Tangled Up in You

by Rachel Gibson

  “Good night,” he said and headed for the door. Cool night air brushed across his face and neck as he walked to his truck, and he took a deep breath and let it out. He’d always made Meg feel better. Always. And afterward, he always felt like shit. She’d have a breakdown, and when it was over, she’d be fine. Never seeming to notice the broken bits and pieces she’d left in the wake of her unpredictable moods.

  Having been gone for twelve years, he’d almost forgotten what those moods were like. Sometimes he wished he’d just stayed gone.

  Chapter 5

  Maddie reached for a bottle of Diet Coke sitting on her desk and unscrewed the cap. She took a long drink, then returned the cap. The instant she’d opened her eyes that morning, she’d known where the book had to open. In the past, she’d always opened each book with chilling facts.

  This time she sat down and wrote:

  “I promise it’s going to be different this time, Baby.” Alice Jones glanced at her young daughter, then returned her gaze to the road. “You’re going to love Truly. It’s a little like heaven, and it’s about damn time Jesus drop-kicked us into a better life.”

  Baby didn’t say anything. She’d heard it before. The excitement in her mother’s voice and the promises of a better life. The only thing that ever changed was their address.

  Like always, Baby wanted to believe her mother. Really she did, but she’d just turned five. Old enough to realize that nothing ever got better. Nothing ever changed.

  “We’re going to live in a nice trailer house.”

  She unfolded her arms from across her chest as she looked out the windshield at the pine trees whizzing by. A trailer house? She’d never lived in a house.

  “And a swing set in the front yard.”

  A swing set? She’d never had a swing set. She turned her gaze to her mother and the sunlight shining in her blond hair. Her mother looked like an angel on a Christmas card. Like she should be standing on top of a Christmas tree, and Baby let herself believe. She let herself believe in the dream of finding heaven. She let herself believe in a better life, and for five months it had been better—right up until the night an enraged wife pumped a set of .38 hollow points into Alice Jones’s young body and turned the dream into a nightmare.

  Maddie pushed her chair back from her desk and stood. The sleeves of her cotton pajamas slid to her elbows as she raised her arms over her head and stretched. It was a little after noon and she hadn’t showered. Her good friend Clare showered and put on makeup every day before she sat down to write. Not Maddie. Of course, that meant that occasionally she got caught by FedEx looking like complete crap. Something she really didn’t worry about.

  She jumped in the shower and thought about the rest of her day. She had a list of names and addresses with respective relationships to the case. First on the list was a visit to Value Rite Drug, where Carleen Dawson worked. Carleen had been a waitress at Hennessy’s at the same time as Maddie’s mother. She wanted to set up a time to interview the woman and asking in person had advantages over asking on the telephone.

  After her shower, she rubbed almond-scented lotion into her skin and put on a black dress that wrapped around and tied at the side of her waist. She pulled her hair back from her face, applied a little mascara and a deep red lipstick. She wore red sandals and slid a notebook into her slim leather briefcase. Not that she planned to use anything in the briefcase, but it gave the right impression.

  Value Rite Drug was located a few blocks off Main Street next to Helen’s Hair Hut. Potted geraniums and yellow awnings gave the outside of the store splashes of color. The inside was stuffed with everything from Band-Aids and aspirin to wooden statues of elk, moose, and bear carved by locals. She asked at the front register where she might find Carleen and was pointed to the snack food aisle.

  “Are you Carleen Dawson?” she asked a short woman wearing a white blouse and blue and red apron, and who was bent over a cart of marshmallows and Pop Smart.

  She straightened and looked at Maddie through a pair of bifocal lenses. “Yes.”

  “Hello, my name is Madeline Dupree and I am a writer.” She handed Carleen a business card. “I am hoping that you’ll give me a few moments of your time.”

  “I’m not on break.”

  “I know.” Carleen’s hair was processed within an inch of its life, and Maddie wondered briefly what was up with some of the locals and bad hair. “I thought we could set up a time when you’re off work.”

  Carleen looked down at the black and silver card, then back up. “True crime? You write true crime? Like Ann Rule?”

  That hack. “Yes. Exactly.”

  “I don’t know how I can help you. We don’t have serial killers in Truly. There was one in Boise a few years ago, a female one, of all things. If you can believe that.”

  Actually Maddie could believe it, since her friend Lucy had been a suspect, and since Maddie planned to write about the murderous rampage in the future.

  “Nothing ever happens around here,” Carleen added and stuffed a bag of marshmallows on the shelf.

  “I’m not writing about a serial killer.”

  “What, then?”

  Maddie’s grasp on her briefcase tightened and she placed her other hand in the pocket of her dress. “Twenty-nine years ago you worked in Hennessy’s Bar when Rose Hennessy shot and killed her husband, a cocktail waitress named Alice Jones, then turned the handgun on herself.”

  Carleen stilled. “I wasn’t there.”

  “I know. You’d already gone home for the night.”

  “That was a long time ago. Why do you want to write about that?”

  Because it’s my life. “Because not all interesting true crime stories are about serial killers. Some times the best stories are about real people. Normal people who snap and commit horrible crimes.”

  “I guess.”

  “Did you know Alice Jones?”

  “Yeah, I knew her. I knew Rose too, but I don’t think I should talk about that. It was a real sad situation and people have moved on.” She shoved the business card back at Maddie. “Sorry, I can’t help you.”

  Maddie knew when to press and when to take a step back. For now. “Well, think about it.” She smiled and kept one hand in her pocket and the other wrapped around the handle of her briefcase. “And if you change your mind, give me a call.”

  Carleen slid the card into the front pocket of her blue apron. “I won’t change my mind. Some things are better left buried in the past.”

  Perhaps, but what Carleen didn’t know but would find out was that Maddie rarely took no for an answer.

  “No. I can’t help you.”

  Maddie stood on the pockmarked porch of Jewel Finley, a second cocktail waitress who had worked at Hennessy’s at the time of Alice’s death. “It’ll just take a few moments.”

  “I’m busy.” Jewel’s hair was in pink rollers and Maddie thought she detected the aroma of Dippity-do. Lord, did they still sell Dippity-do? “Rose was my good friend and I’m not goin’ to talk against her,” Jewel said. “What happened to her was a tragedy. I’m not goin’ to exploit her misfortune.”

  Her misfortune? “My purpose is not to exploit anyone, but to tell everyone’s side of the story.”

  “Your purpose is to make money.”

  “Believe me, there are easier ways to make money.” Maddie felt her temper rise, but she wisely held back. “Is there a better time for me to come back?”

  “No.”

  “Perhaps when you’re not quite so busy.”

  “I’m not goin’ to talk to you about Rose, and I doubt anyone else will talk to you neither.” She stepped back into her house. “Good-bye,” she said and shut the door.

  Maddie stuck a business card in the porch screen and walked toward her Mercedes parked at the curb. Not only did Maddie not take no for an answer, she was like the damn Terminator and she’d be back.

  “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

  “That depends on if the f
ish are biting. Tomorrow, if it’s bad. Who knows, if it’s good.” Levana Potter looked at Maddie’s business card and turned it over. “But I can tell you that he remembers everything about that night.” The wife of the retired sheriff looked up. “It still haunts him.” She’d found Levana digging in the flower bed in the front of her ranch-style home, and the good news was that the sheriff would more than likely be willing to talk to Maddie. The bad news was her interview would have to wait on the capricious lake trout. “Did you know the parties involved?”

  “Sure.” Levana stuck the business card in the pocket of her shirt, then shoved her hand back inside her gardening glove. “The Hennessys have lived in this valley for generations. I didn’t know Alice much. Just chatted the few times she came into the little ice-cream and gift store I used to own off Third. Pretty thing and seemed kind of sweet. Looked like an angel. She had a little girl, I know that. After Alice died, her aunt came and took her. I don’t know whatever happened to her.”

  Maddie smiled a little. “Do you remember her name?”

  Levana shook her head and her white permed hair wafted a bit in the breeze. “Heavens, no. That was twenty-nine years ago and I only saw her a few times. Heck, I have a hard time remembering my own name sometimes.”

  “Alice lived at the Roundup Trailer Court.”

  “Heck, that was torn down years ago.”

  “Yes, I know. But I can’t find any records of people who might have lived there at the same time as Alice and her daughter.” In her diaries, Alice had mentioned a few women by their first names. “Do you recall a woman named Trina who may have lived next door to Alice?”

  “Hmm.” Levana shook her head. “That doesn’t ring any bells. Bill will know,” she said referring to her husband. “He remembers everyone who ever lived in this town. I’ll give him your card when he gets back from his fishing trip.”

  “Thank you. I’m not going to be here in town tomorrow, but I’ll be back the day after.”

  “I’ll tell him, but it might be next week.”

  Fabulous. “Thank you for your time.”

  On the way home from the Potters’, Maddie stopped off at the grocery store and bought a roasted deli chicken and some Excedrin. Carleen had been guarded and uncooperative and Jewel had been openly hostile. Her head pounded, she was frustrated by her lack of prog ress, and she had an urge to put someone in a headlock.

  With a blue basket hanging off one arm, she took her place in line at checkout number three. The next time she spoke to Carleen and Jewel, she’d try a less businesslike tactic. She’d try the nice-as-pie, friendly approach. If that didn’t work, she’d go all Jerry Springer on their hillbilly asses.

  “I saw you at Value Rite earlier,” a woman in the next line over said.

  Maddie looked up from putting her basket on the conveyor belt. “Are you talking to me?”

  “Yeah.” The other woman had short dark hair and wore a T-shirt with a picture of her grandkids on the front. “Carleen said you were askin’ about Rose and Loch Hennessy.”

  Wow, word really did travel fast in small towns. “That’s right.”

  “I grew up with Rose and she had a few problems, but she was a good person.”

  A few problems. Is that what they all called pumping lead into two people? Maddie would call it a psychotic breakdown. “I’m sure she was.”

  “That little waitress got what she deserved for messing with a married man.”

  Tired, frustrated, and now pissed off, Maddie said, “So you think that every woman who gets involved with a married man deserves to die on a barroom floor?”

  The woman tossed a bag of potatoes on the conveyor belt in front of her. “Well, I just mean that if you mess around with another woman’s man, you might get hurt. That’s all.”

  No, that wasn’t all, but Maddie wisely held her tongue.

  Maddie tossed her briefcase on the sofa and glanced at the photo of her mother sitting on the coffee table. “Well, that was a waste of makeup.” She kicked off her shoes and put the photograph face down. She couldn’t look at her mother’s cheery smile when her day had been a bust.

  Barefoot, she walked into the kitchen and reached into the refrigerator for the bottle of merlot she’d opened the day before. She thought better of it and grabbed the Skyy vodka, diet tonic, and a lime. Sometimes a girl needed a drink, even if she was alone. While she poured vodka into a highball glass and added the tonic, the George Thorogood song “I Drink Alone” ran through her head. She’d never liked that song. Perhaps it was the writer in her, but the chorus was redundant. Of course when you drink alone you drink with nobody else.

  Just as she slid ice and a slice of lime into the glass, the doorbell rang. She grabbed her drink and raised it to her lips as she moved through the living room. She certainly wasn’t expecting anyone, and the person on the other side of the door was the last person she expected.

  She looked through her peephole at Mick Hennessy, and she unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door. The late afternoon sun cut across Mick’s cheek and one corner of his mouth. He wore a wife beater beneath a blue plaid shirt that he’d hacked the sleeves off just above the bulge of his biceps. The pale blue in the plaids matched his eyes and set off his tan skin and black hair like he belonged on the cover of a magazine, selling sex and breaking hearts.

  “Hello, Maddie,” he said, his voice a low rumble. He held a business card between the fingers of one raised hand.

  Shit! The last thing she needed today was a confrontation with Mick. She took another fortifying drink and waited for him to start yelling. Instead he flashed her a killer grin.

  “I told you I’d give you the name of a good exterminator.” He held the business card toward her. It was white, not black, and had a rat on it.

  She hadn’t realized she’d felt a little anxious un til relief curved the corners of her lips into a smile. She took the card from him. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here to give this to me.”

  “I know.” He handed her an orange and yellow box. “I thought you could use this until Ernie’s Pest Control can get out here. It’s easier than hunting for a smelly carcass.”

  “Thanks. No man has ever given me…” she paused and looked at the box. “A Mouse Motel 500.”

  He chuckled. “They had a Mouse Motel 200, but I thought you deserved the best.”

  She opened the door wide. “Would you like to come in?” She should tell him why she was in Truly, but not right now. She just wasn’t in the mood for another confrontation.

  “I can’t stay long.” He stepped past her, bringing with him the scent of the outdoors and woodsy soap. “My sister is expecting me for dinner.”

  “I always wanted a sister.” Somewhere to go for holidays besides a friend’s house.

  “If you knew Meg, you might consider yourself lucky.”

  She shut the door and moved into the living room beside him. She had to admit, it was strange having him in her house. Not just because he was Mick Hennessy, but because it had been a long time since she’d let a man in her home. The energy seemed to change, the air to sexually charge. “Why?”

  “Meg can be…” He smiled and glanced about the room. “A horrible cook,” he said, but Maddie got the feeling that wasn’t what he’d been about to say. “The kind of cook who thinks she’s a lot better than she actually is, which means she’ll never get better. If she’s thrown peas in a casserole and calls it dinner, I’m out of there.” His gaze returned to hers and he pointed to her drink. “Hard day?”

  “Yeah.”

  “More mice feasting on your granola bars?”

  She shook her head. He’d remembered that?

  “What happened?”

  She was fairly certain he’d hear about it soon enough. “Nothing important. Do you have time for a drink?”

  “Do you have a beer?”

  “Just ultra.”

  He made a face. “Don’t tell me you count carbs.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She mov
ed into the kitchen and he followed close behind. “If I don’t, I get a huge behind.” She looked over her shoulder and watched his gaze slide down her back to her butt.

  “You look pretty good to me.”

  “Exactly.” As if he had all day, his gaze slid back up to her face. “I have vodka, gin, and Crown Royal.”

  His lids lowered a fraction over his eyes, making his dark lashes look very long. “Crown.”

  She opened a cupboard and raised onto the balls of her feet. Maddie recognized the look in his eyes. She hadn’t had sex in four years, but she remembered that look.

  “I’ll get that,” he said as he moved close behind her and reached to the top shelf.

  She dropped to her heels and turned. He was so close that if she leaned forward just a little, she could bury her nose in his neck. The sides of his open shirt brushed her breasts and she held her breath.

  He looked into her eyes as he handed her the old-fashioned glass. “Here you go.” He took a step back.

  “Thank, you.” She moved around him and opened the freezer. The cold air felt good against her heated cheeks. This absolutely could not be happening. Not with him, and if he’d been any other man, she could not be held responsible for how badly she might use and abuse his body.

  “Are you from Idaho?” he asked as he leaned a hip into the counter and folded his arms across his chest. “Or are you a transplant?”

  “I was born and raised in Boise.” Except for the five months she’d lived in Truly and the six years she’d lived in Southern California attending UCLA. She tossed a few ice cubes into the glass.

  “Your folks live in Boise?”

  “I never knew my father.” She shut the freezer and set the glass on the counter. “I was raised by my aunt and she passed away a few months ago.”

  “Where’s your mother?”

  The same place as his. Buried about five miles away. “She died when I was young.” Maddie bent at the waist and pulled the bottle of whiskey from her booze cabinet.