“You two work well together, so I’m sure you’ll figure things out between you.”
Red flags flew up in my mind at that statement, but I had no interest in talking about anything that was happening between Alex and me. There was too much and too little all at the same time, and I felt like I was the only one in whatever we did together.
“Yeah. You know what I was thinking of the other day? That house you used to rent on the lake every summer and how mom would complain about it being too small every time she saw it that first day. Do you remember that?”
He smiled that way he always did any time I mentioned my mother. It was a smile full of memories and sweetness. A smile of love like I’d never seen in anyone else in the world.
“She secretly loved going there each year. I knew that every time she said it would be too small that she was just teasing me. That’s the kind of person your mother was.”
“I think it says more about the kind of marriage you two had.”
My father took a sip of his ginger ale and smiled again. “I think you’re right. We understood each other better than anyone else either of us had ever met. That’s how I knew she was the one for me.”
“The one for me,” I repeated under my breath as I wondered if I’d ever find that person in my life.
“It was nice seeing Bethany the other night. I hadn’t seen her in ages,” he said quietly as he pretended to wipe down the bar.
“She’s more of a big city club girl,” I mumbled.
“I see.”
I doubted he truly saw anything but the sweet girl he thought she was, not that he was mistaken about her. I knew she wasn’t any different than the good time she’d always been. It was me who was different.
My father leaned on the bar and studied me for a moment before he asked, “Did I ever tell you the story about this guy I knew back in high school that was always so jealous of any guy who paid attention to his girlfriend?”
Sometimes my father was a subtle as a dump truck. I pressed my lips together to stop myself from grinning and shook my head. “No, I don’t think you ever did.”
“She was gorgeous. Everyone in school wanted to go out with her,” he said in a faraway voice.
“More gorgeous than Mom?” I teased, knowing his answer before he said it.
He leveled his gaze on me and twisted his face into a fake grimace. “Nobody was as gorgeous as your mother. No, but Cherie was very pretty and I wasn’t the only person who thought so.”
Always my mother’s biggest fan, even now he wouldn’t say there was a more beautiful woman in the world than her.
“Cherie had the prettiest blue eyes. I remember when she’d look at you, I mean really look at you, her eyes got the bluest blue I’d ever seen. She knew she was beautiful too.”
“That often means what’s on the outside is far nicer than what’s on the inside.”
“Not with Cherie. Nope, she was as sweet a person as you could ever meet. She had it all. Looks, personality, and brains.”
I didn’t know where my father was going with this story, but I had a sneaking suspicion he thought it related to me. I loved my father dearly, but sometimes when he tried to slide these lesson stories into my head, I couldn’t help but think he saw me as sort of dim. Like in eighth grade how he didn’t think I knew he was talking about me and my friend Mandy having problems over a skateboard I got as a birthday gift when he told me a story of how his brother had lost his best friend because he’d been so focused on bragging about some bike he loved.
“But Cherie had one flaw. She loved getting attention from anyone, so often she flirted just to get other guys to flirt with her. This drove her boyfriend crazy, and he became violent one day.”
I held my hand up to stop him before he went any further. “Dad, I’m not going to become violent and hurt anyone. I was just feeling sorry for myself the other night.”
“You really like him more than just someone you solve crimes with?” he asked in his matter-of-fact way.
I nodded, feeling an odd combination of foolishness and relief. Happy to finally admit the truth of how I felt about Alex to another soul, I still wished I hadn’t been so silly to think he might feel the same way about me.
“Then why don’t you tell him?”
“I didn’t know I liked him that much until I saw him with Bethany and now I can’t tell him. It wouldn’t be fair to Bethany since she’s my friend.”
“Jealousy is a difficult beast to keep under wraps, honey. How are you going to keep working with him if you feel more than you can tell him?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted as a lump formed in my throat. “Maybe it’s better we don’t work together anymore.”
A sad look crossed his face. “I haven’t seen you so dedicated to anything in a long time, Poppy. You and Alex work because you’re so different. He appreciates that. I know it.”
“Yeah. Sometimes different is too different to work, though.”
He squeezed my hand in sympathy and kissed the top of my head. “Maybe you’re right. Different can be difficult to deal with.”
Desperate for a change of topic, I nudged him to return to his story. “So what happened to this perfect woman who needed to be the center of attention?”
“I don’t think anyone ever described Cherie like that, but okay. My friend couldn’t understand why she needed to flirt with anyone else since he told her every day how madly in love he was with her. The more he told her he cared, the more she flirted.”
“This sounds like it’s not going to end well, Dad. Did he hurt her?”
“No, he wasn’t like that. What he didn’t understand was Cherie loved him, but she loved attention just as much. She wanted all eyes on her all the time.”
“Why? She had someone who loved her, so why did she need attention from anyone else?”
“Someone like you would never understand that, honey. For you, all you need is the person you care about to see you the way you want them to, but for others, even having that isn’t enough. For the Cheries in the world, love is never enough.”
“So she had a perfectly wonderful guy and her need for attention made him feel like he didn’t matter. Love sure is grand, isn’t it?”
“Sometimes. Other times, it’s just not enough.”
“What happened to your friend and Cherie?”
My father’s frown returned and he shook his head. “I don’t know. She moved out of town and I never heard from him again. I sometimes think about them, though. She used to goad him into jealousy so often I wondered how he didn’t explode with anger at more people.”
“Maybe he did. Did she ever have marks or bruises?”
“No. He would never lay his hands on her. He loved Cherie too much to hurt her.”
“He stayed with her knowing she was like that? Seems like a recipe for heartache to me, Dad.”
My father squeezed my hand again. “Love is like that, honey. He loved her and I hope he someday learned to accept who she was. I know it hurt him when she flirted with other guys right in front of him.”
I wasn’t sure why my father had told me this story. I was neither someone who craved attention, like Cherie, nor a long-suffering lover of someone who did. His stories occasionally didn’t make sense until I thought about them later, so I filed this one away and told him I needed to get back to my work.
“Will you be coming by tonight? I don’t need a bartender, but I always like to see my daughter.”
The thought of being there and having to see Alex and Bethany together again was too much to handle. Begging off because of work, I lied and said, “My editor is getting pretty antsy about these articles, Dad. Maybe another night.”
He kissed me goodbye without another word about my coming by later, but as I made my way toward the door, he stopped me. “By the way, your partner was in here last night. I think he was looking for you.”
“I doubt it, Dad, but thanks.”
Smiling, he winked at me. “Okay. I just
got the feeling he wanted to see you.”
I knew I shouldn’t want to know who he was with, but I asked anyway. “Was he alone?”
My father hesitated for just a moment, but it was long enough for me to know the answer to my question before he said a word. With a look full of pity, he said, “He was with your friend Bethany.”
As much as I hated to admit it, hearing that made my chest ache, like a vice tightening around my heart. My father must have misunderstood. Alex had no reason to be looking for me.
By the time I made it home, I’d had enough of the world. Climbing under my covers, I pulled them up over my head and tried to forget whatever lesson my father was trying to teach me with his story about jealousy. It didn’t apply to my situation.
My problem wasn’t being jealous of Bethany. No, my problem was what it had always been. Afraid to take a chance, I’d had the chance taken from me. I couldn’t blame her for that. There was only person to blame.
Me.
Chapter Sixteen
For the second day in a row, I woke up to a sunny day, but this one was different. Yesterday, I’d been mired in hurt and anger, but this morning I felt like I had a new lease on life. Maybe it was all the time I’d spent under the covers, or maybe it was just plain old acceptance that had set in, but when I thought about Alex and Bethany together, for the first time it didn’t feel like someone was squeezing the air out of me. If they were happy together, then I needed to be happy for them.
My cheery new outlook extended to the case too. As I sat at my kitchen table and sipped on my morning coffee, I thought about the four suspects and what we could have missed because there surely was something neither Alex nor I was seeing about the facts of Canton Walters’ murder. I simply needed to re-examine each suspect and every one of the clues to find out what that was.
As much as I had accepted Alex with Bethany, I hadn’t forgiven him for making me feel like I couldn’t help with the case because I didn’t agree with him, so I decided to set off on my own to uncover that missing piece of the puzzle. I hadn’t forgiven her either for sharing what I’d told her, but I’d just have to be careful with what I told her from that point on. I had no intention of providing her with any more material for her pillow talk.
I headed over to Elizabeth Freely’s neighborhood with fresh eyes and began knocking on doors in the hopes of finding someone who may have remembered even a single detail since Alex and I had been there days earlier. Over and over, people answered their doors only to tell me they’d never seen any males around Elizabeth’s apartment. To hear her neighbors talk, she was as single as a nun and had a social life to match.
At the fifth apartment, a middle aged woman with bright red hair we hadn’t met the first time we questioned the neighbors answered the door with a look on her face that made me take a step back. Before I could say a word, she pressed her face to the screen and snapped, “If you’re here to get that no-good bastard’s things, you can forget it. You may be the flavor of the month, but that doesn’t mean you have any standing in this house.”
I took another step back away from the door and held my hands up to let her know I wasn’t there as the flavor of the month or whatever she thought. “I’m not here to get anyone’s things, ma’am. I just wanted to ask you some questions about one of your neighbors.”
She narrowed her eyes to slits and stared me down. Finally, when she decided I was telling the truth, she said, “As long as you’re not here to get Jerry’s things.”
I smiled, happy to see I’d gotten through to her. “My name is Poppy McGuire. Can I come in, Mrs. –?”
“Connie. I’m nobody’s Mrs. anymore.”
“I promise I won’t take much of your time, Connie. I only have a few questions.”
She swung open the screen door and stepped out to join me on the concrete slab of a porch. “I’ve got a few minutes. Which of my delightful neighbors do you want the dirt on?”
“Elizabeth Freely. She lives in the building next door,” I answered, pointing to the house to the left.
With a sneer, she asked, “Which one is she? Is she one of the biddies who loves to threaten to call the cops every time a couple has an argument? Like two people can’t disagree from time to time.”
“No, she’s young. Dark haired girl in her twenties. She lives in the upstairs apartment.”
Connie looked up toward the second floor of the building and nodded. “I think I know her. She has parties sometimes. I bet she gets threatened to have the cops called on her too. Old people don’t remember what it’s like to be young and have fun.”
“Do you remember anything about these parties? Anything about who came to them?”
“No. They got loud a couple times, but it was just a bunch of girls having a makeup party. No harm there. I say let them have their fun. Some of that stuff they sell at those things is pretty nice.”
“Did you see any men at the parties?” I asked, wishing I had a picture of Canton Walters other than the one The Eagle had run.
“Not that I remember.”
I took the picture of the victim out of my bag and handed it to her. “Are you sure you never saw this man around Elizabeth’s apartment, either at a party or any time?”
Connie took a long look at the newspaper clipping and shook her head before she handed the picture back to me. “Nope. I’ve never seen this guy in my life, and I’d put money on the fact he’s never been here.”
“How can you be so sure?”
She took another look at the picture and smiled. “I’d remember a guy who looks like this coming around. Nope, he’s never been here and I’m home all the time.”
“Thanks, Connie. I appreciate your help. A policeman might come around asking some of the same questions. Do me a favor and don’t mention I was here.”
She gave me a wink and a sly smile that made her look far less frightening than when she was serious. “Any chance he’ll be as cute as the guy in the pic?”
I chuckled at the thought of Alex talking to Connie. He wouldn’t have to turn on any of that charm of his with her.
“Even better.”
Her dark eyes lit up with interest. “Then I’ll be sure to keep my eyes open for him too.”
I left Connie as she turned to walk back into her house and moved on to the house next door. Two no-answers later, I knocked on a door on the main floor of a house directly behind Elizabeth’s apartment. Alex and I hadn’t checked out any of the neighbors back there, so I hoped to find something we may have missed.
The name on the mailbox said Schultz. The door opened and there standing in front of me was my fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Anne Schultz. I recognized her jet black hair pulled up in that same tight bun she’d worn every day of the thirty-five years she worked at Sunset Ridge Elementary. Back then, she always had something stuck in her bun, like the pencils that stood in the rice on the counter at the one Chinese restaurant we had in town.
“Yes? Can I help you?” she asked in that same insistent tone she used as a teacher.
“Mrs. Schultz, I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Poppy McGuire. You were my fifth grade teacher a long time ago.”
I peered through the screen at her to see if she recognized me, and after a few seconds, she smiled. “Poppy McGuire. I would have thought you left Sunset Ridge years ago. What are you doing on my doorstep on this hot July day?”
Why was it whenever someone from my childhood saw me they always made that same comment about thinking I would have left town long ago? I’d never really fit in, but why did that automatically mean leaving my hometown?
“No, I’m still here,” I admitted as I wished I could ask her why she thought I’d have left. I didn’t have time for that discussion, though. “I was wondering if you could answer some questions for me.”
“About what?”
“About one of your neighbors.”
Mrs. Schultz scowled like she did when a student did poorly on a test. “I try to keep out of my neighbors’ busine
ss. Are you with the police or something?”
I didn’t want to lie, but since Alex wasn’t with me, I technically wasn’t working with the police at that moment. She didn’t need to know that, though, so I smiled big and nodded. “Yes, I am. They don’t let me carry a gun, but I get to ask questions.”
She arched one eyebrow at my attempt at being cute and opened her screen door. “I can see them doing that. You have a way about you that always made me feel comfortable. If I remember correctly, you were writing the society column for that local rag, weren’t you?”
I walked into her house as she insulted my one and only paying job and stood just inside the door enjoying the air conditioned splendor of her living room. “I still do, Mrs. Schultz.”
She waved for me to follow her, so I walked with her into the kitchen and sat down in the chair she offered me. Smoothing back the stray hairs from her bun, she sneered at me. “Your editor is an idiot. You know that, right? I had him in class before your time, and he couldn’t find the right place for a damn comma then either. You were a good writer, Poppy. What led you to that cesspool of journalistic talent?”
Ouch. Another all-too-truthful indictment of The Eagle.
“I needed a job when I came back to town to be with my father after my mother died.”
I generally didn’t like trotting out that kind of sentimentality, but if it got people to shut up and let me ask what I needed to, I wasn’t above doing it.
Her expression softened and then settled into the frown that looked most at home on her face. “I know. I was sorry to hear about your mother’s death, Poppy. She was a delightful woman. Like you and I suspect your father too, she didn’t belong in this town. She was too big for minds so small.”
I’d heard people say things like that about my mother for years, but it never got old. Hearing it from someone like Mrs. Schultz, a woman who never pulled any punches, felt better than when I heard it from most people because I knew she meant it.
“Thank you. I hope every day that I can follow in her footsteps.” I handed her the picture of Canton Walters from the paper she so detested and said, “That’s part of the reason why I’m helping the police. Do you remember ever seeing this man around your neighborhood?”
After Hours Page 17