An Uncollected Death
Page 34
closing-up noises, and Charlotte packed up her computer and left, feeling conspicuous in her grubby, paint-stained clothes, even next to the students. The sky was dark now, the waxing moon in and out of clouds, the air chilly and a bit damp. She had just enough energy left to drive back to Lake Parkerton and zap the last convenience dinner in the freezer. As she unlocked the Jeep, she looked up at the windows of the apartment, and once again had the sense of being watched, of a suggestion of movement. Great. The place was haunted, just what she needed. She shook her head at her own silliness.
The Jeep cranked, but wouldn’t start up. She tried again. No go. Again. Still no go.
Several hundred dollars on a repair job not even a week ago, and it was in worse shape than ever?
She tried one more time, to no avail, and pounded and pounded the steering wheel, cursing the Jeep, the repair shop, the economy, her luck, everything, and broke down in tears. It was too much.
She shivered. Her stomach growled. It was going to be too cold to sleep in the Jeep, too cold to sleep in the apartment. Helene was still in Chicago, and Diane was out of town. Lola was working day and night, and even if she wasn’t, Charlotte was bothered by the fact that Lola had foisted Bosley Warren on her. Simon had a faculty gathering, Jimmy a house guest.
Then she thought of Olivia’s house. She had the key. Nobody was there, and she could at least sleep on the sofa. Barnes warned her about working there alone, but nobody would know she was even there, right?
Charlotte wiped the tears off her face, then crossed the street and started walking to Olivia’s. She would check to make sure Donovan—or Mitchell—wasn’t around, then get inside and find a blanket. If she could just get some sleep, maybe somebody could give her a ride back to Lake Parkerton tomorrow, or at least figure out what to do about the damned Jeep. She walked with her head down and her arms crossed, trying to stay warm, but feeling defeated, as well. Tomorrow was supposed to be moving day, and if the Jeep was out of commission again, she didn’t know how it could come about, or even when it could come about at all, at least until after the sale, which wouldn’t be until the following week.
She was so lost in her own gloom that she actually walked right into Simon and scared herself half to death.
“Hey, Charlotte, it’s me,” he said, and reached out to hold her flailing arms. “What happened?”
Her nerves were shot, but she managed to collect herself and tell him what happened with the Jeep, and her intent to stay at Olivia’s house for the night.
She looked up at him. “But what are you doing here? I thought you had a faculty thing or something.”
He pointed to the camera slung from his shoulder. “Night shots. Stayed at the party as long as I could stand it, then decided to do something better with my time. There’s always something interesting in the light and shadows.” He pulled the camera up and aimed it at her. “Like you, for inst—”
“No!” she hissed, putting her hands up to hide her face, and she started stomping off. What an ass, she thought.
“Hey, I’m sorry, I was just teasing. I wouldn’t actually take a picture of a girl when she’s down.” He caught up and kept walking with her.
“I just wanna get inside and get some sleep. I’ve been working since six this morning, and I’m so pissed off about my truck not running again, and I really can’t spare the money to fix it, and without it I can’t move, and I’ve just had it, you know?”
“Charlotte, I had no idea. Many apologies.”
He truly looked contrite, and she nodded in acceptance. By this time they were approaching Olivia’s house, and Simon suddenly stopped her. He spoke quietly. “Somebody’s in there.”
She, too, could see a soft light in one of the windows, and the shadows cast by movement. Donovan’s car was parked out front, and another one was in the driveway.
“He’s not supposed to be there,” she whispered.
“Let’s get closer, behind the hedge,” said Simon, and they moved quietly in the shadows to a hidden vantage point.
He worked the lens of his camera. “Wish I had my longest lens, but this is better than nothing.”
“Can you see anything?” Charlotte shivered. It was damp close to the ground like this.
“It’s Donovan, and I think two other guys, one big and the other shorter, maybe that Mitchell fellow.”
“The big guy—could it be Bosley Warren?”
“Possibly.” He noticed her shivering. “I wish I’d bothered with a jacket, too, you’re getting chilled.” He put his arm around her shoulder, and they sat there for a while, watching the house.
Charlotte took in his warmth, the texture of his sweater, the scent of the soap or shampoo he used, the scent of the damp earth, the clear air with leaves just beginning to turn, the dark sky lit by a waxing moon, the crickets and other night insects, the occasional car going by, and gradually, very gradually, relaxed. The movements behind the curtained windows at Olivia’s house were just a blur.
“Charlotte?” whispered Simon, giving her a little shake, but not removing his arm from around her shoulders.
“Hm?” She smiled up at him.
“You poor girl. You’re so tired you’re falling asleep. C’mon.” He helped her up, slung her bag over his shoulder, and they began walking toward the condos at the end of the block. “You’re not going to be able to stay at Olivia’s with all that going on. I’ve got a sofa.”
Charlotte’s legs and feet were aching, but she carried on, or rather she was half-carried along by Simon. She started to protest, feeling self-conscious and grubby, but he was having none of it.
“If I didn’t offer you a place to crash, just imagine what Helene would do to me.” He unlocked the door.
Even tired as she was, the idea made her chuckle. “I suppose you’ve got a point.” She followed him up the stairs.
Charlotte wasn’t sure what to expect in Simon’s condo. Would it be a man cave, all TV and sound systems, with beer cans and smelly socks laying amid pizza boxes? Or would it be an artist’s abode, with cameras, prints, lights, shelves of lenses and cases?
It was neither. It was nice, actually, she thought, if a bit conservative, then remembered it was a furnished unit provided by the university for visiting faculty, with standard furniture groupings, neutral colors and fabrics, carpeting, drapes, etc. The only difference was the artwork, which was not the usual safe framed prints selected by committee, but an assortment of paintings, photos, carvings, and digital prints, some of which were familiar.
Simon noticed her studying a Tibetan mask. “Yes, it’s Helene’s. She let me borrow a few things she wasn’t using. I put the university’s visual muzak in a closet.” He gestured across the living room. “Welcome to my abode.”
“It’s nice. But I’m afraid to sit down. Look at me.” She pulled at her grubby shirttail.
“How about a nice hot shower? I’ve got a track suit you can borrow, it’ll be a little big, but still—.” He disappeared into the bedroom.
“I’d be so grateful.” She really was, and felt tears welling up. Fatigue was giving her the emotions of a teenager. She tried to tell herself to snap out of it, of course, but instead she accepted the stack of towels, track suit, and a pair of thick socks that he held out to her and pressed them to her face. “I’m glad you found me. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d gone to Olivia’s and then found out I couldn’t even go in there.”
“I’m glad you weren’t already there by yourself when they showed up. Go. Shower.” He nudged her in the direction of the bathroom. “Shampoo and all that is in there.”
The whole thing felt a little surreal, stripping out of her clothes in an unfamiliar bathroom, being rescued by Simon, being back in Elm Grove after a decade of living in Lake Parkerton, doing more physical work in the past week than she had since she was in her 30’s. The hot water helped to ground her. Simon’s shampoo, with its hint of cedar, helped to clear some of the smell of paint that tended to linger in one’s sinuses.
She sat on a stool at the breakfast bar, and waited for him to finish prepping, but he gestured encouragement.
“Go ahead and eat. You must be starving. Soup’s almost hot. Hope you like tomato.”
“I do,” she nodded, and took a big bite out of the sandwich. Stacks of salami, ham, and cheese on a hoagie roll, chewy and heavenly. She didn’t worry about looking like a pig. The man was seeing her at her worst, and any likelihood of appearing attractive was long since gone. “So good,” she mumbled with her teeth closed, in the middle of chewing.
Simon grinned. He didn’t grin very often, thought Charlotte, but when he did she could see something of what he must have looked like as a kid.
He put the mug of soup and a spoon in front of her. “Pepper?” he asked, holding a grinder over the mug.
She nodded. “Lots.” Took another big bite of sandwich. As the minutes ticked by, she started to feel more human. They ate companionably. He dripped mustard on his sleeve, she helped him daub it off. He asked about the problem with the Jeep, and she described it the best she could. She wondered about Donovan at Olivia’s house, and who else was there with him, but was too tired to pursue it.
By the time she’d finished the sandwich and soup, she was getting sleepy again. She felt her