Under the Table

by Stephanie Evanovich

  Zoey picked up the other half of her sister’s bagel and took a bite, more out of nervous habit than hunger. This idea already stunk. Before last night, she didn’t have to worry about him getting in touch. In fact, he texted so often, he was on the border of becoming a nuisance. After last night, it all felt different. Everything had changed. “And if he never makes contact?”

  Ruth gave an uncharacteristically sympathetic shake of her head. “Then you have your answer, even if it’s one you don’t like.”

  Zoey began to grimace. “And if he does reach out?”

  “If he texts, it’s easy. Be cordial, friendly, stick with your usual banter. The idea here is to keep both of you from coming up against that wall until the year is over. You don’t want to burn either bridge until you’re sure. If you go back to Derek, none of it will matter, because you’ll be on your way back to Cleveland.”

  Zoey didn’t know how to express what her gut told her—the decision had already been made. She had fallen for Tristan. But right now, she needed her sister’s help, not to get into a useless argument with her.

  “And what if Tristan calls?”

  Ruth gave that angle a tad more thought. “That’s easy too. Just let it go to voice mail for a couple days. It’ll buy you more time. Then, when you do pick up, if he’s calling just to chat, you have to run. You’re on your way to a job. You make it quick but cheery.”

  “What if he’s calling me to do a job?”

  “Only you can make the call about that one. That’s business. And he has no problem opening his wallet. Turning him down would be cutting your nose off to spite your face. But then you have every reason to act professionally instead of chummy. See the pattern here? The key is getting him to make a move.”

  “I don’t want to hurt him,” Zoey said, hating every bit of what Ruth was telling her. Their friendship was based on honesty. All of this ducking and diving reeked of deceit.

  “Zoe, there’s a broken heart for every light on Broadway. He has money, he has looks, all the resources to help him get over it. He’ll find another friend to fawn over him.”

  Suddenly Zoey regretted not telling Ruth the full story. About just how wholesome and uncorrupted he actually was. What a mess he was when she met him. That his only lover had been a call girl he was too naive to spot. Not that her sister would believe her after last night. Ruth would just accuse her of being oversensitive and sentimental.

  “And if it turns out he feels the same way I do?”

  “Hey, girl,” Ruth said with a smile. “I can’t dictate your life story for you. That one I’m staying out of. You are on your own there.”

  Ruth resumed eating her bagel and sipping her coffee. Zoey went back to daydreaming. Then Ruth spoke up again, with her final thoughts on the matter.

  “I don’t much see the point in all of this anyway. You know you’re going to go back to Derek. You guys have been together since you were kids. You two are lifers.”

  Zoey hoped it was just coincidence that lifers was the word for people stuck in prison forever.

  Chapter 12

  Nobody expects an uninvited knock on their door on a Sunday evening. When Zoey looked through the peephole and saw two blue uniforms, she feared the worst. Someone was dead.

  “Is this the residence of Ruth Dixon?” the older of the two asked, double-checking the name on the paper he was holding.

  They didn’t have guns drawn, but it also didn’t look like a social call.

  “I’m her,” Ruth said, getting up from the couch. She didn’t look like she expected them either.

  “We have a warrant for your arrest, miss.”

  “A what?” Zoey and Ruth said in unison.

  They didn’t look like the cops you saw in the movies, all grizzled and by the book. These cops were more relaxed. Official-looking, but more like they were running an errand, not making an apprehension. The police handed over the piece of paper they had brought with them. Ruth scanned the document for the key words. It was easy to see when she got the gist by how pale she turned and her hands started to shake.

  “I’m being arrested for assault. From that perv last night in the bar!”

  “I don’t think we have to cuff her,” the younger cop said, and the older cop gave a single nod.

  “I don’t think you understand. He assaulted me first!” Ruth’s pale face was replacing itself with a flush of anger. She handed over the warrant for Zoey to read.

  “You can tell your side to the judge. We don’t want to use the handcuffs on you, if you’re willing to just come along with us. And you can make it easier for everyone if you leave all your valuables behind.”

  “The offense you’re talking about is a misdemeanor. Aren’t there actual crimes that you guys could be dealing with? You know, murders, muggers . . . ,” Zoey tried to point out.

  “We don’t make the rules, miss, we enforce them. They consider assault a felony when the victim is a federal employee, in this case a judge. Rumor has it when he swore out the complaint, he was taking it personally. The bouncers in the bar weren’t very gentle.”

  Only Ruth would try teaching a hands-off lesson to a judge.

  “This is ridiculous,” Zoey said, crumpling up the warrant when fisting her hand. She started to try and undo the damage by flattening it against the wall and hand ironing it. “A complete abuse of power.”

  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here.” Ruth looked down at her grungy Sunday sweatpants and black tank top, an attempt for normalcy as it started to sink in. “Can I change?”

  The cops exchanged glances. The older one gave a half nod. “What you have on is perfect for jail. It’s not going to be like a night at the Ritz. We’ll let you grab another shirt. It gets cold. They probably won’t uniform you up. It’ll take most of the night to process you. You’ll be arraigned first thing tomorrow morning. We’ll wait right here. Just don’t close the door.”

  “You do have the right to remain silent.” The young cop started reciting her Miranda rights as Ruth took off down the hall.

  Ruth went to get a sweatshirt while the cops waited inside the open doorway. Zoey followed closely behind into the bedroom.

  “Oh, my God.” Ruth started pulling shirts out of drawers in search of her most comfortable one. “I’m going to spend a night in jail.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Zoey said.

  “I don’t even know what I’m going to do. But if I get an inkling, I’ll call you. I do get to make one phone call, right?”

  “I feel like I’m supposed to come with you or something,” Zoey fretted.

  “Unless you’re going to spend the night staging a protest outside, there’s no point in that.”

  “Do you know any lawyers? Do you want me to call Blake?”

  “I want you to call them all, but I get the feeling it’s not going to do any good right now. I can’t believe the nerve of this guy. Right now, my only regret is not kicking him harder.”

  “Ruth, now is not the time to go all balls to the wall. This is one of those situations where apologizing would go a long way. You can plot his demise after you get out and lawyer up.”

  “This is a nightmare,” Ruth said, taking one last look at herself in the mirror as the reality hit her full force. She gave herself a quick finger comb.

  “They’re waiting,” Zoey said quietly.

  “There is something you can do,” Ruth said, her voice shaky. “Call work for me in the morning? Tell them I’m sick, can’t stop throwing up. That’s not far from the truth.”

  The cops led Ruth down the small hall to the stairs and away. The apartment, despite the television still being on, now seemed eerily quiet. Zoey started to pace from room to room. She picked up and put down her phone half a dozen times, resisting the urge to call Tristan. She picked up her phone one last time, this time to place a call. To Derek.

  “Hey, baby,” he greeted her. “I was just thinking about you.”

  “They just hauled Ruth off to ja
il,” she blurted. “I don’t know what the hell I should be doing!”

  Normally, his chuckling was aggravating. This time, it lent an air of feeling that everything was going to be all right. “Oh shit, Ruthless must’ve really messed up if she wasn’t able to talk herself out of it.”

  Zoey told Derek the story of her night with Ruth and the handsy judge. She left out any mention of Tristan.

  “I don’t think this guy would want to take it all the way. A good defense attorney would make him look like a pervert, and that’s rotten publicity whether it’s true or not. Sounds like he’s trying to prove a point.”

  “Like what? That he has great power at his disposal and he uses it to crush women who aren’t interested in him?”

  “That. Or maybe he doesn’t appreciate a kick in the jewels. She’ll probably get a fine, maybe some community service.”

  “Don’t forget a criminal record!” Zoey said hotly. This was serious. Ruth was behind bars. “Dixons are a lot of things, but we aren’t jailbirds!”

  “You aren’t a Dixon anymore.” Derek, as usual, took the most inopportune moment to get back to his agenda. “You’re a Sullivan. You should be grateful you aren’t sitting in that cell with her.”

  “Derek, please don’t make me regret reaching out to you.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t help it. But when you call me late on a Sunday night to tell me your sister just went to jail for losing her cool after a night of partying, I have to worry. You’ve been cleaning up after your sister’s misadventures since we all were kids. You can’t fix her and she doesn’t want to be saved. I’m afraid you’re going to get caught up in one of her messes.”

  So much of what he said was the truth. But Derek wasn’t known for his timing. Zoey’s response was silence followed by a long, drawn-out sigh. Before hanging up, Derek left her with one more attempt at comforting.

  “Look, Ruth is going to be fine. She’s going to spend a night in jail, something that in the long run might do her some good. There’s nothing you can do for her between now and the morning, so get some sleep tonight and then just go pick her up.”

  * * *

  After the second night in a row spent tossing and turning, Zoey had barely fallen asleep when she was awakened right after sunrise by another pounding on the front door. Luckily, this time when she looked through the peephole, she saw Ruth’s eye up close, blinking back at her from the other side.

  Zoey opened the door with a sigh of relief. Her sister didn’t look too worse for wear, other than the dark circles under her eyes.

  “That was harrowing,” Ruth said while breezing in and flopping down on the futon.

  “How did you get out so soon? They said last night you wouldn’t be arraigned until this morning.”

  “It’s all about who you know.” After all she’d been through, Ruth still was able to appear haughty.

  “I’m too tired to play guessing games or congratulate you on your network of friends. Just answer the question.”

  “I would’ve picked up coffee,” Ruth continued, “but as you know, I left here without my wallet.”

  “We can make coffee. Are you still in trouble or what?”

  “I probably could’ve gotten the guys at the bagel place to front me a couple of cups, but it’d be over my dead body that I’d let them see me dressed like this.”

  “RUTH!!” Zoey’s already frayed nerves had reached their breaking point.

  “Okay!” Ruth laughed. “I knew a couple of detectives at the station. They were just as surprised as I was, since not once did they ever tell me they were cops. Or maybe they did and I just forgot.”

  “Ruth,” Zoey repeated, this time as a growl.

  “Relax! While they were booking me, these guys intervened. I never saw the inside of a jail cell. They called and woke up a judge they knew, who didn’t take kindly to having an already overextended justice system being burdened by the hurt feelings of an out-of-town traffic court judge. They couldn’t get me out of the court date, but they were able to spring me on my own recognizance. And I scored a date for the fireworks on the Fourth of July, on a boat in the harbor, no less.”

  Sometimes Ruth’s free spirit and the way she ranked her priorities were enough to make Zoey homicidal.

  “So, this guy isn’t even a judge for New York City?”

  “He’s not even a resident of the state. Lives and works in some sleepy little town in New Jersey. Allenhurst? Allenwood? Allentown?” Ruth gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Something Allen, I forget.”

  No wonder Zoey was often tired. Ruth was exhausting. Why be bothered with retaining the pertinent information regarding the man who wanted to put you in jail when you can line up a date for something three months away?

  “I did find out the judge’s last name is Hollister. Randolph Hollister. Even his name sounds uptight.”

  What Zoey should’ve done was remind Ruth that she wasn’t out of the woods yet, that this man was still gunning for her. But she settled on “What are you going to do now?”

  Ruth stood up and took off her sweatshirt. “Right now, I’m going to go take a Silkwood shower. That police precinct was grungy as hell. Did you call work for me?”

  Zoey shook her head, dumbfounded. “It’s barely daylight. I was going to wait for HR to open.”

  “That’s okay,” Ruth said, heading for the hallway. “I’ll call them myself. I need a day off. Why don’t you get dressed and grab us some coffee? And breakfast. I’m starving.”

  Zoey watched her sister stroll out of the room, resisting the urge to jump out of her chair, run down the hall, and commit a sneak-up strangulation. Why was Ruth always able to adopt a laissez-faire attitude? An even better question was, how could Zoey become more like her?

  After a shower and some clean clothes, Ruth returned to the living room. She curled up next to Zoey on the futon, laying her head on Zoey’s shoulder. Ruth had been more rattled by the whole ordeal than she was letting on.

  “Maybe you should call Blake?” Zoey suggested, breaking the silence.

  “Maybe” was Ruth’s response.

  Why was Ruth hesitant?

  “Chances are if Randolph Hollister was part of the bachelor party, Blake is going to get wind of the story anyway.”

  “Then I guess I won’t need to call him,” Ruth said with a yawn. “I’ll be getting his advice whether I want it or not.”

  “Why don’t you want to get Blake’s advice? He has to have some tips.”

  Ruth gave a heavy sigh. “Because he would jump right in to try and save the day, usually with some well-meaning lecture at the end. About how if I would cut back on the partying and take myself seriously, I could really be going places. And he would refuse to take money, which would piss me off all the more.”

  If Zoey had half a brain, she would steal Ruth’s phone and make the call herself. Currently she wasn’t feeling strong enough to withstand Ruth’s wrath for butting in. The mere way Ruth said “piss me off” was enough to make her cringe.

  “Oh, the horror,” Zoey said instead. “A nice, handsome guy that’s actually a good friend and wants the best for you. I can see where that would cause a problem.”

  “Now you’re getting it.” Ruth laughed weakly. She paused, then added, “Blake is a great guy, but he’s a doofus. He never dances. He drinks only bottled beer that he has to watch the bartender open ’cause he’s worried someone will slip him a Mickey. And believe me when I tell you, he never puts that bottle down unless it’s right in front of him.”

  Not drinking random liquids poured into glasses and left alone in crowded nightclubs didn’t seem stupid to Zoey—it sounded downright logical.

  “And those suits!” Ruth continued, having built up a full head of steam. “I mean seriously, who wears a damn suit to go to the movies? Or bowling?”

  “Only you could take issue with a man who likes to wear a suit.”

  “Abbie and Erin swear this summer they are inviting him to the beach to see what he s
hows up in. His legs are probably all pasty white.”

  “Haven’t all of you seen him without his suit? I mean, even you hooked up with him once.”

  “I have to admit; his birthday suit is fine,” Ruth conceded before adding, “but the sex was so polite. ‘Is touching you here all right? Are you sure about this?’ I’m one step from coming all over the place and he’s asking me if I’m having a good time. Maddening.”

  There was nothing left for Zoey to say. Blake had done exactly what every man is supposed to do. But Ruth would never understand that if she didn’t already. What Blake apparently didn’t understand was that if Ruth didn’t like something, not only would he know it, but everyone for an entire city block would know it as well.

  Chapter 13

  Zoey refused to sit on the sidelines and watch the crisis with Ruth play itself out. She looked up all the courts in New Jersey and the judges who presided over them until she found Randolph Hollister. While Ruth was at work the following day, Zoey took the train to New Jersey and a cab to the courthouse where Randolph Hollister was officiating over Tuesday’s traffic court. She sat among the sea of scofflaws and lawyers waiting their turns to plead out on speeding tickets and running red lights. It was a huge line of the guilty and the presumed innocent. She waited, then stood with everyone else when the bailiff called the court to order.

  Without the club lighting, the throbbing beats, and the frenzied dancing, the questionably Honorable Randolph Hollister cut quite the dashing figure, right down to the wedding ring he was now wearing. The robe made him look way more dignified than the goofy dude on the dance floor, trying to make the most of the two steps he knew. Before he was just another schlub in the club making moony eyes at her sister and laughing at his own pickup lines. When you take people out of their context, they appear differently, something Zoey realized she should’ve figured out by now. Lesson learned. Again.

  Zoey wasn’t sure how to approach him and what she’d say when and if she got the chance. She watched as he delivered the same monologue time after time, asking what their crime was and if they willingly entered their plea, and saying what the typical sentence was for each offense. Then he’d rattle off their fine and the court costs and it would be on to the next person.