by Kelly Wood
Luck was on my side. I eased through the door and closed it behind me. I pushed everything on the desk to the back, against the wall. I pulled out the desk chair and used it as a step stool to reach the desk. Standing on the desk, I strained my hearing and kept my right ear pressed toward the vent. A last-minute change in construction plans had created a design flaw. One vent connected the office to the private dining room. Conversations could be overhead from either side. I used to use this to my advantage when I was a manager here. The staff would sneak into the room to gossip about each other or the managers, not knowing that I could overhear them while I worked in the office. I think some of the waiters thought I was a witch because of the things I knew.
The detectives spoke in clear voices, not knowing that someone was eavesdropping. Number Two, with his deep voice, was easy to distinguish. “Mr. Kelly, you’ve said you and Miss James got along well. Your words.” Two stopped talking, letting the silence speak for itself. Peter did what the cops were hoping for, and started talking. I wanted to yell through the vent to stop. It was what they wanted.
“We did. We spent time together here and outside of work. Dinners, plays, things like that.”
“That’s quite a bit of time together. I’d think you’d want some space, too. Some alone time, maybe.”
“We didn’t spend every minute together.” A chair scraped against the floor as one of them shifted in their seat.
“It’s just fishy. Time of death is between two and three in the morning. You admit to seeing her at, let me check my notes here...” The sound of pages being turned was faint through the vent. “‘I left at two. I needed to be at the airport by two-thirty.’ Your words, again. That doesn’t leave much time for someone else to enter the restaurant.”
“Let’s take a minute.” The Irish lilt gave away One’s voice. “Nobody is suggesting you did it, just the time frame is very tight.” Classic good cop, bad cop. “Who else has keys?”
“How many times are you going to ask me this stuff? It’s been the same questions for two days.” Peter sounded agitated.
One: “Until we figure this out. I know it can be daunting and frustrating. Bear with us.”
“Did Anya have any friends outside of the restaurant?” Two’s deep voice rang clearly through the vent.
“I don’t know. We were friends. Yes, we spent time outside of work together, but it was always with other coworkers. She never brought around anyone new.”
“Let’s look at this from another angle. The time frame is tight. We can all agree on that,” Detective One said. “But, what if we are looking at this the wrong way. You were the one scheduled to work, Peter. You were the one who ‘always closed on Wednesdays.’ Your words, again. I think the angle here is you. Who bears a grievance against you?”
I bumped my head on the ceiling from the jolt of hearing their words. Peter? Peter evoked loyalty. Yes, his methods could be a little unorthodox. He was nosy and pushy and got into everyone’s business, but people still loved him. Everyone wanted to be Peter’s friend. He had a pull to him that the rest of us were drawn to. Everyone wanted to be in Peter’s circle. Nobody would want to harm him.
"Do you think the killer could've been expecting you here? Have you had any problems lately? Irate customers?”
"Me?! No way," Peter answered emphatically.
“What about your fight with Anya the day before her death?” Number Two spoke again. Peter wouldn’t answer. I think they used me as a ruse to disarm Peter. With the questions directed my way, Peter had time to relax before their focus shifted to him.
Peter continued to evade the questions. My neck had a crick in it from the odd angle, and my back was protesting to the hunched position. I pulled away from the vent and took a moment to stretch. I rubbed my neck to ease the discomfort. The silence stretched for so long between them that I almost missed the shuffle of chairs and bodies moving as they concluded. I either missed any last comments or the interview ended by some silent agreement.
Peter must’ve come straight to the office because I was still trying to climb down on the office chair when the door opened.
“Looking for something interesting up there?” I looked at him with doe eyes to portray my innocence at eavesdropping. Peter wasn’t fooled. “Couldn’t help yourself, could ya?”
There was no sense in denying it. Although that was the first time I had ever been caught red-handed at it.
“You sound like you need a lawyer,” I said. I jumped down from the desk and turned to straighten up the mess I had made. “Where’s the other pen?”
“Drop it. Of course, the police are going to look at me.” Peter rubbed his hands down his face, pulling the skin down, and giving his eyes a serial-killer stare.
I crawled under the desk to look for it. Anais had gifted Patrick with a desk pen set when they opened the pub, and now one of the pens was missing.
“Leave it. We’ll find it later. Let’s get to work. It’s going to be a busy one.”
And it was. The lunch rush didn’t die down until two, much later than usual. We only had about an hour or so until the afternoon drinkers started rolling in. We sat with our lunches at a bar table, enjoying the quiet while it lasted.
"Do you think you could've been the intended victim? It was supposed to be you here," I asked in between bites of pasta. I’d missed carbs. Rice and beans were great, and inexpensive while traveling, but just didn’t have the filling power of pasta.
Seth, that day’s bartender, stopped over to see if we needed anything. The staff wasn’t expected to wait on us, but Seth liked to go above and beyond. Peter waited for him to leave the table before continuing.
"Me? No. I can't think of anything in my life that would cause someone to want to hurt me."
"Sometimes, you have a way of pushing people’s buttons.”
“Such as?” Peter raised an eyebrow in question, pausing while he buttered his bread.
“Off the top of my head? Eating popcorn while a good friend is in the middle of an awkward conversation.” I took another bite before continuing. “Just a suggestion.”
“Hardly murder worthy. Try again.” Brains never worked when you needed them. Years of examples flew out of my head.
“Okay. I’ll concede this time. Do you think the detectives are just at a loss for a direction, then?”
“No. I think they are doing their job. I’m the obvious suspect. I was the last to see Anya. We did have an argument the day before she . . . died. I would look at me first.”
“Argument over what?”
“Why do you care?” Peter dipped his bread in the sauce, soaking it up, before taking a bite.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Regan, drop it. Let them do their job.”
“Then just tell me what you were fighting about. Are you hiding something?” I asked.
“Like what?” He talked around a mouthful of bread.
“I don’t know.” I had ignored my meal entirely at this point, pushing the plate toward the middle of the table.
“It was nothing. Anya was taking a little too much free rein in her decision-making about the restaurant. I had the same talks with you. Only Anya liked to yell back where you just rolled your eyes and took it.”
“Sheesh, how hard was that?” My phone beeped once in my purse. I ignored Peter and fumbled through my bag for it. Maybe, just maybe, it was Gray. The harder I searched for it, the more evasive it became. I swear phones can disappear into the bottom of bags. I looked in the same place three times before I finally spotted it. The screen lit up with a message from Ben. I didn’t even read it. I just tossed the phone on the table, defeated.
“You wanna talk about that?”
“No.”
“You just about tore your purse apart trying to get to the phone.” Peter paused. “Were you hoping for Gray or Ben?”
I shot Peter a dirty look, hoping he would drop the conversation. Of course, he didn’t. The tables had turned.
“I’ve
been thinking about your situation. I think—” Peter started.
“Oh, I can’t wait for this.”
“I think,” he continued as if I’d not spoken, “you need a plan.”
“That’s your big advice?”
“Hear me out. Right now, you are floundering. You don’t know what you want. You hate change. And—”
“I hate change? Come on, my life is change. Almost on a daily basis.”
“Because that is your plan. You plan on it changing often. Different hostel, different hotel, different city. But, it’s your plan. Gray threw a wrench into your plan.”
“And you are going to help me with this plan?” I asked. I crossed my arms, but quickly realized how defensive I looked. I tried to relax but ended up looking and feeling awkward in my body.
“Out of the goodness of my heart, I am.”
“I think you need a plan. And a lawyer,” I said.
“Humor me. I could use the distraction.” Peter leaned toward me, eagerness brightening his face.
I pondered that for a moment. I might not agree with Peter’s theory that I didn’t like change, but I would admit to being a bit of a control freak. If I agreed with his plan, then I would be giving up control. Was I willing to do that? I got hives just thinking about it.
“What are the stipulations?”
“You have to do everything I say. No arguments.” Everything?! I would be giving up all control. But, what did I have to lose right now? Technically, he controlled my world as of that moment anyway. I lived with him and worked for him. I might as well let him make my choices. I mean, I wouldn’t actually have to do what he said. What was he going to do? Stab me?
Okay, too soon. But the thought did get me thinking. What if he had stabbed Anya? I looked at Peter through new eyes. Could he have killed Anya, and then left only to return to ‘find’ her? Could he be the killer hiding in plain sight? I shook off the thoughts and brought myself back to the conversation at hand, but I let the thought marinate in the back of my mind.
“What’s the plan?” I asked.
Peter wagged his finger back and forth before he clasped his hands on the table in front of him. He sat up straighter, commanding his audience. His audience of one, but it didn’t matter. He was in his zone. He had my attention and was about to commence with his orders.
“Rule One: You don’t get to know the whole plan. I will tell you the next step only after you have completed the previous one.”
“You want me to go in blind?”
“Rule Two: You will not hem or haw, talk back, or challenge my authority.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Rule Three: It’s all or nothing. No rule changes halfway through.”
“Peter . . .” My tone was one used with a small child. One of ‘come on, now. Play nice.’
“Please refer to Rule Two.” He held his right hand with two fingers up. Like that child I was trying to get through to, telling his age. “If you feel that you don’t have the commitment necessary for this task, then we’ll end it now.”
I knew what he was doing. He knew I couldn’t back down from a challenge. He knew my competitive side would surface. I would do what it took to win. I fought the urge as it bubbled up inside of me. I wanted to tell him to shove his rules, but I wanted to win. I really wanted to win.
What would it hurt? It would occupy my time. He was right in that I didn’t have a plan. I was wandering aimlessly. When Gray dropped the bomb with those four little words, my only thought was to get to the airport. After arriving here, I had nothing to do. Nothing to look forward to. I knew I might regret this, but I held my hand out to seal my deal with the devil.
“Not so fast. You have to follow the rules.”
“And you have to always tell me the truth. No half lies, no omissions. If I want an explanation, you give it. Wholly.”
We shook on it. “Now, tell me Step One.”
“You have to go on a date with Ben.”
Chapter Nine
“I quit.”
“You can’t quit. Rule Three.”
“Have you been drinking? What will that possibly accomplish?”
“I refer to Rule Two. I knew I should’ve made that rule number one.” Peter shook his head and picked up my phone from the table, holding it out to me.
“You promised to answer my questions,” I said.
“Well, you promised not to complain.” Peter smiled at me. A condescending, know-it-all smile, but a smile nonetheless. “I know men. And I know you with your stubborn, mule-headedness. Now, text Ben. And, don’t act all high and mighty. Your talk went well enough to get his phone number.”
“I had no choice. Ben informed me that my good friend gave him my number. I had to save his, so I’d know not to answer it.” I gave Peter a scathing look.
“You’ll thank me later.”
“I will figure out a loophole.” I grabbed my phone and walked ten feet away from him, to give me the illusion of privacy. Ben made it easy for me. His text asked if I’d be up for a drink tonight. I texted back a yes. We hastily made plans to meet up after I finished here. Peter stared at me the whole time, like a jailer making sure his prisoner listened and didn’t step out of line.
“Happy now?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I plopped down in the seat next to him. “And the point?”
“You are starting to question your decision to walk away from Gray.” I didn’t comment one way or the other. The fact that Peter knew me so well didn’t surprise me. He had a sixth sense about things. I picked up my fork and pushed the pasta around my plate. “You reacted on impulse. Now, you are feeling insecure because you are regretting your choice.”
“So?” The petulant child in me had returned. “What can I do about it now? I tried calling him. He didn’t answer.”
“You tried calling? Once?” Peter guessed. I nodded my head. “You haven’t tried enough. You need to go to the office now and call him again. Tell him you are a fool and that you miss him.”
“Admit my shortcomings?”
“Yes, you fool. Women pretend they are independent and only want a man on their terms. They spout off about providing for themselves and how they ‘don’t need a man.’ In reality, every woman pines for a real man. A man strong enough to tell them no when it’s called for. A man who will make her feel protected.”
“Where’s your soapbox when you need it?” A smile tugged at my lips.
“I carry it in my back pocket. Listen.” Peter planted his hand on my arm. The connection caused me to look into his eyes while he talked. “Gray told you no when it was in your best interest. He looked out for you. He loves you.”
“And I’m supposed to realize this by going on a date with Ben?”
“Yes. Ben never told you no. He never put you first. He gave you everything that he decided you needed. Pay attention tonight. You’ll see that.” Peter touched the tip of my nose with his finger, driving his point home.
“You’re saying Gray didn’t do that? He didn’t decide for me by saying no.”
“Yep. Think about it. When you were still in school, your grades were better when you worked. You were busy and had to manage your time well between studying and classes and work.” I nodded my head. He was right. “What happened when you got the scholarship and could only focus on studying?”
“I put it off because I kept thinking I had plenty of time to do it later.”
“Exactly. Ben didn’t take into consideration that you liked working. He didn’t think about the fact that you, personally, do better when you are busy. He made a choice for you, and it wasn’t right for you.”
“You tried to get me to work just one or two shifts each week.”
“And you wanted to, but he didn’t want that.” Peter was right. Again. I didn’t want to stop working. I liked having time away, not thinking about school or responsibilities. Just having fun behind the bar.
“What about Gray? He asked me to run away wit
h him. I did. I quit working here. Again. How is that different?”
“You are a lost cause.” Peter threw his hands in the air.
“I’m serious! How was it different? I’m actually listening to what you are saying.”
“That’s a first.” I started to get up from the table, but Peter stopped me by putting his hand on my arm. “What was your first response, your gut reaction, when Gray asked you to go with him?”
“Yes.”
“What was your head’s response?”
“How would I work while traveling?”
“And Gray’s response to that?”
“He encouraged me to follow my passion. Whatever that may be. I realized I finally had the time to write. To write whatever I wanted.”
“But?”
“But I needed practice and income. Gray suggested the travel articles. He built me a website. I landed my first freelance job within the week.” Peter looked pleased with himself. A smile spread across his face.
“What happened when Ben asked you to move in?”
“My gut response?” Peter nodded. “Hesitation. I didn’t listen to it.”
“Your head response?”
“Leery. Ben wanted me to give up everything, but school.”
“Exactly. It was Ben’s condo. He paid the bills. He paid for school. He gave you an allowance. He set the tone.”
“But you’ve always said a man sets the tone in every relationship.”
“That’s a future conversation. Back on point. Ben took, Gray gave.”
I sat back in my seat to ponder this. Looking back with twenty/twenty vision, Peter was right. The break-up with Ben left me with nothing because I had nothing. I put myself in similar circumstances with Gray. I gave up my apartment. I gave up my job. My friends. My family. But, not really. Gray encouraged me and helped me find a new career. One that was compatible with our travels and my personality. He helped me to have something for me. Something that was just mine.