Melody Unchained Page 3

  “Hey, you.”

  Melody stopped on the stairs, bracing herself. She turned to face the super with a blank expression. “Yes.”

  “That apartment is in Billy Welsh’s name. You can’t live there now he’s dead.”

  “But the rent is paid through the end of the month.” Melody bit her lip. The end of the month was only twelve days away. What was she going to do if Jerry wouldn’t be her new master by then?

  “But you ain’t Billy Welsh.” He ran his gaze over her, licking his lips.

  “I will have to ask my friend Detective Jerry Howland about it.” That should keep him. Threatening landlords with the police always worked on television.

  He sneered. “You just do that, sweet cheeks. I’m changing the locks tomorrow.”

  Melody blinked, but the super had already turned around and walked into his apartment. Change the locks tomorrow? She wasn’t even going to see Jerry until Saturday. She could get a hotel room. Billy had done it lots of times, but that took a credit card and people got arrested for using other people’s credit cards. She ran up the stairs to the apartment. Inside, she rummaged in drawers and on shelves for whatever money was lying around. There wasn’t much. Billy had a few dollars on the dresser, but most of his bills were paid electronically. The librarian helped her set everything up for him a few years ago on the computer at the library next door to their apartment building. Billy did have a huge jar full of change, but it was too heavy to lift. She filled her purse with all the coins she could carry and hauled them up the street to the bank.

  The shabby blue carpet was different since the last time she was in here, but the dark wood counter was the same and no one stood in line.

  “I can help you here, miss,” the dark-haired teller said.

  She walked up to the counter and dropped her purse on it with a jiggling thud. “I need to exchange these coins for dollars.”

  The teller peered into the purse, getting paler by the second. “Do you have an account here?”

  “No, but Billy does.”

  “Who is Billy?”

  “My grandfather. It’s his change, but he has mobility issues and can’t get out of the house.”

  The teller’s eyes narrowed. “I see. Well, I can’t change unrolled coins anyway. You’ll have to put these all in rolls and then come back with your grandfather’s ATM card.”

  “Where do I get rolls?”

  “Here.” He set a bundle of little paper slips on the counter. “Is that enough?”

  “No, my grandfather has a lot of coins.”

  The teller put another bundle of slips on the counter. Melody scooped them into her purse, thanked him and left. Well, it would give her something to do tonight. After she called Jerry about the super.

  On television when someone had trouble adjusting to a new place or situation, it was always funny. This was not funny.

  * * * *

  “And you cleared her,” Jerry repeated into the phone.

  “I cleared her,” Stella said. “She seemed fine enough to me. Might have cracked a little when she found her grandfather, but that’s not surprising.”

  “And she didn’t tell you she was three thousand years old or that Billy Welsh was her master?”

  “No, she told me she was a stripper from Vegas who came to town to care for her dying grandfather. Ask me, we could all learn a thing or two from a girl with that kind of devotion, no matter what her morals are.”

  Jerry didn’t want to get into another Biblical debate with Stella; he had other fish frying right now. Like the case sitting on his desk. And Melody. “You didn’t think she was the least bit off?”

  “No. Why’re you so worried about her?”

  Jerry opened his mouth to say Melody had been to his house this afternoon and snapped it shut before that could leak out. “I just am, the poor kid.” Neither he nor Melody needed the hassle of him telling people she’d tracked him down. How had she tracked him down? His number was unlisted. Melody was apparently smart in addition to being crazy and logical. Just what he needed. One wouldn’t be a problem. Two he could handle. Three? Perfect storm.

  “I’m sure it looked like a really fishy situation to the badges on the scene. Half naked girl locked in the closet of a dead man, but her story makes sense. She went out having fun for a couple of days and the man she was supposed to be taking care of died alone. She was guilty and she locked herself in a closet.”

  “For four days?”

  “She told me she only got home the night before.”

  “The super said no one had come or gone from the apartment in at least a week.”

  “Who are you gonna believe, the super or the girl and my professional instincts?”

  The super. Couldn’t say that though. Stella took her eye for an eye stuff very seriously. He’d never get another psych evaluation from her again and he’d end up babysitting the seriously crazy until someone else came on duty.

  “Certainly took a shine to you though,” Stella said.

  “Me?”

  “Minute I walked into the room it was ‘where’s Jerry? I only want to talk to Jerry. Jerry’s going to take me home.’ You didn’t offer to take her home, did you?”

  “No!” Jerry swallowed. He didn’t have to take her home. She’d followed him. “I told her someone would take her home when we were done with her. She misunderstood.”

  “Whatever you say, cutie.” Stella paused. “You know how it is with victims. They freak out and glom onto the first strong person they meet. It’s been a year since Amanda died, hasn’t it?”

  Did everybody have the date marked on their calendars or something? “This has nothing to do with Amanda.”

  “Yes, it does. Don’t you know what a statistical anomaly you are? Studies show that men don’t stay with sick wives. They can’t handle the pain and caretaking. You stayed with Amanda through three cancers and two rounds of chemo and through most of it, you kept doing your job, which is no walk in the park. You’re a strong guy with a heart that can be seen for miles. You have an angel on your shoulder. I can see the shadow of his wings on your face.”

  “That isn’t the shadow of angel’s wings. That’s the shadow of doubt.” Jerry picked up a pencil and tapped it on his desk blotter. Stella didn’t know about the devil on his other shoulder. The one who was telling him to grab Melody, lock her in his house and let her call him master all she wanted. Yeah, he’d have to take care of her, but in her last master-slave relationship she had to have done some of the caretaking. Billy was well over eighty. He hadn’t been doing a whole heck of a lot more than eating, sleeping and watching a little TV in between.

  “That girl, Melody Welsh, she’s in a very sad place and she needs someone. She’s here from Las Vegas and I doubt her party friends will be much support. For a stripper, she’s very innocent. It wouldn’t hurt to keep up with her until she goes back home.”

  Jerry rolled his eyes. That was just what he needed. Permission. One of the lights on his phone started blinking with an incoming call. Crap. Probably another case to add to the one he already wasn’t working on. “Why me?”

  “Because she likes you. And maybe you can save her from her life as a stripper. Make an honest woman of her. She could be your reward for being a good man.”

  Reward? Curse was more like it. A crazy woman who thought she was three thousand years old and he was going to be her new master. He needed to be off the phone with Matchmaker Stella before she had them settled down with three point two kids, a minivan and a golden retriever. “I’ve got another call coming in.”

  “Fine. Just do me a favor and keep up with this girl. She needs you. I have a good feeling in my heart about her and you.”

  The good feeling he got from Melody centered a little south of his heart. And right above the good feeling, he had a sick feeling. “Thanks, Stella.” He disconnected her and picked up the other call. “Detective Howland.”

  “Jerry?”

  Oh God. Speaking of the lunatic he
was supposed to take care of, and she sounded like she’d been crying. “Hello, Melody, what can I do for you?”

  “The super said I can’t live in Billy’s apartment because I’m not on the lease. He said he’s going to change the locks tomorrow. The rent is paid through the end of the month. He can’t kick me out like that, can he? Will you talk to him?”

  “Melody, the people you need to talk to are at Fair Housing.”

  “What’s Fair Housing?”

  “They handle landlord-tenant disputes. You can look them up in the phone book.”

  “The phone book?”

  “Yes, Melody, the phone book. It’s huge and yellow and somebody delivers a new one every time you turn around.” He couldn’t be responsible for this girl. He just couldn’t.

  “Why can’t you handle it?”

  Jerry looked at the case file on his desk that wasn’t investigating itself. The terrible part was, he wanted to handle it for her. Drop everything and run right over there to tell the super where to stick his locks. Then he wanted to go up to her apartment and accept her gratitude. That kiss this afternoon had been enough to make him forget his name. He could do with a few more like that in his life. The sick feeling in his gut kept pace with the lust in his groin. How wrong is this, let me count the ways.

  “Jerry?”

  “Okay.” He flipped open the file. He needed to check out the clerk’s shoes at the Citgo up the road from her that had been robbed the day before yesterday anyway. Third robbery on the kid’s shift in two months and after each one, he’d gotten a brand new pair of really nice sneakers. Imagine that. Scumbags to the left of me, scumbags to the right and I’m stuck in the middle trying not to become one with Melody. “I’ll stop by and talk to him.”

  “Thank you, Jerry. You’re very good to me.”

  “Yeah, I’m a prince.” He disconnected the call and grabbed his coat. All the way to her building, he cursed himself. What was he trying to do anyway? Save her? Screw her? Earn perfect karma? Do a hat trick? She was crazy and she’d hunted him down at home. Apparently, he was also crazy because he hadn’t told anyone she’d stalked him. He should have reported it immediately in case she became a threat. But no, he’d made a coffee date with her and now he was riding to her rescue to save her against the evil dragon who wanted to kick her out on the streets.

  Melody was gorgeous and Stella was right about her being innocent. The whole I’m three thousand years old thing could have been trauma. Hell, he’d had days when he felt at least three thousand years old. There might have been some kinky reason Welsh had her in that apartment. Just because the old guy couldn’t function anymore didn’t mean he didn’t want a hot little girl walking around half naked and calling him master.

  Jerry mopped sweat off his brow. The image was skeevy and exciting at the same time. Melody wasn’t a girl though. If he had to guess, he’d say she was at least twenty. Convenient for him, since even if he’d guessed two years too old, she was still legal. He parked behind the tall, red brick building with Art Deco architectural details and went to the intercom. Welsh must have moved in here when the place was high living and stayed through the downfall and gentrification of the neighborhood.

  “What?”

  “It’s Detective Howland from the police. I need to talk to you about one of your tenants.”

  The super grunted and the door locks buzzed open. Zubrowski, Melody had said his name was, met him in the hall. Jerry hadn’t met the man before, but he knew the type. A wiry little balding guy with dirty fingernails, wearing grimy brown pants that were too big and had a tear in the knee, who reeked of sweat, oil and dust. “Yeah?”

  “I received a call from Melody Welsh. She said you told her you were going to change the locks on the apartment tomorrow.” Jerry held himself at attention in an effort to be imposing. Not sure why, because the guy didn’t have a legal leg to stand on. Still, it felt better to be as professional as possible.

  “She’s not on the lease. She can’t stay here.”

  “The rent is paid through the end of the month, Mr. Zubrowski. She needs time to clean out her grandfather’s things.”

  “And I need time to get the old man stink out of that place. Who knows what I’m going to find up there. Very least, I’m going to have to paint and clean the carpets. They were living in that apartment when I bought the building fifteen years ago.”

  Jerry blinked. They were living in the apartment? They? “You mean Melody grew up there.”

  “No, she’s always looked about the same.”

  Maybe the super was a little on the cuckoo side too. Melody could not have appeared to be twenty years old for fifteen years. “Regardless, you can’t kick her out before the end of the month. The rent is paid and she needs time to deal with her grandfather’s things.”

  “He wasn’t her grandfather, either. Unless they come from some really screwed up family. She kept that old goat greased up until about ten years ago. Neighbors used to complain about the screaming, if you know what I mean.” Zubrowski winked.

  Sweat trickled down the back of Jerry’s neck. The images crowding his mind now came with a soundtrack. Just great. “I just need your word that you’ll let her stay until the end of the month.”

  “I’ll let her stay for the rest of her life if she’ll–”

  “Just to the end of the month.” What with the images and the soundtrack, Jerry’s gut seized into a cold, greasy ball at the thought of what Zubrowski had been about to suggest. Not Melody. He couldn’t let that happen to her.

  “If you insist.” The super shut his apartment door.

  As Jerry mounted the stairs, he decided Stella was right about one thing. Melody needed someone to watch out for her. Not everybody knew about Fair Housing, but most people didn’t start asking housing questions with him. If she couldn’t find her way around simple life questions, the world would eat her alive. No way was she a stripper from Vegas, with that much naivete. He’d met more jaded ten-year-olds. He knocked and Melody yanked open the door like she’d been waiting behind it for him.

  “Jerry!”

  “Hello, Melody.” Jerry took a step backward so he was more firmly in the hall. The sliver of apartment he could see looked pretty normal. Nothing magical in his line of sight. Brown upholstered furniture that had grown shabby in the two decades since it had arrived here. A round coffee table predating the other furniture by at least three decades. Clean. Very clean, but not magical in any way. Then again, she’d left her brass thing at his house. “I talked to the super. He’ll leave you alone.”

  “Thank you.” Melody lunged at him and threw her arms around his neck before he could dodge. He stumbled backward into the wall, carrying her with him. Melody’s hot lips covered his, and she was so soft. His eyes slid closed as she wove her fingers through his hair. Bliss, being touched, even plundered this way. It had been a long time.

  And she was still a victim. Jerry pushed her back. “Melody, please. A simple thank you will do.”

  “You want me.”

  Like that was a mystery. “I just wanted to stop and tell you everything was okay.”

  Melody poked her fingers inside his shirt between the buttons, grazing his skin with the backs of her fingers.

  He caught her wrist and pulled her hand away from his body. “We’re in the hall, Melody.”

  Someone coughed.

  Jerry looked and so did Melody. A woman stood in an open door way down the hall with a pinched face and dish gloves on her hands. Melody scowled. “I should have known it would be you.”

  “Straight off the tortilla truck,” the woman said. Then she went back in her apartment.

  “Come inside.” Melody wrapped both her hands around his wrist and pulled.

  “Not on your life.”

  “Please?”

  “Melody, I’m on duty.”

  “Will you come back when you’re not on duty?”

  “Melody.”

  She tugged his hand, her voice dropping to a whi
sper. “Please, just for a minute. I’ll do whatever you say.”

  That’s what scared him. The warmth of her fingers on his skin was driving him crazy. He wanted to take her into that apartment and find out what those fingers would feel like on other parts of his body.

  “I’m so lonely. I’ve never been alone before.”

  Jeez, she was going to cry. “I can’t stay long. I’m on duty.”

  She smiled, dragging him into her lair.

  Inside, it still didn’t look like anything other than an old man’s apartment. Decorated about twenty years ago and trapped in amber. The coffee table had heaps of change on it and piles of rolled coins. The whole room smelled like copper. So much for the ‘old man stink’ the super complained about having to get out. “What are you doing?”

  “I wanted to ride the bus to get a sweatshirt to wear Saturday like you asked me to, but I didn’t have money for the fare. Then I realized I didn’t have the money for the sweatshirt either. So I went to the bank to get some of this change turned into bills. Billy was always terrible about using his change. It would just pile up and pile up on the dresser until I put it in milk jugs. The bank told me I needed to roll it first. Now I’m rolling it.” Melody grinned and fluttered around the room like it needed straightening. Nothing looked out of place to him.

  Jerry nodded. He scanned the wall. “Lots of pictures.” Most of them were black and white. A couple, sepia-toned. Only a few were in color and even they looked old, judging by the hair and clothes.

  Melody fluttered to a stop next to him and twisted her arms together behind her back, thrusting her breasts forward. Heaven help him. “We used to do a lot of traveling. Billy was a jazz musician.”

  “Is that Billie Holiday?”

  “Yes.”

  Jerry squinted at the picture. Billie Holiday sitting at a table with three other people. Two men and a woman. A woman who looked a lot like–exactly like Melody. “Is this your grandmother?”

  “No, it’s me. Billy used to take me out with him when he could. It was easy when he had a long engagement because we just lived in a hotel, but sometimes he had to travel so I just went into my lamp until he came home.”