I went to the bar.
I told myself that it was just to get one drink for happy hour, and that I’d be out of there by seven or eight. Nine at the latest.
But that didn’t happen. People come to the bar in waves, and I caught the happy hour crowd when I showed up. They petered out, and I nursed my beer, figuring I’d leave after I finished it up. But then the later crowd started showing up, and I got sucked into conversations, and before I knew it, it was ten, and I was buying another drink.
I kept looking at the clock, telling myself that I needed to get out of there, to get to sleep early.
But once it was past midnight, I just gave up.
I ended up getting into this weird debate with some kid who was a senior at Keene. We were talking about climate change, and he had obviously been smoking way too much pot and reading all kinds of conspiracy theories, and I kept trying to tell him this, but he was adamant. He invited me back to his place, admitting that he thought older women were “hot.” I told him I thought the same thing about younger men.
We had sex on his couch, but before we did it, he went down on me for ages, which was pleasant and unexpected. He had a very talented tongue, and he brought to me to this crashing, exquisite orgasm before he pulled me on top of him and slipped inside me. I was still clenching around his hard, young cock as I rode him.
It was bliss.
And by that time, it was after three in the morning. He wanted me to stay, but I said that I had to work in the morning, and he didn’t argue.
I left his apartment and stumbled home to my own place. There was Chinese takeout in the refrigerator. I ate it cold, chasing it with a big bottle of water before crawling into bed and falling instantly asleep.
The next morning, my alarm went off at eight, because I’d thought that I’d just get up early anyway and go to Renmawr. But that was ridiculous thinking. There was no way I was getting out of bed.
I didn’t get up until eleven.
And then I felt guilty. I knew that I didn’t have time to get ready and get to Renmawr before the morning shift was over at the restaurant where Madison used to work. So, I went into town, and I got my latte and my egg white omelet and toast, which they always made special for me at the Sunshine Skillet restaurant in town. Then, almost as a penance to make up for my sins, I went back on campus and spent an hour and a half futilely showing Madison’s picture around and asking about this friend of hers that Mr. Webb had described.
I got nowhere, though. A couple people said that they thought they recognized Madison, and that they might have seen her with a girl with dark hair, but they didn’t know who either of them were.
Most people, however, had no idea who she was. It was a bust.
Still, I felt like I’d at least attempted to do something productive, and I drove to Renmawr feeling a little bit less guilty.
* * *
I happened to run into Kitty Richards coming out of the front door of my office building, just as I was going in. Kitty was a heavy-set woman who dyed her hair an unnatural strawberry blond and curled and sprayed it in place around her head like a helmet. She wore very red lipstick, and she usually had some of it on her teeth. She always seemed out of breath whenever I talked to her. But then, she was always angry whenever I talked to her, and maybe the exertion of the emotion was too much for her corpulent frame.
I tried to ignore her, because exchanges with Kitty never went well, but she was having none of that.
“Ivy Stern,” she said when she saw me.
I looked up and tried to smile. I’m fairly sure all I really managed was a grimace. “Kitty.”
“You were in my apartment again.” She stopped right in the doorway of the building, putting her hands on her hips. She took up the entire space, effectively blocking my path.
I tried to squeeze past her, but there wasn’t any room. “I don’t know why you’d say that.”
“Because I know Fluffy didn’t let herself out of the bathroom.”
My face twitched. Man, I did not want to get into this with her right now. And Fluffy? Seriously? That was her name for that poor dog? No wonder he whined all the time. She, I amended. Kitty had referred to the dog with a feminine pronoun. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You have no right to go into my home,” she said. “I’ll have you know that I won’t be keeping a spare key outside the apartment anymore. You won’t be able to get in.”
“Really, Kitty, I wish I could help you, but I just haven’t the foggiest—”
“Don’t play dumb, Ivy.” She screwed up her face. “I know it was you.”
I stared at my shoes.
“You have no right to interfere. Fluffy knows that when she makes a mess of things, then she’ll have a punishment, and that means being locked in the bathroom for a day.”
“What?” I said. “That’s not how you punish dogs.” Damn it. I needed to keep my mouth shut.
She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t think it’s any of your business—”
“No way is the dog making the connection between whatever it did the day before and being locked in the bathroom. She doesn’t know why it’s happening. You’re just torturing that poor thing.”
She drew herself up. “I love Fluffy.”
“Then don’t keep her shut up in that apartment all the time. She can’t be happy up there. It’s like a museum or something.”
Kitty narrowed her eyes. “So, you have been in my apartment.”
I sighed. “Look, Kitty, when your dog is locked in that bathroom, she barks all day long, and it’s loud, and it drives me nuts. I’m trying to do business here, you get that? This is my livelihood. So if I hear that dog barking, I’m going to do something about it.”
“If you continue to enter my property, I will press charges.”
My nostrils flared. I was getting really angry now, and I was starting to shake. I ran full force at the doorway. If I ran smack into Kitty, so be it.
But at the last minute, she moved out of the way. “You stay out of my home!” she trilled.
I hurried down the hall toward my office, eager to get away from her.
I yanked open the door and shut myself inside.
“You’re late. I was worried about you,” said Brigit.
I turned to look at her. “Oh, sorry. I, uh, spent a couple of hours on campus at Keene. I got a little bit of a lead from Madison’s brother.”
“Oh,” she said. “Do you do that often? Just come in whenever you want?”
“Well, yeah, I guess so,” I said. “Sometimes my job does take me out of the office.”
She nodded. “That makes sense.”
I took a deep breath and started back for my desk.
“Did you run into that Pugliano guy again or something?”
I cringed. “No, and don’t bring that guy up again.”
“Well, he called,” she said. “He said you didn’t show up last night, and he wants you to call him back—”
“Seriously, I don’t want to talk to that guy.” I pointed at the ceiling. “It was the owner of the dog. She and I don’t exactly… get along.”
Brigit laughed. “Gee, I wonder why.”
I rolled my eyes and made my way to my desk.
“So what was the lead?” called Brigit after me.
I sorted through my legal pads. “Oh, just some girl that Mr. Webb says Madison hung out with. She still goes to school at Keene, so I thought maybe I could find her. He says the girl has dark hair and that she looks ‘spacey.’ He thinks she’s on drugs.”
Brigit appeared in the doorway. “It could be Cori Donovan.”
I turned to look at her. “Huh?”
“This girl. I don’t really know her, because I graduated, right, and she’s a freshman. But she’s like this drug dealer.” She paused, then her eyes widened. “I mean, I don’t get drugs from her. I don’t do that kind of thing. But I know people who, you know…” Brigit twisted her fingers together, turning red.
“It’s okay, Brigit,” I said. “I don’t care what you do with your down time.”
She laughed nervously. “Well, this Cori person has dark hair. And she sometimes does look… spacey. I mean, I think so, anyway.”
“Mr. Webb didn’t say she was a drug dealer,” I said. “But, uh, it might be worth checking out. Thanks.”
“I could maybe get someone to get in touch with her?” said Brigit. “Tell her that you want to talk to her?”
I shook my head. “Nah, I don’t want to spook her, in case she does know something. Just tell me where I can find her, okay?”
“Sure.” Brigit beamed. “See, I’m helpful, aren’t I?”
* * *
Nick’s was a pub that sold beer and wine but was also a restaurant. They sold an abbreviated menu late into the night, which meant that they could keep their doors open to underage people. It was a popular college hangout, and kids of all ages generally hung out here. I tended to steer clear of it unless I came with someone. Sure, way back when I was in school, this had been a cool place to hang out, but now I felt far too old.
It was late afternoon, but Brigit insisted that this Cori Donovan would be here. She apparently had it on good authority. I scanned the pub. It was small, only two rooms besides the kitchen. They were dimly lit and crammed with mismatched chairs and tables. Art from a local student hung on the walls—something abstract and colorful. The atmosphere was eclectic, and that was typical for this place.
It was mostly empty at this time of the afternoon. The waitress was leaning against the counter, talking to the guy behind the register.
There weren’t any customers sitting in the front room, so I went into the back. That was where the beer cooler was. A makeshift bar ran along one wall, tables on the other.
I saw a girl sitting in one corner, a glass of wine in front of her. She had dark hair.
“Cori Donovan?” I said.
She looked up at me, alarmed. “Who are you?”
I approached her table. “Funny. I was under the impression you were too young to order wine.”
She smiled a little. “Who says it’s wine? Maybe I ordered juice in a fancy glass. You a cop or something?”
Well, that was a funny thing to ask me right off, wasn’t it? Did I still exude a cop aura or something? If so, maybe Cori was observant enough to notice it. “Can I sit down?”
“You are a cop, aren’t you?”
“I’m a P.I. I’m looking into the disappearance of Madison Webb. You know her?”
Cori gestured at the seat across from her. “Haven’t seen her in a while.”
“You do know her, then?” I said.
She raised her eyebrows. “Sure. I’ve seen her around.”
“You’ve been to her house.”
“Maybe.” Cori took a sip from her glass.
“So you two are friends? Or are you her dealer?”
“Dealer?” Cori laughed. “That’s quite an accusation to be throwing around, isn’t it? Who says that I do anything like that?”
“Oh, people,” I said. “It seems to be common knowledge.”
“Or maybe it’s a vicious rumor.” Cori leaned across the table. “I just started going to Keene, you know. I have no idea why all these people want to spread lies about me.”
There was something about the way she said it. She managed to sound sincere, but with just a touch of irony. So little that I wasn’t even sure that it was there. This Cori person was a cool cucumber, especially for her age. She couldn’t have been older than nineteen.
I took out one of my legal pads, wrote on it. “So, you deny dealing drugs, then?”
“What are you writing down?”
“So, you and Madison were friends?”
“Sure.”
“To your knowledge, did Madison do drugs?”
Cori laughed again. “Why the focus on drugs, anyway? And what do you mean, she’s missing?”
“Answer the question,” I said.
She shrugged. “Maybe I don’t want to. Maybe you make me feel nervous. Maybe I’m not sure what I think about your intentions. I talked to Madison recently, and she wasn’t missing then.”
“When’d you talk to her?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was last week, maybe the week before.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Does that matter?”
“You were selling her drugs, then? Did you go to her house?”
“Seriously, I don’t see why you’re so stuck on this drug business.”
“Well, Madison’s missing, and if she had a habit, it might help me figure out where she is. Or if there was anyone she was mixed up with that might have hurt her.”
“Oh, no way.” Cori shook her head. “This isn’t that kind of town, and Madison would never mess with those kinds of drugs. Whatever she did, she was always with good people, and she would only take things that didn’t hurt her.”
“Like ecstasy? You saying ecstasy isn’t dangerous?”
“It’s not heroin.” Cori laughed a little. “And I really don’t know one way or the other. But it’s not like she owed money or something like that.”
“And you’re sure about that?”
“Pretty sure. I mean, I didn’t see her all the time.”
“Did she buy any drugs from you recently?”
“I told you. I don’t sell drugs.”
“Maybe enough to go on a crazy binge somewhere? Enough drugs to make her leave behind her phone and her purse?”
Cori furrowed her brow. “She didn’t take her phone?”
“Did you sell her anything recently?”
“Shit.” Cori’s voice was quiet. “That’s kind of scary. Do you think someone took her?”
“Did you sell her anything?”
“I told you.” Cori glared at me. “I don’t sell drugs.”
* * *
Crane was sitting at a table in the back of The Remington alone. I was just getting to the bar after work, and I was holding my usual bottle of High Life.
“Hey,” I said, sitting down with him.
He gave me a dull look. “Hey.”
Oh. This didn’t look good. Crane was in one of his moods. Damn it. And I’d sat down with him. I didn’t know how to get away from him now. I was going to have to try to talk to him for a bit, but it wasn’t really going to go well. I knew that from previous experience. “You doing okay?”
He shrugged, picking at the label on his beer. He was drinking Budweiser—another bad sign. He didn’t even care enough to get a snobby beer.
“Did something happen?” I said.
“No,” he said. “It’s just… you know, everything’s pointless.”
“True,” I said. “But there’s no point in pouting over it. Might as well enjoy yourself instead, you know?”
“I’m not pouting.”
Great. I’d been here two minutes, and I’d already managed to insult him. I took a drink of my beer.
It was quiet.
God, when Crane was like this, it was like talking to a brick wall. I cared about him, and I wanted to help him feel better, but there was no way that I could change who he was. He went through phases like this, and that was that.
He was technically bi-polar. He was medicated, but the medication didn’t really seem to help very much. Or maybe he wasn’t very good at taking it. I really wasn’t sure, and I tried not to pry. Usually, Crane was fine, but sometimes, he got manic. Manic Crane was a good bit of fun, but he usually ended up getting involved with a twenty-two-year-old when he was manic, and leaving me in the dust. These down phases of his could end up being as short as a night or as long as several months. It was difficult to tell with Crane.
I reached across the table to touch his hand. “Look, you know you can talk to me.”
He laughed bitterly. “Talking doesn’t help, Ivy. You and I both know that. The thing about people like us is that we’re broken. And we spend all our time trying to fit in the mold that this wor
ld wants to shove us in. But our jagged edges just don’t fit…”
I patted his hand. “You should write that down. It was very poetic.” Some artists were good at creating when they were depressed, but Crane wasn’t one of them. When he was down, he was drained. He didn’t do much of anything. It was as if he’d lost the will to act at all.
Once, he’d stopped going in to teach—just canceled his classes for an entire month. The crazy thing was, he didn’t even get in trouble. None of his students complained, apparently. And when he recovered, he went back to teaching right away and resumed classes.
Sometimes I wondered if not having consequences made it easier for Crane to be the way he was. I doubted it, though. He was right. He was broken, and I was broken too. We weren’t the kinds of people who’d ever be able to be normal exactly.
I took a swig of my beer. “What about your book? The one about the secret society? How’s that coming?”
“I deleted it from my hard drive,” he said. “It was a stupid idea, anyway.”
I should have seen that coming.
“Inspiration is so fleeting.” He shook his head. “It leaves me before I even get a chance to write anything.”
“You really shouldn’t delete these things from your hard drive. When you’re feeling better, you might reread them and realize they aren’t so bad after all.”
He gave me a tight smile. “You don’t understand, Ivy. When I’m ‘feeling better’ as you put it, I’m laboring under a delusion about the universe. I think that it makes sense to feel good. I go absolutely crazy. You’ve seen the things I’ve done. Remember when I drove to California on a Wednesday?”
“Well, you didn’t make it to California until Sunday.”
“That was me being insane,” he said. “This is me in my right mind. In my insanity, sometimes, I think I have talent. I think that I can write well, and that people out there might want to love me. I delude myself, Ivy. And then reality sets back in. And I realize what I am. I’m nothing. I’m a pathetic, aging college professor who will never get married or have a family. I spend my nights getting drunk and I spend my days babbling at post-adolescents who tune me out and don’t bother doing the reading I assign.”
Skin and Blond (Blond Noir Mysteries Book 1) Page 8