On Call: An Original Short Story Read Free Page A

asked.
    “No. Frankly, I don’t think he was.”
    “So maybe you don’t know everything about your pal.”
    “Maybe not…”
    “Forensics found tissue samples under the deceased’s fingernails. Seems like she put up a fight before she died. We’ve got Brosnan’s DNA on file now. Welcome has just made an appearance on our list for the same treatment. How about you?”
    I found myself fixated on the scratches on Lou’s hands. His rats, he’d said.
    “Doc?…Doc.”
    “Huh?”
    “We asked if you’d be willing to give us a DNA sample.”
    “Of…of course.”
    Paul a drug dealer. Lou a killer. My brain couldn’t wrap itself around either possibility. All I could think of at that moment was getting the hell out of Washington and back to my horses.

    The next morning my apartment buzzer woke me an hour before my alarm. I lived in a nice enough brownstone on Thirteenth Street Northwest, but it wasn’t a palace by any means. Groggy and stiff, I went to the intercom and was surprised to hear Paul’s voice. I buzzed him in and waited as he climbed the stairs to my third-floor one bedroom. At least he was classy enough to bring two coffees from Starbucks.
    “Victoria and I broke up,” he said. “We got into a huge screaming fight about Annabelle.”
    “I guess she heard about the diary,” I said.
    “Sorry to bug you so early, but I need to talk.”
    “No drugs,” I said. “I can’t have you here if you’re high.”
    “Gabe, for chrissakes, I’m clean. I swear. Somebody set me up. Except for like a few tokes of pot a month, I don’t use drugs at all, let alone deal them. Surely you know that.”
    Do I? Can I really trust you? At this point, can I trust my own judgment about anything?
    I parked my lingering doubts and took my sorry-to-bug-you coffee. In just a week, Paul’s clean-cut good looks had soured, leaving him with sunken eyes and sallow skin. He slumped down on the couch while I took a seat on the wonderful, ratty armchair across from him—a gift to myself from the thrift store when I threw away my last stuffed animal and moved to the city.
    “Okay, buddy, I believe you. How do you explain the drugs?”
    “Annabelle,” Paul said.
    “Pardon me for stating the obvious, but that’s a very convenient choice.”
    “She came on to me, Gabe. I swear she was, like, possessed.”
    “That’s not what the police think.”
    “I know. That’s why Victoria and I got into a fight. Victoria’s a sensational woman and a great person, but she has a problem that sometimes gets in the way. She can be insanely jealous. She is—was—especially jealous of Annabelle and the way men tripped all over themselves to get her just to smile at them. In fact, even before she and I decided to explore moving in together, she had decided to get out of their apartment. Then, when the police questioned her about Annabelle’s murder and dropped this bombshell about Annabelle’s diary—kaboom.”
    “So you’re saying that Annabelle made it all up about you coming on to her?”
    “I don’t think anybody has ever said no to her before,” Paul explained. “She’s used to getting what she wants when she wants it. I don’t think she knew what to make of my rebuff.”
    “Wait,” I said. “She really came on to you?”
    “More than once. I decided it was better just to say no to her and not say anything to Victoria. They were roommates and I knew Victoria was already suspicious that there might be something between us.”
    “Lord. Well, if you’re right about her, maybe Annabelle planted the drugs in your locker and called the police to take revenge on you, and then spread rumors that Lou is the one who framed you to get back at him.”
    “I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s not what she looks like, Gabe. She’s incredibly manipulative. Annabelle started to hit on me right after Lou broke up with her. It was like she wanted to prove to Victoria that she was superior, that she could get anything and anyone