

He was certain one reason Milburn thought he'd killed his mother was the fact he had been in the house when it happened. That would make me wonder, if I was him.

He glanced at the time. "How the hell did it get so late? And I've written maybe…" He checked, shaking his head. "Five pages, damn it. And probably crap, since my mind wasn't on it." He saved his work, sent it to his cloud program, and shut off the computer before going down the hallway to his bedroom to change into a fresh shirt and comb his hair. He finished just as the doorbell rang.

"You're right on time, Mr. Harding," Cody said, stepping well aside to let Brent in.

"I try to be," Brent replied with a smile. "Oh, and please call me Brent."

Cody nodded, leading the way into the living room.

The first thing Brent did when they were seated was put the promised contract and a pen down on the coffee table. Cody picked it up, appreciating Brent's sensitivity in not just handing them to him. He took time to read it through thoroughly, noting it was for a month with the option to extend it if necessary—or cancel it earlier, if both parties agreed.

"Looks fine to me," he said, signing it.

"Now that that's done, I'd like to see where your mother was killed."

"Right in there," Cody replied, pointing to a door off to one side of the living room. "It used to be the dining room but with all Mother's problems she had a hard time going upstairs, so it became her bedroom."

With a nod, Brent went into the room. Cody couldn't bring himself to join him. He knew what Brent would see—a queen-size bed, now stripped of its sheets, the nightstand knocked over…

"Cody," Brent called out. "Would you come in here? Please?"

Reluctantly Cody did, shuddering when he remembered walking into the room two days earlier and seeing his mother's body.

"You've undoubtedly answered this question more times than you want, but humor me. Obviously you're the one who found your mom's body. Exactly how did things look when you came into the room?"

"She…she was sprawled out, with a pillow over her face. I knew that wasn't right. I thought maybe… Well, I don't know what I thought. I went over and lifted it off. Her face was sort of purplish and there were bruises on her neck, so I knew right away the pillow wasn't there by accident."

"Did you knock over the nightstand?"

"No. It was like that, but I didn't see it at first because it's on the other side of the bed from the doorway."

"You said she was sprawled out, like she tried to fight off her attacker?"

"I guess? But…umm, I got the impression the detective doesn't think she did. At least not until the last second. Like…she knew who was there." Cody grimaced. "Meaning me."

Don't Touch Me! - 5

 

Brent rapped a finger on his desk. "To be honest, while I'm a damned good investigator, I've never handled a murder case, so I can't say for certain. We could set it at a month, with, as I said, the option on both our parts to terminate sooner. That will be written into the contract."

"Okay. I can deal with that. Hell, by then I might be sitting in a jail cell. Or in a psych ward because…" he shuddered.

"It would be impossible to be arrested without being touched," Brent replied with compassion. "Tell me something, Cody. Have you looked for help for your problem?"

He shrugged. "Sort of. I saw a shrink…once. The only thing that came out of it was his giving me a name for what's wrong with me. Haphephobia. He said it was an intense, and often irrational, fear of being touched. He wanted to dose me up on anti-anxiety meds before he was willing to try to dig into the causes. He gave me a scrip for some." Cody shook his head. "I tried them and no way. I'd rather live with what's wrong with me than be a zombie."

Brent chuckled. "I can see that. Although, from what Ashlie told me, you definitely react badly when you're touched."

"Yeah," Cody agreed ruefully. "It's why I almost never leave the house. At least I drive and have my own car, so if I'm careful—and for damned sure I am—I can play keep-away from people. You learn how to after a while."

At that moment, Sophia buzzed Brent to tell him Mr. Davis, one of his clients, had arrived. He acknowledged it before telling Cody, "If you want to come back later this afternoon, I can have a contract ready for you to sign. Or, I can bring it by your house, which would probably be better."

"So you can see where Mother was killed?" Cody replied dryly.

Brent chuckled. "That too. But I figure it'll be easier on you if you don't have to come out in public again."

"Thank you," Cody said gratefully. "What time?"

Brent checked his schedule. "Say five?" When Cody agreed, Brent asked for Cody's particulars for the contract. When he had them, he suggested Cody leave by the side door to the office. "The hallway goes directly to the stairwell. You're less likely to run into anyone there."

Cody thanked him again, left, and Brent told Sophia to send Mr. Davis in.

 

 

Don't Touch Me! - 4

 

"What's the detective's name?" Brent asked.

"Milburn. Walter Milburn."

Brent nodded. "I know him. He's a decent man and a good detective."

"I hope so, because I swear I didn't kill Mother," Cody said. "I might have wanted to at times, but really, I'd never actually do it. She is—was—my mother." He closed his eyes, as if trying to rein in his emotions.

"Parents can sometimes get on your last nerve. I know. I have a mother who's great at it, at times. Tell me a bit about your mother."

Cody puffed out a breath. "When I was younger, she was okay—I mean, as mothers go. A few years ago she developed rheumatoid arthritis. It got hard for her to do things, so my father began pampering her. Then he died, three years ago. She started eating. I guess to assuage her grief. She did love him—very much, in fact—and he loved her. Between the weight she gained and the arthritis, she was pretty much housebound."

"You've been taking care of her?"

"Um-hum. I work from home. Have since…"

"Since this whole 'don't touch me' thing started?"

"Even before that. I was never exactly what you'd call social, and after I sold my first book, I've been able to support myself without having to get what Mother called 'a real job'."

"You're an author?"

Cody nodded. "I use a pen name because my dad wouldn't have approved. He thought a man should do 'manly' things, so I worked a regular job and wrote on the side. When my first book got picked up, I kept it a secret from my parents. I didn't tell my mother until after Dad died."

"What's your pen name, if you don't mind my asking?

"Jonathan Wilde."

"Shit. Are you kidding me?" Brent looked at him in disbelief. "You write hellishly good horror stories. But I sure thought Wilde was older—by a lot."

Cody flushed red. "Thank you. Yeah, I'm only twenty-five, but I don't think someone has to be an old man to write well."

"True," Brent agreed. He had guessed Cody to be barely twenty-one from looking at him, not twenty-five. But he knew looks could be deceiving. "So, getting back to why you're here. What do you think I can do? Presuming Detective Milburn really does suspect you of killing your mother, that is. You could have been misreading him."

"I hope I was, but I don't think so. I guess I want you to prove it wasn't me."

"Before we go any further, can you afford me? I know that sounds cold, but," Brent smiled, "this is a business and I do like to be able to pay my bills."

"How much does it cost?"

Brent took a sheet of paper from a folder in a desk drawer, handing it to Cody. After Cody looked it over, he nodded. "I can."

"Good." Brent handed him a second paper. "This is a sample contract. It lays out, in a general way, what you can expect from me—and vice versa."

"How long will it be valid?"

"We can set up a time frame, with the option to extend it if we both agree. You might not want to if you think you're wasting money with no results. The same holds true for me. If I decide I can't do what you want—in this case proving you didn't kill your mother—there's no reason for me to continue."

"What would be a good time limit for something like this? I mean…a week, a month?"

 

Don't Touch Me! - 3

 

Brent had totally forgotten about the young man he'd seen when he'd gone to pick Ashlie up at the pharmacy a couple of weeks ago. He had more important things to worry about, like finding out who was stealing from one of his clients. Or doing surveillance on a man who was filing an insurance claim and said he was unable to work due to gross negligence on the part of the owner of his apartment building. Or a myriad of other jobs which kept him busy for what sometimes seemed like twenty-four seven—if it was a good month. In between cases, he ran background checks on potential employees for some of his regular clients.

So when Sophia, his receptionist-secretary-bookkeeper, let him know, "There's a young man here to see you, Mr. Harding. He says your sister sent him," Brent wondered who it was. And why Ashlie would have told someone to come see him.

"Send him in, please," Brent told her, standing to greet whoever it was. When the man entered his office, Brent frowned in puzzlement. He knew he'd seen him before, but not where. Then it came to him, so he refrained from offering to shake the man's hand, only saying, "I'm Brent Harding. Why don't you have a seat?"

"Cody Paige," Cody said, giving Brent wide berth to get to the chair by the desk. "You're sister said maybe you could help me."

"With what?" Brent sat again, remembering to minimize the background search he was working on, on the computer.

"I think I'm in trouble."

"How so?"

Cody stared down at the floor. "My mother was…was killed two days ago, and I'm sure the police think I did it."

"Oh? Why?"

"They…" He looked up again. "Have you heard about whoever is killing elderly people?"

"Yes. He's struck three times so far, which technically makes him a serial killer." Brent paused, going to a news site he trusted. After a brief search, he brought up the stories about the killings. "Okay, four times." He looked at Cody. "Why do they think you're the killer?"

"That's the thing. The detective who interrogated me"—he shuddered—"he didn't say it, but he implied my mother's murder was a copycat killing."

"By you."

Cody nodded. "She didn't fit the…parameters?"

"May I ask you something before we continue?"

"Yes."

"From what my sister Ashlie said, you're paranoid about being touched." Brent smiled at the look of surprise on Cody's face. "I saw you at the pharmacy a while back. Anyway, how did you avoid it if the detective took you in to interrogate you?"

"He… I told him about my phobia." Cody grimaced. "I don't think he believed me, but he was willing to talk to me at the house. 'For your own comfort' is what he said."

It's release day for 'It Takes an Artist - Quint and Clay Art Crimes Book 2'!

 It Takes an Artist

Quint and Clay Art Crimes Book 2

https://www.jms-books.com/edward-kendrick-c-224_229/it-takes-an-artist-p-3651.html 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08T789PV3

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/it-takes-an-artist-edward-kendrick/1123670101?ean=9781646566792

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/it-takes-an-artist-1

 

GENRE: Gay Mystery Erotic Romance
LENGTH: 47,035 words
RATING:

What do you do when someone attempts to frame you for the murder of your roommate? That's the problem facing kinetic artist Trev Eldridge. Although Detective Quint Hawk determines Trev is innocent, it does nothing to assuage Trev's fears.

While Quint sets out to discover who's responsible for the murder, Trev is befriended by Dr. Zack Kendall. As Zack helps Trev deal with what happened, the two men begin to bond. At the same time, artist Clay Richardson takes Trev under his wing, after discovering that he is a talented artist.

Evidence leads Quint to a theory about the murder and who is involved. With the help of Trev, Zack, Clay, and Officer Lou Hernandez, they come up with a plan to catch the villains.

With all that is happening, can the growing attraction between Trev and Zack survive before the criminals take them out of the picture ... permanently?

EXCERPT:  

"Now, about the attack," Detective Hawk said. "I want you to tell me exactly how it went down, step by step."

"I already did that," Trev protested.

"Please do it again. You've had time to think about it more, at least subconsciously, even if you're avoiding consciously doing it."

For some reason he couldn't explain, Trev looked over at Zack. He was leaning against the wall by the door, obviously listening to the conversation. Zack nodded and smiled encouragingly. "Just take it slow," he said.

Quint glanced over -- seeming momentarily surprised (the doctor) was still in the room. Returning his attention to Trev, he said, "What were the two of you doing just before they came in?"

"John was watching ... some comedy on TV. I was sort of watching too, while I was sketching out an idea I'd had for a new mobile. We were on either end of the sofa."

"All right. Then?"

"There was a bang on the door. Loud. My first thought was that our neighbor would be calling the manager about the noise. She's older and did that once when I had my music turned up too high. Luckily, we're at the end of the hall so she was the only one close to us." Trev bit his lip. "Then the door burst open."

"From the evidence," Quint told him, "the bang you heard was one of them kicking just below the door handle."

"I ... guess? Anyway, they came in. They had guns. I was closest to them." Trev closed his eyes, trying to picture it. "The one guy said the thing about the big man. I ... damn!" Trev snapped his eyes open, looking at the detective. "They shot John. I turned to look at him." He shivered. "I couldn't believe it had happened. Then something hit me on the head." He touched the spot, wincing, because it was definitely tender. "That was the last I remember. Not being shot…but being hit." He frowned, looking at Zack again. "Why didn't I remember that the first time I told the story?"

Zack replied, "I suspect because it all happened so fast. Your mind processed the major details -- the men breaking in, them shooting your friend, what the one man said. Those were the important points. The rest came later."

"I remembered what they were wearing and told him." Trev nodded toward Quint.

"You have an artist's eye for that kind of detail."

Trev smiled a bit smugly at the detective. "See, that's what I said when you asked."

Quint chuckled. "You did. Now I need more. I need you to try to remember their faces."

"They looked angry. Well, not angry really. Aggressive. Hostile. The bigger man --" Trev paused, trying to picture him "-- I couldn't see his hair, because of the beanie. He had dark eyebrows, thin lips, a ... a thin nose but with a small bend, like it had been broken sometime."

"Excellent," Quint said, taking notes. "If you couldn't see his hair, I suspect it's either short or he had it tucked up. What about the other man?"

"I didn't really get much of a good look at him. He was off to the side, almost behind me. Other than his hoodie and the fact that he was shorter, that's about it. No ... wait! He had blond hair. Probably long, because I caught a glimpse of it here --" Trev tapped the side of his neck "-- poking out of the hood. And maybe blue eyes."

"Anything about their builds, other than their heights?"

"The taller man ... It's hard to tell since he was wearing a heavy jacket, but I got the impression he was bulked out. Broad shoulders."

"You're doing very well, Trev."

"Thank you. Now, I have a question for you, Detect -- I mean, Quint." Again Trev glanced at Zack before continuing. "They're going to release me in the morning. If I want to, can I go back to the apartment?"

"Yes. I will warn you. It hasn't been cleaned since the shooting and the CSI team going over it."

Trev shivered. "So his blood ..."

"I'm afraid so. I'll give you the name of a company that specializes in crime scene cleanup." Quint wrote down the name and number after checking his cell phone, and handed it to Trev.

"Thanks." Trev put it on the nightstand then asked, "What if they, the men who shot us and whoever sent them ... What if they find out you haven't arrested me for John's murder?"

"With your permission, I'd like to make certain they do find out. I want to let the reporters know, as an update on the murder, that you were a person of interest who was questioned and released, since we have reason to believe you didn't shoot Mr. Pierce."

Trev hissed in a breath, panic washing through him. "That would make me a sitting duck."

"Yes, it would, which is why I need your permission to do it. So far, all the news outlets know is that Mr. Pierce was murdered and his roommate -- you, but not your name -- was shot, with the veiled implication that your wound might have been self-inflicted and that you're under police guard here at the hospital until you recuperate."

 

Don't Touch Me! - 2

 

"Mother, I'm back," Cody called out as he came into the house.

"It's about time," she replied from the living room. "I'm hungry."

Cody sighed, going to join her. She sat in regal splendor in the center of the sofa. Her hair was perfectly coifed, her lips bright red from the lipstick she insisted on wearing. If she had been thirty years younger and weighed a hundred pounds less, she would have been beautiful. As it was, between her weight and the arthritis that had crippled her hands, she looked like…like a blob I have to take care of, like it or not. She was his mother, and he loved her, but there were times…

"What would you like for supper?" he asked.

"That chicken thing you make, with mushrooms and cream sauce. Is there still cake left?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Good. And I need more coffee." She gestured toward the empty cup. "And change the channel. I want to watch the news." She looked at the bag he was holding. "Are those my meds?"

He nodded.

"Give me a pain one. I hurt."

He did as she requested, changing the channel, getting a glass of water, then helping her drink after putting a pill on her tongue.

"How is your book coming?" she asked, her attention vacillating between him and the TV.

Cody was surprised she'd asked. She was disdainful of his writing, despite the fact it was what kept a roof over their heads. That and the money she'd gotten when his father had been killed in an industrial accident at the factory three years ago.

"It's getting there."

"What is?"

"My book."

"Oh. Okay." By now she was fully engulfed in a news story about a murder of an elderly woman not too far from where they lived. "Another one. That makes two now. How horrible," she exclaimed. "Cody, is the alarm turned on?"

"Yes, Mother. Isn't it always?" he muttered in exasperation, walking into the kitchen to start supper.

Don't Touch Me! - 1

 

Brent was almost to the pharmacy at the back of the drugstore when his sister gestured for him to stay where he was. He nodded, wondering why she didn't want him to come closer. From what he could see, Ashlie was only helping a customer—a young man, from the look of it. A very slender one at that. Finally, the man turned to leave, heading not to the front of the store but toward the back entrance. He was quite good looking in Brent's opinion—fine-featured with cheekbones a fashion model would kill for.

"So what was the problem that you didn't want me to come over?" Brent asked Ashlie a moment later, leaning against the counter separating them.

"Not a problem, per se. It's just… Cody, the guy I was helping? He doesn't like anyone touching him. And knowing you…" She grinned.

"Excuse me? I'm hardly going to assault one of your customers."

"I know. But you don't have any issues with personal space. If you'd brushed against him or anything like that…" She shook her head. "The first time he came in to get a prescription filled, I reached to take it from him. My fingers touched his and, honest to God, he almost had a full-blown panic attack—shaking, hyperventilating. I thought he was going to pass out. I didn't know what was going on so I tried to grab him to keep him from falling. He backed away like I was going to jump over the counter to assault him."

"That doesn't sound good. Did you manage to get him calmed down?"

"Yeah. He said, 'Don't touch me'—sort of trying to explain and ordering me not to at the same time—so I didn't. I talked him through it then asked what was wrong. He said he just has this thing about being touched."

Brent frowned. "Sounds like more than 'a thing'. Was the script for medication to help him?"

"No. It was actually for his mother. She's old, he said, and not very mobile. I got the impression he takes care of her."

"That doesn't make sense. She'd have to touch him while he's helping her."

"I asked him. He thinks, since she's his mother, it's why he has no problem with her. At least that's how he explained it. Besides, to hear him tell it, the problem only started about a year ago. He has no idea why."

"Has he been to a doctor?"

Ashlie shrugged. "I don't know. After what little I managed to get out of him, he refused to say anything else. He just asked me to be very careful not to make physical contact with him."

"Weird. Oh well, it takes all kinds, I guess. Are you ready to leave?"

"I will be in ten."

"Take your time. You know Mom. As long as we show, she doesn't care if we're a bit late."

Ashlie snorted. "Define 'a bit'. I was fifteen minutes late last time and she about had a cow until I told her about my car breaking down."

"When do you get it back from the shop?"

"Tomorrow…or so they say." She crossed her fingers, laughing when Brent did as well. "Thank you for being my designated driver when I needed it this week."

"Of course I'm willing to help. I'm your big brother."

"You're my only brother, so you have no choice."

Brent grinned. "I could have made you take cabs. Okay, go get ready or whatever it is you do."