by Gail Lukasik
Before I could respond, our waitress returned. “Another round?” She picked up Eva’s empty glass. My glass was half full.
“Not for me. I’ll just finish this,” I answered.
Eva just shook her head no and smiled her pained smile.
I stood up. “I’ll be right back. Ladies room." I wanted to give her a few moments to digest what I had told her before I asked her any more questions about Joyce.
When I returned, Eva was gone. She had stuck me with the bill. I finished my drink and left twenty-two dollars. As I turned to leave, I saw Renn Woulff’s face reflected in the bar mirror. His back was to me. I was so engrossed in conversation with Eva Peck that I hadn’t noticed him come in.
I could easily have left without him seeing me, but that grinning face made me shake with fury. I walked up behind him, my high heels clicking loudly on the wooden floorboards.
“Next time you have something to say, say it to my face,” I whispered to the back of his greasy head.
He turned sideways to look at me. “What?” he slurred.
“You’re not just a drunk, you're a coward too," I said in a low and menacing tone.
“Hey, everybody. It’s the lady reporter. The one looking into everyone's business. She's a real dick, she is.” A few snickers punctuated the room.
“Just stay away from me, or you’ll be sorry.” It was an idle threat, and I knew it. But I was pulsing with anger, blurting out whatever movie cliché popped into my head. If I'd had a revolver, I'd have had it drawn. I had to get out of there before I told him that this town wasn’t big enough for the both of us.
“What you talking about, you freakin bitch?” he shouted.
I turned and walked toward the door. I could feel every pair of eyes in the bar follow me.
“Hey, where’re you goin?” Woulff called after me. “Let me buy you a drink. No hard feelings.”
25
Of course I was an hour late for Lydia’s dinner party. An assortment of trucks and cars were parked haphazardly in front of her shop. I recognized the black Dodge Ram and Stevens’s MG convertible. He had finally given in to winter and put the top up.
As I trudged up the wood chip walkway, I saw the flickering light of candles in the upstairs windows. I knocked at the back door. Riffs of classical music drifted outside. It sounded like Mozart. So that was the kind of evening it was going to be.
“Well, it’s about time!” Lydia opened the door. She was holding a glass of champagne. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders in loose curls. She was wearing a black body suit that adhered to her like another skin. Her waist was cinched with a silver belt. All she needed was a whip, and she could have become Cat Woman.
“Didn’t want to come empty handed.” I raised the merlot.
She read the label. “You’re forgiven. We’re just about ready to eat, so go on up. I have to fetch some more candles from the shop. I think you know everybody.” She smiled.
The main room upstairs swam in candlelight. There were candles on end tables, on the fireplace mantle, on the window ledges, and on the dining room table. Lydia had created a shadowy ambiance where subtleties of expression could easily go unnoticed or even be misinterpreted. Despite the subdued light, there was no way to enter unobserved. I took a deep breath and strode into the room, trying not to brush against any candles and set myself ablaze.
The only two people in the room were Jake Stevens and Deputy Chet Jorgensen. Although they were both about the same height, they were a study in opposites. Jorgensen, whose physique could make Arnold Schwarzenegger self-conscious, was decked out in a navy sport coat, dress trousers, white shirt and tie. The lean and lanky Stevens wore his usual attire: jeans and a work shirt. This one was dark blue. His only concession to the occasion was a tie: a skinny black one that any of the Beatles might have worn in the early Sixties.
Stevens and Jorgensen were leaning against the stone fireplace, drinks in hands, deep in conversation. The Deputy was gesticulating with his free hand. Stevens was shaking his head. Neither one acknowledged my arrival.
I untied my cape and threw it on the sofa. I looked around the room and spotted a makeshift bar set up on a glass cart between two windows. Under each window was a pile of floor cushions. They were the ones we had sat on at the women’s meeting. Maybe after the liquor had done its job, we’d all sit around and spill our souls.
Ignoring the “never mix, never worry” rule I'd developed in college, I poured myself a glass of champagne and joined the men.
“Is this a private conversation or can anyone join?” A lame opener, but I’ve never been good at party chitchat.
“Didn’t see ya come in, there,” said Deputy Chet. “How’s the bow huntin’ comin’?”
For once, Stevens looked taken aback.
“Haven’t really had much time to hunt.” I averted looking at Stevens, but he recovered in record time.
“You’ll have to take me hunting sometime, Leigh,” he said, with a sardonic expression.
“Hey. I been asking you to come huntin’ for years.” Jorgensen looked from Stevens to me, then grinned. “Ya puttin’ me on again, okay then.”
Stevens patted Jorgensen on the back. “I think Leigh’s putting us both on.”
“Now would I do that?” I asked, widening my eyes.
“I think you might.” Stevens jiggled the ice around in his glass.
“Listen, then, no kiddin’, she’s a pretty good shot." Chet wasn’t going to let this drop. Too bad such doggedness didn’t extend to criminal investigations.
“I’m sure she is,” Stevens concluded. He stared at me past politeness.
For an uncomfortable moment, I studied my drink.
Chet shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Didn’t ya say somethin’ then about huntin’ before?” he asked.
“Not hunting, shooting,” I answered.
Stevens was about to ask something when Lydia walked into the room.
“Dinner’s ready. Everybody, please sit.” She moved toward the stereo in what could only be described as a bona fide, movie star slink. “Any musical requests?”
“How about some low down dirty blues?” Sarah Peck emerged from the kitchen, carrying a gold-filigreed soup tureen. And right behind her came Rob Martin, with a steaming platter exuding a lemony fish scent.
“Do you have Muddy Waters?” Rob asked.
I was shocked by Sarah’s appearance. Her hair was cut so close to her head that patches of scalp showed in places. It looked like she had taken a knife to her hair and hacked away in a frenzy. She was wearing another leather mini skirt whose black surface looked hard as a lead shield. Her gold lamé blouse shimmered in the candlelight, showing off her braless breasts.
Lydia fumbled through her stack of CDs. “How about Vivaldi's 'Four Seasons' or Bach?” Without waiting for an answer, she made a selection.
“Lydia, why’d you bother asking?” Martin grumbled.
She pressed the start button. “Just teasing. Will Charlie Parker do?” She stood up and ran her fingers through her lush hair.
I was getting the feeling that everything everybody was saying had an undertone to it. That they were all speaking in another language that I had yet to tune into.
“Boy girl, boy girl,” Lydia said pointing round the table. Her voice had a tenseness to it, as if she were on the verge of hysterics.
As if playing some bizarre game of musical chairs and the music had suddenly stopped, Sarah quickly plopped down next to Chet. Trying not to appear piqued, Rob casually slid back the chair on Sarah’s other side at one end of the table. I sat down on Rob’s other side across from Sarah. In our haste to be seated, we’d all crowded around one end of the table.
“Well, I guess I’ll sit here,” Stevens said, rather ungraciously pulling back the chair next to me.
Lydia sat at the opposite end of the table from Rob. She didn’t look too happy about it. She bit the side of her lip. “Sarah, would you do the honors?” Lydia pointed to the covere
d soup tureen. “Hope everybody’s in the mood for fish.”
Sarah stood up and took the lid off the tureen. A strong odor of spices and fish drifted out. “Just pass your bowls down.” As she ladled the chowder, her hands trembled. Rob perched on the edge of his chair, as if he were about to catch Sarah if she keeled over.
“Food looks mighty good. Which lovely lady do I give my condolences to?” Chet asked, after the food and wine had been passed around.
I wasn’t sure if he was trying to be amusing or had misused the word.
“I made the stuffed sole,” said Lydia. “Sarah made the chowder.”
I automatically stared down into my soup bowl. There were dark brown mushroom slices floating in the broth. I realized I was holding my spoon aloft. I quickly took a sip of the broth.
“Suppose everybody heard about the council approvin’ that Chicago developer’s plan for the Egg Harbor subdivision, then.” Chet popped half a buttered roll into his mouth.
“So you're happy about it?” Stevens queried.
“Not unhappy,” Chet responded.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rob scowled. “You know damn well that the council sold us out. That land was supposed to be set aside for preservation.”
“Hold on. Don’t ya read that paper of yours, Rob? Part of it’s goin’ to be.” Chet took a long pull of his wine. “That developer there’s preserving five acres of wetlands near the south quadrant.”
“If the council had any sense, they’d put a stop to all development.” Martin said.
“Is that realistic, Rob?” Lydia asked.
“What does it have to do with being realistic? Do you want this place to look like every place else in this god-forsaken country—strip malls, subdivisions, and more strip malls?” Martin stopped eating. A thin sheen of sweat shone on his forehead.
“Rob, you’ve seen them plans there. That place ain’t goin’ look that way. We’re goin’ about our development very conservatively.” Jorgensen sounded annoyed.
“It’s going to happen regardless,” Stevens said, “whether we like it or not.”
“That’s a hell of an attitude, Jake,” Martin snapped. “But of course, I figured you’d take that tack.”
“What tack's that?” Stevens asked. His voice had gone flat.
“Rob, do you always have to be so . . .” Lydia ran her tongue over her top lip as if the word she was looking for was there. “So passionate?”
I got the distinct impression that she was enjoying the exchange, despite her protest.
“What do you think?” Martin asked.
It took me a few seconds to realize that he was addressing me.
“Well, I don’t know all the particulars of this new subdivision. But having watched my town in Illinois go from a few scattered subdivisions and cornfields to endless strip malls and countless subdivisions, I’d probably be against development. In fact, the lack of development was one of the reasons I came here.”
“You outsiders always feel that way,” Chet harrumphed. “Us natives understand the economics. We don’t come here with no money. We gotta scratch out a livin’ from this place.”
“I would think you of all people would be against development, with your concern for the natural order,” I countered.
“It’s like what I told ya there about nature. There’s gotta be that balance. If we control development, we can have that balance.”
“You’re not accounting for human nature,” I answered sharply. For some reason I was irked with his naiveté. “How do you control greed?"
Chet began to say something about the council, but Martin wouldn’t let him finish. “Then you believe humans are basically evil?” Martin asked. “If we don’t have rules and punishments, we’ll sin indiscriminately?”
“Leigh likes to see the worst in people. It keeps her mind off her own problems,” Lydia grinned.
I didn't find her funny. But whatever game she was playing, I wasn’t going to participate. “That’s one way to look at it,” I said, forcing a grin in return.
“Lydia, that’s not what I’m asking,” Rob said, dismissively. “I want to know if she thinks we’re all natural born sinners kept in check by rules and punishment.”
I felt I should put him out of his misery. “Yes, I think people will sin when they get the chance. Some of us commit little sins, others of us . . . and then there are some people who sin indiscriminately even with rules and punishment.”
Sarah stared across the table at me as if daring me to say something. I was starting to feel outnumbered. I felt my face flush.
“It’s human nature,” Lydia commented as she passed around my expensive bottle of merlot. “People always want to see what they can get away with.” It was obvious she wanted to change the subject, but Rob Martin wasn't going for that.
“So you do think humans are basically evil?” He held my eyes with his own.
“Some, not all. What do you think?”
He didn’t answer my question, and his eyes had begun to shine like his forehead. “So according to you, some of us are more evolved morally than others.”
He was trying to corner me. I could feel my heart beating harder inside my chest. “I don’t know about that. I think it’s dangerous to talk in absolutes because people don’t fit neatly into categories. But I do believe that some people are evil and irredeemable. Whether they’re born that way or they’re a product of extreme abuse, I can’t say. Nor does it matter really. But you're evading my question, Rob. What do you think?”
He took a deep breath and let it out. “I think people are basically evil. All of them without exception, and that includes myself. I also think it’s dangerous not to talk in absolutes. Because that’s when you get fooled. John Wayne Gacy, Ted Bundy, Jeffrey Dahmer. Think about how they were able to win their victims’ confidence. By appearing ‘normal’ and cultivating a clever con. But knowing that their victims most likely believed in the basic goodness of people was the other part. No one with any sense of self-preservation these days can afford that belief."
“Sometimes experience is the best teacher,” I said, aware that Martin was taking my comments very personally.
Chet chuckled to himself. “Okay then, that’s why ya spend so much time with them plants and animals, eh, Rob?”
“Well, here’s to human nature.” Lydia lifted her glass in a toast. “And if Rob is right, our first McDonald’s north of Sturgeon Bay.”
Sarah was the only one who drank to Lydia’s toast.
“Sarah,” Lydia said, “you’ll have to give me your chowder recipe. You know how I’m always looking to try new things.” She peered over the rim of her glass at Rob.
“I’d like a copy too," I chimed in, seeing a perfect opportunity. “Is this one of your specialties from the restaurant?” Adrenaline was charging through my system and seemed to have surged into my mouth.
“Yeah, I’ve got lots of specialties.” Sarah answered, smiling at Chet.
“Such as?”
“Beef Wellington, poached salmon, the usual.”
“What about rabbit stew?”
“What about it?” There was a hard edge to her blackened lips.
“Nothing, just that your mother happened to mention rabbit stew was one of your dishes.” Reason told me I should keep my mouth shut, but it was like being in a car wreck, right at the moment of collision.
“She did, huh?” Sarah laughed. “Did she also tell you that rabbit stew was one of old Carl’s favorites?”
“Sarah, don’t.” Rob gave her a panicked look.
“Where’s your sense of humor, Rob? Oh I forgot, you never find anything funny anymore.”
Martin tried not to look hurt. I almost felt sorry for him.
“But you already know that. About the rabbit stew being his favorite, and probably his last meal. My rabbit stew, leftovers from the restaurant.” Sarah glared at me. “I’d be happy to make you some sometime.”
“I don’t think that’s funny,” Rob
said under his breath.
“See what I mean?” Sarah leaned toward Chet and whispered something into his ear. He laughed uncomfortably.
“Now that there would depend on you,” he said, looking up at Rob. Sarah said something else that I couldn’t hear. Rob stabbed a piece of cold asparagus viscously.
In the background Charley Parker was squeezing notes out of his sax to “Sweet Georgia Brown” that seemed beyond human ability.
“Speaking of interesting recipes, Rob, did you pick the mushrooms for the soup?” Lydia asked.
“What? Oh, yeah,” he said, glancing at me with a smirk.
“You didn’t happen to find them at Lynd Point?" I asked, and saw his eyes widen. “I understand that’s an excellent spot for mushrooms.” I decided to play along with Rob and Lydia’s little joke.
Martin had a perplexed look on his damp face. I could feel Stevens shift in his seat.
“Lynd Point? That’s not a good site for mushrooms," he scoffed.
Now I was perplexed. Either he was lying or Sarah’s painting was a figment of her artistic imagination. “Really? Well, where did you get the mushrooms for this chowder, then?”
“I bought them today,” Sarah piped up, “from the market. So if anyone drops dead, you know who to blame.”
“No one’s accusing you of anything, Sarah,” Stevens said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Jake is right, Sarah. Rob and I were just having a little fun.” Lydia smiled broadly at me.
Sarah pulled at her sliced hair. “You and Rob have as much fun as you want. You have my permission.”
“Anybody for dessert?” Lydia quickly parried.
* * * * *
After dessert, everyone drifted away from the table in twos. Chet and Sarah huddled in a dark corner on several floor pillows. Lydia would only allow Rob to help her clean up. So Stevens and I were left to each other.
“You never give up,” he said, sitting beside me on the sofa and handing me what had to be my twelfth drink. My head felt disconnected from my body. Although he had been drinking throughout dinner, he seemed completely sober. That ability put my teeth on edge.