Murder On The Mind

Murder On The Mind - Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

“He’s different,” Richard said.

Hidden behind the butler’s pantry door, my head half-shaved like a punk rocker, eavesdropping on a private conversation ... yeah, I’d say I was different.

“Of course he is,” Brenda said. “After what happened, I’d be surprised if he wasn’t.”

Broken arm, fractured skull. Emotional wreck. Working on paranoid, too. I leaned in closer, straining to hear.

“He’s keeping something from me.”

Richard didn’t know the half of it.

“What?” Brenda asked, over the clatter of silverware dropping into a kitchen drawer.

“He mentioned nightmares back at the hospital. I should have pressed him on it, but I don’t want to push him too hard. He still doesn’t trust me.” He fell quiet for a moment. “Something strange happened at the airport. I was looking for the claim checks. He knew they were in my wallet, but he hadn’t seen me put them there.”

“A logical place for them. Or maybe he’s psychic,” she offered offhand. The top dishwasher rack rolled out, glasses clinking.

Silence. I could imagine Richard’s stony glare.

“I’ll call UB Medical Center tomorrow,” Richard said. “See if I can find a doctor to treat him.”

“Then what will you do with him?”

“Nothing. He’s here to recover.”

“What if he wants to go back to New York?”

“Then he can go.”

The dishwasher door closed.

“Bull,” Brenda said. “You want him here. You want to turn his life around, remake him in your own image. But he’s your brother, not you. For years he’s made his own life without you. He’ll need to make his own life again. Don’t be disappointed when he no longer needs you.”

Trust Brenda to be pragmatic.

“Do you want sausage or linguine for dinner?” she asked.

Tiptoeing back to my room, I closed the door. I leaned against it and closed my eyes, unsure what I was feeling. Panic came close.

Yeah, I was different.

I stretched out on the single bed in that shabby little room and thought about what happened.

After six months of unemployment due to downsizing, I’d been about to resume my career as an insurance claims investigator. Until the mugging.

Ten days later, I was four hundred miles away, in Buffalo, New York, moving in with my older half-brother and his live-in-lover. Broke and dependent on their kindness, I was lucky to have somewhere to go.

Dr. Richard Alpert hadn’t changed much over the years. Silver now mixed with the dark brown hair around his temples, and in his full mustache. New lines creased his face, but along with the brains, Richard had the looks and, as sole heir, he now possessed the Alpert family fortune.

The flight from LaGuardia to the Buffalo-Niagara International Airport had taken fifty-seven minutes. With my skull-pounding headache, it felt like fifty-seven hours. Brenda Stanley, the pretty black woman behind the security barrier, waited for us. At thirty-four, a year younger than me, Brenda’s an old soul whose eyes reflected the depth of her compassion. After a quick kiss and embrace with Richard, she turned to me.

“Jeffy Resnick, you look like shit. You need to gain ten pounds, and I’m just the one to fatten you up.”

She was right about the weight loss. Ordinarily I’m just an average guy. Brown hair, brown eyes, and a respectable five-eight in height. More comfortable in denim than a suit and tie. Now my jeans hung from my hips. A sling hid the lightweight summer jacket—the only one Richard could find back at my apartment. A knit cap covered my partially shaved head.