by Meg Muldoon
After the disaster that was the Beth Lynn Baker and Robert Reese show, I went back home, hoping that Fletcher would still be there so that I could have a talk with him.
I’d had a little time to think about it all, and I’d come to a conclusion.
As much as I liked him, as much as I wished things were different, as much as I had started to feel for him, I had to be sensible.
It just wasn’t ever going to work out between us.
Fletcher was a good guy. A really good guy. And in another lifetime, maybe we could have been something.
But if I was ever going to put my life back together, I’d have to stop getting involved with men who weren’t my soulmate.
More than anything, I wanted it to work with Jacob. More than anything I wanted him to finally see the truth and come back to me.
And getting involved with Fletcher would just stall those efforts.
Because I knew, deep down, that Fletcher wouldn’t be just another Raymond, a half-hearted attempt at finding love again, more out of loneliness than anything.
No. I got the feeling that if I let things go in the direction they were headed, I might just fall head over heels for Fletcher Hart.
And that wasn’t something I could afford if I wanted any chance at happiness with Jacob.
But I didn’t get an opportunity to tell him any of that because when I got home, all that was left was a full dishwasher of clean dishes, and one stuffed and snoozing dog curled up on the sofa.
And the lingering aroma of bacon and eggs in the air.
Something tugged at my heart when I saw that he’d left. Kind of like that depressed feeling you get on Christmas afternoon, when all the presents have been opened and the holiday’s almost over.
I sighed, my breath sounding especially loud in the empty house.
I resolved to find him later that night. Maybe he’d be at The Cupid. It was the first night that we would officially be open for business since Dale’s death, and I had a feeling that I might just see the stranger back at the bar.
I took a shower, dried my hair and got dressed.
I had some of the afternoon to kill before going back to the saloon and helping with opening night, so I decided to head over to the nursing home and kill some time with the only person I knew who could, without a doubt, make me feel better.
The old man had been happy to see me.
He’d been dying to hear more about the progress of the murder investigation, and I had told him what I’d seen at the saloon earlier, which piqued his interest quite a bit.
“I bet that Dry Hack and Courtney have been going behind Dale’s back for some time,” Lawrence said, his eyes growing wide with the thought of the conspiracy. “Finally, one night, Dry Hack decides he’s tired of sharing Courtney. Ha! Sharing Courtney. Don’t that sound like a good title for the Lifetime Movie they’re going to make out of this story?”
I smirked at the old man’s silly joke.
“Yeah, maybe,” I said. “But it’s hard for me to believe that Dry Hack could actually do something like that. I mean, he’s always been so nice to everybody. I don’t think he’d be capable of killing Dale.”
“He was in the war, wasn’t he?” Lawrence said, leaning back in his wheelchair. “War makes a person capable of plenty. All those years of looking at Courtney, of pining for her, knowing that she’s married to a man who doesn’t treat her right. All those years sitting quietly at the bar, drinking and thinking If only Dale weren’t in the way…”
The old man’s eyes glazed over, like he was trying to get into the mindset of Dry Hack.
Maybe old Lawrence had missed his calling. Maybe instead of a musician and bar owner, he should have actually been a detective.
“I suppose anything’s possible,” I said.
“Well, almost anything,” Lawrence said. “I know that you didn’t kill Dale. Which means I’m one step ahead of that jackass of a cop.”
Lawrence had been livid when I told him that Raymond had brought me in for questioning and threatened me.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Law Dog,” I said, patting his hand. “You’re light years ahead of Officer Raymond Rollins.”
“What do you think about that fella you were talking about earlier?” he said, stroking his white beard. “You know, the one you said was here to buy The Cupid. You think maybe Dale wouldn’t play ball with him, so he killed him?”
I shook my head.
“Doesn’t seem like the type,” I said.
“Seems kind of odd you keep running into him, don’t you think?”
I shrugged.
I hadn’t told Lawrence much about the stranger outside of the basics of what he was doing here in Broken Hearts, and I didn’t really want to go into more detail. I wasn’t going to tell him about my feelings for the stranger, Lawrence being Jacob’s grandfather and all.
“Just a small town, I guess.”
“Hmm,” Lawrence said.
We sat a little while in silence, Lawrence still lost somewhere in his conspiracy theories.
“So, uh, have you heard any more from my grandson?” he finally asked.
I shook my head.
“He’s been busy, what with the band going on tour and everything.”
Lawrence nodded, and then took a deep, labored breath. He looked down and was quiet for a moment, and there was suddenly an uncomfortable silence between us. Like something was on his mind, but he was having trouble saying it.
“What?” I finally said.
“There’s something… there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, Bitters.”
I could tell by the tone of his voice that it was something serious.
I felt my mouth go a little dry and my palms grow damp, wondering if he’d found out something bad about his health.
“What is it, Lawrence?”
He let out a short breath.
“Well, darling, I’m only saying this because I love you like you’re my own kin,” he said.
He took another dramatic breath, and my heart beat hard in my ears.
“It’s just that… I know that you think Jacob and you are destined to be together. But, well, I’ve been wondering. What if you’re not?”
I swallowed hard. At first relieved that he wasn’t telling me about some terrible medical news he received.
But then surprised.
It took me a little off guard. We hadn’t ever talked about this. Not really.
“What are you trying to say, Lawrence?” I asked.
He looked down and sighed, like he was about to say something he didn’t want to.
“I don’t want you to think I’m being insensitive,” he said. “God knows, I want it to work out between you and Jacob. But I’ve been watching you these last few years, Bitters. I’ve seen how sad you are, and believe me, I’m mad as hell at Jacob for making you feel that way. But I’m thinking that maybe it’s been too long, you know? I mean, don’t you think you deserve to be happy? I know I do. And I might not be an expert in love, but I do know that you can’t spend the rest of your life waiting on a wild card.”
I sat there a few moments in shock.
Then I realized tears were gathering in my eyes.
I don’t know why, but old Lawrence’s words stung, as sharp as a bee’s stinger.
Not that I hadn’t had these same thoughts before. But hearing them out loud, from somebody I loved and respected, no less, somehow hurt worse than I would have thought.
I had always thought Lawrence was on my side, that he wanted me and Jacob to get back together again.
But even he’d given up on Jacob coming back to me.
And for some reason, that kind of broke my heart.
He must have seen the pain behind my eyes, because he patted my hand.
“I’m not trying to make you cry, darling,” he said.
It was too late for that. Tears started popping over the rims of my eyelids.
“I just want to see you happy. And I
know for a fact that there are plenty of men out there who could make you happier than my Jacob right now. Plenty of good fellas. And they’d count their lucky stars if you so much as looked in their direction.”
I wiped away the tears.
“He’s just figuring himself out right now,” I said. “But Jacob’s gonna come back to me. You’ll see.”
“What if he ain’t? Are you gonna spend the rest of your life waiting for him? Why, that’s almost as bad as old Zerelda Richmond’s story. Don’t do that to yourself, darling. I love my grandson, but he ain’t worth that kind of sacrifice. Not after the way he’s treated you.”
“You don’t understand,” I said, shaking my head. “We’re supposed to be together.”
“The only person you’re ever supposed to be with is the one that makes you happy, Bitters,” he said. “Jacob’s only brought you misery these past years.”
I sighed.
The tears kept coming. After a few minutes, I realized that I just couldn’t continue on with this conversation.
It hurt too much.
I stood up.
“I’m sorry, Lawrence, I just don’t want to talk about it right now,” I said. “I have to go.”
A sad expression came across the old man’s face.
I patted him on the shoulder, and started to leave, brushing away the tears.
“Wait,” he said. “You haven’t forgotten about my birthday next week, have you?”
I stopped.
“‘Course not, Law Dog,” I said, having a hard time looking at him.
“I’ll see you then?” he asked.
I nodded.
“‘Course,” I said
I walked across the cafeteria, passing Belle in the hallway. I tried to look down, to conceal my red and puffy face, but it was too late.
She’d already seen it.
“Jeez, you okay Loretta?” she asked.
I didn’t answer. I just got out of there as fast as my feet would take me.
Chapter 57
I wasn’t okay.
Not at all.
Lawrence’s words had hit home. They’d hit home hard.
I realized I was the only one now who believed in Jacob and me.
And that the rest of the town, Lawrence included, probably just thought I was some lovelorn loser. Too thick to realize when a man had left her.
All I wanted to do was drink.
But I couldn’t.
The Cupid would be open tonight, and Courtney was counting on me to tend bar.
So I went home, put on some makeup to replace what had been smudged by all my crying earlier, and changed into the black t-shirt and jeans that constituted my bar uniform.
I left my house and drove over to The Cupid. The skies had turned dark, and a mean, howling wind shook the truck. The air hung thick with static electricity.
It was the kind of weather that brought the crazy out in people. I’d been bartending long enough to know when we were in for a rough night. Storms, full moons, and holidays were the things that made people act in ways they shouldn’t have.
That, combined with Dale’s recent demise made for a dangerous concoction, and I half wondered if Courtney should reconsider opening the saloon tonight.
When I pulled up into the lot, my suspicions about the kind of night we were in for were confirmed.
Courtney was outside, scrubbing furiously at a swath of black graffiti that someone had sprayed on the brick façade.
She’d been able to wash away some of it, but there was still enough left to see what it had said.
I sat in the truck for a while, just staring at the crude lettering scrawled across the wall.
Tonight or else.
It could have been kids.
But something in my gut told me it wasn’t.
I shivered inside the car.
I had a bad feeling about tonight.
A real bad feeling.
Chapter 58
“I really think we should call the police, Courtney,” I said.
She continued scrubbing the wall like she didn’t hear me.
A bitter wind whipped across the front of the bar.
Something was coming in. Something bad.
“No,” Courtney said, her hands now black with the wet paint. “They’re too busy for this nonsense.”
She wrung out the sponge in a bucket of water, and then started back again at the brick.
She couldn’t seem to meet my eyes.
“What if it has something to do with—”
“It doesn’t,” she said abruptly. “Just some kids having their fun.”
A few fat snowflakes started falling from above.
We were in for a storm here before not too long. One of those high desert storms that came barreling through in early spring, dumping snow and ice with wild abandonment, catching everyone off guard.
“We’re gonna have a full house tonight and you need to start getting the bar ready,” she said coldly.
“You know, Courtney, if there’s something you want to say, like you need someone to listen to you? I’m here. Okay?”
She didn’t answer.
“I really think you should call the cops,” I said again, beating a dead horse. “That might mean something.”
“Or it could be that it’s just some brats running wild,” she said. “Now that’s all I want to say on the subject. I hear the bar calling your name.”
I shook my head.
I headed for the door, not responding.
“And Bitters?” she said.
I turned back.
“Don’t you be blabbing about this to that boyfriend of yours. It’s none of Rollins’ business, as far as I’m concerned.”
Her words came out harsh, and I would have normally taken offense at her talking to me like that.
But then I saw her eyes.
Her eyes were saying something else.
There was panic in them.
And I didn’t understand why.
“I won’t,” I said.
She nodded, and leaned down, wringing the sponge free of black paint.
I stepped inside The Cupid, the bad feeling in the base of my chest growing with each passing minute.
We shouldn’t have been opening in this kind of weather.
Chapter 59
It was going to be one of those drunken-shouting, busted glass, black-eye kind of nights that ended with somebody getting hurt and the place being shut down early.
The Cupid was more crowded than it had been since I was a kid. People crammed in, seeking shelter from the snowstorm howling outside. I was running myself ragged trying to keep up with all the drink orders. Courtney was, of course, unhelpful as always and nowhere to be found. Last I saw, she’d been out back behind the bar, chain-smoking and watching the wind have its way with the snowflakes falling from the sky.
Meanwhile, I was working myself into the ground.
But I wasn’t complaining. It was just what I needed tonight.
Despite the dangerous feeling in the air, I was glad to have something to take my mind off of what Lawrence had said earlier about moving on.
I knew the old man hadn’t meant to hurt me. In fact, I knew he’d said what he’d said out of love.
But when it hurts, it doesn’t really matter why someone said something to you. All you feel is the pain.
Rushing around the saloon went a ways to taking my mind off of it, though. If only for a few hours.
I took drink orders for Cupid’s Slingshots, Grapefruit Rickeys, High Desert Sunrises, Hibiscus Margaritas, and beer of every variety, forcing myself to smile and talk it up with customers as Hayes Carll and Lucinda Williams and Conway Twitty belted from the stereo.
The jukebox sat unplugged against the wall. Nobody had touched it since Dale’s death.
It felt like the whole town was in the saloon. Faces I hadn’t ever seen before, plus faces I knew all too well. Beth Lynn was there, drinking herself into a Cosmo stupor at one end of the bar
, rattling on about how she’d never find the right man. Dry Hack was in his usual spot, knocking back his gin and tonics, mumbling to himself. A dark expression on his face.
Sometimes, someone would hover over the area where Dale’s body had been, then look up at the place where Old Velma used to be mounted, and shake their head.
There was plenty of talk about Dale. About who he might’ve pissed off so badly to end up murdered in his own bar. There was talk of gambling and bad debts and crossed bookies.
In between drink orders, I found myself scanning the crowd without knowing I was doing it.
It took me a little while to figure out I was searching for someone.
“Looking for me?”
My heart sank.
I turned in the direction of his voice, wondering if this was it. If he was here to do what he had threatened to do.
To arrest me for Dale’s murder.
And in front of an entire room of customers.
I took a deep breath.
“Raymond,” I said, coldly.
I noticed he wasn’t in his regular uniform. Instead, he was wearing street clothes, with his beanie cap pulled down over his ears.
He sat hunched on the barstool.
“No, I don’t expect you were looking for me,” he said, resting his chin on his hand. “Don’t expect you’re happy to see me at all.”
He said it in one of those tones that he used from time to time when he was wallowing in self-pity.
“Can you blame me after doing what you did?”
Raymond didn’t answer.
“Are you here on business?” I said. “Come by to make sure your suspect wasn’t skipping town before you could arrest her?”
“Just… get me a drink, would ya, Bitters?” he said, looking away like he was ashamed.
I put my hands on my hips.
“Tequila.A lot of it. And I don’t care if it’s the cheap stuff neither.”
He rested his chin on the palm of his hand again.
Something really had Raymond down.
He should have been working at this hour, but instead he was in here, looking like he had a thirst that might take all night to quench.
I didn’t say anything, though I was tempted to let him have it. I poured him a double shot of tequila, going for a mid-shelf brand.