Free Lloyd Corricelli - Ronan Marino 01 - Two Redheads & a Dead Blonde by Lloyd Corricelli Page A

not. I grabbed my jacket and keys and headed out.
     
    * * * *
    Karen had lived in an old, white double-decker subdivided into student apartments, just around the corner from the university’s North Campus. It was close to my first apartment or, as my roommates and I referred to it, the Anheuser-Busch campus.
    I could have approached the building’s owner and pretended to be a relative, but I didn’t feel like running a con today. I simply picked the lock and let myself in. It was a skill I’d learned in the Air Force when we wanted to get into a building to set up a wireless surveillance system without the residents knowing. I never thought I’d use it again after I left. As I entered, the smell of apple blossoms greeted me. Her apartment always smelled nice because of the potpourri she kept in little baskets scattered throughout the rooms. I was surprised to find the place neat. It didn’t even look like Morley and Garcia had even bothered to do a search. Sloppy police work was inexcusable, and I was surprised Shea let them get away with it.
    I thought of my first time there. It was our third date and after dinner and a movie, Karen invited me up for a drink. I never did get that drink, and we were half-naked by the time we made it to her front door. The next morning, I felt like I had been in a fifteen round bout with Wonder Woman. I considered using the Viagra I kept for emergencies, but at my age that could set a dangerous precedent. I had never tried it, and the image of me walking around with a three-day hard-on was not pretty. I chose not to take the chance until it became a necessity.
    Men handle divorce differently. Some guys go out and screw anything that moves in celebration, and some avoid relationships of any kind. I chose the latter. After what my ex had done to my psyche, I was cautious, almost fearful of a new relationship. I approached women carefully, never committing and never allowing myself to develop feelings. Anytime I found myself getting too close, I simply ended it. Karen caused me to rethink that approach. She had a way of making me feel that she was interested in nothing but being with me. I never felt pressured, and I needed that badly. After six weeks together, I was miraculously almost back to my pre-marriage self.
    She never had any idea how much money I was worth, only that I was well off. Few outside of my family knew, other than those who had seen the news after I’d won. I knew from the start that when word got out, all kinds of people from my past would resurface to see their old buddy Ronan. I would have eventually told her if the relationship had moved on to that next level, the one where you have toothbrushes at each other’s place.
    I stopped my musings and started looking around in her bathroom. I opened every bottle and jar in the medicine cabinet looking for concealed drugs. There was nothing but an old prescription for allergies, birth control, some aspirin and various over the counter drugs.
    Next, I went into the bedroom. It had never really struck me before that she had some pretty nice furniture for a college student. Her pieces even matched, which I never managed to do in my four years of school and many years after. I had the standard collection of hand-me-downs, yard sale specials and stolen Hood milk crates.
    She had a large armoire, bureau, queen sized four-post bed with a canopy, a nightstand and desk–all made of light oak. Her curtains matched her bedspread, some kind of frilly pink thing that I didn’t care much for. The bed was still made from the previous day.
    I opened the armoire and looked through it, finding nothing out of the ordinary. I made sure to take all the drawers out and check behind them and underneath. I felt guilty going through her place like this, but I was sure she’d understand the situation. Of all the women I’d known in my life, she had a pretty strong grasp of my mindset.
    Finding nothing in the armoire, I moved on to the dresser