“Um… actually, he’s not,” she said. “He probably won’t come in until around eleven.”
“I talked to one of the other girls who works here. Rose.”
“Yeah, I know Rose.”
“She said that there was some friction between Brian and Madison. Something about a drug test?”
“Oh yeah.” Yasmine nodded, sucking on the last of her cigarette. “Yeah, Brian was being a total dick to her about that. He’s allowed to require us to take random drug tests, you know, but he didn’t have any reason to do that to Madison. He was just fucking with her.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.”
“Yeah, if I can ever catch him here,” I said.
* * *
I was tired, and I wasn’t on my best game, so I caught a cab back to my apartment in Keene. The price was freaking ridiculous. Once at home, I left a message at the office for Brigit, telling her I might be a little late, and then I went back to bed. I napped for a few hours, got up later, took a shower, and felt a little less horrible.
I surveyed myself in the mirror, wondering for the umpteenth time how much longer I could sustain all this before I fell apart.
“Eh,” I said aloud to myself, “I got this. I’m Ivy Stern. I can handle it.”
I was on my way to see Debbie again. She had lied to me, and things didn’t look good for her. She and Curtis had both lied, in fact, which made them both suspicious.
But Curtis had claimed that he’d lied because Debbie didn’t know about Madison. Turned out that Debbie did know. If Curtis knew that Debbie knew, then he’d lied to me again. I should probably talk to both of them, I decided.
I headed to their townhouse before going in to the office.
But when I arrived, Curtis wasn’t around. Only Debbie was there.
“I told you everything already,” she said. “I don’t know anything else about Madison Webb.”
“You knew where she worked,” I said. “I got witnesses saying you came and talked to her. And they also say you were threatening her.”
Debbie sagged against the door frame. “Oh, hell.” Her lower lip started trembling.
Great. She was going to cry. What should I do? Should I get gentle, try to ease her into opening up? Or would she only respect strength? Maybe I should just keep badgering at her, doing the tough guy act. “Can I come in?” I asked.
She drew in a shaky breath. “You don’t understand.” She burst into tears. “Here I am, pregnant and that… that bitch was still going after my man. She had her hooks in him good. And I couldn’t handle it. So, I went and told her to back off. But I didn’t really mean it. I couldn’t have hurt her. Look at me.”
“None of that explains why you lied to me about it.”
“Well, I knew it looked bad,” she said. “I didn’t want you to think that maybe I had something to do with her disappearing. ‘Cause I didn’t.”
“Why don’t you let me come inside, Debbie? We can talk this out.”
“Curtis is an asshole, isn’t he?” Tears were streaming down her face. “You know, I never told anyone about what he was doing to me, about how he was screwing around behind my back. I didn’t tell, because I was ashamed of him. And ashamed of myself for staying with him. I’m not usually this stupid.”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” This was veering way out of the boundaries of what I wanted to investigate and heading into personal territory. I didn’t really care what Debbie thought about her relationship.
“I’m not the kind of girl that takes it out on the other woman either. I know better. I know it’s Curtis that’s the one who hurt me, not Madison. He’s the one I should be pissed at. He’s the one I should have been threatening. But I’ve just been so scared. I’m pregnant, and I didn’t want to do it alone. I thought being with an asshole was better than being by myself. But look what he’s turned me into.” She started sobbing in earnest.
Awkwardly, I patted her on the shoulder. “It’s all right. You don’t have to cry.”
“I cry all the time since I got pregnant,” she said. “It’s an everyday thing. Look, I’m sorry if I made life hell for that poor girl. She shouldn’t have been sleeping with my boyfriend, true, but I was acting like some kind of skank going after her that way. I guess I lied to you about it because I was in denial.” She wiped at her eyes. “Actually, I’m glad you came by, and that you’ve been asking these questions. You’ve really helped me put things in perspective.”
“Well, that’s great,” I said. “But I still have a few questions about Madison. You also went to her house to threaten her? When exactly was this and what exactly did you say?”
“Oh, God,” said Debbie, looking over my shoulder.
Instinctively, I turned. Curtis was walking up the sidewalk, face an angry mask.
“What the hell are you saying to her?” Curtis yelled at me. “You don’t have any right to come in here and upset my pregnant—”
“Shut the fuck up,” said Debbie, stepping down between Curtis and me.
Curtis looked confused. “What?”
“I can’t believe I put up with you for as long as I have,” she said. “You think I didn’t know about you and Madison? I knew. I’ve known for ages. I should have left you the minute I found out, but I was weak and I stayed.”
Curtis shot me a venomous glance. “Hey, did this detective woman tell you that I—”
“She didn’t have to tell me,” said Debbie. “I told you, I already knew. I want you out.”
“What?” he said.
“It’s over, Curtis. You get your stuff, and you get gone.” She flounced back into the house and slammed the door after herself.
Curtis turned to me, seething, hands clenched in fists.
I backed up. “Hey, I’m staying out of this.”
* * *
Brigit was laughing. “I can’t believe that. She knew?”
“She sure did,” I said.
“Well, what do you think?” said Brigit. “Doesn’t that mean her motive is really strong to hurt Madison?”
“Yeah, it does,” I said.
“And you liked her before for it.”
“Well, that was before I met her and saw how tiny she was.”
“Right.” Brigit chewed on her bottom lip. “Thing is, we don’t know how Madison was killed. Maybe she was shot with a gun. You don’t have to be big to do that.”
“No, but you have to have strength to move her body.”
“Maybe she didn’t die in the house,” said Brigit. “Maybe Debbie got her to go on a ride with her willingly. She drove her out into the middle of nowhere and popped her in the head.”
“Then why take the sheets?” I said.
Brigit was quiet, thinking.
“I’m not ruling her out,” I said. “But I just don’t think that’s the way to go there. I mean, it’s a big complicated mess, the three of them, but I’m feeling like the drug angle has more potential.”
“Yeah, I can see that.”
“Oh,” I said. “And apparently, Madison might have run away to try to make it on Broadway. Her friend Yasmine said it was her dream. She said Madison had a pretty voice.”
“Run away, huh?” Brigit shook her head. “It would be crazy if she really was out there, totally fine.”
“Have there been any hits on the credit cards?”
“No, I check them every morning. Nothing.”
“It doesn’t seem like she ran away,” I muttered.
CHAPTER SEVEN
After Brigit left for the day, I stayed in the office, working on organizing some files. I preferred my evening activities to be out of the office. I liked to be out in the field, even if it was only staking out some hotel somewhere. But I didn’t have any other cases brewing at the moment, and it needed done.
Around eight o’clock, I finished up for the night and started to gather up my stuff to leave.
There was a knock on my office door.
I had
it locked because I wasn’t expecting clients or anything. Geez, I thought. I really hope it’s not Colin Pugliano. The way I’d left things with him probably wasn’t good, especially considering his ties to a crime family. Man, when I decided to screw up, I really screwed up, didn’t I?
But it wasn’t Colin at the door.
“Pike,” I said when I recognized him. I opened the door to let him come inside.
He stepped in, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Stern.”
We surveyed each other for a minute. Miles Pike, homicide lieutenant and my ex-boyfriend, had broad shoulders and a tapered waist. He could have been a catalog model—back when there were still catalogs, that is. The J. C. Penney one used to appear in my house when I was a little girl, thick like the phone book and full of pictures of pretty men and women in brand new clothes. Pike always looked like one of those men—classically handsome, easy with a smile.
I took a deep breath. “Um, what can I do for you?”
He searched my expression, and then he stared pointedly at his toes. “Uh…”
Pike wasn’t that great with social interaction, truth be told. He was fine as long as he was talking about work, but he seemed lost when it came to feelings or pleasantries. I used to tease him that he had a mild case of undiagnosed Asperger’s. He usually didn’t much get the joke. But I think he liked it when I teased him. I remember the way he used to smile at me when we were alone sometimes. Not his catalog smile, but something open and true and vulnerable.
God. I wanted to touch him.
I couldn’t be near him without wanting to touch him. I’d trained myself to reign it in, though, even while we were dating. He wasn’t a touchy-feely kind of guy. And as sweet as his smiles were, I hated the flash of his anger. He always seemed so… pained when he was angry. And I didn’t like hurting him.
“I was thinking about you,” he told the floor. “I thought…” He raised his gaze.
My heart stuttered.
“Are you doing okay, Ivy?”
“I…” I’m drinking like a fish and blacking out a lot and ending up in bed with mob flunkies. “Yeah, I’m doing great.”
He nodded. “Really?”
I tried a smile. “Really. Thanks for sending this case my way. It’s been interesting.”
“You’re getting somewhere with it?”
“I will,” I said. Right now, the pieces were a little scattered, but that didn’t mean that I wouldn’t get them in order soon.
“I worry about you sometimes.”
“Don’t.” I was aiming for a light tone, but I seemed to choke on the word. I cleared my throat, trying to recover. “Really, I’m doing okay.”
Suddenly, he lurched forward. He lifted one of his hands and placed it against my cheek.
I gasped, as much in surprise as at the sensation. He never did things like that. He never touched me.
He searched my expression again, but this time, it was as if he was asking permission.
I parted my lips, just looking at him, drowning in him.
He kissed me.
Pike was a tentative kisser. When he did it, I could always sense a hint of nervousness and confusion underneath, as if he wasn’t sure if he was doing it properly. The sheer vulnerability of his kiss belied its sweetness, and that sweetness made his kiss powerful.
My knees started to shake. I gripped his shoulders to stay upright. I opened my mouth to him. I put my tongue against his.
He flinched.
And then we weren’t kissing. We weren’t touching.
I took a steadying step backwards and hugged myself.
“Sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay,” I said. “We don’t… do that.”
“I thought…” He turned away from me, running a hand through his hair. “I thought maybe I could…”
“Miles, you know you don’t have to…” I wanted to touch him again. I wanted to comfort him. But I knew touching him would have the opposite effect of my intention. So, I just hugged myself harder.
He turned back to me. “No, let’s try that again. I think if I was expecting—”
“Why?” I said.
He scratched the back of his head.
“Why did you come here, Miles?”
He and I had broken up during the time when I was getting fired from the department. It hadn’t been a bad breakup in the traditional sense, but then there wasn’t anything traditional about Pike and me. There hadn’t been angry fights or violent outbursts. We’d both been sad, but we’d agreed it was best.
I needed things that Pike couldn’t give me. And as much as he might try to be okay with my getting it elsewhere, deep down he wished that I didn’t want it either. It was better if we were apart. A relationship between the two of us was doomed.
He sighed. “Teagues made an announcement today. He’s going to have a baby.”
“Oh,” I said. “Becky’s pregnant?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that’s good. That’s nice for them. You should tell him I said…” I trailed off. Teagues and Becky probably both thought I was trash these days.
Pike turned his hands over, studying his palms. “I just got to thinking about it.”
“Thinking about what?”
“About, you know… babies.”
I made a face. “What about them?”
“Well, you know, how you were the only woman I ever met that I could stand to spend that much time with, and I know we had problems, but maybe if I could change, then, maybe…”
“Because of babies?” I couldn’t believe this. “You don’t mean that you and I…” I pointed back and forth between us. “You can’t mean that.”
He touched my cheek again—not a caress, but with his fingertips, tracing the angles of my features. His touch was investigative, exploratory. But not passionate. “We’re not young anymore, Ivy,” he whispered. “I’m four years away from forty, you know. I always thought that someday I’d be settled. And, yeah, have children.”
I snorted, pulling away. “Well, that would be tough to accomplish, wouldn’t it?”
He flinched again.
Fuck this. I was just going to lay it out there. Maybe it would upset him, but I didn’t care. “You know, Pike, in order to have babies, you have to have sex.”
He glared at me. “Maybe it would be different if we were trying to conceive.”
My jaw dropped open. “You’re kidding.”
“I don’t know.” He sounded a little irritated now. “Maybe.”
“After everything we went through together. All the things we tried, you’re saying that if it was to make babies, then…” My nostrils flared. “Fuck you.”
“Don’t be like that.”
“Look, Pike. I’m a nymphomaniac, and you’re asexual. This isn’t ever going to work. Ever.” I examined my fingernails. “You should go.”
“You’re not a—”
“Pike—”
“You shouldn’t talk like that about yourself.”
“It’s just the truth.”
His jaw worked. “So, you’re saying that you don’t… that you don’t ever think about having a family.”
“I’m not the kind of person who gets to have a family. I’m too screwed up for that.” Tears were filling my eyes. I wouldn’t meet his gaze. It hurt to say something like that out loud, even if it was true.
“You don’t know that.”
I swallowed hard, clenching my hands into fists. “Look, Pike, I don’t want you to want me because I’d be your own personal baby-making machine, okay? I want something more than that from a relationship. And I sure as hell don’t only want sex whenever you want another rug rat.”
“Jesus, Ivy, that’s not what I meant.”
“Go,” I said, my voice crowded out by more tears. If he didn’t leave soon, he was going to see me start sobbing.
“Fine,” he murmured. “This was a bad idea anyway.”
Wordlessly, I nodded. If I said anything out loud, the
floodgates were going to open.
He gave me one last look. I could swear there was some deep longing behind his eyes, but it wasn’t the kind of longing I craved, and it never would be.
And then he left.
* * *
I didn’t go out that night. Instead of my typical routine, I went home and ordered takeout from this Italian place in town. They made huge portions of pasta, big enough for two people. I ate the whole thing myself, lounging in front of my television in my pajamas. I felt empty and exhausted.
Miles Pike always made me feel that way.
God, I missed him.
Missing him was what hurt, but being with him had been painful too. Frustrating and confusing. Eventually, impossible.
I didn’t need to think about that anymore. It hurt too much.
Hence the drowning of my sorrows in lots of food.
I fell asleep while watching TV, and I didn’t wake up until morning.
I wasn’t hung over, and it felt strange. My head wasn’t pounding, and I wasn’t dying of thirst. I did feel a little queasy, though. I’d eaten far too much the night before. Still, as mornings went, I felt great.
But it was also uncomfortable, like it was itchy inside my own skin. I didn’t know what to do with my morning if I wasn’t in full-blown recovery mode. A certain sense of urgency was missing.
I puttered around in my house for a bit. I was up earlier than usual and feeling very rested. Oddly, though, I didn’t have a lot of energy. It was as if getting a good night’s sleep had made me lazy in some way.
I took a long shower and got dressed. Then I went into town to get my coffee and breakfast. Instead of my egg white omelet, I opted for a fruit salad. I didn’t want anything heavy after all that pasta the night before. Everyone that I saw commented on how good I looked. Had I changed my hair? Was that a new shirt? Boy, did I look well rested!
It made me feel a little awful. If I looked so great now, what did that mean about the rest of the time?
I ate my fruit salad and thought, for the umpteenth time, that I should really stop drinking so much. I thought about a life with Miles Pike, both of us sober and only fucking to make rug rats. I felt a wistful tug towards the idea, but it also repelled me. I wasn’t that kind of woman.
Skin and Blond (Blond Noir Mysteries Book 1) Page 10