Walking at night provided an opportunity to look into some of the more picturesque houses on the harbor. Few, if any, people drew their curtains to the street traffic, light as it was. This time of year, with the holiday decorations both inside and out, the voyeuristic walk was particularly lovely.
Trevorton in the winter was much different from Trevorton in the summer. As beautiful as the summer was, the winter suited me more. That’s when the true community of Trevorton was defined, relied on, and celebrated. The few establishments open were refuges, and the winter folk sought them out. It was easy to be friends in the summer. It was the winter that defined a person’s true character. This is not to say that January, February, and most of March were a cakewalk. Far from it. But places like the Beef and Ale helped make it bearable.
In the summertime, with its abundance of bars and restaurants to choose from, I still visited the Beef and Ale, but mostly off-hours. It was a winter retreat, with dark-paneled walls and a musty smell that overpowered you in the summer but was masked by the wood fire in the winter. Dartboards on walls, checkerboards and backgammon boards painted on tables, no music, no pinball, no loud lights. A foosball table was as rambunctious as the entertainment got. Well, at least the coordinated entertainment. Great conversation, drunken brawls, and clandestine rendezvous were the real entertainment of the Beef and Ale. Authentic rather than manufactured charm, in addition to good company and comforting food, were the winter sports it provided. Tonight I looked forward to seeing a friendly face or two.
Or three. The first person I saw there was Stewart, sitting with Patrick at the bar. It seemed the moratorium on drinks was lifted, as they both held nearly finished pints with new ones waiting next to them. At least there was food in front of them. Stewart smiled when he saw me, rising from the bar to give me a friendly kiss. Usually I didn’t like public displays of affection, particularly with someone technically working for me, but tonight the human contact felt good.
“Sully, it wasn’t that bad, was it? The run-through? You look done in.”
“It’s not that. It’s been a hell of a day. I was meeting up with Connie; have you seen her?”
“She’s over talking to Cassandra.”
Cassandra was a very, very good costume designer, but she never let you forget it, or the favor that she was doing you by working for your small company with its shockingly low budget. Our costume budgets weren’t wonderful, but she could keep what she didn’t spend, as long as the show didn’t suffer. Given her incredible stock from years of costuming, I felt fairly certain that the Cliffside did fairly well by Cassandra. Still, the ego stroking was part of the deal. On the best of days I wasn’t up to it, and this had not been the best of days.
Stewart, who knew the effect that Cassandra had on me, kissed me on the forehead and nodded toward the bar. “Join us, Sully. We can ask people to move down a little.”
Patrick looked pained but recovered quickly. “Yes, do join us,” he said with forced charm.
“No thanks. I see Harry over there … I need to talk to him for a minute, and then I’m going home. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”
I gave Stewart a kiss on the cheek and walked toward Harry’s table through the maze of people. Actually sitting at the bar was optional, and not necessarily optimal. Most people stood three-deep in the general vicinity of it. Gene, the bartender, was more than able to serve everyone, keep their tabs, and cut them off when necessary despite the density of the crowd. He winked at me as I moved by and handed me a cold pint. I reached for my purse, but he waved me off. I’d try to settle with him later, but chances were I wouldn’t be allowed to pay if I kept it to one. Gene always bought me my first pint and offered it up to the memory of my father. They’d been best friends, and Gene and I had adopted each other as family since my father’s death. I’d missed seeing him these past few days and looked forward to catching up.
I lifted my glass toward the ceiling and smiled. He picked up his own glass and mimicked my toast. Like many of the bartenders I knew, his drink was ginger rather than Bass ale.
I caught another glimpse of Harry and worked to part the crowd. As his table came into view, he offered me a watery smile and inclined his head toward his table companion. My ex-husband looked as frosty as the moorings in the harbor, but I didn’t worry too much about it. He’d had as long a day as I had, and I was about to make it longer.
I’d barely sat down when Harry asked me the same question Stewart had asked: if the run-through had been that bad. Actors are remarkably myopic. It wouldn’t occur to a one of them that something else might have impacted me today. Before I could reply, Gus answered for me.
“I don’t think she saw the run-through, did you, Sully? I mean, I didn’t see you in the theater. And I was there for quite a while.”
“When did you get there?”
“About six or so. I was at the Anchorage and then thought I’d come by.”
“And you stayed for the rehearsal?” I probably sounded as incredulous as I felt. Why would anyone with a choice sit through a four-hour rehearsal for an hour-long act?
“He wanted to see you, Sully.” Harry shared the same scolding tone my mother once had, and I almost reacted as well to him as I had to her back in the day. The underlying “he was being nice, be nice back” reproach was a favorite while I was growing up. Even then I didn’t suffer fools easily. I almost flared, but I decided to let it go, though I didn’t relish my friend telling me by tone to be nice to my ex-husband. The intersections of my life with Gus’s had been a little disconcerting. Irrationally, I wanted Harry on my side.
“Have you talked to Eric or Emma, either of you?” I asked.
“Not since this afternoon,” Harry said.
Gus shook his head. “Has something happened?”
I nodded and tried to get the words out, but found that I couldn’t. My mouth had a cotton texture, but I didn’t take a sip of beer to quell it. I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to keep it down. I’d never puked on the job, but I wasn’t a professional police officer anymore, and the veneer that had protected me back at the house was beginning to crack.
“Sully, what is it? Is it Eric? Is he okay?” Harry grabbed my hand and leaned his pale face close to mine.
“No, no. Nothing’s happened to Eric. It’s Terry. He’s been … he’s dead.” Both of them pulled out their phones and furiously sent texts while they listened to me.
So much for subtlety. “Careful, boys. You might want the cops to inform you.”
“How was he killed?” Gus asked.
“Shot. Emma called me from the house. I went over before the second act. I just got back.”
The cotton was still there, but my stomach felt more stable. I decided to risk the beer, and drank most of it in one long pull. Harry and Gus waited for me to tell them more, but the words weren’t coming. The beer helped equalize my physical and mental selves, but exhaustion was winning. I leaned back in my chair and started to pick from the leftover fries on Gus’s plate. He pushed it toward me and motioned to the waitress.
“Another round, and a bacon cheeseburger, medium rare.” He looked at me with his eyebrows raised. I nodded, and he thanked the waitress as she hustled off. I suddenly flashed back to our marriage. Not a particular day, but rather a particular routine. Gus and I always talked about our work, usually without too much detail. We both were well aware of the traps of professional breaches in personal relationships, particularly when both professions are in the law. But the broad strokes were enough—we could fill in the details easily enough.
There was one period when I was working a heinous murder. Gus was prosecuting a rapist who would probably walk. We knew the toll our work was taking on our souls. I would come home very late some nights, and Gus would either be waiting for me or would have left me a note with dinner instructions and permission to wake him up. I’d have takeout sent over to his office. W
e took good care of each other in a lot of ways, but lousy care of our marriage. Suddenly I couldn’t bear to look at him anymore, so I turned to Harry.
“I have no idea what’s going on, what happened. But it looks like Eric is in the clear. He was helping Amelia with some tour.”
“The birdwatchers.”
“Yes.”
“Ironic, isn’t it?” Harry said. “Eric was bitching and moaning this afternoon because Amelia wanted him to help her with the tour. He hadn’t wanted her to cancel, and she thought it was important for him to act as if nothing’s wrong, so they agreed to work the event together. It’s one of the few social engagements Amelia looks forward to.”
“They were in the right place at the right time,” I said.
“Do you think the police will take Eric off the suspect list for Peter’s death?”
“I have no idea, Harry. No idea.” Not likely, I thought.
“Depending on the timing, the list may be morphing a bit,” Gus said. “If the murders are related.”
“Is Eric still at the house?” Harry asked.
“Yes, I think he wants to stick around for Emma and Amelia. Did he text back?”
“No. I better call him and check in. Will you be here for a bit? Can I leave my stuff?”
“Yes, I’ve got to eat my burger. And get a little drunk. And then I need to get some sleep.”
Harry walked toward the front door, dialing his phone as he went. I watched him go, and then turned to find Gus staring at me. I used to prize myself on being able to read his face, but tonight I’d lost the power. I had no idea what he was thinking. And at that moment, I didn’t really care. The comforting familiarity of him disconcerted me on one level, an intellectual level that remembered it all, including the hurt. But the other part of me wanted him closer. I tentatively reached my hand halfway across the table. He broached the other half and took it in his.
“Are you going to go over?” I asked Gus.
“I’d rather not, unless they need me. I feel like a second murder counts me out.”
“I feel the same way, even though I care a lot about what happened. Time to step out and let the professionals take over. Which is hard,” I said.
“Sully, I need to—”
“Sully, love, see you tomorrow?” Stewart was calling my name from the doorway. He and Patrick and a couple of other actors were heading out the door, undoubtedly to another bar.
“Good night, Stewart,” I called back. “Behave yourselves.”
“Always, darling, always.” A huge wink and a slight bow. So dramatic, yet so charming.
I was still smiling when I turned back to Gus. He let go of my hand, and his face had the frosty expression again.
“You could go with them, if you’d like,” he said. He sounded petulant.
“I didn’t want to and I wasn’t invited.” I refrained from explaining who Stewart was in my life. If Gus had a question, he could ask. Or he could be as grown up as I was and not ask. The way I’d not asked who Kate was. And that was different, since Gus had nothing to fear from Stewart. Stewart was my past. I had a feeling Kate was Gus’s present. But she wasn’t here, and I was. I reached back and took his hand again.
Then I took a deep breath and leaned across the table. He leaned toward me, and I felt his warm breath caress my face. “Gus, this is what I do want. I want to forget today for a little while. I want to finish my beer. I want to eat my burger. And I want you to take me home. And stay. How does that sound?”
His response was a grin that curled my toes.
• Twenty-One •
I woke up on Thursday with my hangover only outdone by my mood. A few more hours of sleep would have done a world of good, but the image of Terry prevented a blissful slumber. The alcohol had offered a brief respite, but when I woke up at six, I was up. There was nothing else to do but to get out of bed and make coffee.
I supposed I could be grateful that the inevitably awkward morning-after was avoided, but that wasn’t my style. I’d known when I propositioned Gus that there would be music to face in the a.m., and I’d been willing to risk it for a night of … of what? Passion? Gus and I were capable of passion, but if passion was all I’d wanted, I could have called Stewart. I wanted more than passion. I wanted a familiar connection. I wondered now if we would have found the connection again. But thanks to Harry, I didn’t find out.
Gus had been up at the bar paying our tab. He hadn’t even waited for the waitress to come back to the table with our check. I was finishing my burger in record time when I saw Harry coming back in, heading over to Gus at the bar, and handing him his cell phone. Professional responsibilities—Gus’s—came crashing back. He turned to me as he was talking on the phone. He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, and had the good grace to look upset. I slowed down eating my burger.
Harry came over to the table and sat back down. He looked at me, and then at Gus, and then back at me.
“Did I interrupt something?”
“Who’s on the phone?”
“Eric, with Emma in the background. They want Gus to help deal with the police and the press.”
“How did they know he was here?”
“I told them.”
“Helpful Harry, that’s you. Always Mr. Helpful.”
“Sully, did I step in something?”
At that moment, Gus arrived at the table and handed him the cell phone.
“Sully, I … ”
“Have to go. I know, Harry told me.”
Gus glanced at Harry and then squatted beside me. He lowered his voice and leaned in toward me. “Sully, I’m so, so sorry about this.”
“So am I. But you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do. It’s fine. Really.” It wasn’t, but what could I say? I kissed him on the forehead.
Gus winced and then turned to our mood-wrecker. “Harry, Eric said that if you want to come with me, that would be fine with him.”
“No, that’s fine. I’ll stay with Sully.”
We watched him leave. I sighed dramatically and finished my beer, as did Harry.
“You got what you wished for. Eric invited you over. Why didn’t you go?”
“Eric’s got it together, and it sounds like a zoo. I figure I’ll wait for him to come over to my place when he can.”
“Did he say what was going on?”
“I don’t think he knows much. He’s holed up with Emma and Clive from the sound of it. He said more and more people keep arriving, and no one seems to be leaving.”
“Good thing it’s a big house.” I said.
Harry twirled the bottom of his pint around in his glass. I signaled to the waitress for two more and then turned back to my silent tablemate. “What’s wrong, Harry?”
“Just something Eric mentioned. I asked him how everyone was holding up, and he said Mrs. Bridges was taking care of Amelia, and that he and Emma and Clive were stuck in the kitchen. I asked about the merry widow, and Eric said she went back to Boston, late afternoon. He said that he talked to her before she left. She was planning on going to see the show at the Colonial …
I hesitated to interrupt, but I wasn’t sure if this Brooke fixation was a conversation consideration or something of import. He had a look that I recognized from the mirror. Come to think of it, I probably wore a similar look by now. This whole business with Terry wasn’t holding together. If the same gun that killed Terry had killed Peter, my theory that Terry was the murderer went down the toilet. The waitress came over and put two beers down. I’d forgotten that I’d ordered them, which meant they weren’t a good idea. Nonetheless, I took a long pull and noticed that Harry did the same.
“Sully, this is probably nothing, but I’d swear I saw Brooke at the theater around five or so.”
“Maybe she didn’t go right back to the city.”
“I mentioned it to Eri
c, and he told me I must be mistaken. He’d called her around then, and she was at the Beacon Hill apartment. He said, in that imperious tone of his, that she couldn’t be two places at once. But really, she could, if she was lying on the phone and talking on her cell. So I figure I was right. She was at the theater.”
I let the “imperious tone” remark pass. I knew what Harry was talking about, but bitching about boyfriends could be a long detour and I wanted to stay focused on Brooke, or at least try.
“I wonder what she was doing at the theater,” I said.
“No idea. I saw her backstage, near the prop table. Maybe she was looking for you.”
“I was there. She could have found me. Come to think of it, wasn’t Eric there too?”
“He came a little later,” Harry said.
“So, she wasn’t there to see me.” Why would Brooke possibly be looking for me? I remembered her angry face from this morning when I walked into the will reading. Wow, was it only this morning? Damn, it had been a full, full day.
“I was going to ask her, but then Connie called me onstage for a fight call. When I turned away, she left.”
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