Lethal Invitation Read online

  Both smiled as the attractive, college-student waitress approached in a Snow White Halloween costume to take their order.

  “Short stack with sausage for me.” Demetrius could easily have eaten at least three short stacks, but he knew his waistline would suffer, so he refrained.

  “Same for me,” Marcus answered in response to her glance.

  As the waitress left, the detective pulled a folded sheet of paper from the pocket of his sports coat. He unfolded it and rubbed the crease with a blunt fingernail as he held it to the table. “Chemistry. You said last week you had a midterm. How’d it go?”

  Marcus’s shoulders sagged. “That’s a tough class, and I have to be honest, it just doesn’t make any sense. But I’ll get through. After the midterm test I’m pulling a C and should be able to stay there.”

  Demetrius grinned as he remembered his own experience with Chemistry. “I’ll confess I barely got a C too. The good news is that in the second half of the semester things start to come together.”

  “Yeah. I’m understanding what he is going over now so I’m hoping for the best.”

  The big detective nodded before glancing at the paper in his thick hands. “English?”

  “I hate the writing, but I have a solid B.”

  “Good. Dr. Smallwood’s class?”

  Marcus grinned. “You know, that’s the easiest class I’ve got, but the amazing thing is that I’m learning something. I wish all the professors could teach so we could understand.”

  The big detective took a deep breath, understanding the sentiment very well. His experience had been exactly the same.

  “College Algebra?”

  “One of my best classes. Not easy with all the homework, but I’ve told you before how much I love math. I’ll get an A in there no problem.”

  “Everything else good?”

  “Yes. I’m surprised, but I’m enjoying school. I’m so glad Dr. Smallwood was willing to help me and encourage me to stay. He’s actually missed the last two classes. Is he all right?”

  Demetrius tried but couldn’t completely hold the frown at the thought of his mentor’s declining state. “I hear he hasn’t been feeling too good,” was his only response. He’d been sworn to secrecy. This would be the professor’s last semester and the man was bound and determined to finish strong even though the cancer was taking more and more of his energy and stamina.

  Demetrius knew Smallwood’s schedule was exhausting so he’d started calling two to three times a week to check on his surrogate father. Mrs. Smallwood had mentioned just that morning that the professor could barely get out of bed.

  “Well, I hope he gets to feeling better soon,” said the boy sincerely.

  The waitress brought the meal with a pleasant, “Here ya go!” Both men thanked her, then ate with gusto.

  Chapter 9

  Demetrius parked the Explorer in the circular driveway surrounded by tall trees and lush greenery. As he exited, he saw Carl sitting, enjoying the sun on this early November afternoon. Although there was a smile on the face, Demetrius could tell the man was uncomfortable, and the detective was surprised at the weight loss. It had only been a few days since his last visit but the change was striking. The shirt that once stretched over broad shoulders now hung limply and the professor’s face was hollow and sunken. The sight was shocking and depressing to the detective.

  “Hello, my good friend. How are you today?” Carl waved as Demetrius approached. The cheerfulness in the voice did not match the appearance of the man.

  “I’m fine. Are you doing okay?”

  “Couldn’t be better, especially since you’ve come—”

  “No,” Demetrius interrupted. He shook his head and stepped directly to his mentor’s side. “It’s time for the truth. How are you doing?”

  Carl sagged in his chair with a frown and a sigh, then looked up to see his good friend. “I hurt. It’s hard to explain, but I hurt in places I can’t even feel.”

  Demetrius sat heavily on a block ledge. He had nothing to say and could see the end approaching much faster than anticipated. As much as he would have liked, there could be no words of encouragement because Carl knew even more than he what the situation was. “I’m sorry,” was all he could say.

  Carl breathed deeply, then coughed long and hard. Finally, he replied. “I’ve lived a good life and I count my blessings. I want to thank you for your friendship. I knew all those years ago you were special. You’ve done yourself proud.”

  Demetrius blinked rapidly and sniffed. “I’m the one who should be doing the thanking. You saved my life. I don’t know where I’d be if not for you.”

  Carl sat straighter in the chair. “Come around back. There’s something I want to show you.”

  Demetrius grasped the handles to push the older man along the walkways to the back of the house. Years earlier he had tried to assist the professor, but got a quick reprimand because of the man’s independence. Now the time had come for service to be given and received. Carl allowed him to push and both men appreciated the moment.

  “Over here.” Carl pointed to a picnic table where a thick book rested. He hefted it with a grunt and passed it to his visitor.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s a scrapbook of sorts. Go on, open it up and take a gander.”

  The black, plastic cover gleamed in the sunlight. Demetrius sat on the ledge, held the book on his lap and opened it. A picture of a smiling, young, black man in a graduation cap and gown standing next to Dr. Smallwood occupied the first page. Taped to the bottom of the photo was a name, Shantae Brown. Demetrius studied the photo, then glanced toward the smiling professor at his side. He got a nod in return.

  “I know Shantae. He was a senior defensive back when I was a freshman.”

  The professor nodded. “It took him a while but he came around. He graduated and is the president of an advertising agency in Shreveport.” Dr. Smallwood grinned. “He could sell snowshoes in the desert.”

  Demetrius returned to the book, slowly turning the thick leaves with pictures attached. Three pages later, his own graduation picture appeared, followed by at least twenty more, all in alphabetical order. Not all were athletes, nor were all men. Three were women, which surprised the big detective.

  He glanced to Carl. “Your scrapbook of the kids you helped through the years?”

  A nod was his answer. “I want you to keep it. There are many blank pages and many more youngsters to help. Will you at least continue until you can take a photo with Marcus on graduation day, and maybe beyond?” The professor rotated in his chair with a gasp at the pain. “In my small way, I feel I have made a contribution. Now I’ll pass the torch to you if you’ll accept it.”

  Demetrius closed the book reverently. “I’ll do what I can.”

  ◆◆◆

  The garage door rumbled open as the Ford Explorer turned into the driveway. The neighbor waved but Demetrius hardly noticed. His mind was completely preoccupied. Why would something like this happen to such a good man?

  The front bumper of the SUV lightly tapped the bicycle parked at the front of the garage. He hit the brakes hard and stopped the car at the realization he had not paid attention to the foam ball. He grunted in exasperation and noticed the tightness in his jaw from gritting his teeth all the way home. The feeling of dread was consuming.

  ◆◆◆

  Edward browsed the collection of shoes at the back of the Goodwill store on North Stone Avenue. It was almost closing time so he was one of only three customers. Taking a pair of worn tennis shoes from the top shelf, he sat on a narrow bench to try them on. They were too large by at least three sizes. Perfect. When he left footprints, they’d think of a much bigger man.

  He had only one day until the deed was to be done. With the exception of one last, very important detail, shopping for old clothes and shoes was his final task. He grabbed an old, Army surplus coat and an orange baseball cap with a Denver Bronco’s logo while strolling to the checkout counter.
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  “Did you find everything okay?” The clerk, a middle-aged Hispanic woman, looked and sounded bored with her job. Edward had chosen her line specifically because she didn’t seem the least bit interested in any of the patrons. Her job was to ring it up and get the money with the least fuss possible.

  “Yes. Thank you.” He kept his answers short and to the point. Neither rude nor friendly enough to be remembered, and if there were any hidden cameras—he had searched and was reasonably certain there were none—they would only show a slightly built young man with dark glasses in a polo shirt, knee-length shorts and a cap pulled low.

  “That’ll be nine dollars.” She didn’t even look up.

  Edward suppressed a smile. Things were going according to plan. Pulling a ten-dollar bill from his pocket, he pushed it toward her on the counter, then upon receiving a single dollar bill in change, shoved it into the same pocket.

  “Would you like a bag?” She reached into a bin below the counter to retrieve a previously used plastic grocery bag.

  “No, thanks. I’ll just carry them out.”

  Edward walked to the parking lot, threw the purchase into the back seat then slid in and turned the key. The engine roared to life. He carefully backed out so as not to attract any attention. Within minutes he was on his way home.

  It was cool, probably too cool for the top to be down, but the air felt good and the anticipation of the kill grew in his chest. He noticed with satisfaction the lack of a moon in the sky and knew the next night would be the same. Things couldn’t be working out better. While driving one-handed, he rubbed his chin with the other as he imagined the deed. With a sadistic smile, he decided he’d take a light so the professor would see and know who he was.

  ◆◆◆

  The desert landscape of an undeveloped tract of land a half-mile from the Smallwoods’ home sat quietly under the dark, Tucson, Tuesday-night sky. Edward sat in his car with the top down surveying the scene. An old oleander hedge from a long-ago property owner ran from his location into a sand wash directly to the back of the Smallwoods’ property. He could be in and out with no one taking any notice. In fact, he had done so for the past two Tuesday nights. He knew from following the professor that the man drove by this very spot every Tuesday evening after his five-thirty to eight o’clock class and consistently arrived home before eight-thirty. He knew the path well and knew exactly where to sit and wait for the man to arrive home from class. He felt again for the weight of the Glock in the thrift store coat pocket which he wore along with the orange ball cap and the oversized tennis shoes.

  It was time for the one call that would be the deciding factor. If things worked out, he would go through with the plan, if not he would postpone. He pulled the phone from his shirt pocket to call his roommate but was suddenly nervous because there was no immediate answer. His roommate was so predictable, he always left the apartment at eight on Tuesdays, every Tuesday, to meet with a study group at the main library. It was inconceivable that tonight of all nights he had changed plans. Finally, with great relief, Edward heard the voice, “Hello.”

  “Hey, dude. I’m so glad you picked up. I’m in a bind and need a big favor. Are you coming to the library tonight?”

  “Yeah. I’ll leave in about five minutes.”

  “Good. I’m here at the library now trying to check out a book I need tomorrow for class but I forgot my ID card and can’t check out without it. Would you mind bringing it when you come? It’s on my dresser.”

  There was an unsettling pause. Edward knew his roommate didn’t like him, but he’d been extra nice these past weeks to entice the boy to do this extremely important favor. As the pause continued, Edward licked his lips. “Are you there?”

  “Yeah, I’m in your room looking for it.”

  Edward exhaled in relief. For an excruciating moment, it seemed like all was lost. “It’s on my dresser, right on top.” He knew exactly where it was because he’d carefully placed it there this afternoon.

  “Okay. Got it.”

  “Great. Text me when you get here and I’ll meet you at the front desk. Thanks, dude. You’re a lifesaver.” He smiled at the grunt he received in answer before tucking a pillow under his arm and carefully climbing over the door to exit the car. If anyone was close, he didn’t want the interior light to come on, and for sure he didn’t want the noise of a car door slamming to attract any undue attention.

  In ten minutes he sat in the darkness on one of the ledges in Dr. Smallwood’s garden going over every contingency. With a smug smile, he was certain his plan was foolproof. His senses were heightened and he smelled the pleasant scent of lavender bushes mixed with various other garden plants and herbs along with the earthy smell of compost. He opened his cell phone to see the time. It was eight-fifteen, the time he expected the text from his roommate. Two minutes went by and he started getting nervous again, but the silenced phone vibrated in his hand. He read the text, “I’m here.”

  With the ease of practice, he swiftly replied, “Sorry, got called to a friend’s house to help with his homework. I need book number KF9660 .C582. It’s on the fourth floor. Since you’re there would you mind checking it out for me? I’ll buy you dinner.”

  Within seconds his phone vibrated again at the new text message. “I guess.”

  The feeling of power enveloped him. He had never in his life felt so alive and so in control. He patted the Glock in his coat pocket. He dared not take it out and look at it, but he wanted to feel it, to caress it, to embrace it and absorb the power it contained. It felt wickedly cold to the touch and he smiled.

  The minutes ticked by slowly and he had to fight the urge to continually check his phone for the time. Finally, the beams of light from Dr. Smallwood’s van lit the shrubbery as it turned into the driveway. The car stopped exactly where Edward had seen it stop on each of the preceding Tuesdays. He sat still, out of sight, waiting, his timing for the approach practiced. The whirring of the car’s chair lift could be easily heard as well as the click as the platform struck the pavement. Edward stood to unhurriedly walk to the side of the van, his shoes making no sound on the concrete. He arrived as the man rolled down the short ramp and pushed the button for the platform to retract.

  Edward stood unseen in partial shadow. “Hello, Professor.”

  Chapter 10

  Dr. Smallwood’s lack of reaction bewildered him. There was no surprise, and even worse, no apparent fear, only a small movement of his head as he searched the boy up and down in the shadows.

  “Good evening. Welcome to my home. How can I help you?”

  The voice sounded tired and weak, but there was no hint of concern. Edward shook his head. He had expected fear bordering on panic at his sudden appearance in the dark, but the man exhibited only a calm, serene attitude. The boy stepped forward into the dim light.

  “Ah. Mr. Mitchell. So good to see you. I apologize for not recognizing you sooner. Is there something I can do for you?”

  The tranquility of the man was baffling. This wasn’t going at all like Edward had planned. Pulling the Glock from his coat pocket, the boy pointed it at the professor’s head. “Let’s go to the back of the garden.”

  Edward couldn’t believe it. The man actually smiled before turning and slowly wheeling along the concrete path to the far reaches of the garden with the boy one step behind.

  “This will do.” Edward’s voice was a growl because he was upset that nothing he was doing seemed to be having an effect on the man. “Turn and look at me.”

  The professor rotated the chair, set the brakes and sat stoically with his hands on his lap. Neither spoke for a half a minute. At length, Dr. Smallwood smiled again, then deliberately unlocked the brakes and turned his chair to face away from his student. He sat erect, head held high and arms folded across his chest.

  The complete lack of fear infuriated the gun-wielding young man. In maddening disgust he took the pillow from under his arm and placed it at the back of Dr. Smallwood’s head. He gritted his teeth a
nd could feel his hand shaking at the weight of the gun. He brought the Glock up, then shook his head in confusion and momentary hesitation while rubbing his thumb on the roughness of the grip. His heart beat so loudly in his chest he was positive the professor could hear. He swallowed hard, hating his fear, his weakness. Renewing his focus, he pushed the doubt away. He wouldn’t back out, he’d come too far. With deadly resolve he brought the gun close, closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

  The report and kick of the gun frightened him, causing him to lose control and drop it to the concrete. He hurriedly dropped the pillow, then retrieved the gun which he jammed back into the coat pocket. He looked at the man in the chair, the lifeless body limp, grotesque. His first instinct was to flee, but he willed his body to remain to finish what he’d started. He stifled the urge to vomit, then wiped the gathering sweat from his brow.

  Edward took a step back and quickly glanced toward the house. The report had been more intense than he’d expected, but the pillow did muffle the sound sufficiently that it shouldn’t alarm the neighbors or his wife inside. When no door opened at the house, he turned again to the dead man and steeled himself for the last thing he had to do.

  Working quickly, Edward retrieved a set of gardening shears from his knee-length shorts pocket, then savagely cut the thumb off each of the professor’s hands, disgustedly dropping each to the concrete below. The crunching of the bones sickened him. He had expected the bones to cut rather than break. It took extreme effort, but he was able to repress the recurring urge to vomit. With a deep breath and a quick look around to make sure there was no incriminating evidence, he shoved the pruning shears into his back pocket and looked at the pillow. He could take it, but for what purpose? There was no way to tie it to him so he left it lay, then stepped through the garden plants to the path leading back to his car.