by Chris Seaton
“Change the venue to the state capitol and the people to the justice department, and I've lived that story.” He finished the contents of his glass and poured himself another. He held up the bottle for her, but she declined.
“Too bad your ex-wife and my ex-fiancé couldn't have crossed paths. We might have started this little fling of ours a bit sooner.” Bernice lowered her eyelids coyly and ran her finger with deliberate intention around the rim of her wine glass.
Agent Wyatt smiled and rolled his eyes. “I don't remember flirtation being on the list of demands,” he reminded her.
“Oh, I'm throwing that in for free.”
Bernice's trepidation about the date soon gave way to morbid curiosity as she finally got to hear about Agent Wyatt's former married life.
He took great pleasure in ordering for her, and she grudgingly admitted to herself that he didn't do too badly of a job. The braised venison loin was tender and juicy, and the baby red potatoes with butter and chives presented a creamy texture in her mouth.
She found it funny that he chose to go with the crusted sea bass and told him so. “Apparently, Cameron's cooking is working its magic on you?”
He looked up from his plate with a mouth full of fish and smiled through his chewing. “If I ever actually get to eat any of his meals. Must be nice to have a built-in chef.”
“Oh, he's a new addition.” Bernice cut like a surgeon, breaking up the portions on her plate for efficient consumption. “Cameron is actually an old friend of ours from Minneapolis. He and Darlene got reacquainted after Herb's...um...remains were found.”
“Is he a reporter?” She sensed some tension in the question.
She waved it off. “He's a camera man from my old affiliate. But his only motivation for sticking around is provided by my aunt, not Herb.”
Agent Wyatt raised his eyebrows and nodded. “So that's what's goin' on.”
Bernice rolled her eyes. “Yes, they are in Luuuv.” She popped a chunk of potato into her mouth and mumbled, “Poor schmucks,” as she masticated.
There was a void of silence that should have been filled in with a confirmed response. Bernice looked up and didn't like the way Agent Wyatt's features had hardened as he concentrated on his entree. It gave her a guilty feeling.
“Did I say something wrong?” she asked softly.
He glanced up for just a second. “I didn't realize you were so jaded.”
“Huh,” was her slightly stunned response. “Well, no offense, but after what you went through, I'm surprised you're not more jaded.”
Agent Wyatt smirked a little. It was a relief. “Yeah, she ran me through the ringer all right.” He pushed the rice pilaf around his plate, reflecting but not sharing.
Bernice had already started her assembly line of potato, meat, and gravy. She ate without interruption for a while, waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn't, she had to prompt, “So where'd you meet her?”
He examined his wine as he spoke. “College,” was the short answer. He took a sip and continued. “I was double-majoring in Criminology and Pre-law. She was majoring Elementary Education.”
“Uh oh,” Bernice shook her head and chuckled.
“What's the joke?”
“It's nothing.” But she could see he wasn't buying it. “It's just that my friends and I always made fun of the El-ed majors. We called them 'husband hunters.'” She watched his eyes widen and quickly apologized. “I'm sorry. We were just smart ass college kids. I know that was mean.”
Agent Wyatt chuckled this time. “Mean but accurate,” he replied. “We were engaged six months after we met.”
Bernice held her fork in suspension at the admission. “Wow,” was her only response.
“I convinced her to wait until we graduated. Her parents pulled out all the stops. It was quite the grand affair.” He pulled apart the flakes of fish with his fork, scraping his plate slightly.
Bernice rearranged her potatoes again. “And a little pretentious?” she added softly.
Agent Wyatt picked a spot out the window behind Bernice to fixate on. “Lexi liked to have nice things. When she found out I was joining the police academy instead of going to law school, she let me know she was less than thrilled with my decision.”
Bernice poured herself another glass of wine, wondering if this was the right can of worms to open on a date. Then she reminded herself that he owed her this particular story. “So Lexi wanted to marry a lawyer?”
Agent Wyatt looked at her point blank. “Lexi wanted to marry money, and when she knew I was determined to be a cop, she made damn sure I was a very well paid one.” He turned his attention back to the window. “You should have seen her work a room. It didn't matter if it was a barbeque at a second tier sergeant's house or a dinner with the governor. She always made sure everyone knew that we were the people to pay attention to.”
Bernice watched him over her wine glass. The recollection lent an air of fragility to his features. She found it a little unnerving to witness. “When did the cheating start?”
Deciding more wine was required, he drained the bottle. “Right after I got this job. Lexi was thrilled with the promotion, but by then I had learned it wouldn't be long before she would ask me what was next. So I would volunteer for extra field work to avoid the inevitable arguments at home.” He studied his glass. “Eventually she stopped complaining, and eventually I figured out why.”
It was a sad story. Bernice put her hand on his in genuine empathy. “I'm very sorry that happened to you.”
He captured the hand, holding it and her attention with a very meaningful gaze. “I haven't given up yet.”
His expression warmed her heart in a way she hadn't experienced in a long time. She was about to say as much, when she looked past his shoulder and made a face like she had inadvertently stepped into a fresh cow pie. Bernice yanked out her hand from his grasp and hid behind her napkin.
Agent Wyatt gaped at her abrupt change in demeanor with confusion. It was explained by a hand clamping down on his shoulder and a voice booming above his head.
“Why, Agent Wyatt, as I live and breathe.” Judge Conner greeted him like a long lost son. “If this is how you investigate murders, I want my tax money back.” He guffawed quite obnoxiously at his own joke.
For his less than impressive five foot-six inch stature, the Honorable Judge Bert Conners held himself like a man of authority. Presenting his prosperity in the protruding pot belly that preceded him, Bernice got the impression that the heart healthy breakfasts were out of necessity rather than choice. Knowing all too well how he manipulated the system, she didn't feel one bit bad about his health. Put him in a white suit with a southern accent, and he would have been right at home in a certain fictitious county in Georgia.
Nevertheless, Agent Wyatt stood up from his chair to pay his proper respects, shaking the judge's hand. “Just taking in a meal, Your Honor. First thing in the morning, it's back to work.” He turned quickly to gesture to Bernice. “May I present my date, Bernice Hordstrom?”
The judge quizzically stared at her, causing her to straighten in her chair as she politely smiled back at him. “It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir,” she responded a little too brightly.
“Yes, well,” his gaze dropped to her chest as he continued, “you're a very accommodating woman to drive all the way up here from Madison and keep your man company.” He grinned at his own joke. “Let me guess. You're a paralegal. Am I right?”
Bernice's veins chilled. She let her napkin droop to shield her cleavage. “I'm a farmer, Your Honor,” she corrected him succinctly.
“Really?” His eager grin deteriorated, giving away his lack of impression for her chosen profession. Bernice didn't appreciate it.
“As a matter of fact, I own the farm you wrote the search warrant out for the other day.” Her smile took on a feline form. “Take that,” she thought.
The judge stood flabbergasted for a moment then he turned to Agent Wyatt. “My wife Eunice h
as a niece working at the U. We told her to give you a call sometime.” After one more looky-loo and nod at Bernice, the Judge left their table.
Bernice bent her head to hide her embarrassment. “Well, that went well,” she told her lap.
The disgruntled waiter reluctantly returned and asked if they wanted desert. His lack of fan fare made it evident that he was not looking forward to the scrutiny of yet another menu.
“No thank you, just the check, please.” Agent Wyatt's crisp response was saddening.
Bernice looked past him as he went to retrieve his credit card and tried to remain unaffected by the sudden end to their evening. “I guess I could've come up with something better for your sake, I suppose,” She tried to salvage what was left of her pride. “I could have said I was a flight attendant,” His face was still unreadable as he drained his wine glass. “Or a pharmaceutical rep, I've heard they're hot.”
He showed no reaction to either of her suggestions as he rose, accepted his card back from the waiter and filled out the receipt. He looked out the window past her head. “You ready?”
Bernice rose with as much dignity as she could muster. “Yah, let's get going then.” She briskly walked past him toward the exit.
She was already most of the way to the car when she heard the locks being released. She wasted no time letting herself in. She fussed with straightening out her clothes as Agent Wyatt joined her and started the engine.
He turned to her, asking, “Are you okay?”
She swiveled her head toward him in a jerky motion with a polite smile plastered on her face. “Yes, of course, I'm fine.” She draped herself protectively in the shawl, tightening her knees and looking out her window.
Agent Wyatt assessed her painfully stiff posture with concern but made no further comment. He simply pulled out of the parking space.
Bernice held her breath. She knew the only two motels in the area were both to the south of the country club. That meant a left hand turn.
He turned right. They were going north. The farm was north. It was 9:30. Bernice didn't feel like meeting her reflection in the window anymore. She wasn't very happy with it at the moment. She knew her behavior with the judge was inexcusable, no matter how much of an ass he was. Besides, he simply pointed out the obvious. They were an odd couple. Maybe that glaring truth was enough to cause Agent Wyatt to want to end things sooner rather than later, like tearing off a band-aid. Either way, it had to be done.
“Well, the food was really good,” Bernice conceded, “and the place was beautiful.”
“Yep,” was his pert reply. He was all about talking to the steering wheel again.
Bernice sighed to her lap softly. “You got a really big day tomorrow, going over all that stuff from the storage unit, ha?”
“Yep,” he repeated again.
Bernice looked out ahead of her. “You can cry when you get home,” she told herself. “Yeah, I got a lot of chores waiting for me in the morning.” She chuckled with forced self-deprecation. “You know, I can pretend all I want that I have these other glamorous careers, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm just a farmer.” She wrapped the edges of the shawl around her fingers, pulling until the tips turned purple before releasing them and repeating the process.
“Still got to milk goats and feed chickens and collect produce for the next farmers market.” She laughed again, not daring to look up at her date. “And with my stupid stunt this afternoon, I'm behind in the getting the berry bushes netted. Don't think for one second that Darlene's going to let me use being trapped in a storage shed as a proper excuse either.” Her heart felt like it had suddenly gained ten pounds and was bearing down on her full gut, giving her a stomach ache. She chose to absorb the pain the rest of the way home in silence.
Bernice felt the car turn suddenly to the left. When she looked up, she noticed they were traveling uphill on a paved road surrounded by trees in total darkness. In her self-induced malaise, she missed sighting any markers that told her where they were going. She looked at Agent Wyatt with complete confusion.
That's when she spied the smirk on his face.
“Where are we going?”
“You'll find out.”
They finally crested the steep hill and came upon an open parking area in the woods.
Agent Wyatt turned off the engine and unclasped his seat belt. He turned to Bernice and gave her shawl-encased form a once over, landing on her clearly confused face. “So,” he asked in a straight forward manner, “who's going to continue the evening with me: the private eye, the flight attendant, or that hot pharmaceutical rep I've heard so much about?”
Bernice grimaced with bewilderment. “Who do you want to be with?”
Agent Wyatt let out a breath of exasperation. “Well, I was hoping to spend the evening with Bernice. But if she's just too damn busy feeding the world, then I guess I'll take what I can get.”
It looked like they had arrived at an unassuming county park. Dotted around them were various wooden signs with symbols of hikers and names of trails leading into the woods.
Bernice looked down at her girly heels as she exited the car. “Ankles, don't fail me now,” she mentally chanted.
Agent Wyatt took her hand and brought her to an opening that was not marked. He produced a flashlight and lit up a small rutty trail leading out in front of them. He gathered her to him, placing his hand possessively on her hip and used the close proximity to huskily instruct her ear, “Slow and steady now.” His lower lip caught her earlobe before he pulled his head away to navigate their passage.
Bernice was feeling rather disoriented with the swift change in mood. She fought it in order to keep her feet firmly planted with each careful step they took. Her ears were accosted with all the noises of the dark. Mosquitoes flitted about her with their foreboding, high pitched buzzes. Bernice quickened her pace slightly to minimize their damage. Agent Wyatt produced a throaty chuckle and met her speed.
After meandering around a few boulders that were typical to the area, they walked up a shallow bank. Ahead, Bernice saw shafts of light working through the trunks of the trees then noticed the vertical line of a roof. The noises around her started to change as well. A consistent hiss of rushing water slowly seeped into the background, accompanied by something with more of a balanced rhythm. She could barely make out a melody.
“Do I hear music up ahead?” Her question was abruptly answered by being pulled back into Agent Wyatt's arms until they were nose to nose.
“Shhh, almost there,” he whispered and placed a small peck of a kiss on the tip of her nose. He pulled her forward.
Bernice frowned at his silliness. “Fine,” she whispered back.
They finally cleared the brush, and she sucked in her breath. It was a secret cabin hidden away in the wilderness. The low long structure looked like it had been hand hewed by lumberjacks eons ago with virgin timber. The windows facing them were small and multi-paned with working shutters on either side.
Agent Wyatt led her up a set of thick wooden steps and dug into his pants pockets to fish out a key. He shoved open the heavy door and gestured to Bernice to enter.
The entire interior was lit with what looked like a dozen different oil lamps that were perched on rugged tables and shelves. There was an imposing stone hearth on one wall with two cushioned Adirondack chairs in front of it. A set of open shelves piled with a mix of kitchenware lined the other wall above a wrap-around slabwood counter. To top it off, a large fluffy bed with a headboard formed from the cross-section of an enormous stump sat directly across from the entrance flanked by two very old French doors.
The music was coming from somewhere in the kitchen area. Bernice followed the sound to an Ipod parked in a small speaker terminal that was set on top of a cooler. Some romantic crooner was belting out the classics.
She heard Agent Wyatt close the door and could feel his steady gaze burning a hole in her back. “What's in the cooler?” she asked with caution in her voice. “I hope that's n
ot work in there.”
“It's dessert,” he answered lightly. “There's no electricity out here for a fridge so I had to improvise.”
She twisted her head from left to right. “I don't see anything resembling a sink either.” She turned to him with a questioning gaze. “No plumbing?”
He smiled at her concern. “There's a porta-potty in the closet around the corner.” He approached her. “No outhouse for my date, no Sirree, Bob. For you, it's first class all the way.” Agent Wyatt gathered into his arms. Scanning her features, he inquired, “Any other probing questions, Ms. Hordstrom?” She looked past him toward the bed. He moved a lock of her hair and kissed her neck lightly. “Are you looking at the bed?”
“Actually, I'm looking at the French doors,” Bernice corrected him. She extracted herself from the embrace and swiftly approached them. “Where do they go?” Before waiting for an answer, she turned an old iron latch and walked out.
“Hey you, get back here!” he yelled out to her.
Bernice found herself on a screened-in porch, but instead of the trees she was expecting outside the windows, there was only blackness. The hiss of water she had heard earlier was replaced with a torrent that was running somewhere under her feet. She could feel its mist coming through the screens and landing on her bare arms.
“You really don't ever look before you leap, do you?” Agent Wyatt leaned against the door jam, watching her. The amusement in his tone belied his mild scolding.
She just stared at him in complete awe, speaking up over the water, “Where did you find this place?” She spun around, lifting her face to the mist. “We must be right over the rapids of the river.” Her elation was immediately replaced with sheer fright. The point of her stiletto managed to find a knot hole in the floorboards under her feet. Bernice squeaked in terror as her legs twisted and threw her off balance.
Agent Wyatt hesitated for only a moment before diving out to save her, but the momentum had already begun, and he was caught up in the quick lesson of gravity with Bernice. They awkwardly clung to each other in a mess of limbs and joints and descended to their inevitable fate in a clumsy heap on the floor. The “umphs” and “ouches" that followed were quickly replaced by uncontrollable snorting and giggling.