Always Love a Villain on San Juan Island

by Sandy Frances Duncan

  “I know it,” said Noel, getting up. “Thanks for the tea.”

  “Unless they move on to some other place, of course.”

  They left. A wasted afternoon. No time left, really, for Kyra to be a tourist. She wanted to get back to the house before dinner. She said this to Noel. She didn’t say she wanted to get dinner done with, and return to the house with time to explain to Noel how much she wanted this baby. Fathered by a man she trusted.

  At the house she decided, What the hell, showered and put on the new dress. The sandals were fine.

  Downstairs, Noel changed to a short-sleeved shirt, slacks and sockless loafers, poured himself a vodka-tonic, and stared out the window at glimpses of trees through trees. Knowing full well he must not muse about impossibilities, he still couldn’t keep his mind off Peter Langley. A kind man, clearly a moral person. Noel could imagine, very easily, spending time with him. Except he was hardly ready for another relationship. Go away, brain.

  So he didn’t see Kyra till she appeared beside him and said, “Will you make me one of those, please?”

  “Hey, you look great!” And she did, curly hair down to her shoulders, setting off the creamy dress. Cut too low, he thought—she should be more modest. But who was he to judge. Not out loud, anyway.

  “Thank you.” She smiled as she watched him move to the kitchen. Just the kind of great body, she thought, to make a beautiful baby.

  Back, he said, “You’ll have to drink it quickly. We’re due at Peter’s in half an hour.”

  “Is he far away?”

  “About ten minutes.”

  “Oh well, I’ll gulp.”

  They toasted the possible success of the case. Noel was leaning, he said, toward believing Jordan’s writing had somehow evolved, so no plagiarism. Kyra said she’d read the material tonight or tomorrow.

  Langley lived in a condo on Tucker, across from the high school. He let them in, well pleased, or so he said, that he was at last meeting the other half of Triple I. Kyra always felt better when she knew what her clients looked like. She carried her bag, though it was highly unlikely that she’d need pistol or mace tonight. They walked down a hall to the kitchen at the back. Noel noticed a bedroom on the right, a study on the left beside a large bathroom.

  Peter was wearing a short-sleeved tan shirt, brown flannels and sandals. Kyra glanced from Noel to Peter, thinking, similar sartorial choices?

  “What will you drink? I have a variety, alcoholic and not.”

  They opted for vodka martinis. Peter mixed, poured one for each and suggested they go onto the patio. They sat on benches at a round wood table. Hummus and tortilla chips and olives and celery were already set out.

  Peter said, “One reason I decided to live here, ground floor leads right onto the garden.” Which contained Japanese anemones and purple, red and white fuchsias.

  “Lovely,” said Kyra, sipping, yearning for the visit to be over.

  “My pride is my herb garden. I only started it when I moved in last February.” He pointed to the plants in front of a fence at the back of the garden. “A few vegetables, too.”

  “Ah yes,” Noel said. Neither he nor Kyra were gardeners.

  A small black cat with delicate white lines on its face appeared from behind a large fuchsia and walked daintily toward them. It rubbed against Peter’s leg. He bent to stroke it. “This is Delilah,” he told them. “Welcome, Delilah.” The cat gave a delicate purr. He picked her up and put her on his lap, from which she immediately leapt and positioned herself beside Kyra. Suddenly Delilah bounded high and positioned herself on Kyra’s lap. Lucky the ground is dry, Kyra thought, or she’d spend the evening washing her new dress. Keep your claws to yourself, cat.

  They sipped, they nibbled. Kyra realized Peter was being especially attentive to her. His eyes shifted regularly between her face and her upper torso. She shifted and sipped. But yes, an attractive man. Delilah had not left Kyra’s lap.

  Peter stood. “Refresh your drinks?” They assented. He took their glasses, was back a minute later. He scratched Delilah’s back. “She clearly likes you. I’ve never seen her take to someone so quickly.”

  The pressure from his hand pushed Delilah deeper into Kyra’s lap.

  He turned on the barbecue for the scampi, warmed up the rice pilaf he’d already made, brought the salad from the fridge, boiled water for the already tipped and tailed green beans, and started the scampi.

  Noel asked if he could help. No, all under control. He realized he didn’t have much to say to Kyra, and she didn’t seem talkative either. They sipped their drinks. Then dinner was ready. Peter served. A bottle of Pinot Gris and they talked about the maybe-plagiarism case. “Tomorrow we need to find a young woman who is apparently a bit special for Jordan. Susanna Rossini.”

  “Susanna? Really?”

  “You know her?”

  “I know her father. I’ve met Susanna a couple of times. Can’t say I actually know her. She lives on campus with her dad. Larry.”

  “That’ll make it simple to find her.”

  Peter said, “She’s not around.”

  “Oh. Where is she?”

  “Don’t know. Larry just told me today she’s off visiting friends for a few days.”

  “Then we better talk to her father.”

  “Then you better get there early tomorrow. He usually heads to his lab around eight. Leave a message, he’ll get back to you.” Peter smiled. “If he wants to.”

  “We’ll catch him.”

  Kyra nodded. Delilah leapt from her lap and disappeared into the garden.

  Peter turned to her. He must have decided it was important for Kyra to get a sense of the case from him, as he explained all he knew. Which, thought Noel, was appropriate, since she’d only heard Noel’s secondhand version. Except why did it sound as if Peter and Kyra were flirting? Just his imagination? When he interrupted their give-and-take, they listened politely, then went back to it. Stop it, Noel; they’re just getting acquainted. A second bottle of wine and Kyra was laughing at Peter’s comments, he then laughing with her. Noel didn’t see anything that funny. After crème caramel, homemade by Peter, Noel announced they’d better head off.

  Immediately, Kyra stood. “Thank you, Peter. I had a lovely time. Early morning tomorrow, as you said.”

  He pressed them to stay longer.

  “No,” said Kyra, “we really must go.” An enjoyable man. She could see why Noel might be drawn to him. But she and Noel needed a more important conversation.

  Fredric carried the tray out of Susanna’s room, glanced back, saw her smile and wave. He locked the door behind him. She’d loved the pizza. They each drank a lager with it. They laughed trying to decide if vegetables were vegetarian if they’d had fish fertilizer. He’d stayed with her for an hour. Could it be that she liked him? She had every reason to hate him. But she didn’t seem to. Maybe hiding her hatred so she could catch him off guard, try to escape? But she’d made no attempt. Not yet, anyway.

  He carried the tray up the stairs, set it on the kitchen counter and headed for the front door—yes, locked. A dark and silent world outside. Good. Had he left the reading light on in the living room? He’d only had time to prepare the salad and load the tray. He glanced into the living room.

  “Yaiiiy!” A hand from behind the wall grabbed his arm!

  “What the fuck you doing?”

  A surge of terror shot through him. He stared up at Raoul, long face dark with fury from chin to short-clipped hair. “When’d you get—Hey, stop!” he shouted, as Raoul twisted his arm. “Stop! Shit, Raoul, quit that!”

  “What were you doing down there? For seventy-three minutes?”

  “I was making sure she—Stop it, for shitsake!” Raoul forced him to his knees.

  “Making sure? Making sure? What were you doing, fucking her?”

  “No, no! Cut it out, Raoul!”

  Raoul pushed Fredric away and let go. “I’ve been here an hour and thirteen minutes and you’ve been down there at l
east that long.”

  “I wanted to—to be sure she ate her food, that’s all.”

  Raoul marched into the hall and glanced at the pizza carton. He spotted the empty lager bottles. “Having a picnic, looks like to me.” He whirled back to face Fredric. “And where the fuck’s your mask? What’s that stupid thing you’re wearing? Shows half your face. And your hair. For chrissake, man! How stupid can you get!”

  All Fredric could say was, “The ski mask was too hot.”

  “Sure, if you’re going to be wearing it for an hour and a half. I can’t trust you to do a goddamn thing. How long you been off the ski mask?”

  Fredric stood up, took off his harlequin mask, looked at it. A little lie right now wouldn’t hurt. “Just a coupla days.” Seemed like Raoul was cooling down. “Not long.”

  “Two days too many.” Raoul rubbed his fist, as if he’d already hit him. “We’re just about done. Think you can handle this the way we agreed? For the next few days?”

  “Course I can, Raoul.” He rubbed his arm. “How come you’re back so soon?”

  “A few things to do in Seattle.” He took a cell phone from his pocket and handed it to Fredric. “I’ll be calling you to tell you what you’ve got to do. It’s a secure line. Keep it on you all the time. Got it?”

  “Right. Sure.”

  “All the time.” Raoul headed for the kitchen. “Got more beer?”

  Fredric followed him to the refrigerator, where Raoul was already helping himself. At least his anger had cooled down. “You really think we can let her go in a few days?”

  “Yeah. Things are coming to a head.”

  Fredric wanted to ask, What things? What’s this about, really? But Raoul hadn’t told him before, so no sense getting him riled again now. “Gonna stay here tonight?”

  “I’ll take the couch. I’m getting the 6:10 in the morning.”

  Good. Then he remembered: “Uh, Raoul, isn’t the 6:10 one of those that only goes to Lopez?”

  “I get off there, wait for the ferry from Orcas, arrives a few minutes after mine. I got it all planned.”

  Fredric took a beer. They’d drink a couple together, talk the way they always had, and Raoul’s anger would be all gone.

  Raoul chugged his bottle and dumped it in the trash.

  Fredric would reclaim it in the morning, wash and recycle it. That, Fredric thought, was the difference between them. “Want another one?”

  Raoul was walking to the living room. “Got a blanket? I’m wiped. I’m quitting.”

  No great talking and drinking tonight. Damn. He brought Raoul two blankets and a pillow from a hall closet. “Well, g’night.”

  Raoul took the blankets, tossed them onto the couch, grabbed Fredric’s upper arm and held it in a vise grip. “You don’t ever again go into that room without your ski mask. Never again. She’ll remember less if she never sees your head again. Understand?”

  “Sh—sure, the mask—”

  “The ski mask. And when we’re done here, you’re going to disappear. Got me?”

  “I’ll remember—ooww, that hurts.”

  “Remember the pain.” Raoul let go, turned to the couch and pulled one of the blankets loose. Then, fully dressed, shoes on, he lay down. “Put the light out.”

  Fredric’s only thought: I’d like to put your light out, Raoul. But he switched off the reading lamp.

  Fredric cleaned up the supper mess. Then, flat on his back in bed, he mused over the last couple of hours, the evening wandering along the surface of his thoughts. Raoul’s violence wasn’t new. Just that between the periods when they spent time together, Fredric forgot how aggressive, even vicious, Raoul could be. Never before against Fredric; that hadn’t happened before. But Raoul occasionally reacted without thinking, hurting a person but not meaning to. Though to be fair, often Raoul had indeed intended to cause pain. After they let Susanna go, he’d have less to do with Raoul. Maybe nothing. Yeah, away from Raoul forever. A significant weight lifted from Fredric’s chest.

  What had Raoul meant, Fredric was going to disappear? Move far away? Or did Raoul have his own intentions? Would Raoul make Fredric disappear, like forever? Now a pain had replaced the weight on his chest, pain stabbing from his stomach up to his throat. No, surely Raoul had meant that Fredric would take a long trip to a distant land and disappear among the world’s billions. Surely.

  Stop thinking about Raoul. Concentrate on Susanna. Lovely Susanna. Laughing Susanna. He could come to care about Susanna. He would have to rig a kind of gizmo on the door to warn him that someone wanted to get in. Like Raoul. Because no way would he forego the few mealtimes he had left with Susanna. And never in the ski mask. Raoul didn’t control him. Susanna had already seen his chin and the back of his head. Nothing he could do about that. Afterward he would disappear, his own kind of disappearing; she’d never see him again.

  In the car, Noel wondered why Kyra had so quickly agreed to leave Peter’s. He pulled out of Tucker and headed to the center of Friday Harbor.

  Kyra said, “Is this the way back?”

  “We’re not going back yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “We need to check out a bar. See if Spider Jester’s there. Have you forgotten?”

  She had. Damn, she had other plans—

  Noel frowned, perplexed. “I thought that’s why you wore your new dress.”

  He parked across the street from Thor’s and opened his door. Kyra hadn’t moved. “Coming?”

  She sighed and got out.

  They entered Thor’s. For his late breakfast, Noel had been just about alone; now the place was buzzing, dozens of men and women, everyone talking at once. By the bar he waited for three young women to get their drinks, then asked the server if he knew Spider Jester and was he around.

  “Yep, that’s him.” He pointed to the end of the bar, where a young man gesticulated wildly with thin arms while talking to a forty­ish woman. She sported a large scorpion tattoo on her upper arm.

  Noel worked his way through the crowd. “Hello,” he said. “You Spider?”

  “Yeah. Who’re you?” He picked a mug of beer off the bar.

  “A friend of Tom and Jordan. Name’s Noel.”

  “Can I help you with something?”

  “Just a few minutes’ talk.”

  The woman said, “See you ’round, Spi,” and faded into the crowd.

  “Sorry for interrupting, but I don’t know anybody here, so . . .”

  “No problem.” He took a sip of beer. “You know Jordan and Tom well?”

  “Jordan better. I’ve read some of his writing.”

  “Yeah, well that’s one up on me.”

  “Not read anything of his?”

  “Nope. He doesn’t show his stuff around.”

  “Not to anybody?”

  “Maybe to Susanna.” Another sip. “Maybe talks to her about writing. Susanna Rossini.”

  Yes! “She here tonight?”

  He shook his head. “Haven’t seen her for a few days, come to think.”

  “She maybe somewhere else tonight?”

  “Maybe home. She studies a lot.” He squinted at Noel. “Why you so interested in what Jordan’s writing?”

  “Hi Noel.” Kyra took his arm and earned a large smile from Spider Jester. Actually, more a huge ogle.

  “Introduce me,” said Spider.

  Noel did. “Glad you got here,” he said. “But we have to go.”

  “So soon?” Spider, leering genteelly at Kyra’s bosom.

  “It’s getting late.”

  Spider included Noel in a widened leer. “Sure, man. Sorry I couldn’t help.”

  “Oh, but you have, thanks,” and Noel led Kyra to the door. Tomorrow, track down Susanna Rossini. In the car, he started the engine. “Be good to get back to the house.”

  “Yes.” At last.

  “Don’t know why I’m so wiped. It wasn’t exactly an exhausting day.”

  “I’d like a nightcap.”

  In the house Noel sa
id, “I’ll make you a drink if you want, but I’m going to bed.” Must’ve been all the wine after all the liquor.

  Kyra sat. “Let’s talk.”

  “In the morning, okay? I’m all talked out.” He raised his eyebrows. “Even if I didn’t do much of the talking.”

  Kyra frowned. “What d’you mean?”

  “Nothing. Just tired.” He kissed her cheek. “See you in the morning.” He headed for his bedroom and closed the door behind him.

  Not the evening she’d expected, not the evening she needed. Damn!

  SIX

  A BRIGHT AND glorious morning even at 6:05 AM. Sun slanted through the bedroom window. Dust particles danced between window and wall. Perfect morning for a talk. Was he up yet? She headed to the bathroom. No sounds from downstairs. Should she wake him? Ablutions first.

  She dressed, black jeans and a white top, socks and sneakers. Going down the stairs, she made as much noise as seemed reasonable. Noel’s bedroom door was closed. Knock? Get some coffee ready first, as loudly as possible. She had checked the fridge after Noel went to bed, knew the house was well equipped, coffee, both real and caffeine-free, cereals, frozen bread, fresh milk, butter and jams. She clanked dishes and bowls together, and turned on a radio. Not ultra loud; that’d be too obvious.

  The coffee gurgled to a stop and still no movement from Noel’s room. She poured a mugful, added milk, and carried it to Noel’s door. Knocked. No answer. A harder knock. Nothing. She turned the knob and pushed the door inward. A slept-in bed, but no Noel. She called, “Noel?” Silence. She retreated to the living room and opened the front door. Noel’s car there. Gone for a walk? She sipped from Noel’s mug, now hers, returned to the kitchen and made herself cereal, toast with marmalade. She glanced at her watch. 6:48. Time passes quickly when you’re having fun. When he came back, it’d be too late for their talk.

  Noel appeared just before 7:15. “Glorious day! Ready for Rossini?”

  “No breakfast?”

  “Had a slice of toast before. Have you? We can get something after our meeting.”

  His mood was high. She hoped it’d stay there.