The Love of a Stranger

by Jeffrey, Anna

  “He used to live at our house when we was kids.”

  “You mean with your parents? How come?”

  “Hell, he had to be somewhere. He couldn’t live at home. His daddy beat him up all time. Him and my oldest brother was always friends, so my mom let him move in with us. She still treats him like one of her own kids.”

  “Hunh,” Doug said, wondering what that fact said about Cindy’s mother and brother. “Guess I didn’t know that.”

  “You didn’t come in here just to talk about them—”

  “Hey, I’m new in town and there’s a lot of gossip.” Doug sipped. “Just trying to keep all the players straight.”

  “Kenny’s a good guy. He ain’t real polished. He never did finish school, but hell, who did?”

  “So let me see if I’ve got this right. Miller and Charles McGregor were friends, you and Miller are friends and you had something going on with Charlie. You guys were the Three Musketeers, huh?”

  She frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “Just that you were all good friends. I’ve even heard Miller has a thing for Alex.”

  “Not as bad as he used to. If he ever got her though, he’d wish he hadn't.” She picked up a package of Marlboro Lights and a plastic lighter from beside the sink. “Hey over there,” she yelled across the room to the customers. “Anybody need a beer?”

  A decline came back.

  She sauntered around the end of the bar to where he sat and squeezed sideways between him and the neighboring empty stool. Her pelvis slid along his hip and the beast in his pants made a twitch.

  “I don’t know why Kenny’d want somebody like her,” she said. “He’s rich. He could have any woman around here.” She rested her palm on his thigh as she reached in front of him to retrieve an ashtray, engulfing him in the smell of strawberry lotion and cigarettes. “You think she really would’ve shot him?”

  Doug didn’t know the answer to that one. “Never know,” he said.

  “Why’re you asking all these questions?”

  Her soft breasts pushed against his biceps. If she came any closer she would be on his lap. “Just making conversation.”

  “You lonesome or something?”

  “Are you?”

  “A little. Since Charlie’s gone.” She pulled a cigarette from her pack and hung it from her lips.

  Doug hated cigarette smoke, but to hear what she had to say, he would endure. He picked up her lighter and clicked it. The tiny flame in the dim room spotlighted her heavy mascara as she drew on the cigarette.

  “Yo, Cindy! Bring us two Black Velvet and waters!” The yell came from across the room. One of the customers seated at the table for two.

  Doug clenched his jaw, fearing the interruption had closed a window of opportunity.

  “Oh, hell,” she said and slid off the stool. “Okay,” she yelled back. She laid her smoke on an ashtray, ambled behind the bar and filled three glasses with ice. She deftly spurted shots of golden liquor from the bar well into two of the glasses. She giggled. “We charge extra for BV, but they’re half drunk. They won’t know the difference.”

  Doug smiled inwardly. She was probably following orders from the bar owner. Black Velvet wasn’t the most expensive whiskey on the market, but it cost more than the brand most profit-minded bar owners served from the house well.

  Cindy pulled a bottle of Black Velvet from a shelf above the backbar and poured a shot and a half into the third glass. “I’m gonna have one, too. Want one?

  “No, thanks.”

  She set the Black Velvet and water she had poured for herself on a napkin at her place at the bar, along with a pack of cigarettes. Then she sashayed across the room, carrying the customers’ drinks on a tray, her hips swinging from the gait of walking in high heels. She unloaded her tray and picked up empty cans on her way back to where he waited. When she returned, she hiked a hip onto the stool, putting no more than a few inches of distance between them.

  He forged ahead, hoping to recapture the stream of conversation that had been interrupted. “Must not have been easy, losing Charlie like you did. You were with him when he died, huh?”

  She sipped at her drink. “Hm, that hits the spot You don’t like whiskey?”

  “Don’t drink the hard stuff. Beer’s enough for me. You didn’t answer my question.”

  She picked up her cigarette from the ashtray, drew on it, then ground it out on the bottom of the ashtray as she blew out a stream of smoke. “I wasn’t with him, but yeah, I was there.”

  “Then you must be the only one who knows what really happened.”

  “Yeah, well...It ain’t something I talk about. I told Jim, but that's all. I had to tell him about it or he was gonna blame me.”

  “Does somebody need to be blamed? I thought it was an accident.”

  “Hell, yes, it was an accident.”

  Doug grunted.

  “That Charlie,” she said and sipped again. “I’ll never forget him. He was real nice to me most of the time, but...” She pulled another cigarette from her pack and propped it between two fingers.

  Doug picked up her lighter again and held it for her. He didn’t know what she’d had to drink before his arrival, but since he got here, she’d had a beer and a shot and a half of whiskey. He tongue was bound to be getting a little loose. “But what?”

  “Sometimes he made me nervous. He was kind of—well, weird...about sex and stuff.” She blew out another long stream of smoke. “Charlie was one o’ them guys that liked watching. Maybe as much as he liked doing it.” She braced an elbow on the bar’s edge and gave him a long assessing look. “Does that make you hot, watching?”

  Doug turned that information over in his mind. Did Alex know this about her ex-husband? He took a long sip from his own glass to hide his surprise. “You mean watching you? With somebody else?”

  “A lot of times that’s the only way he could, you know, get it up.”

  “This is a real small town,” Doug said. “Must not have been easy to find somebody willing to—”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised. I know people.” She turned to face him, her short skirt baring her spread thighs nearly to her crotch. A mound of breast flesh and the white lacy edge of a bra showed only inches away on one side of her shirt’s V-neck. “I bet you don’t have that problem, do you?”

  “What was wrong with him? He drink too much?”

  “That was part of it. Mostly he just liked weird shit, even when he was sober. Sometimes, he wanted somebody watching us. You ever done that? Let somebody watch you, you know, do it?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “You think it’s weird? I always thought it was. I didn’t like it much. I couldn’t do it unless I had a couple of drinks or a few hits off a reefer.”

  “Who was the watcher, Miller?” Doug managed to keep the question casual even as he said a tiny prayer the answer wasn’t going to be Alex.

  Cindy turned back to the bar and threw back what was left of her drink. Doug angled his head, seeking eye contact. He wasn’t about to let her abandon the conversation. “Hey, look at me. Miller was the third person?”

  Her head swung around to face him, her eyes wider than a spotlighted deer’s. “No.”

  “Cindy. Don’t shit me. You already started—”

  “Oh, hell….Sometimes he was, okay?”

  “And you went for that? You said you didn’t like it.”

  “What the hell am I gonna do? Both those guys were bigger than me. It didn’t make no difference anyway. I been screwing with Kenny since I was—well, I don’t know how old. He busted my cherry. He’s like my brother. Not that I ever fucked my brother, but Kenny and me ain’t blood kin. You know what I mean? I figured I was doing him a favor, letting him jack off while me and Charlie screwed.”

  Doug had a sudden urge to shower. “Yeah, I think I do.”

  She pulled out another cigarette and lit up again. “If you ever tell, I’ll say you're lying. Kenny would beat the crap out of me if he knew I told
somebody he was like that. Even my brother don’t know it.”

  Smoke curled between them as Doug studied her. Miller was in the cabin the night of the fire. He had almost zero doubt. But where did he go and when? And how the hell had McGregor wound up dead?

  Doug took the cigarette from between Cindy’s fingers and crushed it out in the ashtray.

  “Hey, what’re you doing?”

  “I’m doing you a favor. Ever hear of a guy named Jack Dunlap?

  “I dunno. Sounds like a name I’ve heard.”

  “He’s the State Attorney General. Some people in his office down in Boise wonder why the sheriff didn’t do a better job investigating Charles McGregor’s death.”

  “It was an accident,” she said too quickly. “Jim said so.”

  “But you know different, don’t you?”

  She slid off the bar stool and returned to the bottle of Black Velvet, poured a shot into her glass on the bar, then picked it up.

  “Look, I’m not a cop anymore,” Doug said. “What you tell me can’t hurt you. I want to help you out of the mess you’re in.”

  She tossed back the whiskey. “It was what Jim said. The lantern turned over.”

  “You the one who helped it turn over?”

  “No!” she said fiercely. “Me and him—what’re you trying to say?”

  “I’m telling you there are those who believe there was more to the cabin fire than a turned over lantern. If you were McGregor’s girlfriend, you must have cared about him—”

  “He was messed up, but…” Her chin quivered. A tear crawled from the corner of her eye. She slashed it away with the back of her hand. “He was gonna get me out of here. He was gonna take me to California.”

  “Then he must have cared about you. If you had that kind of relationship and you had nothing to do with his death, don’t you want to truth to come out?”

  Her stare met him, her eyes shiny and wet, but she said nothing.

  “By the time Jack Dunlap’s office finishes, there won’t be any secrets anywhere and charges will land on all of you. I believe you’re a smart woman. I can help you buy yourself some points if you tell the right people what happened to McGregor.”

  She poured another drink. “I already told. Me and Charlie was having a good time. We got drunk. And we might’ve smoked a little. That’s all.”

  “Then how’d the lantern get turned over?”

  “Charlie fell and bumped it.”

  Even if Doug hadn’t known it would take a major bump to turn over the lantern, the lie was so apparent in her eyes, anyone could have detected it. “Know what a subpoena is?”

  “No.”

  “It’s a summons. If they open an investigation, you’ll be subpoenaed. You’ll have to tell the truth about that night or you’ll be facing perjury charges. Jail time. Then, it’ll be too late for me, or anybody, to help you.”

  “What’re you talking about? Jim already said—”

  “Take my word for it. Jim Higgins won’t be able to do a thing for you. He’ll be scrambling to save his own ass.”

  The muscles in her jaw worked and he could see a glimmer of fear in her eyes. Bingo. All at once she laughed a nervous titter and rolled her eyes. “Shit. I tried to tell those guys—”

  The front door swung open and a half dozen men burst in, loud and laughing. “Hey, Cindy. Bring us a pitcher.” They made their way to a table.

  Doug swore under his breath.

  She turned back to him, in control again. “It’s happy hour. I gotta go to work.”

  He pulled her napkin closer, wrote his phone number. “Use your head. Think about what I said. Time’s running out.” He reached for his money clip again and dropped a twenty on the bar.“That should cover those shots of Black Velvet.”

  He left her drawing glasses of beer.

  Driving home, Doug organized his thoughts. If she told the man the county had elected to enforce the law how McGregor died and the death was something other than an accident, Doug couldn’t even name all the sheriff could be charged with. Cindy, at the least, could be charged with conspiracy and obstructing justice. Then there was Miller himself. Doug’s gut told him the logger was somehow involved in what happened to McGregor. The only unanswered questions were how and why.

  Chapter 21

  Alex awoke Thursday morning in what her grandmother would call “a state.” A snare drum was beating a tattoo inside her body. She hadn’t been able to reach Bob Culpepper yesterday afternoon to discuss the land trade and today, his assistant had told her, he would be in court all day. She tried working at her computer and making phone calls, but patience wasn’t one of her strong traits. Midmorning, she called Ted and grilled him about the trade.

  “It’s news to me, Alex,” he told her. “Land trades are done down in Boise. We never know about them up here ’til they’re finished.”

  “Do me a favor. You have contacts in the Boise office. Pick a few brains for me. Find out anything you can.”

  “Sure, Alex. I guess I can try.”

  “Ted, don’t you understand? I have to know if this is true. And if it is, I have to stop it. The first thing Kenny will do is build a road across Swede Creek. He’ll either divert the water that feeds Granite Pond or shut it off altogether. He can do that, can’t he?”

  “In theory, I suppose—”

  “Ted, if something happens to Swede Creek’s flow, even for a short time, the waterfall will cease to exist. Granite Pond will turn stagnant and eventually dry up. My God, the beautiful ferns will die. The grass will disappear. The wildlife will stop coming to drink. And that’s just the beginning. Besides me, doesn’t anyone care about this?”

  “Sure, Alex, but—”

  “Then after the bastard destroys something that’s ancient and beautiful, he’ll drive off with his trucks and his money like nothing ever happened.”

  “Alex, you’re getting upset—”

  “I’m not upset! My God, I’m hysterical! I’ll tell you this much, Ted. Even if I don’t own that old road, Granite Pond is still mine and I’ll fight him until I die.”

  She hung up in Ted’s ear, shaking with frustration. She could think of no one she knew who would know the details of the trade—that is, no one except the man who told her about it.

  Damn.

  After yesterday, did she dare call him? Would she be able to have a conversation with him without thinking about…

  Would she be able to even look at him with picturing…

  Her checks warmed as naughty images flitted through her head. Stop this, she told herself. In truth, despite her nastiness to him, and despite the fact that all he appeared to think about was sex, he had showed her true friendship more than once.

  Decision made, she marched to the kitchen, grabbed her purse and keys and headed for the Wrangler.

  ****

  Doug had just finished a shower when he heard a rap on the front door. He picked up his Levi cutoffs from the bathroom floor and pulled them on. Then on his way to the door, he grabbed the shirt he had left on the back of the living room sofa after he had finished his run. Still shrugging into the shirt, he opened the door. And met Alex.

  “Hello,” he said, trying not to show astonishment. He couldn’t guess why she had come to his house, but after yesterday, she had to have one helluva good reason.

  Her eyes roved down and up his body “I—I’m sorry.”

  She stepped back and started to turn, but he reached for her wrist. “Wait, Alex. Come in.” He could see she was uptight and tense. Maybe his lack of clothing embarrassed her, but he doubted that was the reason for her anxiety. It was too late now anyway.

  She looked around, no doubt taking in the construction mess, the bare, newly taped Sheetrock walls and his Nordic Track, weights and weight bench that half filled his living room. The place smelled of sawdust and drywall mud. For some damn reason, he felt self-conscious. He liked his house and its abundance of natural light and cheeriness, but compared to hers, it was a shanty. He m
ade an open-palmed arc around the room. “You caught me at a bad time. Everything’s under construction.”

  She faced him, but he couldn’t see her eyes behind the dark lenses of sunglasses. “Yesterday, you said something about Kenny trading for Old Ridge Road. I have to know about it.”

  Ah, the reason for this visit. He shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know any more than what I said. Something about a mistake in a survey and a land trade between Miller and the Forest Service for that old road behind your house.”

  He knew if he could see her eyes, they would be boring into him. “You want to sit down?” he asked.

  “Where did you hear about it?”

  “Butch Wilson told me Tuesday night. He heard Miller tell somebody who works in the sawmill office.”

  She buckled and sank to the wide sofa arm, her purse still hooked over her shoulder. He gave her a squint-eyed look, unable to determine if a new crisis had developed or if the land trade was a continuation of an old one. “Why do I get the idea you already know all about it?”

  Her shoulders sagged. “Not all about it.”

  Recovered from the surprise at her visit, he walked over to her and gently removed her sunglasses, then slid her purse off her shoulder. She didn’t resist. “Tell me about it.” He set her purse and sunglasses on the half wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. “It sounds like a big burden for one woman to carry.”

  He reached for her wrist again, pulled her to her feet and urged her down to sit on the sofa seat. “How about something to drink? I don’t have any tea, but I’ve got some Pepsi or some Gatorade.”

  She sat on the edge of the sofa cushion, her elbows resting on her knees. “That’s just what I need. A double shot of a power drink.”

  He would be worried if she hadn’t had a sharp comeback. He couldn’t keep from grinning. “Want it on the rocks?”

  “I don’t want anything to drink.” She stared into the blackened opening of his rock fireplace. “You know, I almost wish you hadn’t stopped me from shooting Kenny.”

  “No, you don’t.” He sat down beside her. “You’d be in jail.” He ran his finger down her spine. “And I’d never get the chance to make love to you.” He didn’t know why that had popped out of his mouth, though he had already crossed over to the assumption that the day would come.