What Doesn't Kill Us--A McKenzie Novel by David Housewright (most read books txt) 📗

to make sure, yet for now I believe it. I also believe that you’re not the one who delivered the message that lured him into an ambush. I believe someone used your name.”

Elliot’s and Emma’s heads snapped toward her as if they were both surprised by Shipman’s admission.

“But, Elliot, Emma, I think you both know who did shoot McKenzie. At least you know who delivered the message that set him up. You know who is now setting you up.”

Elliot and Emma continued to hold each other, yet said nothing.

“I’ve seen this so many times,” Shipman said. “Women, especially young women, who are so desperate to protect someone they love, usually some guy, that they end up taking the fall for a crime they didn’t even commit. Most aren’t even aware that they’re being used until it’s too late. Don’t be like that. Don’t sacrifice yourselves out of loyalty to someone who doesn’t deserve it. I’m begging you. Don’t throw your lives away. Elliot?”

The young women gave her nothing.

“Have it your way,” Shipman said.

She stood up. The young women watched her do it as if they were afraid of what she might do next. Shipman swept her wallet off the table and put it back into her pocket. From her pocket she withdrew two business cards and set one on the table in front of Elliot and then Emma.

“In case you come to your senses before it’s too late,” she said.

Shipman spun around and moved toward the exit. Volkert rose to intercept her and they both walked out of the Language Center and made their way back toward the Hoppin House. They didn’t speak until they reached the house. Volkert held the door open for her.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“Could have been better,” Shipman said.

TWELVE

Jenness Crawford stepped up to the high table in the back of the club where Nina was sitting on an equally high stool, careful not to block her view of the stage. Nina glanced at her briefly before returning her gaze to the Southside Aces, a traditional New Orleans jazz band that was just about to make the jump on “Just a Closer Walk with Thee” from its slow and lovely start to its fast and hot finish.

“You have that look on your face,” she said.

“What look?” Jenness asked.

“The one that says, ‘Nina, you’re not going to like this.’”

“Remember that guy you punched?”

“Vividly.”

The palm and knuckles of her hand and lower wrist were wrapped in an Ace bandage. Nina caressed them almost unconsciously. The physician at the urgent care clinic who examined her X-rays said her hand and wrist would be fine in a day or two but because of the way they ached she didn’t believe him.

“I think he’s back,” Jenness said.

“Are you sure?”

“No, but there’s a guy sitting at the bar who was watching carefully as you climbed the stairs to the performance hall and who keeps glancing at the staircase as if he’s waiting for you to climb back down. Should I call the police? Your friend Commander Dunston?”

“Yes. No. Wait.”

Nina took a deep breath and tilted her head to look up at the ceiling with the exhale. She tried to remember a time when her life wasn’t rocked by chaos. There must have been a year, a month, a week, only she couldn’t think of one even before she had met me.

“I’d say that this has been the worst day of my life except it’s not,” Nina said. “There are stories I could tell you about my childhood that would bring bitter tears to your eyes. My ups and downs with McKenzie”—she chuckled at the words—“since mostly they’ve been way up, I shouldn’t whine so much. All right, let’s take a look.”

She and Jenness moved to the staircase, careful not to disturb their customers. They descended the stairs side by side until they reached the crowded lounge that made up Rickie’s ground floor.

“He’s sitting over there,” Jenness said.

“I see him.”

He was not the man who had threatened Nina earlier, although he looked a lot like him, tall, and wearing slacks, shirt, and blazer that reminded her of a uniform, except—no tie. He was sitting at the corner of the bar and nursing a tap beer.

Nina waved her manager away and walked close enough past the man to brush his shoulder. He didn’t so much as glance at her. She moved to the business side of the bar, this time passing directly in front of him. Again, he acted as if he hadn’t noticed. To Nina, this was a dead giveaway. She had explained it to me once at a black-tie gala about a year after we started seeing each other.

“At the risk of sounding even more conceited than I am, I expect to be watched,” she told me. “Are you telling me you don’t ogle pretty girls when they walk by? Don’t lie, McKenzie. I’ve seen you do it. I’ve even seen you do it when you were out with me.”

“I didn’t think women noticed,” I said.

“Of course we notice. You guys are so obvious. Besides, a woman—we can feel it. It’s almost instinctual. We don’t have to look around for it. We just know.”

The fact that the man sitting at the bar hadn’t even glanced at her told Nina that Jenness had been correct about him. He was there for her. The question that nagged her—was he a friend or foe? Her instincts said foe, except when she told Bobby about the man who had threatened her earlier that day, he said, “I’ll take care of it,” and now she wondered. Did he take care of it?

Nina found Jenness and told her what she wanted. Afterward, she poured a tap beer into a tall glass, moved to the corner of the bar, and set the glass in front of the man who sat there.

“I didn’t order this,” he said.

Nina leaned in close. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think she was making a pass at him.

“See the woman standing