by Unknown
I chuckle. “Girlfriend?”
“Nope.”
Crap. “Boyfriend?”
“Nope.”
Asshole? “So what’s the deal with you then?”
“I don’t have a deal.” His eyes are intense, and I know he means it. I’m about to your-place-or-mine him out of habit when I remember my place is a disgusting shithole motel for the night, and that I’m trying to break the cycle. “Can I get your number? I’d like to take you out. Show you around. You know, since you’re new.” He smirks.
Me: No. I can’t do it again. Not so quickly. Brain: Nah, he’s not like the others.
“I suppose I can use a friend in town.” I grab the pen that’s nearby on the bar and write my number down on a coaster. I hand it to him, and he holds it over his heart as I leave to call Hobart to take me back to paradise.
Damon is nice, and he’s hot, but I’m not getting involved with anyone, even if they promise to love me. Especially if they promise to love me. I’ll know real love when I feel it.
Words don’t mean shit to me anymore.
9
JACE
When Jace got home, he assumed Candy knew something was very wrong because she didn’t bark and yelp the way she usually did when he walked in after work. Maybe she always did it to protect Tessa. Tessa usually stayed with her all day, and now she was gone, and whatever happened last night, Candy witnessed. She wasn’t used to Jace being there during the day, especially in the morning, like he was now. Even dogs had a schedule. He let Candy outside in the yard and waited for her to come back to the door before he started his investigation. He didn’t want to lose track of her and find out she was sniffing around Nick and Gwen’s place, hunting for bacon.
Jace didn’t know where to start, or what to look for. Tessa was pretty simple. She didn’t have much when they got together. What still bothered him, however, was the detective saying she knew whoever did this to her. What did Solomon already know?
He gulped, wondering if anyone told Solomon about the violence. He hoped no one knew what happened.
Jace ran up the stairs into their bedroom. Tessa had replaced the plain doors on all three bedrooms with detailed, ornate, heavy wood that made a whooshing sound every time he opened them. He stared at the small, boxy room. Again, all Tessa. She liked things neutral with pops of color, so the walls were a light gray, and everything else was violet. A violet satin bedspread, a deep purple chair in the corner that was basically an extension of her closet, housing outfits that she’d decided against wearing yet was too lazy to hang up. It always irked him, but supposedly that’s what women did. He’d only lived with one woman, Desiree, before Tessa.
Desiree took him by storm when he was thirty. They’d met at a party—one of his old college buddies had an elaborate Christmas party every year—and he was drawn to her thirst for life. She wanted to be a journalist and worked a room like she was being paid. She was good at asking questions, a trait that Jace obviously didn’t possess or he wouldn’t be in his current predicament. They’d dated for a few months before she suggested they get an apartment together in Hoboken so she could be closer to the city, which they couldn’t afford. Not that they were able to afford Hoboken either. She assumed he’d just quit his job and get one at a different bank in the city, which he did. Entry level again; a newbie.
About a year later, she informed him that she’d gotten an offer at the Chicago Sun-Times and left him high and dry. She moved on without consideration for the life they’d planned together. Left him with the apartment too, and a lease that he’d signed. He couldn’t make ends meet and had gotten himself into a bit of a pickle—the rent took up almost his entire take-home pay with little left for bills and zero left for a social life. He ended up giving up the apartment and moving back down to the suburban area where he had grown up—the same county as Valley Lake. He was able to land his job as assistant manager at the bank, due to his experience, and coming from a New York City bank held weight. However, for the time being, he had to get a roommate off Craigslist. It was not where he’d envisioned himself in his early thirties.
Jace should’ve learned from that situation not to move in with anyone so quickly, with someone you barely knew, but Tessa was—different.
First, Jace checked the home office where Tessa worked. Opened all the drawers, went through all her folders. It was mostly printed-out pictures of rooms—offices, bedrooms, living rooms. She’d had some notes in the corners, with her loopy cursive, denoting changes she’d make on certain items. Her computer screen stared at him, mocking him. He shook the mouse until the screen came to life. There was no password since they shared the computer.
She had her own email set up in Outlook, and when he guided the arrow over the program and pressed, her entire email popped up. He looked in her inbox, her sent items—nothing was out of the ordinary. Emails to random builders, trying to get appointments to decorate and stage homes, a few to local offices selling her services. Then one stood out from their neighbor Gwen.
To: Tessa Smyth
From: Gwendolyn Holloway
Date: Wednesday, September 25, 2019, 4:25 P.M.
Subject: Are you okay?
Just checking on you. I don’t blame you for not feeling safe. You should go to the police and do it the right way. Call me if you need anything
To: Gwendolyn Holloway
From: Tessa Smyth
Date: Wednesday, September 25, 2019, 5:01 P.M.
Subject: RE: Are you okay?
I can’t. I don’t want Jace to get arrested
That was this week. The day before she went missing. Jace was puzzled, because Gwen had told him that she didn’t see Tessa.
She couldn’t have told Gwen about—
That was their private life. Now what was he supposed to do?
Jace beelined for Tessa’s closet and opened the door in a fury. Her clothes were arranged by color. He thumbed through the hangers, checked inside all her pockets. He felt like he was snooping, and even though he wasn’t, it didn’t feel right. Opened her jewelry box, which she had hidden in the bottom corner of the closet.
Her wedding ring was in the top drawer.
The room spun before him, like he was on a merry-go-round, and he held on to the wall to steady himself as his heart raced. Deep breaths.
Footsteps padded on the stairs, and Candy was soon behind him to investigate.
“Come here, girl,” Jace said, and sat on the edge of the bed. Candy jumped onto the mattress and sat beside him. He pet her head, soft, and looked into her eyes. “Do you know anything?” he asked, like the dog was supposed to answer. Like she was going to turn around, sit like a human, put on her glasses, and say, Ok, Dad, here’s where it gets interesting, like this was a Disney movie. Her eyes were so trusting.
Ding dong. Candy jumped up on all fours and barked toward the door.
“Calm down, girl,” Jace said and leaped up. Candy was around three—she was a stray at the shelter when he and Tessa adopted her, but she was already rabidly protective. He exited the bedroom and closed the door behind him. He didn’t want Candy rushing the door.
Jace stumbled down the stairs and looked out the window. A woman stood on the landing outside the front door. She had her light-brown hair cut into a chic bob and wore a knee-length pink dress with a light-beige overcoat, though it wasn’t buttoned or belted. Tessa always complained about people knocking on the door selling stuff or asking for donations. He was about to back away, but she caught his eye through the window, and waved like she knew him. She looked familiar.
He opened the door a crack, even though there was still a screen door separating them. “Hi. Can I help you?”
“Are you Jace Montgomery?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Hi. I’m Carina Killhorn with Channel 10 News. Is it true your wife is missing? Tessa Smyth?”
Her voice was raspy, like she was a two-pack-a-day smoker, and it made her sound old, even though she was only about his
age. Now he recognized her. The glasses she wore had thrown him off, probably wearing them just to look smart. He’d seen her on the news before, pushy and rude, always trying to break the big story. And a missing woman in a small town fit the bill. This was her chance.
She held a cell phone out toward him, indicating she wanted him to speak into it. He was being recorded.
This was his gotcha moment. He knew it was coming. Someone at the police department had a big fucking mouth.
“I can’t talk about this. There’s an investigation. I don’t want to mess up anything they’re doing. Go to Detective Solomon at the Valley Lake PD.”
“Right. So, are you going on record with no comment?” She smirked at him.
“No comment.”
He shut the door just as another news van pulled up to the cul-de-sac and parked. Carina didn’t leave his stoop as two other men, one with a camera and one with a microphone, made their way toward the door.
Son of a bitch. Jace ran into the office and grabbed the cordless phone that was attached to the landline that Tessa insisted they needed for her business. With shaky fingers, he dialed the police department and asked for Detective Solomon.
The line went quiet without a hold on please as he waited. After the doorbell rang again, and Candy barked maniacally from upstairs, Solomon finally came on the line.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Montgomery?”
Jace pictured the detective, smug, with his lazy left eye and fat nose pointing into the phone. “Jesus Christ, Solomon. I have reporters at my door. I thought this investigation was ongoing. What the hell is going on over there?” He tried to contain his rage, but it was hard.
“Mmm, we were afraid of that.” Solomon paused. “Small town and all.”
This jerk-off leaked it. Jace was a suspect and Solomon sicced his dogs on him to try to get him to slip up.
“I’m not answering anyone. I’m consulting my attorney, and I want to set up a press conference for later.”
“You sure that’s a good idea, Montgomery?”
He’d been relegated to his last name. He wasn’t a person anymore. He was no longer a grieving husband. He was a suspect and treated as such. “I’m sure.”
Jace slammed the phone down and went back to the front doorway, which was now crowded with three people staring at the door, wondering what they should do next. He opened it to address them. Instantly, that cell phone and a microphone and two cameras were pointed toward him.
“Get off my property. Come back at five P.M. I’ll be giving a press conference with my lawyer.”
The door slammed shut with a thud.
Jace’s best friend since middle school was Evan Soderberg, who was a lawyer now, but he didn’t specialize in criminal law. He was a jack of all trades, a civil litigator, but he’d know what to do. Jace needed advice, and Evan knew Tessa. He knew the real circumstances of how they met. He’d be happy to help.
Then Jace went upstairs, hugged Candy, and cried over what was happening.
10
TESSA
“Thanks for the recommendation, Hobart,” I say, smug and feeling attractive.
Asshole didn’t make me feel attractive, and only complimented me when he apologized for hitting me. He wasn’t always such a monster. I mean, he was sorry. Sometimes. Always got me a nice piece of jewelry when things got totally out of hand too. Thank God, because I was able to hock it all for a big chunk of the cash I currently carry around.
Tomorrow I’m going to have to go to a drugstore and get a couple of prepaid credit cards to use for things like Uber and Lyft and other online-related things that a regular person needs daily. I can’t continue to have Hobart at my beck and call, texting him at all hours of the day and night and expecting him to come running. It’s almost midnight for Christ’s sake. He’s old. He shouldn’t be on high alert, driving me around. Though it is nice to feel safe and taken care of.
It happened fast, because for once, an older man has my best interests at heart.
“No problem, Tessa. Food was good?” he asks.
“The food, the company, everything.”
From the back of the car, in the dark, I open my purse and take out my compact and check myself in the mirror. The makeup held up well, and my bruise isn’t visible. If Damon sees it, I’ll have to make something up. Grabbing something out of the closet. Walked into a door. The usual shit that nobody believes. Yet we all say it, and everyone we tell nods sympathetically and recalls a story where nearly the same thing happened to them. Their stories are made up, but they help us hide our shame.
“You sure you don’t want me to take you to a different place?” Hobart asks. “I don’t like you going up there alone. People here—they ain’t the regular people. The cops don’t come but once every couple-a weeks. Someone calls, they don’t come. A gunshot’ll get ’em here a little quicker, but by then, they might as well bring the chalk and outline the body.”
Crap. I don’t want to get in the middle of a damn shoot-out. And what if that crazy girl is waiting for me with a brick? She saw me come out of my room, so she knows I’ll be back at some point. What if she’s inside my room with a brick? It’s not like this place has a security guard patrolling the lot. An alarm won’t go off if someone breaks a window or kicks in a door. It’s not even midnight. The party in the lot is probably in full swing.
Hobart is right. I have to get out of that place. It served its purpose earlier in the day, and I had somewhere to keep my stuff while I walked all over town securing my shiny new ID. If Asshole actually had detail on me all day and someone saw me leave my cushy suburban home, they’ve already reported back to him that I’m in a different state in a scummy place. He’s probably laughing.
You’ll never leave. You’re nothing without me. You’re nothing anyway.
“You know what? I think you’re right. I didn’t really unpack. I can gather up my stuff in a minute or two. Would you mind waiting? And do you know another place that’s a little safer?”
“We can go back to the area where you just had dinner,” he says. “Much safer.”
I think about my cash situation. I don’t exactly need a place that puts a mint on my pillow, but I can’t start blowing a hundred and fifty dollars a night, before all those stupid hidden fees and taxes. But I decide I can’t sleep in the Empire overnight. It’s got to be ridden with bedbugs and STDs and I bet there’s a bloodstain under the bed. These things didn’t occur to me earlier when I unpacked my Walmart stuff for my nap because I was on the high of getting away.
“I don’t need a Ritz Carlton,” I say with a laugh. “Obviously.”
“There’s one-a those chain thingamajigs. Nothin’ fancy. A Ramada or somethin’ of the like.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
The ride back to the dump is five more minutes, and I hear the parking lot before I see it. Hobart slows and pulls in. Crowds of people are leaning against every car in the lot, some sitting on the hoods and some directly on the top of the cars. Some are even dancing, pounding their feet to the beat of the music from the stereos and making dents.
It’s not like anyone has a Mercedes.
Despite knowing how to throw a punch, my stomach flip-flops. I don’t want to go through them to get my stuff, but they aren’t exactly clearing the way for Hobart to drive closer to where my room is located.
“I’m gonna walk you up,” Hobart says.
Usually a terrible line to try to fuck me, I see no ill intent in Hobart, and I would welcome bringing him to my room. He parks the car exactly where it is, and I’m afraid by the time we get back it’ll be turned over. He puts the cab in park, gets out, and opens my door to the delight of the onlookers shouting ooooh and ahhhhh and Grandpa’s gonna get some pussy! He takes my arm sternly near my elbow, a way I’ve been shoved around before, but he’s doing it protectively, not in the do as I say or else way.
We shimmy through the crowd and go up the stairs and I quickly fumble with the door lock. The knob feels
looser than it did earlier, and I wonder again about someone being inside. Or maybe it’s just my nerves. When it opens, I invite Hobart in, but he declines and stands outside my door.
“Just hurry,” he says.
My bag is still opened on the rickety dresser, and I take my hair products and makeup off the bathroom counter and throw them in. I never hung anything up or used the drawers, so everything should still be in here. I don’t double check. My money is in my purse, so I zip the bag and drag it out. Sixty seconds. Max. Everything is going to be fine.
But of course . . .
“That’s the ho that’s tryna steal Marcus!”
The crazy girl is back. And she has two friends with her this time, who fall in line behind her as she approaches the bottom of the steps, and the melee begins. They start shouting over each other at me.
“Oh, girl, you in trouble, girl!”
“Think you hot shit, bitch?”
Hobart charges down anyway, and I follow closely. “Just gettin’ her stuff and gettin’ her outta here anyway. You don’t gotta worry about this no more,” he says.
Crazy girl doesn’t negotiate as she tries to make eye contact with me beyond Hobart. “He yo’ damn keeper? Cat got ya tongue?” She produces a switchblade, hits the button and extends the sharp end. “Maybe I should cut it out.”
Fuck!
Before I even have a chance to panic, Hobart pulls a gun from his waistband and brandishes it in the air.
“GUN!” someone in the crowd screams, and everyone scatters.
“That’s right. Ain’t y’all so tough now. Get out of the way!” Hobart shouts.
All day I’ve been riding around with someone who was strapped. I hate guns. Unfortunately, I’ve had them pointed in my direction more than once. One mentally ill foster brother. One of the Assholes. Wait, two of the Assholes.
Of course, I’m grateful for its presence now.