I did not know how far Amelia was in the journey we’d begun. I was grateful, however, that Amelia and I had avoided the one thing that can make all of the courtship so much more difficult, for the process of disentangling is far, far worse with the complicating factor of a physical relationship. It is common knowledge that women give of themselves in exchange for love, and that men will give love in exchange for the woman and what she will provide. The currency, however, is not love but the pretense of love, on one side or the other. And intimacy without commitment of love in its true sense creates scarring damage, leaving one with empty pleasures to leach the soul and taking from the other soul a sense of self.
I had not wanted this hollowness for Amelia. Or for myself. And, given my uncertainties, was grateful we’d avoided it, no matter how tempting.
**
I thought of all this as Amelia and I stood briefly where I’d absorbed her beauty as she had stepped back to take the photo
of Glennifer and Elaine and me.
I thought of all my confusion. The easy way for me was the wrong way. The difficult way was the right way. I decided I would plunge forward with what I needed to say to be honest with her. That the subtle pressures she put on me to better myself in the eyes of the world were pressures that would ultimately destroy our relationship. If she was even interested in going that far. I would ask her about that, too.
The roller coaster.
“Amelia, I . . .”
An image of the photo she’d just mentioned flashed into my mind. The place where I’d seen it last. On the wall behind the desk in Glennifer and Elaine’s shop. Across from the chair where they sat prospective clients for both the purchasing and selling of antiques. Where most certainly Angel would have sat, the afternoon she wandered into their shop.
“Yes, Nick?” She wrapped an arm around my waist. It felt good, but I was too distracted to be able to remain here with her.
Because suddenly I knew.
And I knew that I needed to make a different sort of confession. To someone else.
“Could we make a quick detour before dinner?” I asked Amelia. Her face showed confusion at my erratic subject change. “It’s important.”
**
Angel was at home, and she answered my knock by asking me to identify myself.
I did. As I waited, I noticed a new lock in place.
Angel swung the door open. “Nick.” She didn’t invite me in.
I noticed the splintered doorjamb, too. “What happened, Angel?”
“Nothing.”
The set of her face told me I would get nothing out of her
by pursing the question more.
“Your Grammie Zora back yet?” I asked.
“Told you before. Not till the end of the week.”
I looked over her head at the interior. A single bulb in a dusty light fixture lit the narrow front hallway. Along one wall was a table stacked with mail. Beyond, the parlor. The back wall was bare and white. Or would have been, without the larger-than-life-size figure of Angel’s mother, standing among flowers with a much younger Angel holding her hand. The scene was in full color, covering much of the wall.
Angel caught my glance. “Just running one of my DVDs. I’ve got it on Pause.”
She still didn’t invite me in.
Dusk had begun to settle, but there was still enough light for her to clearly see the Jeep parked just down the sidewalk. With Amelia on the passenger side, her hands in her lap. She wasn’t happy that I’d made this a priority.
“Who’s that?” Angel said. “She’s pretty.”
“Amelia.”
“You and her shacked up?”
“No.”
“Working on it? I mean, you’re dressed pretty fancy. Seems strange you’d come here if—” Angel brought her knuckles to her mouth—“It’s not Maddie, is it? They said at the hospital she’d be fine. Maybe out tomorrow. So when Maddie fell asleep, I just walked home.”
“It’s not Maddie.”
“Good.”
“Angel, I want to talk for a few minutes.”
She shrugged. “Alright.” Angel stepped outside, swung the front door shut, and sat on the steps. “Don’t take it personal, but my friend Camellia has told me stories. I ain’t letting any man into my house when I’m alone.”
I felt sorrow that the innocence of her childhood had been stolen from her so early. I sat beside her on the steps. We looked out onto the street at the Jeep in the foreground and the crowded, leaning houses beyond on the other side of the street.
“Hot summer nights like this,” Angel said, “Mama would sit right here with me and we’d eat watermelon. Spit the seeds too. It was fun. I miss her; I don’t mind telling you.”
“My mother and I would do the same,” I said. “When the fireflies came out, she’d help me chase them down, and we’d keep them in an old pickle jar. It seems to me, though, that there’s not as many fireflies now as when I was your age.”
“Sad, huh.”
“All of it,” I said.
“Yeah,” she said. “But I don’t let the sad get in the way of remembering what was good. That would make the good not so good.”
Again, I was struck hard by Angel’s unawareness of her bravery. That worsened what I had to say. But unlike the situation with Amelia, I was not going to let cowardice stop me.
“I want us to be friends, Angel.” I spoke softly, not wanting any of this conversation to reach the Jeep. “But you need to know something about me before you can decide if you want to be my friend.”
Angel pushed away, not rising but increasing the distance between us on the steps. “You the same as that creep that followed me across the playground one day?”
“I’m someone who lied to you at the beginning,” I answered. “You see, when I offered to help you and Maddie in the emergency room, I wasn’t there by accident. Or because of an accident. Or because I was sick. Or because I knew someone who was sick.”
I paused. “You’re smart. You would have wondered about that sooner or later. I’m guessing you realized it that afternoon, even before I helped you with the security guard.”
No reply.
“Before I tell you why I lied, I really want you to know that everything after that has been honest.” I stopped myself, remembering my meeting with Timothy Larrabee and how I hadn’t yet told Angel about that. “Everything except for the fact that I’ve already spoken to Timothy Larrabee. He wants to buy the painting. But so does someone else. So now you know that, too. I’ll arrange it if you still want me to.”
“Sure.”
“That’s all that matters to you, isn’t it, Angel? Not the fact that I let you believe it was an accident I was there in the emergency room. ”
“Maddie’s all I got, and I’m all she’s got.” Angel hunched forward and wrapped her arms around her knees. “Nothing’s more important.”
It felt strange, having this private conversation with Amelia so near. But I would not have been able to sit through dinner without talking to Angel first. Nor could I have simply bid Amelia good night and left her to come to visit Angel.
“I understand,” I said. “I’m not mad or hurt at what you’ve pretended. And I’m asking you to forgive me for what I pretended. I was trying to help two friends. They don’t mean
as much to me as Maddie means to you, but they are still important to me.”
Angel stared straight ahead. In the growing dusk, a few fireflies began to glow among the weeds at the side of the steps.
“You know who my two friends are, don’t you?” I said. “You saw me in a photo with them. In the antique shop. When you tried to sell them the painting.”
“They sent someone to follow me home that day. Then they sent you. And you pretended that you were just trying to help me and Maddie. But you wanted something else. People always do.”
“Not always. You’re helping Maddie without expecting anything back. Your mother loved you simply because she loved you.”
> “That’s different.”
“It is. Thank God for that.”
“You believe in God.”
“Yes.”
“I thought believing in God meant you didn’t lie and steal and do mean things. But you don’t mind pretending to be helping me when all you want is the painting.”
“I’m here to tell you how wrong that was. I want to help you and Maddie. That’s become more important to me than the pretending I did when we met.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why else would I be here right now?” I asked.
“Because you finally realized I knew who you were.”
“Not true,” I said.
“So why didn’t you tell me this before?”
I fought for a good answer.
“See?” Angel stood up and reached for the knob of the front door. “All along,” she said without taking her hand away. “I’ve been pretending, too. I’ve been pretending I never did see you in the picture with those two old ladies. I’ve been pretending that you were like what a father would be. But if you’ve stopped pretending then I’ve got to stop. So maybe it’s good we each know what the other wants. You want the painting for your old-bag friends and I want what I can get for it.”
She opened the door. “Do what it takes to sell the painting. Then you and me can be through with each other.” Angel stepped inside. To a lonely house. With the memories of her mother on that big, white, empty wall.
And I stepped down. Past the fireflies in the wisps of weeds. Feeling the loneliness that comes with a deep sense of loss.
**
I chose 82 Queen for dinner with Amelia, a place where I’d once met her for lunch. Most of our conversation consisted of trading stories of our childhoods. It was an enjoyable evening, but I could not shake the sense that below our stories were other issues we needed to discuss. I knew what it was for me and became afraid again of what it might be for her. Time in her presence was so good that I decided to hold what I needed to say until just before her departure for Chicago.
Our good-night hugs were automatic; again, Amelia gave me a quick peck on the cheek before getting into her car. It hurt me less this time than the night before. I was thinking of Angel sitting quietly on the steps in the darkness among the fireflies.
I made the short drive to the Doubletree. It was nearly eleven o’clock, and the market area had begun to quiet. A valet named Steve took my keys, and I moved slowly through the lobby to the elevators.
I doubted that I would sleep easily, and my prediction was correct. When the phone rang a half hour after I’d crawled into bed, I was still awake, with Angel’s sorrow heavy on my mind.
“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“Mr. Barrett, it’s Steve. Down here in valet. A woman drove into your Jeep in the parking garage.”
“It’s a beater. It can wait until morning.”
“Sir, she’s very upset.”
“Okay, I’ll be right down.”
**
I didn’t make it to the lobby. As I waited for the elevator to arrive, two men approached, then one stood on either side of me. I gave them a polite glance.
The dark suits and the beards set off a pang of alarm inside me. Had I shouted or screamed immediately, I might have been able to prevent what happened next. But fear of ridicule is a strong countering emotion. As I debated what to do, the doors
to the elevator opened.
I made my decision. “Sorry,” I said. “Forgot something.”
I turned back between them to go to my room. Too late. Each grasped an arm and shoved me inside the elevator. As the doors closed, one pushed me up against the wall. The other wrapped wide white adhesive tape around my eyes. The first one punched me in the stomach. I doubled over. Fought the tape going over my mouth without success. Blinded and muted, I had no chance as they bound my wrists with the same tape.
I suppose they had calculated the risks. What were the odds of someone else taking the elevator this late at night? I know what I was hoping for. But the odds ran in their favor.
The door opened. I could only guess it was any other floor but the lobby. I heard the footsteps of one of them leave. Half a second later, he’d returned.
“Come on!” he urged his partner.
I couldn’t kick against them with any degree of effectiveness. Not with only one good leg. They dragged me down the hall. In the absolute darkness imposed upon me by the tape,
I heard the click of a door opening, then closing.
It wasn’t the stairwell. I would have heard the echo of the metal door closing, and the scuffling of their feet on concrete. Instead, the door clicked quietly shut, and my shoes dragged across soft carpet.
They’d used the valet’s name to get me to the elevator. Rented a room near the elevator. It told me something I didn’t want to know. This had been well planned. As I tensed my body, waiting blind for another blow to my body, I heard a low hissing sound that I could not identify. Plus the breathing of other men.
**
The water in the bathtub was ice-cold.
Five times they brought me to the point of drowning. Held me beside the tub and shoved my face in the water and held my thrashing body until pinpoints of light stabbed my eyes, the pinpoints of unconsciousness that would force my straining lungs to suck in water instead of air. Five times they brought me up again, gasping for life. Then they hauled me to my feet and brought me into another room. Hands forced me to my knees.
A voice whispered in my ear. “You like them so much? We’re gonna treat you like one of them.” The voice remained a whisper in the total darkness. A whisper devoid of any characteristics, except whatever I projected into it because of my fear. “Consider this a warning,” it continued. “We can find you anywhere, anytime. And next time, you won’t be let off so easy. Whatever you’re trying to find, let it go.”
Fingers grasped my hair and yanked my head back. “Understand?”
I felt something across my throat.
“Understand?” the whisper repeated. “This is a knife. All
I have to do is draw it across your throat, and you have a brand-new smile. But tonight, you’re going to live. Tonight’s a warning. Mind the business that belongs to you. No one else’s. Or we’ll be back. Don’t go to the police. Or we’ll be back. Don’t tell a single person. Or we’ll be back. And it’ll be much worse.”
Strong arms pushed me over, and with my knees still on the floor, my chest fell into the couch. My face was shoved against fabric. Someone else pulled my shirt out of my pants, exposing the skin of my lower back.
I kicked frantically. Almost gasped with relief when I realized they had no intention of undressing me further.
“It’s ready,” someone else whispered.
That’s when I recognized that the low hissing sound was a propane torch.
Chapter 21
“You’re late,” Jubil said.
“Five minutes,” I agreed. Morning had arrived and I was still alive. “I was at the archives.”
“First thing in the morning?”
“First thing in the morning. As they opened the doors.” Anything to take my mind off the terror of the night before.
“Scholarly research as part of the lifestyle of the rich and infamous,” Jubil said as he surveyed the paintings and décor of the Doubletree restaurant. “You do live high.”
“Wonderful, isn’t it?” I said flatly. “Pendleton’s tab.”
“Thought he hated you.”
“Makes it more fun,” I explained. My attorneys had assured me that when Pendleton lost the lawsuit, he would pay their attorney fees as part of the settlement. And part of the attorney fees, they had explained, would include my living expenses here in Charleston. It was a stretch to say that Maddie’s hospital expenses were part of it, but I was going to give it a good try.
If not, it would come out of the inheritance I was almost certain to gain.
Jubil wrapped his hands around h
is coffee cup. “Winning popularity contests everywhere, huh?”
I thought of the previous night. Of the attackers leaving the room after cutting through the tape on my wrists. Of sitting there and ripping the tape off my face and mouth, shaking so badly with fear and relief that I didn’t care about the extra pain of pulling away hair with the tape. Of walking on wobbly legs to my own room. Of putting on a dry shirt and slowly walking to the twenty-four-hour Harris Teeter for bandages and ointment. Of sitting in the quiet of my own room and wondering what to do.
Popularity contests. Like last night.
“Yeah,” I said to Jubil. “People everywhere love me.”
“I don’t think you caught my drift. I’m not the only one keeping tabs on you.” He grinned, drank coffee, and surveyed me for a reaction. I was too tired. “There’s a investigative firm on Broad. Discreet. Very discreet. They don’t advertise. No sign on the street. It’s the place you go when you live south of Broad.”
I thought of Kellie Mixson. Chances were this firm wouldn’t allow ball caps as part of the dress code.
“Sometimes, unofficially, information gets traded back and forth,” Jubil continued. “I have a guy there, helps me out when
I need to make inquiries about the blue bloods on your side of town. And sometimes, he comes to me.”
“Same deal you have with Kellie Mixson.”
He chuckled. “Same deal. I think she’s got a personal interest in you, too. I might have laid it on a little thick, the high school football stuff.”
“Great. And you did the same for your Broad Street connection?”
“He’s not your type. And his interest was a lot different. It was a couple days ago. What’s today? Wednesday? Yeah, it was Monday. Guy from the firm buys me lunch, same way you’re going to buy me breakfast today. Says he’s got questions about someone I know. Says asking me is also like giving me a heads up, ’cause he remembers me talking about my high school football days here, and when the name came up first thing Monday morning, it startled him. Guess what, Nick? The client hired their firm to find out what they could about you. You’ve been followed the last few days. Everywhere you went.”
The waitress dropped off our plates. Fruit plate for Jubil, grits and butter and brown sugar for me. My body wasn’t up to
Crown of Thorns (Nick Barrett Charleston series) Page 21