Chapter Four

He couldn't tell who it was, so he started backing toward the door when the girl with the black hair jumped on the truck’s horn, causing the other girl to cry out and Derek to bang his head into the window.

The icepick in Derek’s head twisted and he saw stars behind his eyes.

Before he could stop himself, Derek cracked the window and said in his loudest, most commanding lieutenant voice, “Hey, you don’t have to be here on moving day, dude!” And all the babble stopped.

He slammed the window shut and put on his hat and grabbed his keys and headed toward the door at the end of a long hallway that led to his apartment.

As he walked by, he locked the door.

On the other side of the hall stood an open door, supported by a large porcelain statue of a blond woman with enormous breasts.

Derek thought, “God, move over to the other left. I’m going to lose my hand!”

Derek remembered handing the invite to Patty, the long-time dispatch operator who was about to retire and the department's unofficial personal assistant, and asking her to answer on his behalf. Either he'd been put down by accident or she was playing a joke on him. He could have shown up on his own and blamed Patty for the mix-up, but these charity dinners cost well over a thousand dollars a plate, and he couldn't afford to leave a councilman out in the cold. It was in his best interest to keep politicians happy, even if it meant annoying them.

"Tell them I'm bringing someone," Derek said, "What's her name? And why do they care?"

Barker swallowed hard and said, "The place card on the table. Jesus."

"I'll let you know," Derek said.

As Barker hurried out the door, Derek sat back and let his mind wander back to that night in the hallway, as he had done so many times since that morning three days before. Every time he thought of Ginger, he was reminded of something else: her scent, the curve of her neck, that damned sexy accent. She had said she was raising her own sister, and he couldn't think of many early-twenties women who could do such a thing. It was almost as if she had been given no choice in the matter. The urge to learn more about Ginger gnawed at him, and he didn't know why he was so curious about her.

After a moment's hesitation, he typed her name into the search box of the National Database. He had learned her name this morning from the building mailbox she had been assigned to in her apartment, and by her accent he had narrowed it down to Southeast.

He froze as a two-week old missing person's report from Nashville, filed by Valerie Peet, listed Willa Peet as a minor, came in. It didn't say much about the circumstances surrounding her disappearance, but her mother had provided color photos, one of which was a recent yearbook photo of Willa. Neither of the girls had any criminal records, but he was interested in the first one.

He looked at Ginger's photo. She was beautiful, but she looked thin and exhausted, as if she was surprised that anyone had bothered to take her photo. He shivered and went back to the search screen, typing in "Peet," "Valerie," and "Nashville."

Her criminal record filled the screen: reckless endangerment of a minor, possession of crystal meth and prescription drugs, public drunkenness, prostitution, a few DUIs, and a few other minor offenses. He could have spent the whole day going through those, but he didn't want to.

Derek clicked on the first file, a 1999 reckless endangerment file. As he read through the description of Valerie's criminal charges, he became angrier with each detail.

Ginger, then ten, had been brought into Nashville police station for attempting to steal food to feed her 4-year-old daughter Willa.

Willa had told the officer that their mother had not been home since Christmas two weeks before.

Valerie's most recent charges, dated four months ago, showed that Valerie had not changed since she had let her two young children starve to death.

Derek could not fathom how she had managed to avoid being taken into state custody.

There was something about the missing person's report that bothered his detective.

Why would Valerie, a woman who showed no love for her children, bother reporting them missing?

After years of neglect, why would Ginger take Willa and flee Nashville just a few months before Willa would have graduated high school?

There was no way for Derek to find out. He had a hangover and was angry at himself for lusting over a woman on the way to a funeral. He had made a bad first impression. He could not go knocking on her door and intrude on her private life when it should not be his concern.

What was it about her that frightened him?

He wanted to be a part of her life.

Ginger cut out the headline of a new women's magazine, "Is Your Vagina Angry?", and glued it to the back of a picture of a thoughtful nun. She had a twisted sense of humor.

"Suit her," she said to herself, glancing down at the nightstand she had spent the day working on. "Get Thee to a nunnery, she'd named this one."

The nightstand would be ready for lacquer after a few final touches.

Ginger smiled. Decorating furniture with interesting photos and magazine cutouts may have begun as a way to keep her mind occupied when she lived in Nashville, but it had become a pastime for her. Most of the furniture she bought was at donation centers, so the cost was low, and creating something unique gave her a sense of achievement. She occasionally sold pieces to students and visiting artists at Bobby's Hideaway, but that proved to be rare since the clientele was generally not interested in talking about furniture. All the money she made went to Willa's college account, in a bank where Valerie could not touch it.

Ginger took a deep breath into her half-filled wineglass, knowing she would have little time to spare from now on. While Willa went off to her first day of high school, Ginger got a job working as a bartender at Sensation in the River North nightclub in downtown Chicago.

I guess old habits don't die, she thought. Bartending seemed like a long shot after all the progress she had made since leaving Nashville a week ago, but money was easy behind the bar, and if she could do one thing well, it was get people good and dirty. With all the money she had borrowed, she probably wouldn't have to work for a while, but aside from using some of it as a down payment on the place, she didn't plan to touch it until it was absolutely necessary.

Ginger slipped into the kitchen and took a moment to admire the marble countertops, the stainless steel appliances, the luxuries. She couldn't believe she was living like this. A week ago, she had been reheating three days of leftovers over an old gas stove, and now she was sitting down to a homemade pasta sauce and Ravioli. The Ravioli itself had been store-bought but hey, she hadn't claimed to be a cook.

There was a knock on the door and Ginger smiled, assuming the lieutenant would be home from work that night.

Unless, of course, you count the one time. And all the other fourteen times he popped into her head. Hell, maybe Chicago boys just like something a little different from a woman.

Ginger had never known a man so deliberately push her buttons so well. Except for his initial assessment of her from head to toe, Derek didn't seem particularly interested in her. She shouldn't care, but she did.

Their apartment door shut behind them, and Ginger jumped and splashed marinara sauce on the counter. She wiped it off with a towel.

What a way to come in, Wip!  It was the nickname Ginger had given Willa when she was still in diapers.  Wip Ingrid Peet, short for short. 

Ginger looked over her shoulder at Willa in her black Misfits tee shirt and ripped stockings, and Willa managed to match the look.

How did it go? You didn't set the place on fire, did you?

Just barely, I'm choosing my moment.

Don't forget your lighter fluid, or it won't work.

I noticed.

She waved her wineglass at Willa.

Go on ahead, drop your stuff in your room.

Dinner is almost ready.

Willa dropped her bookbag on the floor and crawled up on the counter behind Ginger, who just shook her head.

Did Willa do as she was told?