by Elise Noble
The universe really hated me this week, didn’t it? And I still had to call Addy later, something I was dreading because she’d be hurt that I hadn’t told her the whole truth about what happened after her party last year.
But first, painting. Nine people showed up for Paulo’s class. The theme this week was flowers, and he’d asked everyone to bring a picture they wanted to paint, either a photo they’d taken or one they’d clipped from a magazine or printed from the internet. All the regulars had managed that, except for Marjorie Hallett, who brought an actual potted plant—an orchid in full bloom. She always had done things her own way, but at eighty-four, she wasn’t going to change. Since Sara hadn’t known the topic in advance, I handed her the folder of backup pictures that Paulo kept for precisely that purpose.
“I’m sure you’ll find something you like in there.”
She did.
A vase of lilies.
Stargazers rather than the white ones like my stalker had sent, but they still gave me the creeps. It felt as if the cosmos were trying to send me a message, and Easton and Sara Baldwin were two of the messengers.
Still, I smiled politely and tried to keep the quake out of my hands as I critiqued line drawings and talked about light and shade. And Sara seemed friendly, if a little quiet. Did she know what had happened between me and Luca and her cousin last night? Her presence here was unnerving, but this was my job, and I couldn’t hide in the break room or make a fuss.
But I did shed a tear in the bathroom at lunchtime. All these changes in the past two weeks—Luca’s return, my stalker’s resurgence, the run-in with Easton… It felt as though I was losing control of my own life. When I was a teenager, I used to complain about being bored. Now I longed for monotony.
15
Brooke
“What the heck?” Addy half yelled. “You waited a year to tell me this? No, no, more than a year. Are you crazy? That sick freak should be in jail getting his ass stretched every time he bends over to pick up the damn soap. And you say you don’t know who he is? What about fingerprints? There might have been fingerprints! Wow. I can’t believe this. I’m sending virtual hugs. No, no, I’m coming over.”
“Addy, it’s seven o’clock on Sunday evening. Don’t you have work tomorrow?”
“Who cares? You’re more important than emails, and my new boss is a jerk anyway. I’ll be there in, like, an hour.”
“Honestly, there’s no need—”
But it was too late. Addy had hung up, and I slumped back onto the Buick bench seat Luca had dragged in front of the TV.
“That didn’t go well, I take it?” he said, holding out a glass of wine.
I grabbed it and poured half down my throat. Some of it went the wrong way, and in between coughing and Luca thumping me on the back, I managed to splutter, “About as well as I expected.”
“She’s coming over?”
“You heard?”
“She was shrieking so loud she didn’t even need the phone.” Luca muttered a prayer to the heavens. “I should order pizza. Neither of us is gonna feel like cooking tonight.”
“I’m not gonna feel like eating either.”
Luca ignored me and ordered three pizzas, which meant we had six pizzas because Addy had the same idea.
“Great minds think alike,” she said, dumping her boxes onto the plywood counter and shrugging out of her jacket.
Luca took a calming breath, retrieved her jacket from the floor, and draped it over Deck’s workbench. Sighed long and hard. It wasn’t that he disliked Addy, more that she was a whirlwind of energy and he valued his peace.
“Nah, they don’t. Great minds think differently. If they all thought the same, the world would be a boring fucking place.”
“When did you get so wise? Did they teach philosophy in the army?”
“Some guy in a bar told me that. The army just taught me how to shoot.”
“What are you doing here, anyway? I thought when you left town, we’d never see you again.”
“When I left town, I thought you’d never see me again. But time changes a man.”
“He came to visit Aaron,” I explained. “Luca used to stay with him in New York, but now Aaron’s back, so…”
“Where is Aaron tonight? I thought he’d be here freaking out.”
“He went to Cabo with Clarissa. I’ll tell him when he gets home.”
Addy’s eyes widened. “Wait, Aaron doesn’t know either? Wow. He is not going to take this well.”
“Please don’t. I’m trying not to think about it.”
“I’m still trying to understand why you kept this a secret. We would have supported you—you know that.”
“I wasn’t exactly rational at the time. The very next morning, there was a news segment about the backlog of rape kits, and Sammi at work didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“You told Sammi?”
Great, now Addy was even more hurt.
“Only because she found me crying. And…and I was embarrassed. Ashamed. I let my guard down, and a man took advantage of it. You’d never screw up like that.”
All through our school days, trouble had rolled off Addy like cell phones off a car roof. And can you guess whose cell phones they were? That’s right: mine. I’d lost three that way. After the third, Addy had attached its replacement to one end of a piece of cord and my wallet to the other and threaded them through my sleeves like mittens.
“Oh, you think? A year after we graduated high school, I drank way too much at one of Tania Fry’s parties and ended up naked with Mike Benton.”
“What?” My eyes bugged out. “Are you kidding?”
Mike Benton had always been odd, and that was an understatement. He spent every recess shucking ears of corn and eating them raw while writing out pi to, like, a million decimal places on sheets of paper. He filed each sheet in a binder, and I heard that by the time we graduated, he had thirty-seven files neatly organised on shelves in his bedroom. Oh, and in eighth grade, he’d gotten suspended for bringing a live chicken to class in his backpack.
Addy made a face. “Unfortunately, no. But you know what was weird?”
“Weirder than wanting to get to the end of pi?”
“Kind of. He had a huge dick. Massive. And I guess he must’ve watched a lot of porn when he wasn’t doing the pi thing because he sure knew what to do with it.”
Did I mention that, like Paulo, Addy had no filter? If Paulo hadn’t been gay, they’d have made the perfect couple.
Luca stuck his fingers in his ears. “Adeline, please.”
“What? I’m trying to make Brooke feel better here. If you want to help, pour her a glass of wine.”
“Already did that three times.”
“Bravo. If you pour a fourth, you’ll get the full set of steak knives.”
“Bullshit.”
But Luca poured us drinks anyway—a large glass of white for me, a small glass for Addy because she was driving, and water for him because he was still doing the alert thing.
“So, you didn’t consider seeing Mike again?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.
“Ugh, no. He kept his socks on, and afterward…afterward…”
“He rolled over and went to sleep?”
“No…” Addy turned red, which was notable because she had no shame. Or so I thought. “He checked his watch and said we could cuddle for seventeen minutes if I wanted, but then would I mind leaving because his Dungeons and Dragons group was coming over and explaining my presence would be onerous. That was the word he used. Onerous.”
“Whoa. I really don’t know what to say.”
“Now do you see why I didn’t tell you?”
I caught the corner of Luca’s mouth twitching and shot him a warning glare. He had a lifetime’s experience of being inappropriate.
“I’m so sorry that happened.” I put my wine down to give Addy a hug. Due to the present company, I skipped the traditional “all men are jerks” speech and stuck with specifics ins
tead. “Mike may be book smart, but he has the common sense of a pocket calculator.”
“Probably used to his girlfriends coming with a foot pump,” Luca offered. “What happened to him, anyway? Is he still in town?”
“He moved to DC to work for NASA. His mom mentions it in every single conversation.”
“Brooke!” Addy put her hands on her hips. “Stop changing the subject. This evening’s about your past, not mine.”
“And that’s the problem—it’s not so much in the past.” I needed every sip of the wine as I told the whole story again for Addy’s benefit. Her face morphed through shock and fear and finally to anger. “And that’s why a detective’s going to be contacting you. A colleague of Colt’s.”
Addy reached over to Brady’s toolbox, pulled out a pair of pliers, and waved them menacingly.
“When I get my hands on him, I’m gonna chop off his balls.”
“You’ll have to fight me for the honour,” Luca said.
“Maybe it’s best if the sheriff’s department handles it.” Sweet though it was for Addy and Luca to offer bloodshed on my behalf, I didn’t want either of them to get arrested. “Jail is the best place for him.”
“Ohmigosh!” Addy clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Do you think he was at my birthday party this year? You said you got the card right after? And on CSI, the perps often return to the scene of the crime. I’m so sorry—if I’d known what happened, I’d have cancelled.”
“That’s another reason I didn’t say anything. I hated the thought of ruining your birthday year after year.” I’d forced myself to go to this year’s party rather than hiding in bed the way I wanted to. Even though I took a cab there and back and spent the whole evening stuck to Addy like glue, I’d still wanted to puke the entire time. “And besides, I checked the envelope—the card was mailed the morning before the party. That much I do recall.”
“I’ll start making a list of everyone I remember being there. But I’d been drinking Prosecco, and some people brought friends, and a few neighbours showed up uninvited, and probably a bunch of others crashed too because I’m generally pretty relaxed about that.” Her mouth hardened into a thin line. “But not anymore. Not anymore.”
“Start the list, and hopefully other people will be able to add to it,” Luca said. “In terms of suspects, we’re looking for a man who knows his way around Baldwin’s Shore. Maybe somebody who lived here and then moved to Coos Bay or vice versa. Or who travels between the two places regularly.”
“That’s half the people I know,” Addy said. “The street I live on is nicknamed Shoreside because so many people from Baldwin’s Shore rent apartments there. Just in my building, there are three people we went to high school with.”
“Then that’s a good place to start. What are their names?”
“Okay, so one of them’s a girl—Shara Newell. And there’s Harry Dents.”
“Dents by name and dense by nature,” Luca muttered, and I had to agree. I just couldn’t imagine Harry acting with the degree of sophistication my stalker seemed to possess. The man tormenting me was cruel but not careless. Harry had once cheated on a test and gotten caught because he copied the other person’s name as one of his answers.
“Plus Marc Preece. But there’s no way I invited him because he’s a creeper.”
“He could have been one of the crashers,” Luca pointed out. “He goes on the list. Did you notice anybody paying a little too much attention to Brooke?”
Addy rolled her eyes at that. “Define ‘too much.’ Have you seen Brooke? Everyone pays her attention. Even the girls. I’m not saying I’m gay, but if I was, I totally would.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen Brooke.” Luca gave his head a quick shake. “Did you see her talking to any guys? Did anyone hand her a drink?”
“You think she was drugged?”
“It would explain why she can’t remember a thing.”
Addy didn’t recall anyone giving me a drink, and when we worked through the evening in chronological order, it turned out that her memory was barely any better than mine after nine thirty or so. She’d woken the following day with her ex snoring away beside her, which led to a whole different type of regret. And no obvious answers. The only way to get to the bottom of this mess would be to keep picking at threads and see which one unravelled.
In the meantime, I had Luca. And while his presence left me hot and bothered, at least I felt safe with him around.
16
Brooke
“Why do you keep looking at me?” Luca asked. “Do I have something on my shirt?”
“That’s not a shirt.”
Monday morning, and he was back in a tank top again. Today’s was white and possibly tighter than yesterday’s. Muscles rippled in his back as he stretched as far as he could reach from the ladder to paint the next strip of wall.
Now he looked puzzled. “Yeah, it’s a shirt.”
“A shirt has sleeves. Usually buttons too.”
“This is what I wear in the gym, and it counts as a shirt under army rules. No shoes, no shirt, no training session.”
“Well, this isn’t a gym and it isn’t the army, so their rules are invalid.”
Luca placed his roller in the tray and turned to eyeball me.
“Why? Are you distracted again?”
Maybe a tiny bit. The glint in Luca’s eye said he knew exactly what I meant and that he was playing me. And there was only one way to win this battle: fight fire with fire.
Earlier when we went out to buy paint, we’d stopped at my apartment on the way back. Luca had checked the mail because I couldn’t bring myself to do it, and I’d stuffed armfuls of clothing into Luca’s duffel bag plus a small suitcase of my own and brought the whole lot to Deals on Wheels. And if I recalled correctly, that clothing had included a push-up bra and the hot-pink camisole I wore to yoga classes, although I hadn’t been for weeks.
Luckily, Brady was upstairs working on my apartment today, and Deck had driven his elderly neighbour into the city for a hospital appointment. Luca was singing softly to a Dolly Parton song playing through his phone when I emerged from the bedroom. He always had been a fan of the oldies, and he had a surprisingly good voice, although he rarely used it. How long would it take him to notice my outfit?
“Coffee?” I asked.
“I’ll never say no to coffee.”
I hummed along with Dolly as she sang “9 to 5,” although we’d started work at eight this morning. Did that mean we could finish at four? After the painting, we planned to take a trip to the second-hand furniture emporium in North Bend because I wanted a bed frame to go with the mattress I was currently sleeping on. Luca might be perfectly happy with a fold-up cot he’d bought online, but sleep was hard enough for me at the moment without an uncomfortable bed adding to the problem.
“Coffee’s on the workbench.”
“Thanks.” A pause. “What the fuck happened to your shirt?”
“Huh?” I feigned surprise. My cleavage did look good, even if I said so myself. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Five minutes ago, you were wearing a shirt.”
“I’m still wearing a shirt.”
“That’s not a damn shirt.”
“Sure it is. And it’s perfectly acceptable in my yoga classes.”
Ah, now Luca got it. He glanced down at his own “shirt,” then fixed his eyes on my boobs again.
“My face is up here.”
He dragged his gaze skyward. “Sweetheart, you play dirty.” And then he grinned. “I like that. How do I sign up for yoga classes?”
Gah.
Alma’s Furniture Emporium was housed in a huge warehouse just off Route 101. Many years ago, the building had been home to a stock-car racing team, but that had gone bust years ago, although the logo was still faded into the paintwork outside. Nobody knew who Alma was. The couple who ran the place were named Ed and Betty.
Inside, couches and tables and beds and chairs and bookshelves stretched as
far as the eye could see, each item with a neon price label attached. Either Ed or Betty—probably Betty—had been on a bargain-basement marketing course, because they’d added helpful snippets of information such as “Free matching sweater pattern” on a particularly ugly couch and “Would look great in a castle” on a table that seated sixteen. If you wanted knick-knacks, those were upstairs on the mezzanine level, a trove of pre-loved books and vases and cardboard boxes filled with junk from estate sales.
The whole place smelled of dust and old leather, and every time I set foot inside, I felt an almost uncontrollable urge to sneeze. But the prices were great, and if you looked hard enough, you’d find hidden gems among the trash.
Betty was sitting by the register in an armchair, watching an I Love Lucy rerun, and she waved when she recognised me.
“Got some nice couches in this week,” she called. “Nearly new.”
“Thanks, I’ll take a look.”
“This place is like a black hole,” Luca muttered, and then he sneezed.
“Bless you.”
“Blessing me isn’t enough. We’re gonna need an exorcist.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Sweetheart, I shop on the internet for a reason. This is my worst nightmare.”
“I’ll admit the lighting could be better, but when you’re on a budget, it’s a great place to pick up furniture, plus Ed will deliver anything you want for twenty bucks.”
“You haven’t tried eBay?”
“Yes, I did.” Unwelcome colour rose in my cheeks. “It didn’t work out.”
“What happened?”
“Hey, what do you think of this table?”
“Brooke, what happened?”
“I bought a rug for twenty bucks and it turned out to be for a dollhouse, okay? And it’s not funny,” I added because I knew he’d laugh otherwise.