by Freya Barker
“Lucky,” she whispers with a wink. Our little secret; my sister is not a particularly talented cook, and she insists on making me meatloaf. My favorite. It is, but not Stacie’s version. I just don’t have the heart to tell her.
“What are we having for dinner?” I whisper back, leaning conspiratorially close to Mak.
“I thought we could order in,” Stacie’s voice sounds behind me. I roll my eyes and blow out my relief, making Mak giggle. “I’ll be in the kitchen most of tomorrow,” she adds by way of explanation.
Overcome by hilarity, my niece rolls off the couch, and I can barely keep a straight face at her antics.
“What?” Stacie wants to know, her eyes suspicious slits.
“I can help you cook,” Isla offers innocently, looking from one to the other.
-
How I got roped into this, I have no idea.
Fucking Ikea, on Black Friday. If man invented hell, it would look like this.
I can barely keep track of Isla and my sister, who are somewhere in front of me, amid the throng of shoppers looking for the best sales. I have Mak’s hand in mine, and despite her dislike for girly things, she’s got the shopping thing down pat. She yanks me to a stop at every new display we pass to check out a fluffy throw, or shiny bauble, along this torturous maze of fake rooms.
The girls insisted I come, arguing that if I was going to sleep on it, I needed to be there to test the mattresses. Oh, and they needed the muscle. Apparently Ikea is carry-out. My point that no mattress worth spending time on would be able to fit in the Toyota, fell on deaf ears. I was told, in no uncertain terms, the Swedes make the best beds. Whatever. After a day of overindulgence in alcohol and food—which, thanks to Isla’s assistance in the kitchen, had all been tasty—I’d been too tired to object too much.
I’m regretting my easy capitulation now.
“There they are,” Mak chirps, as we round yet another corner of the maze, finding my sister and Isla in the middle of a sea of beds.
“Ben,” Isla calls, waving me over. “This is the one I was looking at online, remember?” She points at a bed that to me looks like any other. As for remembering, I’ve got nothing. She’s pointed out things to me for weeks, and I’ve smiled and nodded to make her happy, but even a photographic memory wouldn’t have helped me recall it all. Or any.
I don’t mind the bed, with a plain dark gray fabric headboard and simple lines. And I like the fact that it doesn’t require a fucking ladder to get into.
Mak lets go of my hand and hops on.
“It’s comfy,” she concludes, patting the mattress beside her in invitation.
“It’s too small,” I say as I lie down beside her, trying not to think about how many bodies have been on here before me.
“They have it king-sized as well,” my sister, ever practical, points out as she flips through the catalogue she’s been toting around.
I have to admit, I much prefer this construction of wooden slats and firm mattress to the often too soft and ridiculously high box spring sets.
“You try, Isla,” Mak offers, getting up to make room.
She’s warmed up to Isla quite a bit. Especially after tasting the turkey yesterday afternoon, knowing full well we’d be chewing on turkey jerky if my sister had been left to her own devices. For dessert, my girl had whipped up that awesome cheesecake she made me once before, and if the turkey hadn’t done it yet, for sure that would’ve won my niece’s approval.
Isla lies down beside me, her hand searching for mine on the mattress.
“What do you think?”
I turn my head to look at her. “I like it,” I let on. “I’m just not sure about this whole carry-out thing. We still have a dog to pick up,” I remind her, whispering so only Isla hears. We haven’t mentioned anything about Atsa yet, hoping to keep it a surprise for Mak and a tease for Stacie, when the two come up for Christmas.
“It’ll fit.” She smiles confidently.
And it does, as I find out another hour and a half later. Although with Stacie and Mak in the backseat, the only way to fit it is with the gate open and everything tied down. They roll their damn mattresses up and vacu-seal those suckers. Still, even with the backseats down, the boxes with the bed, which apparently will require some assembly, as well as the rolled up mattress, it will be too long for the gate to close.
Not looking forward to driving home with an eye on my rearview mirror, to make sure I don’t lose my load, I make our next stop a trailer place, right off the interstate. I tell myself, and convince Isla, it’ll be handy hauling stuff around the campground, like picnic tables and garbage bins. Luckily, I had the foresight to have a trailer hitch installed on the Land Cruiser.
I feel much better when I turn onto the road, everything properly loaded and tied down in the new utility trailer, instead of hanging half out of the back gate of the SUV.
“That’s so cool, Uncle Ben,” Mak pipes up behind me. “You’ve got room for more stuff now.” My face must show my feelings on that because both Stacie and Isla start laughing.
“No way. Anything else we get delivered.” I shut that down right away, ignoring the lingering chuckles from the women.
Isla
“Poor baby.”
We left early this morning after an exhausting but fun weekend of food, bonding, and shopping. Ben’s sister is amazing. I have to admit; I hadn’t known what to think when I first saw her. I was a little intimidated to say the least. I mean, not only is she a lawyer and does super important work, but also she looks like she just stepped out of a magazine. I might have turned on my heels and beelined it out of there, if Mak hadn’t picked that moment to come barreling out of the house, throwing herself without abandon into Ben’s waiting arms.
The contrast between Stacie and her daughter was startling. If I hadn’t seen the obvious affection between the two, I would’ve ventured to guess these were some volatile teenage years coming up. As it is, I’m sure Mak will give Stacie a run for her money, but at least there will be a solid love at the base of it.
Ironically, Ben’s sister was immediately warm and accepting of me, whereas Mak, whose appearance and unconventional demeanor is more like me, was obviously reluctant. Having observed her with Ben all weekend, I understand why. He’s amazing with her. By the time we said goodbye this morning, a still sleepy Mak had wrapped herself around me, with arms and legs clinging like a monkey, as I’d seen her do with Ben, just days before.
“I don’t want you to go,” she’d mumbled in my neck. It made me emotional and I had to swallow a lump as I looked over her shoulder at Ben, who just smiled.
“Three weeks, honey. Just three short weeks and Christmas break starts. You’ll love it up there. We can go ride the four-wheelers through the woods, and build campfires every night. Have you ever had s’mores?” I prattled along, reminding her of the plans we’d made this weekend, while Stacie tried to dislodge her daughter from my body. “You’ll have to find your mom some jeans to wear, though,” I tease. “I wouldn’t recommend the pencil skirt and heels when we go cut down our Christmas tree.” With a giggle Mak finally let go of my neck.
The drive had been easy. Not many folks on the road at seven on a Sunday morning, but Ben had insisted on an early start, reminding me quietly that we would have a stop to make, and that he had a bed to put together this afternoon.
“You poor, poor baby,” I mutter again, wrapping my arms around poor Atsa’s neck, to which a large white cone had been attached. “Does he have to wear this thing?” I ask the woman who brought him out of the kennel.
“He was licking the incision and we can’t keep a constant eye on him here. The worry is the closing of the wound, which goes fast when he doesn’t lick it open. His stitches are dissolvable, so those you don’t have to worry about, but unless you can keep an eye on him, I suggest keeping that cone on for a few more days.”
Atsa seems only a little more subdued than he had been a few days ago and happily trots to the car, alongside
Ben, on his new leash. It was Ben’s suggestion to stop at a Walmart before heading to the shelter, to pick up some necessities. Food bowls, leash, toys, giant dog bed, and a gigantic bag of food, recommended by the shelter. All of it packed in the back of the car.
“Aren’t you glad we got that trailer?” Ben teases me, as he bends down to lift Atsa into the backseat.
“If I recall correctly,” I point out. “That was originally your sister’s idea. One that you yourself laughed at, at the time.”
“Renting one is laughable,” he defends himself. “Buying makes sense.”
I just roll my eyes when I get into the Land Cruiser, twisting in my seat to see the dog rolled up on the backseat, comfortable as can be.
“Ready to go home? Sleep in your new bed tonight?” Atsa’s ears perk up at my chatter, but as soon as I’m quiet, his eyes close.
“Give the pooch a break.” Ben climbs in behind the wheel. “He just had his balls removed,” he whispers dramatically, and I snicker at the expression of horror on his face. “Still don’t know how I had you women talk me into that.” It’s true, it had taken both the volunteer at the shelter and myself to convince Ben it was the best thing for everyone. He clearly was still not entirely on board, but it’s too late now.
“Can we stop at Jen’s?” I ask him when we’re close to Dolores. “I’m really craving one of her lattes.”
The dog has been sleeping most of the way. I’m happy he clearly doesn’t mind car rides. He doesn’t even wake up when Ben pulls up outside of The Pony Express. Cranking the window open a bit, we leave Atsa in the car and head inside.
“Look at you guys!” Jen calls out when we walk in the door. “Have a look,” she says, smiling as she gestures at the gallery wall, which is almost empty. Again.
“Seriously?” I blurt out. “Where are all these people coming from?”
“We had a busy weekend here,” she says. “Families coming in from out of town. Weekend travelers passing through. There was even someone who had seen your display at Colorado In View and wanted to see more, so Ryan sent her here.”
“That’s great,” Ben rumbles behind me. “I’m thinking maybe you should consider upping your prices a little,” he suggests.
“Yes,” Jen agrees readily. “Twenty-five percent on top. That’s what I’d do.” Ben nods in agreement when I turn around to gauge his reaction.
It’s hard, figuring out what your work is worth. I never really thought I’d be in the position to consider pricing on any of my pictures, but here I am.
“Okay,” I give in. “But only on new material. No changing price tags on what’s already out there. And I want to do that book, in the spring.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Jen is of the same mind. “Now, what can I make you?”
With our orders in, she works that machine of hers while we catch up on each other’s Thanksgiving. Jen’s apparently was spent visiting her elderly mother in Cortez and keeping the coffee shop going. A little depressing, but when I told her about the dog, she insisted on coming outside to meet him.
“He’s beautiful,” she coos, reaching into the cone to scratch behind his ears. Something he clearly enjoys, judging by the way his eyelids droop down and his tongue lazily licks the inside of her arm. “Next time, I’ll make sure I have treats for you.” She straightens up as Ben takes Atsa for a pee, off to the side of the parking lot. “That’s weird?” she says, looking over my shoulder, but I don’t notice anything.
“What?” I ask, turning back around.
“I could’ve sworn that car that just came out of the road up to your place, is the same car that woman was driving,” she mutters, almost to herself.
“What woman?” Ben asks, as he lifts the dog back in the car.
“The one Ryan sent over. She bought a second print from here. The night sky over the reservoir. She was asking directions to get to the reservoir, just the other day.” Jen shakes her head sharply.
“What kind of car?” Ben asks.
“A white Chrysler sedan, looked new.”
Ben slowly looks around him and points at a car in the parking lot next door. “Like that one?” Jen nods.
“I think so.”
“And what about that one?” He points out another similar car across the road at the gas station.
“Right,” Jen says grudgingly. “Point made. Guess she just gave me the willies.”
“The customer?”
“Yeah.” She nods at me. “Seemed a bit intense. Maybe it was me. I’m tired. I need a break.”
I lean into the car to set my latte in the cup holder, before turning back to Jen and wrapping her in a hug.
“Then you take a break,” I instruct her. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do in the meantime. We’ll have you up soon for dinner. As soon as we have our furniture.”
“I’d like that,” she says, smiling as I climb into my seat.
I’m about to close the door when Ben, who was already behind the wheel leans over me and calls out to Jen, who is walking away.
“Hey, Jen? You mentioned something about it being the second print she bought? What was the first one?”
“Oh, that was one of the ones at Colorado In View. The one with you taking in the view from the rock.”
CHAPTER 15
Ben
“Do me a favor?” I ask Isla. “Stay in the car.”
I’m not sure what made me ask Jen about the picture, but something was nagging at me. When she mentioned the picture of me, that unsettled feeling only grew. I suddenly felt the need to get up the mountain quickly.
“What’s going on?” she asks me, a hint of worry on her face.
“I just want to have a quick look,” I tell her, pulling the gun from under my seat, where I’d stored it. Isla’s eyes go big, but before she can object I lean in for a kiss. “Just professional paranoia. Lock the doors.” I close the door and wait until I hear the click of the central lock engage before I turn to the house, glancing sideways at the tracks I spotted in the dirt when we drove up to the house.
I smell it the moment I unlock the door and push it open. Urine. The heavy pungent odor clinging to the air particles and masking any remaining paint fumes that may have lingered. To my left, the door to the laundry room stands open. A door I’m pretty sure I closed before leaving the house on Wednesday. I slip inside and notice a smudge on top of the dryer. Part of a shoe print. My eyes immediately fly up to the window, which appears to be closed. On closer inspection, I notice the safety bar that braces the slider in place, is not engaged. I’m trying to remember if I’d checked the window closely enough on leaving. Apparently not. Complacency is a dangerous thing; I should know that. I’ve lived on the edge and vigilant most of my adult life. It was simply a matter of survival. Somewhere in the past couple of months, though, I’ve clearly become too relaxed.
I click the safety bar in place and move slowly past the kitchen on my right. Nothing appears out of place there, but when I move further down the hall along the back of the great room, the smell of piss gets stronger. A quick peek into the smaller bedrooms reveals nothing, and I know in my gut whatever I’ll find will be in the master suite. I almost have to gasp for air when I step into the bedroom. In the midday sun, it is easy to see the wet marks on the new floor and the freshly painted walls. Everywhere. Like someone took a hose to it. The stains go as high up as the ceiling.
I don’t want to walk through the mess in here, but I have no choice, it’s the only way into the bathroom and something draws me in that direction.
REMEMBER THIS COLOR ?
LOOKED BEST AROUND YOUR COCK !
The deep red writing on the mirror stirs a memory, as does the silver lipstick lying on the wet counter. Everything in here is sprayed as well. A woman. Most definitely a woman. I pull my phone out of my back pocket.
“Damian? I’ve got a problem.”
-
“But why can’t I see?”
Isla hasn’t let up since I drove us
down to the trailer.
The poor dog is barely able to move in here, but he seems to have settled in on our bed. It’s Isla who is restless.
“Not much to see. We’ve got to wait for law enforcement do their thing first,” I tell her again. That wasn’t necessarily my choice, but Damian insisted I back the fuck out of the house and handle this by the rules.
“Sorry man,” he’d said on the phone earlier. “Things have been nuts here and what with Thanksgiving and everything, we haven’t really had a chance to look at those emails yet. Think it’s the same chick?”
“Hope to fuck so,” I told him. “One is enough.”
“Any thoughts on who it might be? Names?”
Truth is, I hadn’t until I saw that message today. A woman I’d associated with during the course of an investigation about ten, maybe twelve years, ago. A club owner in Tulsa, with ties to a Columbian drug lord, was suspected of using his exclusive club for more than just pussy. The woman was one of the bartenders and provided an easy way in for me. I remembered the club was called Orquidea, and the girl...
“Jahnee.” The name finally came to me.
“How do I spell that?”
I told him everything I remembered, which wasn’t necessarily a whole lot. My interest had only been access to the club, which I accomplished by fucking her a few times, not sharing life histories with her. I don’t even remember her last name. Not something I’m proud of, and certainly not information I want to share with Isla.
“Just please tell me there weren’t dead animals in there or something.”
Isla’s worried voice drags me back to the present. I guess not giving her details, so I don’t upset her, only sends her imagination in overdrive. I reach over and pull her to me.
“No, nothing dead. Someone came in through the laundry room window and vandalized the master suite,” I explain, stroking my hand over her head, hoping it’s enough.
“Vandalized how?” she demands to know, tilting her head back to look me in the eye. “Holes in the wall? Windows broken? What?” The deep sigh slips out before I can check it. Not enough then.