Guilty Pleasures

by Stella Cameron

  Twenty-seven

  “I’ll be on the boat,” Nasty said. “They’ll like that—the idea of a chance to get at me alone.”

  The day was still warm, the earth moist. Dusty and Roman stood with Nasty between all-but-bare vegetable beds in the kitchen garden.

  Dropping to his haunches, Roman picked stones out of the soil. “Do we have our signals straight?”

  Nasty nodded. So did Dusty.

  “Right. Then you’d better get going. It’ll be easier if you do it before they come back.” He glanced toward the windmill, where Polly had taken Bobby to talk.

  “Poor little kid,” Dusty said. “He’s too good, y’know.”

  Nasty sidestepped a pebble Roman tossed at his shoe. “What does that mean?”

  “Too tight. He’s trying to make all the grown-ups happy. Doing what he thinks they want him to do. He watches to see which way the wind’s blowing before he opens his mouth.” Like any intelligent kid who never really got to be a child. “Polly’s done a good job with him, but it isn’t easy—being a single parent.”

  Another pebble hit the ground at Nasty’s feet. Roman grinned up at him. “Is she going to get some help with that?”

  Dusty coughed and thumped himself on the chest. “Dumb question, Wilde. We gotta weddin’ to plan for.”

  “Mind your own business,” Nasty told them both. “You’ve been smoking again, Dust. You keep promising you’ll cut that out.”

  “Yeah. We ought to get going. I’d like to be settled in before dark.”

  Nasty looked toward the windmill again.

  “Go on,” Roman said. “Go see how they’re doing. We don’t want your attention divided—not while we’ve got other business to deal with.”

  “Roman’s right,” Dusty said. “Go to Polly and Bobby. Probably not a good idea to slip out, anyway.”

  He didn’t waste time talking. It was important to get back to Kirkland, but Roman was right about divided attention. Once into the trees, Nasty broke into a run. His leg only got stronger, and he took pleasure in feeling it respond almost like the old times.

  Outside the mill, he stopped and looked up. The place was still, so still he had the disquieting thought that they might not be there.

  He poked his head up the stairway and called, “Halloo up top! Anyone on the bridge?”

  Scuffling preceded Spike’s explosion from above. The big gray dog’s rear end waggled from side to side as he shot down to greet Nasty. Scratching the animal’s ruff, he climbed slowly upward.

  Polly and Bobby sat, cross-legged, facing each other in the middle of the room at the top of the stairs. Bobby’s arms were tightly crossed, his face pinched and serious. Polly made a valiant attempt to smile at Nasty.

  “Hey, guys,” he said. “Okay if I join the party? For a few minutes.”

  He thought Polly’s mouth quivered before she pressed her lips together. “We’re not a lot of fun to be with right now,” she said.

  “No one can be fun all the time.” Bringing Spike with him, he sank to sit between mother and son. “Dusty and I are heading out in a few minutes. I wanted to let you know we’re leaving. We’re going to swing through Bellevue and drop Venus off on our way.”

  “Thank you,” Polly said.

  Bobby turned his face away.

  “I told Bobby I’ve decided to accept Rose’s invitation to stay here for a few days.” Polly’s voice sounded strained. “I’m going to have him show me how this fishing works. He learned a lot with Dusty today.”

  “I didn’t hear what you two caught,” Nasty said, wishing he could grab them both and take them away where they could put all this behind them.

  Bobby shook his head.

  “You didn’t catch anything?”

  Another shake of the head.

  “I can’t believe Dusty took you out all day, and neither of you caught anything. His reputation’s going to be shot. As soon as I get back, you and I’ll go. We’ll take your mom for luck. We’re bound to catch lots.”

  “Maybe I’ll be the one to catch lots, and you’ll be the mascot,” Polly said.

  Bobby wiped the short sleeve of his striped T-shirt over his eyes. “My dad died.”

  Words deserted Nasty.

  “We’re having kind of a difficult time with this,” Polly told him, and he saw her slow intake of breath.

  “I’m sorry.” Give him something to say that mattered.

  “He had an accident,” Bobby said. “He fell and got killed.”

  Geez. “And you’re angry. Because you always hoped he’d come back, and you thought he was finally going to.”

  Bobby sent him a confused stare.

  “Sometimes we want things so badly we start believing they’re happening.” Maybe he should just keep his mouth shut.

  “My dad was coming back. He said so.”

  “Yeah.” Nasty looked to Polly, but she shook her head slightly. “Your dad wanted to come back. I heard him say that, too.”

  Spike snuffled toward Bobby and licked his face. The boy put an arm around the animal’s neck. “Mom didn’t want him back.”

  ‘’Bobby—”

  “Bobby,” Nasty said, cutting Polly off. “Your mom wants the best for you. She wants you to be happy. I know she thought it would be great if your dad could spend some time with you.”

  “She didn’t love him anymore.”

  He saw glimmerings of the child’s dreams. “You wanted your mom and dad to love each other. That’s the best way, but it can’t always happen.”

  Spike’s thorough licking went unnoticed. “Mom loves you.”

  Polly bowed her head.

  “And I love her,” Nasty said firmly. “I can’t take your dad’s place. I mean, I can’t be your real dad—but I can be there for you. I can be here for you.”

  The hunching of Polly’s shoulders disconcerted Nasty. She needed his comfort, but he had to concentrate on the child.

  “This is an awful time. You’ve got to get used to what’s happened. But you and your mom don’t have to do it alone. That I doesn’t mean I can magically make all the bad feelings go away, but I can listen—and I can try to help.”

  “Are you and mom going to get married?”

  “Yes,” he said without hesitating. “Will you like that?”

  Bobby frowned and wrinkled his nose. “What will I call you?”

  He felt Polly looking at him and smiled. She rested a hand on her son’s dusty knee.

  “You can call me whatever you like.” Rushing things wouldn’t necessarily be bad, but it could be. “You think about it and let me know.”

  “If my dad didn’t come to find me, he wouldn’t have had an accident, would he?”

  This is where the degree in psychology would help. “Your dad was a grown-up. He did what he wanted to do. He decided to go to Kirkland. What happened was nothing to do with you. You didn’t tell him to come. If he’d come when you wanted him to, he’d have been with you a long time ago.” He prayed he wasn’t overstepping what the kid could handle.

  “Give me a hug,” Polly said quietly. “Mom needs a hug.”

  Bobby sniffed and swallowed—and got up to go and put his arms around Polly’s neck. “Don’t be sad,” he told her. “Don’t cry, Mom.”

  She shook her head and held him tightly. “I won’t. I’ve got you, haven’t I?”

  “And you’ve got Nasty,” Bobby said.

  Nasty scowled at the fading light. Something had got in his eye. “Well, gang, I’d better get going before Dusty comes looking for me. Roman’s staying a few days with Rose before he goes back to Montana. He, er, he should be able to get through his business here pretty quickly.”

  He and Polly looked at each other over Bobby’s head. Damn the risk. He knelt and pulled them both against him. “You two are the best. You’re the most important people around, d’you understand me?”

  Polly rested her head on his shoulder and nodded.

  Bobby faltered, then leaned on Nasty.

 
; This was what they meant when they talked about feeling full up.

  “Snap!” Roman slapped a card down and grinned with triumphant glee.

  “Aw,” Bobby complained. “You’re gonna win again.”

  “Maybe I’m going to win,” Rose said. “Snap.”

  “Ahhh!” Roman and Bobby yelled in unison.

  Polly had begged out of this round. She got up and left the kitchen. The happiness she felt frightened her. A woman shouldn’t have to be afraid to be happy.

  All she wanted was to be with Nasty and Bobby. She’d never known the kind of peace and wonder she’d felt when he’d held the two of them in the windmill—and when Bobby had shown that he was ready to accept Nasty.

  The grandfather clock in the hall chimed. She walked slowly past, counting to ten with the chimes. Bowls of pink and white roses scented the air.

  Peace.

  She opened the front door and strolled onto the veranda. The floodlights illuminated a wide margin around the house. A warm evening made the rain of morning seem imaginary. More roses in tubs carried their fragrance to Polly. Birds gave their night songs. Rose’s daddy had created an idyllic setting for his beautiful daughter. Despite early opinions to the contrary, Polly had decided Rose was mostly content with her life.

  How unreal to think that only last night Sam had died in the woods on the other side of the house.

  Someone ought to mourn him. In his seven-year-old fashion Bobby would wrestle with the idea, but Polly wanted to believe he’d make peace with his father’s death and move on.

  She slowly descended the steps. This was the kind of night that drew people to the mountains. Warm, still, the sky big and dark, and sprinkled with stars—and clear as it was rarely clear in a city.

  “Polly!”

  Startled, she grabbed for a handrail and went backward up a step. The voice had come from beyond the floodlights.

  “Polly, over here. Quickly. Oh, Polly, quickly.”

  “Jennie?”

  “Yes.” Jennifer Loder emerged from the trees on Polly’s left, at the edge of the lighted driveway. She kept her head bowed and beckoned frantically. “C’mon, Pol. We gotta move fast.”

  Polly looked back at the house.

  “Polly!”

  Her pulse sped up. She hurried toward Jennifer, who drew back between the straight, tall trunks of Douglas firs.

  “Cripes, Polly,” Jennifer said when they were face-to-face. “What’s been goin’ on up here?”

  Polly hesitated.

  Jennifer put a hand beneath Polly’s arm and drew her close. “That’s rhetorical. Or mostly. I was there when that Sam came to the studio. Then Gavin told us all the ghastly stuff about last night. What a mess. And now this.”

  “This?” Polly echoed.

  “Well—whatever your friend Nasty’s got going. I didn’t ask, I just did what he wanted. He does mean something to you, doesn’t he?”

  Polly’s skin turned icy. “He means a lot to me. Is something wrong? Did something happen to him?”

  “Damned if I know. He’s alive and kicking, I’ll tell you that. He came to my place. Mine and Art’s. Said he’d just gotten back to Kirkland, and he was going to his boat. Wouldn’t say why, or what was going on. But I could tell he was strung tight. You know what I mean.”

  Polly knew. She didn’t feel like talking about it. “Why would he come to you?”

  “I’m trying to explain that. He sent me on this cloak-and- dagger mission to get you. I didn’t know how I was going to pull it off without—Roman, is it? Yeah, Roman, that’s right. He wanted me to get you without bringing Roman on your tail. That’s what Nasty said. I told him I’m not an errand girl, but he said you’d told him we were friends, and so on. You know how that goes. So, here I am.”

  Polly’s stomach took another turn. “Nasty asked you to come and get me without Roman knowing about it?”

  Jennie waved her free hand. “Hey, don’t ask me to figure out the workings of a man’s mind. I’m only a woman, right?”

  Polly didn’t laugh. “How did he know how to find you?”

  “Beats me. Look, if you want me to go back and tell him you don’t want to play his game, I’ll do it. You know I’ll do it for you.”

  “How did he seem?”

  “Seem?” Jennie’s eyes glinted in the darkness. “Geez, damned if I know. Except he was rattled—I could tell that. You know how cool he is. Ice-man, I’d call him. But I could feel him jumping on the inside—and he said he needed you.”

  Panic made a rapid trip along Polly’s nerves. “I ought to go in and tell them I’m leaving.” Nasty needed her. Please don’t let him be hurt.

  “I agree. But Nasty asked me to beg you not to do that. His words, not mine. ‘Beg her not to say anything to anyone,’ he said. ‘Ask her just to come with you and tell her it’ll be okay.’ Then he went tearing off again. So it’s your call, girl.”

  Polly dithered.

  “Oh, you’re going to worry yourself sick,” Jennie said. “This is a rotten idea.”

  But Nasty needed her. “He wouldn’t ask this of me if it wasn’t desperately important. Wait here.” She turned and dashed back into the house, praying she wouldn’t meet anyone before she could get out again.

  She couldn’t bear to think of worrying Bobby. By the phone in the living room Rose kept a notepad and pen. Polly wrote a short message to Roman and took the entire pad into the foyer. Balanced beside a bowl of roses, it was bound to be seen.

  When she retraced her steps she thought at first that Jennie had left. Then she appeared again and they ran through the trees to the end of the long driveway. Jennie’s car was parked several hundred yards down the road, almost at the main highway. Polly had to run hard to keep up with Jennie’s athletic stride.

  Headlights swung toward them on the road leading to Rose’s house. Jennifer pulled Polly into a crouch until the car passed, then they carried on.

  The drive to Kirkland seemed longer than the forty minutes that passed before Polly saw the lights of the little city. She and Jennie had said little on the way, and, for Polly, apprehension grew with every mile.

  At Peter Kirk Park Jennie turned left onto State Street.

  “We shouldn’t turn here,” Polly said. “Nasty’s moored at a private dock in front of his partner’s house. North of the boat ramp.”

  “I said I’d take you to my place and call him.”

  Polly glanced at Jennie. “I thought he needed me as quickly as I could get there.”

  “I’m just telling you what he asked me to do. If you weren’t my friend, I wouldn’t be going to all this trouble.”

  “No.” Polly felt uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, of course this is a big imposition.”

  Jennie and Art lived in a small rented house at the end of a cul-de-sac. Jennie pulled her BMW to a halt in front of the garage and got out. Leaving Polly to follow, she hurried to open the front door and go inside.

  On her few previous visits, Polly had become accustomed to the Loders’ sparse furnishings. Jennie laughed at the couch and one chair in the uncarpeted sitting room, and called the decor, “Late We Don’t Got No Roots.”

  Tonight Art sat at one end of the couch. He wasn’t laughing. Polly didn’t recall ever seeing him so morose. Or was that angry? Or just plain tense?

  “Hi, Art,” she said lightly. “Sorry to take advantage like this. Thanks for letting Jennie come to our aid.”

  He grunted and got up to shut the front door that opened directly into the room.

  “I’ll make that call, then. And get out of your hair.”

  When she reached for the phone on an arm of the couch, Art said, “Damn thing’s out of order.”

  Jennie threw her keys on the mantel. “You’re kidding! Try it anyway, Pol.”

  She did, and the emptiness of a dead line greeted her. “I’ll get to a call box and report it for you.”

  “Sit down,” Art said.

  Polly started for the door. “You’ve done more than enou
gh. Thank you both. I’ll—”

  “Sit down. Now.”

  Jennie put an arm around her shoulders and guided her to the chair. “Art’s bothered. Any little glitch, and he’s bothered. Sit down. I’ve got a few things to do, then I’ll run you to a phone.”

  “It’s not far,” Polly protested. She broke into a sweat. She had to get to Nasty. “I could walk to the boat. Honestly, I think I ought to go now. Nasty will be—”

  “We don’t give a damn what Nasty’ll be,” Art said, rising to his feet. “Jack’s making waves, Jen. We’ve got to move. They’re ready for us.”

  Bewildered, Polly curled her fingers over the arms of the chair.

  “What about Mary?” Jennifer asked. “Did you do what we talked about?”

  “I thought about it. No point leaving too much for the local law to use. They might not be as stupid as we think.”

  “Yeah? You think they’d put any of this together? We don’t want to leave any tracks, brother dear. That means your Mary goes.”

  “She’s not my Mary. And she doesn’t know shit. Jealous bitch. All she wants is Jackie boy.”

  “The woman’s dangerous, I tell you. You told me she talked about offing… Well, she didn’t hesitate when she wanted to make sure I wasn’t a threat. Or our friend, here.”

  Polly opened her mouth to breathe. She’d walked right into something awful. Polly looked from brother to sister. “What are you saying?”

  “Mary thought you were sleeping with Jack. And she wanted you killed for that.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  The back of Art’s left hand, connecting with Polly’s face, snapped her head back. “That was after she wanted Jen killed because she thought she was sleeping with Jack.”

  “Which I was,” Jennifer said, still with a smile on her lips. “You’re going to bleed on that pretty white T-shirt.” Shuddering uncontrollably, Polly touched her cheekbone, winced, and looked at blood on her fingers. She’d made a terrible mistake coming here. She almost laughed. Bleeding, bruised, trapped with two people who were discussing her death, and she was thinking in understatements.