The room filled quickly, the mood again somber as it had been at the side of that dirt road. Almost everyone in the room knew Peter Browning, and the ones who didn't know him knew of him.
The new police chief stepped up to the microphone, looking nervous. He was the most boyish-looking grown man I think I'd ever seen—tow-headed, good-natured features, easy smile. I thought he was likely the same age as Bobby, and I wondered briefly if Bobby had been disappointed he wasn't picked for the position. I had heard he'd been in the running.
Chief Patterson cleared his throat. He looked at the cameras and started.
“This afternoon at around 4:00, two juveniles in east Lubbock were riding motorbikes west of the Lubbock city limits and found the remains of a deceased male. They immediately contacted their parents, who called police. The remains have been tentatively identified as 29-year-old Peter James Browning of Lubbock.”
A hushed murmur went through the crowd, and I glanced around to see if Misty Monahan was one of them. I saw that Channel 11 was represented by another young reporter, though, a new guy I didn't recognize.
“Tentatively identified,” Viv murmured. “What does that mean?”
“They're covering their butts,” I said. “They wouldn't have said this much if they weren't positive it was him.”
“Police secured the scene and gathered evidence from the surrounding area. The remains have been taken to the Lubbock County Medical Examiner's office, where they will be analyzed to determine cause of death.” He looked up, straight at the cameras. “At this time,” he said firmly, “we are collecting and analyzing evidence. We do not have a cause of death and we will not speculate.”
Five or six hands shot up, and reporters started shouting questions.
The chief pointed at one of them.
“You say you won't speculate on cause of death. But can you say if you suspect anyone else of being involved in his death?”
The chief chewed his lip. “I can say that we have no suspects, no persons of interest at this time.”
Viv and I looked at each other. I heard whispers of “suicide” from the small crowd.
Chapter two
Nigel the Brit
Back at Tony's, I entered the house without knocking. He rose from his chair in front of the news and came to greet me. Stump kept her seat.
The sight of him made my breath catch, as it always did. Broad shoulders, warm brown eyes, nice smile. Check that—not nice. A dazzling, dreamy smile.
I sat on the sofa and he joined me. “I saw the press conference. So it's definitely him.”
Stump, annoyed that Tony had moved from the recliner, grumbled, wobbled to the edge of the chair, and dropped to the floor with a thump. She stumbled over to us and backed up so I could pick her up.
“It was definitely him.”
“That's too bad. They sure didn't give a lot of information at the press conference. What happened?”
“Who knows? Viv was going to pump her source at the Medical Examiner's office to see what she could find out.” I stretched my legs out in front of me, a trifle concerned that my hamstrings seemed sore. Didn't soreness usually hit the next day? “Oh, guess what?” I said, remembering. “Viv has a new love interest. A British guy at Belle Court named Nigel.”
“Nigel?”
“I know, right? I mean, that's the most British name I think I've ever heard. Viv is besotted. I think she's actually trying to convert herself to British. Tonight she said crikey, smashing, and she said jolly good, like, three times.”
“Sounds like she's got it bad.” He lifted my legs up into his lap and leaned close to me.
I winced as his hand closed around my calf.
He pulled away. “I told you, I don't care if you haven't shaved.”
“It's not that this time. It's just that my muscles are already kind of sore from the yoga. I thought yoga was supposed to make muscles feel better.”
“You'll probably feel better tomorrow.” He massaged my calf gently.
I leaned my head back against the sofa and closed my eyes. “That feels very nice.”
He murmured and massaged a little more.
Very nice indeed...
After a few minutes, I said, “What does crikey mean, anyway? I thought it was that weird game they play with the flat bats, but it didn't make sense, given the context.”
“I think it's like...dang.” He laughed and leaned over me, his face close to mine and drew the word out. “Daaang.” He kissed me.
“Crikey,” I said, when I could breathe again.
“I'd like for you to spend the night,” he whispered, his forehead to mine, his brown eyes deep and dark.
“I could spend the night,” I whispered. This would be the first time I'd actually spent the entire night at his place. It felt...momentous. Which was scary. “I'd need to be home early so I could get ready for work.”
“Nope,” he said. “Last time I was at your place, I wrote down the name of every beauty and personal hygiene product I could find, so you now have a matching set of everything here. Plus, I had Flo order some of those scrub outfits you wear to work. So you're good to go.”
I snuggled into the crook of his arm. “Well, dang,” I said, kissing him. “I can't think of a single reason to say no.”
“Which was my plan all along.”
Later, as we lay spooned together, our heads on one pillow, Tony said softly into my ear, “I'm glad Viv has a new boyfriend. Maybe now she'll settle down and you two can quit chasing after people with guns.”
I was silent, unsure what to say.
“She can be like we are and not need the thrill of chasing after bad guys anymore.”
“Mmmmm,” I said. I had to admit, tonight had been pretty thrilling and a lot more fun in general than having a gun pointed at me.
“You don't sound convinced,” Tony said, lowering his head to kiss my shoulder.
“It's just that I'm not sure this guy is as into Viv as she is into him. She didn't mention anything except that he was charming and fascinating and talked with a British accent.”
“You could play matchmaker. Get them together. Then maybe he can get her to take up canasta or something. Then I can quit worrying that you two are going to end up dead in a back alley somewhere.”
I rolled over and kissed him. “I don't even know what canasta is, but it's probably no guarantee that we won't still end up dead in a back alley somewhere.”
He brushed a thumb over my lower lip. A smile played on his lips, but it was a sad smile. “I'm serious, Salem,” he whispered. “We're just getting back on track, you and me. The thought of something happening to you now is just....” He kissed my forehead, then brought his gaze back down to mine. “Doesn't it sound like one of those heartbreaking, ironic stories? The soldier killed on the last day of his tour of duty? The couple in the plane crash, taking the dream trip they saved for all their lives?”
I swallowed and didn't answer, the thoughts in my head spinning too fast to choose just one. I wanted to joke. “It would have made a much better story if I had died when your aunt tried to kill me,” but I couldn't because now was clearly not the time. And these analogies he was making—our separation like a soldier surviving a tour of duty in a war zone. Our reunion like a dream trip we'd saved for. It all made a hard lump in my throat that I couldn't speak around.
I kissed him and snuggled into the crook of his shoulder. I wanted to assure him, but I didn't know what to say. I could definitely say that every single time a gun had been pointed at me—without exception—it had not been my idea.
I could understand how Tony would like for that to stop, though. It seemed reasonable to expect that your wife—who groomed dogs for a living and had no real reason to go chasing down killers—would not be repeatedly held at gunpoint.
Still. Viv, playing canasta? I couldn't imagine it.
I woke to Stump whining to be let out. I slid out from under Tony's arm and hurried to let her out the back door, wearing no
thing but one of Tony's t-shirts. It was still full dark out, the early morning air chilly on my bare legs.
I went into the kitchen and pushed the start button on the coffee maker, doing my best not to wake Tony. I was touched that he'd set everything up for me to spend the night, but also a little freaked out. Okay, a lot freaked out.
In my colorful past (aka: when I was drinking every day), a freak-out would have me searching for things to support my freaked-out-edness. Like now, when I felt uncomfortable and uneasy in Tony's house, I would look for all the reasons I didn't belong there. Wonder of wonders, that kind of thinking led me into one conflict after another.
Now when I felt uneasy, I dug out my Bible. At the moment, though, my Bible was back in the tiny spare bedroom in my place in Trailertopia.
The truth was, I often woke up feeling out of sorts. Overwhelmed by the day ahead. Sometimes even depressed before I started the day. But over the past year and a half, I'd created a routine of a morning prayer time and devotional reading. God spoke to me through those readings. Every day, there was something in what I read that either spoke to something I was experiencing already, or that came up as I went through the day. My devotional and my candle were also back in Trailertopia, but it was a safe bet that Tony had a Bible I could read.
While the coffee brewed, I let Stump back in and grabbed a throw off the back of the sofa. I wrapped up in it and studied Tony's bookshelves. Six Bibles, actually, plus commentaries and a bunch of books about the Bible. I pulled out a Bible marked New International Version, poured a cup of coffee, and curled up in the corner of the sofa by the lamp and let it fall open. Bible roulette. Whatever verse I landed on would be the one I read today.
Romans 12:4
For just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. We have different gifts, according to the grace given to each of us. If your gift is prophesying, then prophesy in accordance with your faith; if it is serving, then serve; if it is teaching, then teach; if it is to encourage, then give encouragement; if it is giving, then give generously; if it is to lead, do it diligently; if it is to show mercy, do it cheerfully.
I contemplated that for a while. I knew the Apostle Paul probably meant his analogy to be a comfort. We all have our part to play. Everyone has a job and heaven on earth is when we all do our job. That's probably very encouraging if you know what your job is.
In my more cynical times, I've honestly felt like my job was to screw things up. There is purpose in every pain, right? Some way for God to be glorified no matter what we're going through? There was a time when I believed that my purpose was for things to go wrong so that others could look at me and be thankful for what went right. I didn't even realize that's what I believed until I had a conversation with Les, my AA sponsor, about this very passage.
Les was confident that his part of the body of Christ was to be a hug for those who were down. He didn't care how a person came to be down, either. In fact, if it was a self-inflicted downing, he was even more the hugger. “When your life has gone off the rails because of something out of your control—a crime committed against you, a serious illness, a natural disaster—there are lots of people willing to step in and help you out. When you've done it to yourself, you're on your own. Everyone wants to let you stew in your own juices for a while. And I get that. But I was off the rails one time, from choices I made, and someone reached out to me. It made all the difference. Now that's my job. To reach out to those no one else wants to touch.”
He'd done that for me. And it made all the difference.
He'd laughed when I said I thought perhaps I was born to be a cautionary tale.
“I think God has bigger plans for you than that, Salem. It's good to learn from your mistakes, and it's good to share what you've learned with others. But there's more to your purpose than just to be the example of what not to do.”
I hadn't even wanted to admit it to him, because it was just silly, but part of me had secretly come to hope maybe my gift was solving crimes. No, I wasn't great at it. And, no, I wasn't the least bit qualified. But since Viv and I had started hanging around together, we did seem to have a knack for asking the right questions and insinuating ourselves into situations where we ferreted out the truth.
Viv had no qualms about it. After we had solved the murder of Tony's former girlfriend—a murder he'd been suspected of committing—she’d had PI business cards printed up for us. Horrible things with dangling handcuffs and lipstick font that read “Discreet Investigations” across the top. Those horrible cards made it look like we might be in the business of providing something both immoral and, perhaps, painful as well. I was mortified every time she pulled one of those awful cards out of her pocket. I didn't think we were actual private detectives. I didn't particularly like chasing down bad guys, and I definitely didn't care for being on the receiving end of a gun.
But I did like helping people. I liked solving problems. I liked being useful.
If it is serving, then serve.
Did this count as service? Surely it did. Did that mean this particular service was my gift, given according to the grace given me?
I lay down, resting my head against the arm of the sofa and remembering what Tony had said last night. He assumed that Viv was just bored and that I was only going along with her because I had nothing better to do. But we both had better things to do now. So it made sense that—Peter Browning's suspicious death or not—we would steer clear of trouble now.
It shouldn't have made me sad. Probably I just felt sad because it was early in the morning and I was out of my comfort zone. It wasn't the idea that I couldn't go chasing after trouble with Viv anymore. That would be silly.
But...what was my gift? If it wasn't being a living, breathing, cautionary tale, and it wasn't chasing down bad guys, what was it?
Stump chose that moment to root her nose under my hand, and she scootched and flopped around until I could rub her fat belly. Maybe my purpose was to love Stump. There were worse fates, I decided.
I heard Tony stir in his room. He went to the bathroom, then walked slowly down the hallway, stopping near the entryway. He stood, motionless, not saying anything for so long that I started to wonder if he was sleep walking.
“I hope we didn't wake you,” I said from the sofa.
He jumped, whirling on me with bug eyes.
I couldn't help but giggle. I rose and walked to him, still carrying the throw around me. I wrapped it and my arms around his shoulders. “I'm sorry,” I said.
“Well, I'm awake now,” he murmured into my hair, snuggling under the blanket with me. His heart was thudding a bit.
“I started the coffee.” I pulled away and poured two cups, carrying one to him. He still looked shell shocked, and it dawned on me why he'd jumped when I spoke.
He thought I'd left. He woke and found me and Stump gone from the bedroom and assumed I'd left while he was asleep. Despite all the trouble he'd gone through to get me to stay.
I would have liked to react with righteous indignation, but the fact was, I had left him before. I'd left him and he had no reason—other than my word, which, historically speaking, wasn't worth much—that I wouldn't leave again.
All I could do was put down my cup and wrap myself around him again. I could tell him a million times that I was different now. I could tell myself that, too. But neither one of us were going to believe it without proof.
I kissed the side of his neck and laid my head against his shoulder. “I need to get in the shower,” I said.
“Me, too.”
“I'll hurry.”
“We could save time. Shower together.”
“You,” I stood on tiptoe and kissed his forehead, “are so practical.”
I had to admit, it was nice staying at Tony's house instead of my trailer. For one thing, everything worked. When I turned the hot water knob in the shower, hot w
ater came out. At my trailer, I had learned the complicated sequences of turning the knob to exactly 17 minutes past the hour—not fifteen, not twenty—and then tilting the wobbly knob forward to get almost enough hot water to wash my hair and shave both legs before icy spray started shooting out.
Plus, Tony was there. Tony, who had looked to see what kind of shampoo I used and bought the exact brand for me to use in his shower. Tony, who made sure I had healthy stuff to eat and even stocked the freezer with special Fat Fighters frozen breakfast sandwiches and fresh fruit.
I remembered what he'd said the night before, about me and Viv no longer chasing bad guys, and in the light of day, it sounded like a highly sensible idea. I could have all this. A nice, normal life. Why would I go chasing after trouble? Surely Viv and I could find something else to do.
I poured a cup of coffee and filled up Tony's cup. He sat at the bar, reading the newspaper. “Help me think of something Viv and I can do together that's not chasing bad guys,” I said. “I really don't think she's the canasta type, but I want to think of something to keep her busy.”
“How about this?” He folded the paper over and slid it to me, tapping an announcement surrounded by a thick border.
Volunteers needed at Lubbock Arboretum. No gardening experience necessary—you provide the muscles, we'll show you what to do with them.
“Gardening,” I said. “Wow.”
“Yeah, it could be great. My aunt always has a garden, and she grows the best tomatoes you've ever tasted. How cool would it be to have dinner picked from our very own garden?”
“I'm fairly sure I have a black thumb,” I said.
“It's okay.” He nodded toward the paper. “They'll show you what to do. And since it's fall, there's no real growing involved. This is probably all about cleaning out the beds, getting things prepared for the next growing season.”
That sounded like something even I couldn't mess up. And he had wanted me to stay badly enough that he replicated everything he could find and even bought me breakfast sandwiches so I would have something to eat before work. It's hard not to fall completely in love with a gesture like that.
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