“I’m not going to say anything that would point a finger at Rod, and I’m not going to lie. Mr. Waugh might have been talking about Rod or the police or maybe damn aliens from outer space for all I freakin’ know!”
“Okay,” Christine said, aiming for calm now. “Let’s go through it again. You stopped to get flowers, rang the bell, and Mr. Waugh started yelling, threatened you with the gun—”
“I mean, he pointed it at me. And Charlie, too.”
“Right. Threatened both of you with the gun while claiming that ‘they’ made him do it. Yes?”
“Yes.”
“He believed you were there to kill him?”
“I guess?” Jimmy frowned. “I’ve been buying flowers there for almost a year! Paul, Mr. Waugh, he knows who I am! He never charges me anything, and he’s always so nice to me. It’s not like I walked in there with someone scary like Tamerlane or Jules! It just, it just doesn’t make any sense.”
“He was one of the prosecution’s witnesses who was going to testify against Cold regarding his relationship with Marco Luchesi. Did you know that prior to visiting the store?”
“No!” Jimmy exclaimed. “I had no idea! I wouldn’t have gone there if I had known that! Look, this was an accident. It’s a really, really sad and terrible accident. I’ll give them my statement and it’ll be done, all right?”
He must have not realized how loud he was getting because Cold reached over to gently take his hand.
“Right,” Christine said curtly. There was a lengthy pause, and she said, “Okay.”
“Got what you need, Christine?” Cold asked casually.
“Yes.” Christine sounded like she was smiling. “You gentlemen have a good night. I’ll see you in the morning, Mr. Poe.”
“Good night, Miss Beccali,” Jimmy said, reaching over to hang up the phone. He glared at Cold. “What was that about?”
“What?”
“It was like she was preparing me for court. This is just a written statement.”
“Miss Beccali likes to be thorough,” Cold replied simply.
“Whatever,” Jimmy sighed, standing up abruptly. His head hurt, and he was exhausted. “I’m going to bed.”
“I’ll join you momentarily,” Cold said, drumming his long fingers on the edge of the desk. He looked troubled, staring absently off into space.
“Are you all right?” Jimmy asked, trying to convey his concern.
“Thinking.”
“You really didn’t know Mr. Waugh was going to kill himself, did you?”
“No,” Cold said, his eyes flicking over to meet Jimmy’s. “I did not.”
“Does this, uh, affect your plans?”
“No.” Cold smiled. “One must always expect the unexpected. Go on. I promise I’ll be in bed soon.”
Jimmy shuffled away to brush his teeth and throw on some pajamas. He was asleep by the time Cold slipped in beside him, and Jimmy groggily rolled over to seek out his strong arms to snuggle.
His dreams were troubled, filled with blood and gunshots, and there was cold flesh smothering him until he couldn’t breathe. He woke up suddenly with a loud gasp, the sound of his mother’s screams still ringing in his ears.
Jimmy reached over to touch Cold, finding him sound asleep. He took a deep breath and wished he could scrub the horrible images out of his mind. There was no way he’d be able to fall back asleep now.
He carefully crept out of bed, hoping not to wake Cold as he stepped quietly into the lounge to put on some music to ease his troubled thoughts.
Jimmy kept the volume low, selecting Roberta Flack’sKilling Me Softly. As the title track began to play, he slowly started moving his hips to the beat. He focused on her voice and the words as he tried to drive away the awful memories.
