by CeeCee James
In fact, it was one of the reasons why I’d broken up with the guy. When he started spending more and more time there, I knew we were done.
Well, I guess it was time to figure out what this sports bar was all about. I hoped the guys in the picture went as often as my ex-boyfriend had gone, if I had any hope of talking to someone who’d known Devon.
I thought about calling Kari to see if she would want to come with me but then realized, with her husband being the number one suspect, that probably wasn’t a good idea to bring her to one of the last places Devon had been photographed.
No, I was going to have to do this alone.
“What’s got your attention so firmly?”
I jumped. Mr. Carrol stood in front of me with an easy smile. Somewhere in his late sixties, Mr. Carrol seemed quite affable. In fact, we’d recently had a riveting conversation about the actual history of Paul Revere and how William Dawes had done a midnight ride just like Paul but didn’t get as much press.
“Oh, nothing,” I said, putting my phone away. “I heard you went exploring. Did you have a good day?”
“Yeah, the missus and I went down to Gettysburg. It was fascinating seeing all those buildings. We’re going to make another trip there tomorrow.” He smiled. “Unless you have something up your sleeve.”
I laughed and peeked at my sleeve. “Actually I do. I was going to invite you to a sort of a field trip. I’d only hoped my van would get fixed in time. Sadly it hasn’t, and right now I’m driving a Volkswagen. Not a lot of passenger room,” I said, shaking my head.
“We have our rental car. We can always follow you. What are you thinking?”
“Really? Well, there’s a new American Revolutionary War museum I’ve been want to check out.”
He rolled his eyes. “Another museum? I’m a little disappointed.”
“No,” I said quickly. “Seriously, this is the only museum dedicated to the American Revolution in existence. In fact, it only opened a few years back.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you pulling my leg? You’re saying the war that founded this country has only one dedicated museum?”
I nodded. “That’s right. And it took a lot of convincing and donations to get the museum up and running. But it is now, and I’ve been really wanting to go. And bring you guys too.”
“All right. You’ve won me over,” he said. “But it better be good after that build-up.”
At that moment, Cecelia chimed my name from the kitchen.
“Sounds like dinner’s ready! Hope you’re hungry because she made a feast.”
“If it’s anything like the prime rib from last night, I’m going to have to be rolled to my room in a wheelbarrow,” he laughed.
I left for Rusty Breakers about two hours later, after clearing the table and washing the dishes. Mr. Carrol didn’t need a wheelbarrow, but I can attest he was groaning and loosening his pants on the way up the stairs to his room.
I didn’t tell Cecelia where I was going because she still worried about me like I was fresh out of college. It took me about thirty minutes to get to the bar, and when I got there, the parking lot was already full, packed with work trucks and old beaters. There was a little spot I could squeeze into. I had to admit, the Volkswagen made parking so easy.
I yanked my rearview mirror down and stared at myself. I looked so insecure and scared. I remember another time staring scared into a mirror. I was only five at the time, and it was the golden age of cartoons, water-wings, and snow cones.
It was also the age I lost my first tooth. It had been traumatic. I don’t know why. I’d taken a bite of an apple, and suddenly I had a mouth full of blood. Grandma had brought me a washcloth and explained to me what happened but nothing she said could soothe me. I’d simply stared in the mirror and sobbed, horrified that, in one-second, life could change from a fun play day to blood all over the front of my favorite Sylvester the Cat shirt.
I think that’s when the fear entered. The hook of it, that bad things could happen when you were least prepared. And I tried to protect myself from anything catching me unaware again.
So I spent years stressed out over waiting for “the other shoe to drop.” It was in college when I decided that the anxiety wasn’t worth it, and that I’d rather live with the possibility of being caught unprepared than in fear. Since then, I really strove to push myself whenever I felt scared.
Since Derek’s death, that resolve took a real knocking. I had to admit, I was falling back into some of my old ways. But not this time. I wasn’t going to let the anxiety fluttering in my chest stop me. With grim determination, I fluffed my hair out, and then I grabbed a tube of pink lipstick and slathered it on before pushing up my eyelashes. I’ve got this. I’ve been in rougher places than this.
My inner voice laughed and called me a liar, but I ignored it. With the sassiest attitude that I could muster, I climbed out of the Volkswagen and slammed the door.
Okay, here it goes.
A group of men walked ahead of me. They turned at the entrance, and I felt their gaze rake over my body. The group laughed and disappeared inside, with one man remaining to hold the door open for me.
Laugh at me, would they? I’d show them. I pointed my chin and marched up the steps, before realizing I probably looked like some schoolteacher. I softened my approach. Just act cool. You’re cool.
“Thank you,” I said, tipping my head.
“Ma’am,” he said. The scent of gasoline came off of him, and I saw from his clothes that he’d just gotten off of work. Maybe a mechanic or something.
The fluorescent light in the window buzzed and snapped as one of the letters blinked. Something crunched under my foot, and I glanced to see a peanut shell.
This was not the usual type of bar that I’d been to before, but I’d known that before coming here. There was no live music, karaoke or dancing. This place was dark and smoky, lit only by the fluorescent tube signs scattered along the walls. A sign of a naked woman holding a beer flashed on and off next to me.
I strode to the bar with my shoulders back. The bartender was a skinny guy, with a face so pale I didn’t think he left the establishment all that much. He gave me a bored look as I ordered a rum and coke.
A moment later, he passed it to me over the surprisingly clean countertop. I pushed a ten dollar bill his way and began to look around the room casually.
There was a dart game going on over behind the booths. In the back were a couple of pool tables that had the usual characters you’d expect hovered around them. I saw a flash of an orange OSHA shirt by a corner table. Bingo. Construction workers.
I took my drink and walked in that direction, trying to see how close I could get without appearing obvious.
The men, along with one woman, sat around a table that was covered with several pitchers half filled with beer. In the center were a couple of plates of chicken wings and other greasy appetizers.
I caught one of the men from the group staring at me and hurriedly turned to study the poster on the wall. I blushed after I realized what it was a picture of, but I didn’t dare look away.
“So you heard about Devon, huh?” came a male voice from the table.
I froze, looking hard at the poster. I couldn’t leave now.
“What?” Another man answered the first. “You’re surprised? I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”
I watched out the corner my eye as he rubbed his chin, thick with whiskers. He must've felt my eyes on him because he glanced over as well. I rifled through my purse as if I were intensely interested in whatever was at the bottom.
“Naw, I sure wasn't surprised,” said the first voice. It turned out he was a very heavyweight man who creaked the booth’s back as he laced his fingers behind his head and stretched. He was dirty and his face glowed with a sheen. I swear I could smell the sweat from here.
“Who could be surprised when he owed Mikey all that money?” A third man chimed in.
“He was pretty late on the payments, too. Devon should ha
ve known better. You don't mess with the McCoys like that.”
The news made me so excited my hands started to shake. I took a sip of my drink and turned a bit to pretend to be interested in the dart board game.
I felt the heat of their glances on me again.
“Go on, ask her,” I heard one of them say. Bawdy laughter broke out at the table. I was attracting too much attention. As much as I didn’t want to, I started to walk back towards the bar.
From the counter, I strained to hear anything more. It seemed like the group had changed their topic from Devon to sports. Something about football trades. It was okay. I’d gotten a lot of information. I couldn’t wait to get out to my car and have a search.
I set the glass on the counter and waved to the bartender. He nodded back, and I strolled out to my car.
The parking lot was dark. I squeezed along the monster truck next to my car and carefully opened my driver’s side door. Stupid jerk probably parked that close to make fun of my car being a Volkswagen.
Once inside, I locked the doors and then got out my phone. Quickly, I opened a search. What was that guys’s name they were saying that Devon owed the money to? Mikey McCoy?
I typed it in. Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, there wasn’t a lot of information on the alleged bad guy. But there was one picture accompanying a news article that said, “Mike McCoy opens a new laundry in Pittsburgh.”
I zoomed in on the photo. It had to be him. Mr. Kingpin, himself.
I stared at the image and felt the hair rise on my neck. He wore a fitted suit and was built like a barrel. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, but the scowl sent shivers down my spine. This was one guy I wouldn’t want to mess with.
A huge hand smacked against my window, making me scream.
Chapter 9
I stared out my window in horror. A laughing face that was flushed red from alcohol was on the other side.
“Did you see her jump?” the man asked.
I quickly located his compadre, another man standing on the curb. The man who’d scared me staggered up to his friend. He blew me a kiss before heading into the bar.
My heart pounded, and I could barely breathe. I shifted my car in reverse and got out of there. Searching the internet was for a place where I felt safer than this.
On my way home, I mulled over the info I’d learned so far. Devon Walters owed this guy Mikey McCoy some money. I could well imagine it had something to do with bills from his general contracting. But who knows because Devon Walters could have a huge gambling problem just as easily.
It wasn’t until I parked outside my apartment building that I realized how hard this was going to be to prove. I couldn’t just waltz in and ask Mikey, “Hey buddy, did you off that Devon guy?” Maybe I could let Jefferson know.
I swallowed hard, remembering how Jefferson hadn’t answered my earlier text. Something told me he wasn’t going to be too keen on getting any helpful hints.
Frank. I sighed. I really need you right now. I got out of the car and stared up at the moon. Baby, why do you have to be gone? There’s no one around who’s going to listen to me like you do.
I wrapped my arms around myself at the chill from the night air. It was amazing the confidence it gave me by having someone who was always on my side. Right or wrong, when it came to facing the world, he stood next to me. I never wanted to take that for granted. Or him.
I climbed the steps and punched in the code to open the door to the building. I was a little scared with what I had with Frank, though, because I had once thought I had the same thing with Derek. My heart weighed heavily inside of me. I wasn’t so sure now. I couldn’t help but wonder if Derek had been deceived by Midnight Trucking, or if he’d been deceiving me the whole time.
By the time I got upstairs, I was so depressed that I didn’t care about who killed Devon. Tears welled in my eyes, and I sniffed hard, trying to see to put my key in the lock.
I walked inside, threw my purse on the counter, and headed straight for my room. I couldn’t fix anyone else’s problems. Not when I’d once built a life on what seemed to be now broken shards of lies. Who was I to even think I could judge someone’s character? Derek was a man I loved, I’d kissed, been intimate with. I’d shared my greatest dreams and my greatest fears. And after all that, I couldn’t be sure he wasn’t a fraudulent shifting shadow. All the conversations Derek had shared—secrets and sweet things—might have been nothing but lies. I fell on the bed and cried.
Not because he might have deceived me.
But because I’d whole-heartedly believed him.
The next morning, I woke up with my face puffy from tears and my mouth tasting like it had been used by some baby dragon for a litter box. I hauled myself off to the bathroom, purposefully avoiding the mirror, and entered the shower.
I turned the water as hot as I could stand it, and then scrubbed my hair, letting the shampoo bubbles run down my face. Typically, I wouldn’t do that. But today was a new day, and I needed to feel like I was washed clean.
The hot water steamed around me and beat on my face before I leaned back so that it hit my chest. The vapor covered the shower doors and swirled along the ceiling. I blinked and wiped my eyes, my lashes spiky from the water. Slowly, I turned the faucet off and stood there a moment, dripping.
I needed a new way to think about Derek. I couldn’t focus on if I’d been deceived anymore. What I thought Derek and I had was real to me. It was real because I was real. I’d been honest and vulnerable with him.
And that was nothing to be ashamed of.
I would keep my meeting with the coroner, something I’d considered canceling at one point during my crying jag. And I would get to the bottom of what happened to Derek. For my sake. Because I deserved answers.
But for now, I had other things on my plate. I couldn’t let those old emotions derail me like that again. I needed to focus. To move on. I had moved on. I had Frank now.
I got out and wrapped a towel around me. The mirror was too steamy to see my reflection. I leaned over and wiped it, then studied myself.
I don’t know what it was I expected to see in that steamy mirror, but I detected whatever it was that I needed. Something inside me shifted. Maybe it was the determination in my eyes, but I knew I was going to be okay.
I toweled off and got dressed. Then, munching on a granola bar, I gathered my things for my purse that I’d need for the day. It was field trip day, after all.
About twenty minutes later, with my hair still damp but pulled into a stubby ponytail, I was outside my apartment and locking the door.
Mrs. Costello, my next-door neighbor, was trying to unlock her door as I left my apartment. She was a sweet lady who was a fantastic cook, and I knew this because Mrs. Costello brought me meals every now and then under the pretense of having leftovers. I knew better because I’d once overheard her telling her grown daughter that she worried about me.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but I surely didn’t mind the free meals. I was teaching myself to bake even though I wouldn’t label myself even an amateur when it came to cooking. In fact, I had a reputation for burning everything, including toast, which is why Cecelia only let me assemble the salads.
I frowned, thinking I was going to have to remedy that. Grandma had done an excellent job of raising me but, aside from having me cut out doughnuts with a cup and poking holes in them with my fingers before she fried them, Grandma had done little to teach me to cook.
“Can’t have everyone feeling sorry for me,” I muttered.
“What was that?” Mrs. Costello asked, her eyebrows raising as she smiled. She had two bags in her hands and was juggling for her keys.
“Here, let me help you,” I said, sprinting to take one of the bags.
“Thank you, dear. And how are you doing? Any new paintings?”
I blushed, remembering how she’d seen my brushes and paint lying out on the kitchen table the last time she’d come over with some food.
> I didn’t share my paintings with anyone besides Frank. They dissolved into chicken scratchings before my eyes when I thought of someone else seeing them. It was too embarrassing.
“Yes, I’ve got one I’m working on,” I mumbled.
She unlocked the door and opened it. “And what’s this one of?”
“Not sure yet. I think the Appalachian Mountain range.”
“Oh, that sounds beautiful. I think we should swap one day, hmm? A dinner for a painting? You know how I’d love one.”
Give her one of my art pieces? Oh no, no no no, this was the worst possible scenario. How do I get out of it? “Maybe if I ever finish,” I answered lamely, shifting the bag in my arm.
“Well, you have yourself a good rest of your day,” she said. I handed back her bag and waved, then ran down the stairs like I was being chased by a bear.
So much for my spurt of confidence.
“Okay, take two,” I whispered to myself as I pulled into the bed and breakfast. Confidence back, chest out, smile on. I’ve got this.
I threw open the car door and started to jump out when the door sprang back on its hinges, catching me in the shin. All life disappeared into a red smudge of pain. I grabbed my leg and squinched my face to cut off the foul language that wanted to pour out like lava.
“Young lady, are you okay?” Mr. Carrol’s voice was filled with concern.
It was a moment before I could even give the barest nod in return to him.
“Looks like your hinges have sprung. Might need someone to look at that,” he said.
I nodded again and hobbled toward the manor’s entrance where I met Mrs. Carrol coming out, along with the younger Mr. and Mrs. Stern. Cecelia had kindly offered me the use of her station wagon. Soon I had both couples in the car, with Mrs. Carrol next to me.
“So, where are we going again?” Mr. Carrol boomed in my ear from behind my seat.
“Philadelphia. It’s a little over an hour from here.” I hedged. “Maybe an hour-and-half. But I have a great spot we’re stopping at for lunch.”