"So we're even," I explained. "You surprised them. They surprised me. It's over. Just let it go. Alright?"
Bishop took a step toward me and gritted out, "They broke into your place. They pulled guns on you. They threatened you. And I'm supposed to let that go? You can't be fuckin' serious."
From the chair, Lawton chuckled.
"What's so fuckin' funny?" Bishop asked.
"You," he said. "Mister 'I-Don't-Get-Twisted up'." He glanced at me. "He actually told me that a few weeks ago. Can you believe it?"
I looked to Bishop. "Seriously? You're always twisted up."
He was glaring at both of us now. "No," he said through clenched teeth. "I'm never twisted up, except when you're involved."
Lawton shrugged. "Well, there is that."
I turned to Bishop. "But you never answered my question," I said. "What are you doing here?"
He glanced away and said in an unconvincing voice. "We were on our way to Lucky's Pub. We heard a ruckus, saw two guys burst out of your apartment. Thought we'd take a look."
I stood and approached him. "Talk about bullshit stories."
"You wanna talk bullshit?" he said. With his index finger, he brushed the side of my bruised face. "Not as bad as it looked?" His expression hardened. "I knew you were lying."
His touch was electric, and I felt myself flush. When I spoke, my voice was a lot steadier than my heart. "It's not that bad," I said
"Yeah? Well, I'm staying here tonight."
"No you're not," I said.
"Fine," he said, flicking his head toward the alleyway door. "I'll sleep on your landing."
"You can't sleep on my landing," I said.
"Why not?"
"It's gone. Remember?"
"Like that's gonna stop me."
"That doesn't even make sense," I said.
"See," Lawton said, giving me a knowing look. "He is all twisted up."
Bishop gave him a murderous glare. "Shut the fuck up, alright?"
Lawton was grinning again.
Ignoring him, Bishop turned to me. "Alright. Then I'll sleep on your couch."
I crossed my arms. "No."
"I mean it," he said. "You won't even know I’m here."
I gave him a look. "That's what you think."
Lawton chuckled. "I guess she told you."
Bishop turned toward him. "Don’t you have someplace else to be?"
"Nope," Lawton said. "Sorry."
"Look," I told Bishop, working hard to keep my tone reasonable. "Everything's fine. The store has an alarm system, and as you saw, the outside entrance is pretty much unusable."
"You're forgetting," he said, "we used it. Just now."
I gave the brothers a good, long look. "Yes," I said in an overly patient tone, "but most people aren't you, now are they? So everything's fine." I turned to Lawton. "You agree with me, right?"
"Don't answer that," Bishop told him.
Thirty minutes of arguing later, I practically shoved Bishop out the door, and Lawton followed, still smiling. As for me, I went to the fridge and drained the last few drops of tequila.
Standing in the small kitchenette area, my gaze strayed to my sofa. If I'd played my cards differently, Bishop might be sleeping on it right now.
No. That wasn't exactly true. Because I knew one thing. If he were here, the odds of him remaining on that couch were slim to none. And the odds of either of us actually sleeping were even lower than that.
It wasn't that I didn't trust his intentions, or his word. Mostly, I didn't trust myself.
Chapter 73
That afternoon, I tracked down Steve and Anthony on Third Street, working a broken water main.
"Funny thing happened last night," I told them.
Steve leaned on his shovel. "What's that?"
"I'll give you one guess," I said. "It involves a stairway, a dumpster, and a couple of thugs."
"Hot damn!" Steve said. "We got 'em?"
"Nope," I said. "They bounced off the lid and kept on running."
"Son-of-a-bitch," Steve muttered. He turned to Anthony. "Dude, you were supposed to make sure the lid was open."
"I opened it like four-hundred times," Anthony said. "Someone keeps shutting the damn thing."
"Shit," Steve muttered. "All that work wasted." He turned to me. "You know how hard it is to move a damn dumpster? The son-of-a-bitch was frozen to the ground."
"How'd you manage to wedge it under there?" I asked.
"Borrowed Dad's backhoe," Steve said.
"Told him we were plowing some driveways," Anthony explained.
"With a backhoe?" I said.
Anthony shrugged. "He didn't ask."
"In any event, I don't think my two thuggery friends will be back," I said. "Can you guys fix the landing, just put it back the way it was?"
"What are ya, nuts?" Steve said. "What you need is more security, not less."
"But no one's gonna fall for that trick a second time," I pointed out. "The landing's been swinging free all morning."
"Anyone notice?" Steve asked.
"Everyone's noticed," I said.
"Whatcha been telling them?" Anthony asked.
"Termites."
"There's no termites this far north," Steve said.
"No one's pointed that out yet," I said. "Look, can you guys just fix it? And move the dumpster back too? I don't want any more garbage smell wafting up to my apartment."
"Frozen garbage can't waft," Anthony said.
"Just fix it, alright?"
"Okay," Steve said. "But the board across the door stays."
"Too late," I said. "One of the thugs ripped it off."
"So we'll put on a new one," Anthony said.
I couldn't help but whine, "But I miss using that entrance."
"You want the landing repaired or not?" Steve sniffed into the air. "Is that garbage I smell? Oh yeah, it's wafting all over the place."
"Fine," I said. "Fix the landing, and the board stays. But you've gotta move the dumpster too."
"Thought you'd see things our way," Steve said.
I looked at my watch. "I've gotta run."
"Where to?" Anthony asked.
"The dumpster company."
"Why?"
"To drop off some free mocha coupons."
"What for?" he asked.
"No reason."
An hour later, I returned to the coffee shop and found Gabriel sitting alone at a table by the window.
I pulled up a chair to join him. "How are you feeling?" I squinted at his face. "You look a little better."
Setting down his drink, Gabriel studied my face in return. "You too." He lifted the cookie from his dessert plate and studied its chocolate chips. He took a small bite, wincing as he chewed.
We hadn't always been friendly, but my heart went out to him. "Still sore, huh?"
Nodding, he took another bite, this one smaller than the last. "I played right into their hands, didn't I?"
"What do you mean?"
"Oh c'mon, you were there." He set down his cookie and pushed away his plate. "You saw my performance."
"Yeah, but you were provoked," I said. "It could've happened to anyone." I forced out a laugh. "Look at what the camera caught me doing."
"Right. The sign." He gave me a weak smile. "You did give that guy quite a beating with it."
I took a deep breath. "Tell me," I said, "do you think it might be time to pack it up? Maybe take a break from picketing?"
His gaze narrowed. "Why do you ask?"
"Because right now, we have all the publicity we can handle."
"Need I remind you," he said, "that we're demonstrating in support of the store?"
"I know," I said. "But think about it. If your side called it quits, it would cut the picketing by half."
"Yeah," he said. "The half that’s on your side."
"We can win this thing through legal channels."
"I see," Gabriel said, "so it's fine for you to battle for change, but not us?"
"That's not what I'm saying."
He stood and shrugged into his jacket. "Sure it isn't."
A minute later, he'd rejoined his fellow picketers, looking more determined than ever.
That night was a candlelight vigil for Edgar. Crystal and I joined a teeming throng at St. Peter's Cathedral on Lincoln. There was no body and no casket, but it felt like a funeral just the same.
Grabbing candles, we slid into a long wooden pew near the back of the dimly lit church. As other participants filed past, I looked around. I spotted Conrad across the aisle. He gave me a discreet wave, and I waved back.
I scanned the rest of the crowd. I saw Nicholas and Carolyn Armstrong file past and take seats near the front. Looking at their somber faces, I did a slow burn. My own face still smarted, thanks to the clobbering just a couple days earlier. Crystal's business had taken a pounding too.
As if sensing my animosity, Nicholas turned around and scanned the crowd. He caught sight of me and stopped. I held his gaze, letting every ounce of resentment flow between us. My life was a mess thanks to someone. Was it him?
Gabriel had meddled in his marriage. Maybe Nicholas's feelings were justified. But his actions weren't. How far had he gone to extract his revenge?
Unprompted, my thoughts turned to Lucy. She'd had a secret lover, probably married, someone she feared. Nicholas had a hot temper. I'd seen it myself. He was married too. Had he killed her?
And what about Edgar? Was his death really an accident? Or had someone helped him into that icy water? If that someone was Nicholas, or someone who worked for him, I vowed he'd never get away with it. As if reading my mind, Nicholas flushed a deep red. He broke eye contact and turned to face the front of the church.
Before I knew it, the service was over. I hadn't been nearly as attentive as I should've been. I knew there were plenty of tributes to Edgar and his eccentricities, but I couldn’t recall a single one in any detail. The realization made me feel worse. Edgar deserved better.
Crystal and I stood and made our way to the back entryway. A small crowd lingered in the lobby, sharing stories about Edgar and his fishing exploits.
Crystal turned to me. "Where's your coat?" she asked.
I looked down. "I must've left it in the pew. I'll be right back." I slipped back into the church and spotted my coat draped over the back of the pew where I'd been sitting. I slid in to retrieve it. A second later, someone settled in beside me. I looked up.
It was Nicholas Armstrong, looking ready to explode. "You got something to say to me?" he asked.
I kept my voice low. "I've got plenty to say," I said. "But this isn't the place."
"This is as good a place as any," he said.
I stared at him a moment, wondering how far I should go, or whether I should begin at all.
He smirked and stood to leave. "I thought so."
"I know what you did," I blurted out.
He stopped and turned. I saw the wheels turning as he tried to decipher my deliberately vague statement. There were many things I could accuse him of, and very little I could prove. Yet.
"And what's that?" he asked.
"You know what."
"Is this the kind of psychic bullshit you sell in your store?" he asked.
I didn't answer.
He leaned close to me. His voice was low, but his hostility was unmistakable. "You stay away from my wife," he said. "And keep that Wiccan what's-his-name away from her too."
So he knew Carolyn visited the store. I wasn't surprised. But I wasn't happy either. "What'd you do, have Carolyn followed?" I asked.
He gave a bitter laugh. "Some psychic you are," he said. With that, he stood and left the church.
Chapter 74
The next day was Saturday, and our store was packed. I gave back-to-back Tarot readings for most of the afternoon, and didn't see a break until nearly four o'clock.
In search of an afternoon pick-me-up, I made my way to the coffee area. A familiar figure leaned sideways against the counter. It was Bishop, dressed in jeans and a black jacket.
As I approached, he said, "Got someplace we can talk?"
I looked around the store. Business had slowed, but it was still brisk. Besides, things with Bishop were always complicated. "This isn't a good time," I said.
He pulled a plain white envelope from his pocket. "You'll want to make time for this."
"What's that?" I asked.
"I'll tell you," he said. "But not out here."
Silently, I led him to a private reading room and shut the door behind us.
He eyed my Tarot cards, lying face-down on the small table. "You gonna tell my fortune?"
At this, my heart ached just a little. During the two years we'd been together, I'd told his fortune exactly once, the night we'd first made love.
I pushed the heartache aside and said, "You gonna tell me what's in the envelope?"
He handed it over. "See for yourself."
Inside the envelope I found a sheet of paper with three typewritten names and addresses – all men, all from Chicago.
"What's this?" I asked.
"The guys the police are looking for," he said.
"The ones who assaulted Gabriel?"
Bishop ran a palm along my sore jaw. "Not just Gabriel," he said.
When he pulled his hand away, I resisted the same old urge to lean into him. Instead, I studied the list, and asked, "How'd you get this?"
He shrugged.
"From the police?" I asked.
"No." He lowered his voice. "And maybe they don't need it."
"Why not?"
"Maybe we could deal with this another way."
"How?"
"Better if you don't know," he said.
"You promised me you wouldn't do anything stupid, remember?"
His jaw tightened. "I remember."
"Gee, don't look so happy about it."
"You want me to be happy?" he said. "Say you'll meet me tonight. No fighting. I promise."
I hesitated. I had dinner plans with Conrad, but hated the thought of saying so.
Bishop's voice was flat. "You're going out with Conrad again. Aren't you?"
"Just for dinner."
"Dinner's bad enough. Look what happened last time."
"Nothing happened," I said. "We had Luciano's. He walked me home. That was it."
"I mean," Bishop said, "look what happened between us."
"So our fight was Conrad's fault?"
"I'm not saying that," he said.
"So what are you saying?"
"That I liked things a lot better when I had you all to myself," he said. "None of this sharing business."
I shook my head. "I don't get it."
"What?"
I looked away. "Never mind."
"No, say it," he said. "Whatever you've got to say, I'm not afraid to hear it."
"You're not afraid of anything," I said. "Actually, it's kind of scary."
"Not true," he said. "I'm kind of afraid what'll happen if I see you with Conrad again."
"You're kidding, right?"
"Probably," he said. "Now go on. Tell me what you were gonna say."
I fumbled for the words. "Well, until a few of weeks ago," I said, "I hadn't seen you in forever. So I guess what I'm wondering is, well, why the renewed interest now?"
"I never lost interest."
"But you haven't seen me in years."
"I said I never lost interest," he said. "I didn't say it was for lack of trying."
A knock sounded at the reading room door. "Sorry to interrupt," Crystal called from the other side. "You're not naked, are you?"
I rolled my eyes. "No, I'm not naked. Jeez!"
She opened the door and peered in. "You don't have to get all touchy about it," she said. "I'm just trying to respect your privacy."
"Well, that would be a first," I said. "Is there a reason you knocked?"
"Yeah. Someone wants a Tarot reading."
"I'll be down in a minute," I said.
After she left, I folded up the paper Bishop had given me.
His gaze dipped to my lips. "Now, if you want to get naked," he said.
"Oh shut up," I said, tucking the paper into my pocket. "Thanks for the names though." I looked up, meeting his gaze. "And for keeping your promise."
"You sure you don't want me to handle it?" he asked.
"That," I said, "is the one thing I am sure of."
Bishop smiled. "Does that mean you're not hooked on ol' Conrad?"
"Like I told you, I barely know him."
"Got any plans for after dinner?" he asked.
I hesitated, wondering what kind of person I'd be if I had dinner with one man and post-dinner plans with another.
"I know what you're thinking," Bishop said.
"What?"
"That two men in your life are one too many."
"How'd you know?"
"Because you haven't changed." He reached out and wound a strand of my hair around his finger. "And I mean that as a compliment."
"You haven't changed either," I said. "And I'm not sure that's a good thing."
"Say you'll stop by."
"I really shouldn't," I said.
Bishop waited.
"I can't promise anything," I said.
He took a step closer. "Yes you can. Come on. Say it."
My heart fluttered, and my breath caught. I heard myself say, "Alright. I'll be there."
"Good." He turned to go.
"But wait," I said. "Where exactly am I going?"
"You know the old hardware store on Washington?"
"Yeah."
"I'm staying there."
"Why?"
"Long story," he said. "Call me when you're leaving, alright? I'll come and get you."
After the Tarot reading, I made a quick trip to the police station, where I gave them Bishop’s list, claiming the tip was anonymous. When I returned to the coffee shop, it was almost closing time.
Outside, the picketers were making their final rounds. I was keeping an eye out for Scruffy when I saw a silver sports car pull up to the curb. I winced, recognizing the vehicle. It was Carolyn's.
Gabriel saw it too. He stopped picketing and lowered his sign. The driver's side door opened, and Carolyn tumbled out, a champagne bottle in hand.
She weaved to where Gabriel stood, looking like a trapped rabbit. Carolyn advanced, swaying her hips in a way that might've been seductive if she weren't so hammered.
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