“You’re not pathetic,” I said.
He sighed. “Don’t try to make me feel better. You know I’m pathetic. You know that what I’m saying right now is the truth.”
“Crane…” I dragged my hand over my face. “Of course it feels true. When people are depressed, they always think the worst things are true. But just because it feels true—”
“It is true.”
“No,” I said.
“I’m not going to argue with you,” he said.
That was the hell of it. Anything that I said to try to make him feel better came out confrontational. I had to challenge his ideas, because they were making him feel sad, and every time I challenged one, he saw it as my arguing with him.
I should know better, anyway. I couldn’t argue Crane into a better mood. His issues went far too deep for that.
I drank more of my beer, surveying him.
He peeled at the label of his own bottle.
“Um, Crane…” I didn’t usually ask these kinds of questions of him. “Are you still, you know, taking your meds?”
He glared at me, nostrils flaring.
I winced. “Sorry.”
“If they had meds that would keep you from spreading your legs for every guy in town, would you take them, Ivy?”
Okay, that was hitting below the belt. I stood up. “Look, if you don’t want to talk—”
“I don’t. I didn’t ask you to sit down.”
“Well, pardon me for wanting to check on you.”
“Whatever.” He upended his beer into his mouth, finishing it. He slammed it down on the table and got up too.
“I’m going to leave you alone for a bit,” I said.
“Look, I didn’t mean…” He clenched his hands into fists. “I’m not exactly great company tonight. I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I understand. It’s not a big deal.”
* * *
And most nights, it wouldn’t have been a big deal. I knew to steer clear of Crane when he was in his moods, and I didn’t have any problem leaving him alone.
But that night, the bar just seemed emptier than usual. Most of the time, I could run into someone that I knew or I could strike up a conversation with someone I’d just met. But that night, there weren’t very many people to talk to. Under other circumstances, I might have just said screw it and gone home, but the stuff that Crane had been saying had kind of gotten to me.
I wasn’t chronically depressed like he was, but I wasn’t exactly a cheery person, either. I knew that my life was shit, and I knew I was going a hell of a lot of nowhere. I dealt with that knowledge by refusing to think about it, which is what I think most people do. No one is entirely satisfied with his or her life. Most people had big dreams when they were younger—to be professional sports players, to be famous, to be rich—and most people didn’t actually achieve those goals. So, for most people on earth, the life they lived was a second-best life, a consolation prize, the thing we’d eventually settled for.
And the way people dealt with that disappointment was to tell themselves that the thing they wanted was actually unrealistic, and that they wouldn’t have ever gotten it anyway. And then to focus their attention elsewhere. There was no point in dwelling on the things you didn’t get. It was better to focus on reality—the way things actually were.
That was what I did most of the time. Still, Crane was right that things were fucked up, and that we were both pathetic.
I didn’t have anything real anymore.
All I had were compulsive vices—addictions.
And I didn’t like thinking that way. There was only one thing that I could think of that would allow me to completely turn off my brain. I could shut all these awful thoughts out.
If I could just get laid.
And there was no one in the bar who was going to cooperate, I could see that now.
So, I got trashed. I ran into Mia, the owner of a little barbecue place in town. She and I slung back drinks and complained about men. I even let her talk me into doing shots—girly shots like Red-Headed Sluts, the kind of shots that taste like Kool-Aid.
The upshot of this was that we were both wasted. We were giggling, gripping the bar to stay upright, generally having a great time.
The bartender leaned over to tell us that he was going to be closing up soon. He wanted to make sure that neither of us were driving. But both of us lived within walking distance. He gave us a warning to be careful out there. Even walking, at the level we were at, we were in danger of getting slapped with a public intoxication charge.
And it was at that point that Colin Pugliano sauntered into the bar. He wasn’t alone. He was with another guy, some guy that looked vaguely familiar to me, but I couldn’t place it.
“We’re closing up soon,” said the bartender.
“Just one drink?” said Colin.
“Yeah, just one,” the bartender agreed.
I pushed away from the bar, struggling to remain upright. I pointed at Colin. “You!” I yelled. “What are you doing here?” My speech was slurred.
He turned to me, and when he recognized me, his eyes widened.
“You don’t even live in Keene,” I said. “You live in Renmawr. Why would you come to this bar?”
“You stood me up,” said Colin.
“Yeah, because I don’t want to have a relationship with you or something. We had sex, but you act like it meant that we’re soul mates. It was just sex, for God’s sakes.”
He furrowed his brow. “You’re very drunk.”
I giggled. “Yup.”
“You ordering a drink or not?” said the bartender.
“Oh.” Colin turned back to the bar.
“I got it,” said his friend, who was smirking at me. “You want me to buy her a drink too?”
“Oooh,” I said. “Please do.”
“You’ve had enough, Ivy,” said the bartender.
I snorted. “I’m fine. I can keep drinking for… hours.”
“What do you want?” said Colin’s friend.
“Whatever you’re drinking,” I said.
Colin’s friend turned to the bartender. “Three shots of Jagermeister.” He pointed at Mia. “Oh, make it four. Give her one too.”
Mia shook her head. “That’s okay. I’m going home.” She touched me on the shoulder. “You want to come with me?”
“No, I’m cool,” I said.
She shrugged and made her way out.
The bartender poured the shots. He gave me a look, a kind of pitying look that I didn’t really care for.
I glared at him, picked up the shot, and swallowed the licorice-flavored liquor down.
Almost immediately, I stumbled.
Colin caught me. “You okay?”
“I would have sex with you again,” I told him, pointing in his face. “But not if you think it’s like… a commitment or something. Because it’s not.”
Colin’s friend was laughing. “Who is that chick, man?”
“She’s the private investigator I hired to track Rhonda,” said Colin.
“Damned right I am,” I said.
And that was the last thing I remembered.
CHAPTER SIX
Blacking out is such a twenty-one-year-old thing to do. I wish I could say I rarely blacked out, but the truth was that I probably got that drunk about once every three or four months. I never meant to do it, but sometimes, I just got carried away. The funny thing was that when I was actually twenty-one, I never blacked out. Back then, I’d just throw up. As far as which one was more embarrassing, it was kind of a toss up. The nice thing about being blacked out was that I really couldn’t remember what I did.
That was scary, too, but overall, it was better. I didn’t like remembering the things I did. Hell, some days, I didn’t even really like being me. I wished I could go to some office somewhere and tell them that they’d made a mistake and matched me up with the wrong personality. What kind of person feels massive amounts of guilt
and also can’t stop herself from doing the things that make her feel guilty? Even seems to enjoy those things, in fact?
That didn’t make any sense. If I was going to have such hedonistic appetites, why couldn’t I embrace them instead of feeling out of control and ashamed?
Whatever.
I woke up the next morning in a strange bed with a pounding head.
I had no idea where the hell I was.
The last thing I remembered was being at the bar and taking the shot. But clearly things had happened after that.
I wasn’t wearing clothes, so those things had probably involved sexual intercourse.
I sat up in the bed. I was in a nondescript room. It had cream colored walls and matching carpet. There were some framed pictures on the walls of still lifes.
Was I in a hotel?
No, it was a regular bedroom. But I had a sneaking suspicion that I was in one of those cookie-cutter houses that they build in those housing developments. Those houses are all perfectly functional, but they have no soul. This felt like one of those rooms.
So, where the hell was I?
There weren’t any housing developments within walking distance of downtown Keene, so I was probably farther away from my home than I might like.
I was alone in the bed. For now, anyway. Someone could have gotten up after sleeping with me there the whole night.
God damn it. Had I had sex with Colin Pugliano again?
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Why was I such an idiot? What the hell was wrong with me?
I flopped back on the bed. “You need to stop drinking, Ivy,” I told the ceiling.
Easier said than done, unfortunately.
I lay there for a few minutes, head pounding, tasting the dead-thing taste in my mouth from too much drinking, and wanting water more than anything.
And then I got out of bed and started to hunt down my clothes.
Luckily, they were all in a pile at the end of the bed on the floor, along with my purse. I got dressed and then I opened the door of the bedroom.
It opened onto a hallway carpeted in the same carpet. I made my way down it. It ended at a set of carpeted stairs, which I started down. My head was pulsating.
Midway down the steps, I heard voices.
“Look, just ‘cause you do a job doesn’t mean you’re back on the inside, you know,” someone was saying. “It can just be a one-time thing.”
“I don’t know,” said someone else. Actually, I recognized the voice as belonging to Colin. What the hell was up with that? Why did I recognize his voice now? Geez.
“You don’t have to know. We’re offering you the option, though,” said another voice.
“The only reason you got out in the first place was because of Rhonda, right?” said the first voice. “And she’s out of the picture.”
“Good riddance, too,” said the other voice. “All that chick did was hold you back.”
“I’m legit now,” said Colin. “It’s taken a while to get to this point.”
“You’re not legit,” said the first voice. “You been looking the other way for the family for years.”
“Not the same thing,” said Colin.
Wait a second, I thought. Legit? Looking the other way? The family?
“Maybe not, but it proves your loyalty,” said the other voice.
“Well, I wouldn’t sell out my own blood,” said Colin. “Still, I’m not sure about getting much involved right now.”
And right then, it hit me. Colin’s friend from the bar last night? I knew why he looked familiar. I’d seen him on an arrest back when I worked for the department. That was Derek O’Shaunessy.
Holy fuck, I thought. I have to get out of here.
I was even pretty sure I knew who Colin was. He had to be the son of Moira O’Shaunessy who had married some guy with an Italian last name. God, I was really fucking stupid.
Not only had I slept with a client, but I’d slept with a guy who had ties to the O’Shaunessys, and now I was pretty sure I was in his house.
I tiptoed down the rest of the steps as quickly and as quietly as I could.
The conversation the other room kept on. All of them were oblivious as I eased the front door open and let myself out silently.
My head was still pounding.
I walked down the driveway, pulling out my phone. I had the number for the cab company programmed into my phone already, and I dialed.
I peered up at the street signs. Where the hell was I?
* * *
The good news was that I was awake in the morning, and that I was in Renmawr. Also, I was in need of breakfast, and the restaurant where Madison used to work was serving it right at that minute.
Maybe this wasn’t a complete disaster.
O’Shaunessys.
No, it totally was.
The O’Shaunessys were a crime family that had taken up residence in Renmawr generations ago. They had a lot of influence and a lot of money, and they were responsible for a significant portion of the crime that happened in Renmawr. They had influence elsewhere as well. I had heard that they sold drugs all up and down the east coast. My interaction with them had been regarding murder, though. We’d been able to get an eyewitness to pin a killing on Johnny O’Shaunessy, one of the guys high up in the organization, the big boss’s son. But the case had fallen apart when they somehow managed to get to the eyewitness.
We thought we had him somewhere safe, but the guy ended up with a bullet in his head. It was proof that there were corrupt cops inside the department, people willing to take a payback from the O’Shaunessys.
Still, Internal Affairs wanted to use their time digging up all the people I had sex with, because that was more pressing.
Was I bitter?
Hell, yeah.
When I got to the restaurant, I made a beeline for the bathroom, bypassing the hostess and everything. I spent a couple minutes in there trying to make myself look presentable. I was hungover and disgusting, so it wasn’t exactly possible, but I did my best. My hope was simply not to scare Yasmine when I talked to her, since that was the whole reason I’d come here in the first place.
I didn’t have my legal pad, more’s the pity, but I did have pens in my purse. I’d take notes on napkins if I needed to.
I decided to get some food into me before trying to talk to Yasmine. I was frightfully hung over, and I needed my wits about me. Some food, some coffee, and some water would do the trick.
And indeed, after eating, I felt much more like a human being.
After I paid my bill, I asked about Yasmine, and the cashier pointed her out to me. I had to wait until she could take a break, but I got the chance to talk to her. Same place as I’d talked to Rose—out back by the dumpsters.
Yasmine smoked too. “Oh, man, I’ve been waiting for someone to come in here and ask questions about Madison.”
“You have?” I said.
“She just disappeared. I knew that was fishy. I tried to call her a couple of times, but she never answers her phone.”
“She left her phone behind.”
“No, I don’t think so,” said Yasmine. “I think something happened to her. It was that other woman. Curtis’s current girlfriend.”
“Debbie?” I said. “Why would you say that?” I hadn’t completely ruled Debbie out, but I had to admit that it was a stretch to think that a pregnant woman could carry out a murder and hide the body, so I’d put the theory on the back burner.
“That’s her name. Debbie.” Yasmine nodded, puffing on her cigarette. “Madison was totally freaked out about her. She came here one day.”
“Debbie did?”
“Yeah.” Yasmine nodded. “She demanded to talk to Madison, and they went out back. I didn’t hear what went on, mind you, but Madison said that Debbie knew that she and Curtis were still hooking up, and she was pissed off about it. She was threatening her up and down to back off her man and leave the whole thing alone. Madison was freaked out.” Yasmine shrugged. “O
f course, I told that girl that there was no point in sticking around in that relationship with Curtis. I said to her that he had obviously made his choice, and he was picking his baby mama. He was living with her, you know? But Madison was stupid when it came to Curtis. She was like, ‘Oh, no, we’re going to work it out. I can’t let him go.’” Yasmine rolled her eyes.
“You’re saying that Debbie came here and threatened Madison.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
So, Debbie had lied to me. She’d said that she hadn’t had any contact with Madison, but she clearly had. Not only that, she seemed to know what was going on between Curtis and Madison. This didn’t look good for Debbie.
“And not only that,” said Yasmine, “Madison said that Debbie came by her apartment one night. She said that Debbie was saying the same kind of threatening stuff.”
“What did she threaten her with?”
“Oh, I don’t know, exactly. I think she was just saying that she could make Madison’s life miserable, and that she wasn’t going to let her get away with what she was doing.”
“So, these weren’t physical threats.”
“Debbie’s not exactly physically intimidating.”
True. She was a fairly tiny woman.
“Anyway,” Yasmine continued, “Debbie obviously did something to Madison.”
I considered. Debbie did have a great motive. And she was looking more and more unstable. But if she was the murderer, how did she pull it off? I chewed on my lip.
Yasmine shrugged. “But then, you know, on the other hand, I guess she might have just skipped town. Sometimes, Madison and I would go do karaoke. She had some kind of voice, you know? She’d talk about how she always wanted to run away to New York City and try to be on Broadway.”
“Really?” I said. This was the first I was hearing about any kind of aspirations or reasons to leave town.
“I didn’t think she was serious. But maybe she just got sick of everything. Maybe she finally wised up about Curtis, and she wanted out of all of this. Maybe she left.”
I nodded. “Thanks. You’ve been really helpful. I appreciate this.”
“No sweat,” she said.
“Listen, I wanted to talk to Brian, the manager. Is he around this morning?”
Skin and Blond (Blond Noir Mysteries Book 1) Page 9