by Dana Moss
“Let me guess,” said Ethan, sliding the transmission into park and turning off the engine. “You hate karaoke.”
“Even more than kary-cokey,” she said, pointing to the misspelled sign. She slumped down in her seat wishing Ethan would start laughing his lovely laugh and drive away saying, “Just kidding. We’re going to go poke our eyes out instead.” But no. His car door was open, and he was actually saying, “Come on. You’ll like it. All the good nuts are here.” Taffy rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. When he saw she wasn’t moving, he added, “Give it a chance. Monday is sixties and seventies only. No teeny-bopper stuff. If you’re having a terrible time, we’ll just stay for one beer.”
Reluctantly, Taffy climbed out of the truck. Across the hood she asked him, “Is this a date?”
There was that lovely laugh of his, just when Taffy least expected it.
“This is one friend trying to cheer up another.” He led the way toward the door. She followed, hot with embarrassment and wanting to regain her cool.
“Sending me to the spa would have cheered me up. Buying me a ticket to Jamaica maybe. Trading in my tin can of a car for a Lexus, now that would have been nice.”
With the door to the bar propped open and rock ’n’ roll belching out, Ethan stopped and turned to her. He was still smiling, but his eyes looked more serious and searching.
“I’m trying very hard not to call you ‘Your Highness.’ Do I need to start?”
Taffy blinked, and when an unbidden thought about checking her calendar to see if it was time to redo her eyelash extensions popped into her brain, she gulped. Is what she’d become? Is this why her grandmother had sent her away?
She cleared her throat and tried to save face. “Sorry. Forget about Jamaica and the Lexus.”
“Whew, weight off my mind.”
“The spa might still be a good idea, though.”
He paused at the door.
“Just kidding, Ranger,” she said, nudging him. “And the first round’s on me.” She could forgo lunch for the next three days. “But I’m not singing.”
She walked ahead through the door, and Ethan followed. Behind her, she heard him mutter, “We’ll see.”
The joint was nearly full. Someone was on the small stage singing “Purple Haze” by Jimi Hendrix.
They made their way to the bar. The bartender reached over to shake Ethan’s hand. As the music died down, she heard the bartender say, “Hey man, I’m waiting on that next batch. When will it be ready?”
He pulled up two dark bottles from under the counter, knocked the caps off, and handed them over.
“Soon,” Ethan said. “Another week.”
Taffy pulled out her wallet and fished around for her remaining dollars.
“Put that away, Sweetheart. It’s on the house.”
Taffy looked up at the bartender and then at Ethan, who grinned down at her, as if he’d known that was going to happen. He then led the way to one of the few remaining empty tables.
“You weren’t going to let me buy, were you?”
“Not a chance.” He grinned.
“So what’s that about a ‘batch’?” said Taffy. “Are you the local drug dealer, too?”
He laughed. “Nope. Though I do run a kind of grow op.”
Taffy raised an eyebrow.
“I grow hops. I co-own a very small microbrewery, though we’re not making any profits yet.”
“Seriously? I’m going to run out of fingers keeping track of all that you do.”
He raised his beer to her and winked. “I like the idea of keeping your fingers busy.”
Taffy felt herself blush just as Ethan’s attention was drawn to the stage, where a woman with dark wavy hair was launching into a rendition of Aretha Franklin’s “Respect.” She had a strong smooth voice and powerful allure.
“Do I know her?” said Taffy.
Ethan raised an eyebrow. “You don’t recognize your nemesis?”
Taffy looked more closely. “It’s not!”
Out of uniform and with her hair down, she looked like a different person.
As Maria Salinas belted out the chorus, she seemed to be singing directly to Ethan. He whistled encouragingly.
For a split second, Taffy felt like a third wheel. She swilled back her beer. Ethan had said they only had to stay for one. She was determined to cash in on that promise, until, unasked, the bartender delivered two more beers to their table. Taffy finished her first and started sipping her second.
It had been a long time since she’d felt the stinging prick of jealously, made all the more uncomfortable by the fact that she had no claim on Ethan, regardless of his seeming flirtations. To make matters worse, when the song ended, he waved Maria Salinas over to their table.
“You two should get to know each other.”
“Why? She hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you.”
“Just wait,” Taffy muttered.
Ethan stood and gave casual introductions. He waved to the bartender, Ted, who brought over a fresh soda for Maria. Taffy ordered a shot of tequila.
“I hear you’re running Taffy a bit hard,” Ethan said to Maria.
She narrowed her eyes at Taffy but didn’t lose her smile. “I think she can handle it.”
Taffy didn’t like the way Maria looked at her, as if she knew something Taffy didn’t. Her arrogance was annoying.
Ted delivered the shot, and Taffy swallowed it up. Her eyes burned a little as the cool fire slid down.
“Taffy’s moved in to Janet Harken’s place,” said Ethan.
“I’m aware of that.” Maria glanced at Taffy. “Any ghostly sightings? Most people would be too freaked out to live in a house where someone died so recently.”
Taffy blinked and clenched her teeth to retain her composure, because Maria had hit a sore spot, but Ethan stepped in and said, “She’s tougher than she looks.” He patted her hand.
Maria watched his hand touch Taffy’s and then looked away.
“No, she’s right,” Taffy said. “And it’s even freakier to think it might have been murder.”
Maria’s fingers tightened around her glass, and then she threw her head back and laughed lightly.
“Two days in town and you think you know more than the police?”
Ethan interjected. “That’s not what she means—”
But Taffy cut off Ethan’s attempt to protect her from this passive-aggressive nut of an off-duty cop who clearly had it in for her.
“What I mean is”—Taffy leaned forward—“I heard one of your coworkers thought it was suspicious to begin with.”
Maria rolled her eyes. “That would be Lieutenant Gravely.” With her glass, she gestured toward the back of the bar where two guys were playing pool, though she didn’t specify whether Gravely was the tall handsome guy with the nice smile or the skinnier fellow with a slight overbite. “He’s seen a few too many CSI episodes. Gets overzealous with nonprocedural tasks. The chief and I are trying to work with him on it.”
“Don’t you think it’s just a little bit strange that she died from a bowling ball falling on her head?”
“Of course it’s strange, but maybe she shouldn’t have stored her ball on the closet shelf. I can’t go around making sure people don’t do stupid things.” Maria gave Taffy a particularly pointed look.
“Right, you have your hands full with all those jaywalkers and speeders.” Taffy matched Maria’s look.
She smirked. “Actually, there’s only one culprit at the moment.”
Taffy pursed her lips and was working on an insulting comeback when Ethan said, with a charming diplomatic smile, “Ladies, we’re supposed to be having fun. I know I am, because I’m sitting here with one of my oldest friends…”—he indicated Maria with nod of his beer bottle—“and one of my newest friends.” He tipped his bottle toward Taffy. “As far as I’m concerned you’re both good nuts and simply got off on the wrong foot.”
Taffy looked away thinking, Nuts don’t have
feet, but she told herself to make more of an effort for Ethan’s sake, and she knew it was not in her best interest to alienate too many people in town. She pasted a smile on her lips and tried another tack.
“Ethan said you used to live in New York a long time ago? I’m from there.”
Ethan smiled. Maria leaned back in her chair and nodded as she sipped her soda with lime, but she didn’t contribute anything to the potential conversation.
“So what brought you to Oregon?” Taffy said, trying harder.
Maria glanced at Ethan and then looked pointedly at Taffy. “Death.”
Taffy’s sip of beer seemed to bubble in her throat and made her cough.
“Oh, gosh, sorry to hear that.”
Maria shrugged and looked away. “It’s a long time ago now.”
Taffy wondered whose death. Maria didn’t seem to want to give much away.
“But you did grow up in New York? Where?”
“Upper East Side.”
That surprised Taffy, and it must have shown on her face, because Maria added, “My mother was a maid for a wealthy family when I was younger.”
That was a common enough story, but it still made Taffy uncomfortable. She sensed that Maria blamed her for something, but she had no idea what. Taffy had no control over anyone’s lot in life. And wealthy people suffered, too. Sometimes they did terrible things to each other, like book them one-way tickets to small towns in Oregon.
Maria added, “We moved to the West Coast when I was twelve, so I suppose I only partially grew up there. But it’s my home now.” She sipped her soda and watched Taffy, who was now thinking about the year when she turned twelve.
That time in her life was a mental blur. Taffy’s mother died that year, and the trauma of her death, the psychiatrist claimed, had had a damaging effect on her memories. Parts of Taffy’s childhood just seemed to be wiped clear. The psychiatrist said they would come back over time, but not much had. In some ways, this had made moving on easier. Every so often, when she was just falling asleep, or in that deep relaxation pose at the end of yoga class, an image or scenario would come back to her.
Taffy murmured, half to herself, “I don’t think I’ll ever feel at home anywhere but New York.”
She finished the last sip of her second beer, and Ethan pushed his untouched second towards her.
“Don’t you want it?”
“You can have it. I’m driving.”
Maria smiled approvingly. “I’m off duty, but I’m always on the lookout, McCoy.”
They definitely had a flirty thing going. Taffy pushed aside her empty beers and ploughed into her third. She considered ordering another shot as she turned to Ethan.
“So you gonna sing or what? Isn’t that why we’re here?”
“We’re here so you can observe some of the local culture.”
“Or contribute to it,” Maria said as Taffy tried, unsuccessfully, to hold back a burp.
“The culture I’m used to is the Metropolitan Opera and Tony Award–winning Broadway shows.” She clinked beers with one of her empty bottles.
Maria smirked. “You can take the girl out of the Big Apple, but you can’t take the Big Apple out of the girl, is that it?”
“Precisely.”
Maria leaned forward. “And what if her core is rotten?”
“Hey,” Ethan said jovially. “Remember we’re just out for a good time.”
Maria leaned back in her chair and watched a geeky-looking hipster wrap up his version of “You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet” by Bachman Turner Overdrive.
“My turn,” said Ethan standing up. “Play nice.” He headed for the stage. As he cued up his song, he tossed the list over to Taffy. She shook her head.
“You don’t seem like the shy type,” Maria said.
“Just because you’ve seen my driver’s license doesn’t mean you know anything about me.”
“Don’t I?” Maria placed her elbows on the table and met Taffy’s slightly drunken gaze. “Spoiled little rich girl needs a reset. Moves out west for a change of scene. Thinks her life is so hard because of some tragic event in her past—”
“You don’t know anything about me.” Emboldened by drink, she shared a thought she hadn’t meant to say out loud. “You’re just jealous because Ethan likes me.”
Maria laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”
From the stage, Ethan said, “This goes out to the two lovely ladies at my table.” The first few drumbeats rumbled through the bar. The Rolling Stones, of course.
“I saw how you looked at him while you were singing.” Taffy downed the rest of her beer and waved to Ted for another. “But all’s fair in love and war, ain’t it?” She picked up the list of songs and tried to focus on the titles.
Maria was shaking her head in disbelief. “You’ve got it all wrong.”
“We’ll see about that.” Taffy stood up. She wobbled. And then she wove her way to the stage as the audience applauded Ethan.
Taffy took the microphone from him before the next guy in line could start. She pointed to a song title and took a deep breath. She had to sing fast because as soon as she stood up she realized she had to pee.
The opening chords to Janis Joplin’s “Piece of My Heart” twanged through the room. Taffy sort of sang-yelled the lyrics. She tried to sing to Ethan but the lights made it hard to find him in the crowd. Halfway through the song, it occurred to her that she hadn’t sung nor lip-synced a song since before her mother died. She had to swallow a lump in her throat. The effect of this made her voice even more Joplin-esque. She was surprised to hear the audience roar with applause when she was done.
She stumbled off the stage and headed straight for the restroom. In her inebriated state, she was only half mortified at what she had done. When she returned to the bar, Ethan found her before she found him.
“Let’s get you home, shall we?”
“Where’s Maria?” Taffy slurred slightly.
“She left before you finished. She said she has an early day tomorrow. I think you do, too.”
Taffy had nearly forgotten about work. She let Ethan lead her back to his truck.
“Never again,” she said. “Don’t let me do that ever again. Good friends don’t let other friends drink and kary-cokey.”
“Come on, Lightweight, time for bed.”
Back in New York, Ethan’s last line would have been an invitation, not a simple statement of fact, so Taffy half expected him to follow her up to bed and do much more than tuck her in, but instead he just dropped her off in the driveway, said ‘good night,’ and waited until she’d found her wobbly way to the front door.
Once inside, feeling equal parts disappointment and defiance (thanks to the booze), Taffy stood in the spot where the body outline had been and stared at the closed door of the hall closet.
She decided to interpret Ethan’s stop-and-drop not as disinterest or rejection but rather as gentlemanliness. Of course, he was too nice a guy to make a move on a first date, and not even a real date—he’d said as much—so his strategy must be to be friends first. Taffy respected that. She hadn’t come across many gentleman-friends back in New York.
She hoped Maria wouldn’t turn out to be a nuisance. Whatever had once gone on between her and Ethan, they both claimed to only be friends now. Something about Maria set Taffy on edge. She was overly confident and self-assured. Not to mention she’d totally blown off Taffy’s suggestion that Janet’s death was suspicious, which was embarrassing. Taffy had only been trying to help.
She looked down at her feet. A woman—a ‘good woman,’ according to Ethan—had taken her last breath here on this floor.
Taffy took a deep breath, opened the closet door, and tugged on a chain to activate the inside lightbulb. She blinked against the glare.
Inside was a closet rod full of coats for various seasons. Below their varied hem lengths sat a dozen pairs of shoes and boots. Tucked under a pair of shoes was a wooden stepping stool, which Janet must have used to reach th
e top shelf.
Leaning back, Taffy saw a bowling-ball bag on one side of the shelf. The empty side must have originally housed the fatal bowling ball.
She pulled out the stool and positioned it so she could stand on it and reach the bag on the shelf. She probably shouldn’t be doing this drunk, but she had a bone to pick with Maria. Something about Janet’s death by bowling ball didn’t ring true.
Awkwardly, she pulled down the nearly empty bag. A pair of bowling shoes rattled around inside, plus a package of gum, a small hand towel, a box of chalk, a lone red mitten, and a small black book at the bottom. It had the letters MBC on the cover, like the composition book in the piano bench.
Keeping the book, Taffy shoved the bag back onto the shelf and nearly missed. The line of the shelf looked a little out of whack. Or maybe it was Taffy’s beery state of mind. As she got down off the stool, she nearly toppled over. After regaining her balance, she took a few steps away from the closet to assess the shelf. It didn’t look level.
She went to the parlor and fished out a marble from the jar. Back up on the stool, Taffy set the marble on the shelf. It rolled away from her. She stretched forward to get the marble back and positioned it at the front edge of the shelf again. It quickly rolled to the back left corner again. Not only was the shelf not level side to side, it was also tipped backward. She rolled the marble one more time to be sure. She didn’t have to be sober to come to the obvious conclusion: There’s no way anything could roll forward and off this shelf. Not even a bowling ball.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When Taffy’s alarm buzzed the next morning, she was still hanging on to a fragment of a dream, which was more like a forgotten memory. In the dream, her mother was still alive, and they were in their apartment on Park Avenue. Someone was helping her mom get dressed for an event. Her father was away on tour. There was music playing, pretty loudly, and Taffy and a friend were singing along and dancing a routine they’d choreographed to the song. It wasn’t Kyla or Macy or Cher dancing and singing with her—she hadn’t met them until high school—but she couldn’t picture the face of this other friend.
She rolled over, reached for the snooze button, and noticed a marble sitting on the bedside table. It took her a moment to remember where it came from. Then she remembered the rest of the night, and the reason her alarm went off extra early in the first place.