Part 2

Calina lived in a small loft near SoHo. The building was well kept and the area somewhat lively. Flack rang the doorbell, surprised at the "Yo!" that came out of the intercom.

He shook his head. "Miss Caldecott? It's the NYPD. Can we speak to you?"

The young blond poked her head out a window on the second floor. "Depends on if you can speak, Detective." She grinned cheekily.

"Ha ha." He indicated his two friends." May we come up?"

"Yep. Give me a minute." Her head popped back in the window and the buzzer for the door rang. Flack led the way up the stairs.

Calina stood in her door, arms crossed. There was a smile on her face that looked a little unnatural there. When she saw the three people coming toward her, she straightened. "You're lucky. It's my "once in a mood" cleaning day. Otherwise, we might have trouble finding you a chair…or the sofa. Do you guys sit on the floor?"

"Not normally." That was Stella, liking the young woman. "Depends on the results we might get."

"Well, I won't make ya this time. Come in."

The place was small and tidy. Evidence of a recent cleaning did appear in the vacuum marks on the rug. The detectives found the small couch and chair, Calina at her insistence remained standing.

"Just a couple questions, Ms. Caldecott." Mac began.

"Calina, please. Ms. Caldecott's my brother."

Her smile turned genuine with the choking sound she heard coming from Mac. Don grinned, and Stella laughed. "You always so…funny, Calina?"

"Best way to fight what life throws at ya. You wanted to speak to me?"

"We have some questions for you. Do you have time to answer them?"

Calina bit her lip nervously. "Well..."

"We just have to clear up some things," Mac coaxed.

"Like how I always seem to be tripping over dead bodies? Three, I believe?" Calina said knowingly.

"Something like that."

*And how the dead bodies you trip over seem to benefit YOU,* was the random, not-entirely meant thought that came to the detectives' minds.

As if Calina could hear them, she became defensive. "The first body I found was when I was 20. I'd gotten work as a cleaner for an apartment building, and struck up a friendship with an old man. Mr. Winston was lonely, and I talked to him. He was supposed to meet me for tea, and when I knocked on his door, it opened. He'd been on his way to meet me, had another heart attack and died. I didn't kill him. I had nothing to do with killing ANYONE."

"Mr. Winston's family…"

"Are greedy parasites. I had NO idea until the will was read that he'd left me a hundred thousand dollars. Heck, I had no idea he HAD a hundred thousand dollars! The autopsy his son INSISTED on proved I hadn't done anything to Mr. Winston! If I'd murdered anyone, it would have been that jerk! Accusing me of killing his father for money! Hmph!"

Don stifled a smile. Obviously, this young lady was fond of exclamation points. Mac regretfully spoke.

"The woman you found last night was named Janice Tallentyre. Does that ring any bells?"

Calina gave the name some obviously serious thought. "Janice, Janice… hmmm. Sounds familiar like I said. But though her face is forever etched in my mind now, she still just looks vaguely familiar."

"Maybe her boyfriend you knew better? Steven Gladwell." Mac handed her a picture of abrown-haired man in his middle thirties. She gave the photo a good going over.

"He looks familiar. Matt might know…" Every ounce of color drained from her face. Mac, Stella and Don looked at each other, then the woman.

"Matt?" This came from Don.

Calina looked up. The color had come back, but her eyes…once again he could see the light of a wounded heart striving valiantly on.

"My… fiancée. Matthew McGrath."

"And where can we find Mr. McGrath?" Mac said, a little too sharply. Don and Stella glared at him reproachfully. Calina simply understood.

"Detective…Taylor, right? I can tell you where to find him if you really want to know."

Every ounce of pain and love that could be felt from one person was in her soft voice. Mac regretted asking, somehow knowing the answer.

"Please." He said softly.

"He's dead." Her tone was flat, almost as if they were telling her something she couldn't believe.

Again, the pain in her face almost blinded the three detectives. Two of them KNEW that kind of loss, the third could only guess, but with great accuracy.

"The second body you found…"

"Was my Matt."

Mac winced. "I'm sorry."

"His death was a fluke, right?" Flack said, sticking both of his feet in his mouth and wincing as he heard how that came out.

"I'd say the death of ANY thirty-two year should be a 'fluke', Detective," Ms. Caldecott said coolly. "The autopsy proves that I, again, had nothing to do with his death."

Stella murmured softly. "And yet, you feel responsible."

Calina's shoulders, stiffened when the questions began, slumped. "Matt's death might have been avoided if I had just INSISTED he go to the hospital! He'd been complaining of a headache for three days! I just figured…"

Don spoke, trying desperately to make up for his gaffe. "Are you a doctor in your spare time?"

Calina glared at the man. "No but I knew him…better than he knew himself at times.

I could tell you a million things about Matt, Detectives. That he preferred soda to coffee. That he watched cartoons and crime shows like they were going outta style. That he hated long pants and loved shorts. That the thing that impacted him most was the long drawn out death of his favorite uncle. The man had spent his life saying, 'What if I'd…' Then, when he was diagnosed, his uncle started to do everything he'd always 'what if'd. He made Matt promise not to live, or leave this life, with regrets, to prepare for the last day. Matt did almost everything he'd wanted to do. He died happy. And he died loved."

Calina spoke again. "Matt died because an aneurysm formed when he'd gotten into an auto accident burst. He was backing out of a parking spot when a 17-year-old rear-ended him. He couldn't have known what would happen. When I found him… It was, bar none, the hardest moment of my life. I didn't kill my Matt, detectives. I loved him too much for that."

Tears were rolling down Calina's face at the thought of the love of her young life. Stella grabbed a tissue and handed it to the other woman. Calina smiled gratefully. "Thanks," she murmured.

"It's okay," she said to the room...and possibly, Fate, at large.

Calina looked gently at the older man, then the younger, then the other woman. All three had suffered their own losses, had scars on their own souls. Yet they were soldiering trudingly along, trying to lessen the scars for others. The least she could do was help…or try to.

"Matt's parents are Mr. and Mrs. Jason McGrath. Monica," she said softly. "They moved here when he turned 18. He was always in and out of their house. And he knew a lot of their neighbors. Do you know if Mr. Gladwell has lived there a while?"

"Three years," Stella said softly, still seeing the opened wounds in the younger woman's heart.

"Then Matt would have known him…at least a little. Wait… Let me see that picture of Janice again."

Puzzled, Don handed it back to her.

"Now I know why she looks familiar! That coat!"

Stella nodded understandingly. The men just looked confused.

"Let me think… Yes! It was a party the McGraths had just about three years ago! They had one every year for the newbies in the area. I met Janice there. I remember because she was wearing this coat. I admired it, and she and I chatted about where she got it! I remember her saying it was a Deacon James coat, that they were friends and she got most of her clothes from his collections!"

Mac was skeptical. "You remember all that from one conversation?"

Stella understood. "It's the Deacon James connection, right?"

"Yes, it is. Deacon James is a small…and very exclusive designer. He designs outfits for women from the skin up. For special occasions." Her voice locked with pain. "Including wedding dresses."

Mac looked gently at the young woman. "I hate to ask, but…?"

Calina shook her head, obviously battling back the pain. "Did Mr. James design anything for me? No, I've never met him face to face. I'm a fan of clothes, you see. Pay attention to some of the trends so I can decide to ignore the ones I don't like or encompass the ones I do." She smiled, a little more naturally now.

The room was silent for a moment. "I don't know who killed Janice, Detectives. I wish I had a magic wand so I could tell you who did. I do know it wasn't me, and I've give almost anything not to have found her, found my "third" body." She rose, the three others rising with her. "I hope you find whoever did this. Life is too short… and too precious… to end it prematurely."

She moved toward the door that led to the kitchen. "I'm sorry, I have work to do. Can you show yourselves out?"

She left the room, wounded and silent, leaving Don, Stella, and Mac, to their own thoughtful silences.

MS MS MS MS

Stella Bonasera was late. Well, only ten minutes, but by her standards she had committed a heinous crime. She hated being late! Made her look bad!

Luckily, Mac was far easier on her than himself. If only…

She sighed. If, if if! If never caused anything but heartache in her life. Although Mac and Aubrey were no longer together, maybe BECAUSE they were no longer together, she didn't think she was ready to come right out and say, "Hey Mac, I love you. Do you think we could be together as more than pals?"

Funny. She could face down homicidal boyfriends, fires, even Greek diplomats, but facing the longings of her own heart… well that was tougher.

Calina spoke from behind her. "I seem to recall that look on MY face once before."

Stella jumped, then turned. The blonde was leaning against the wall of the police station, an amused, understanding expression on her face, her arms crossed. The Greek-born detective cocked her head, questioning without words.

Ms. Caldecott shook her head. "Another novel-length story. Listen, you probably already have Deacon James on your list of people to question, but I thought this might be helpful." She handed Stella a small gold medallion.

"What's this?"

"Entry into his shop. Only a few REALLY special people get into his inner sanctum. He's…not known for his people skills."

"Thought you said you've never met him."

Calina shook her head. "Not personally. I've spoken to him on the phone. Also, my best friend, Andra Montague, models for him." She smirked. "She's told me things."

Stella whistled, impressed. "And you don't think a badge is going to get me inside?"

"Knowing what she's said? Not without a warrant and a LOT of wasted time. THIS will get you in quickly. He'll have to deal with you after that."

Ms. Bonasera nodded. "Yeah, we tried to set up an interview. Not a great experience."

Calina nodded. "See?" Her eyes shifted, then became empathetic once again. "Detective Flack lost someone special a while ago, didn't he?" She nodded to the detective passing by, his eyes on papers in his hands.

The other woman was startled. "What, are you psychic?"

Calina snorted. "No, just observant. When it comes to other people," she muttered under her breath. "Survivors of trauma like that can generally see it in others. Plus, he studies me as if he wants a secret I've learned…and it ain't romantic interest that causes that."

Stella shook her head, admiring. "You're good."

"Thanks. I strive for excellence in all I do."

Stella spoke softly. "Is that the only reason you're here? To give me this?'

Calina smiled ruefully. "Caught, huh?"

"Yep."

"I'm not really sure why I'm here after that emotional debriding I went through, but something is leading me to try to answer some...other...questions you might have. Ya wanna meet for coffee later?"

Stella was curious about the "other questions" Calina was talking about. Curious enough to make arrangements to meet with the younger woman.

Then Stella spoke soothingly. "You'll be okay, you know. 'This, too, shall pass'... and all that."

Calina shifted. "This is bringing back some old hurts and griefs for me, but yes I'll be fine. I make being fine a habit." She straightened from the wall. "If you need anything else, you know how to reach me. Have fun with Deacon!"

MS MS MS MS

Steven Gladwell was tall, with brown hair, green eyes, and a grief-filled expression on a handsome face. He stood at the door of his house, not quite ready to invite Don and Mac in. "I was in Miami," he stated. "Flew back this morning."

"When did you last speak to Ms. Tallentyre?"

His face scrunched with pain. "Last night? She called me to tell me she was off to visit a friend. See, normally when I'm outta town on business, we set up a specific time we call one another, and Janice said she was going to be unable to call me later. Her last words were, I love and miss you. See ya when you get back."

"Did you know there was a man seen coming to visit Janice here?"

"Janice wasn't cheating on me," Steven said. "I don't care what ANYONE else says. She loved us too much to do ANYTHING like that."

Don wasn't so sure. The evidence looked to prove Steven wrong. They had processed the apartment and were sure they would find evidence of Ms. Tallentyre's stepping out on Mr. Gladwell. But wisely, the native New Yorker decided not to contradict the other man. Time would tell.

A young woman who looked like a feminine version of Steven came out of the apartment. "Steven? Are you all right?"

Both detectives looked at each other, then the young woman.

"My sister, Shannon Carson. I'll be all right at some point, Shannon. Just not yet."

She frowned, then addressed Mac. "No leads yet on who killed Janice?"

"We're working the case, Mrs. Carson. We'll let you know when we find the person responsible," Mac said.

"Well I hope it's soon!" Shannon replied, a little huffily. "I don't care what her reputation, Janice didn't deserve to die like that."

"Well, we're working the case, ma'am," Don said drily. "We don't like murderers on the streets. Bad for tourism."

End Part 2