Back Against the Wall

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Again, he arrowed in on the same possibility: the man was also married and not ready to trade in one wife for another. When they were being targeted by a serial cheater, women often failed to recognize what he was. Pushing him for more than he intended to give could be humiliating. For Christine, it might have been dangerous.

  “I understand you were close friends,” he said.

  “Who told you that?”

  “Beth.”

  “Oh.” Her face softened. “She was such a sweetheart. Always worried about everyone else.”

  So Beth hadn’t changed. And, damn, he wished they’d planned to get together this evening. He hadn’t wanted to come on too strong, but the need was strident enough for him to decide to call her once he was alone. If nothing else, he’d hear her voice.

  “I find it difficult to believe Mrs. Marshall wouldn’t have told you who she was seeing,” he said, keeping his tone mild. She’d be more likely to open up if this didn’t turn confrontational.

  “Well, she didn’t. Wouldn’t. I had the feeling...” She hesitated. “I supposed that the man was someone I knew. I wondered if she thought I’d disapprove.”

  “Perhaps because he was married?”

  “If I was friends with his wife, maybe.” She made a little humming sound as she thought. “I was annoyed, I admit. I’d recently been through a divorce and was seeing a new man, and I told her everything. I think Chris was in love with him, whoever he was. She had that glow. Maybe she was hugging her happiness tight or was secretly afraid that people knowing would threaten her dream future.”

  “Could he have made her promise not to tell anyone?”

  “Yes.” Ms. Abernathy seemed struck by his suggestion. “God. That’s what it was like.”

  “Any hints?”

  Again, she appeared to cast her mind back but finally shook her head. “He was handsome, successful, wealthy, or at least that was my impression. As far as she was concerned, he walked on water.” She frowned. “If it’s true he bought her some big diamonds, maybe he really was successful and wealthy.”

  “Several men in her circle of friends seem to meet that description,” Tony said. “Tim Oberholtzer, Michael Longley, Alan Schuh.”

  Ms. Abernathy wrinkled her nose. “I suppose any of them would qualify compared to a man who taught at the community college.”

  Was she even aware how derisive she sounded? If John Marshall had taught at Wakefield, a nationally known college, would he then have qualified as a worthy husband?

  What would it feel like to have your wife constantly urging you to strive for something bigger, better, even though you were happy in the job you had? In his case, maybe being a detective in a town as modest as Frenchman Lake wouldn’t be good enough. Why wouldn’t he want to work for Seattle PD, since that would give his wife more bragging material? Or shouldn’t he at least rise in the hierarchy, take the sergeant’s exam as soon as possible, become a lieutenant, even a captain? So what if he liked investigations and wasn’t eager to be stuck behind a desk doing administrative work?

  No wonder if John had taken to tuning out his wife.

  Tony continued with his questions, but didn’t learn anything more of value. She’d only been acquainted with the three men and their wives through Christine. Two of three had later gotten divorces, but she hadn’t heard any gossip. She gave him a few more names to check out, a useful reminder that he shouldn’t narrow his investigation too quickly. In this town, Christine could easily have met someone like a vineyard owner at a tasting party. And then there were those clients, many of whom neither her husband or children would have had any reason to meet.

  He thanked Ms. Abernathy for coming, gave her his card in case she thought of anything new, and they parted on the sidewalk.

  * * *

  STILL SITTING IN her car in front of Dad’s house, Beth said into the phone, “You’re the one who hung up on me.”

  “I was upset!”

  When wasn’t Emily? Easy answer: when she got her way.

  Eager to segue away from the topic of Emily’s volatile state of mind, Beth said, “I’m glad you called because I forgot to ask you not to tell anyone else about the drawing. It’s not the kind of thing we want the rest of the world to know about.”

  “Well, you’re too late,” her little sister said spitefully. “Mom deserves to be humiliated.”

  “Mom is past humiliation. Matt and Dad aren’t.”

  “Matt’s just so full of himself, who cares? And Dad... Dad won’t even notice if people are talking about him.”

  Now she sounded like Matt. She wouldn’t like it if Beth pointed that out, though.

  “You’re wrong,” Beth said quietly. “Please tell me you didn’t let everyone know that I have a feeling I’ve seen another drawing the man did. Or that I’m trying to remember who it was.”

  The sulky silence was answer enough. Beth gritted her teeth. “I have another call coming in that I need to take.”

  “You just don’t want to talk to me.”

  “Right now, I don’t.” Beth cut her off, wishing she hadn’t answered in the first place.

  So why was it that Emily saw right through her when she was lying, but Dad didn’t?

  Should she tell Tony that Emily had been blabbing? He hadn’t asked them to keep quiet about the drawing, not really. Of course, he might have assumed he didn’t have to, counting on their desire to keep their family’s turmoil private. This uneasy feeling—okay, fear—was probably silly. It wasn’t as if she actually did know anything that would help identify her mother’s killer.

  Beth sighed and drove home.

  The phone rang again as she was stepping out of the shower. She grabbed the towel with one hand and the phone with the other. Her heart sped up when she saw Tony’s name.

  “Hi.” She bent over so her hair dripped on the bath mat and dried her body with the free hand.

  “Hey.” His voice was its usual sexy rumble. “You sound out of breath. Is this a bad time?”

  “No, I’m just getting out of the shower.”

  There was a long, long silence. “Damn,” he said at last. “I wish you hadn’t told me that.”

  The day’s stresses melted away, and she smiled in a way that probably looked silly, but who cared? “If I sound a little funny, it’s because I’m toweling myself dry while juggling a phone.”

  He groaned. “Can I come over? Right now? You could get back in the shower and start over once I’m there.”

  Beth laughed. “Not a chance.”

  “Not even for the coming over part?”

  Beth hesitated. “I could put something together for dinner, if you’d like.”

  “That’s an offer I’ll take,” he said, sounding satisfied. “I’m on my way. No hurry getting dressed. I’ve always wanted to see a woman come to the door wrapped in a towel.”

  She blew a raspberry.

  Chapter Eleven

  TONY WASN’T KIDDING about being on his way. Beth was still hastily French braiding her wet hair when she heard the knock. She finished braiding on the way to the back door.

  He looked as sexy as ever but also tired, she thought. Peering past him, she said, “You nabbed the visitor’s spot. You’re lucky. The guy two doors down has friends over at least every other day. He blasts his music.” She grinned. “Hey, if he tries it tonight, I’ll send you over.”

  He gave a huff that was almost a laugh. “Breaking up parties is a patrol officer’s job. Lots of fun.”

  “I’ll bet.” She started for the kitchen, Tony behind her.

  “Has anyone ever told you what amazing legs you have?”

  This was the first time she’d worn shorts around him. She was barefoot, too.

  “Thank you.” She came to a stop in the kitchen, turning in time to catch him eyeing her in a way that made her blood heat.
r />   So much for the cold shower.

  “I can make a creamy sauce with stewed tomatoes that’s good over pasta,” she said. “It’s quick and easy.”

  “Good. Can I help?”

  “No, why don’t you sit and talk to me?” She stood on tiptoe to reach the cans of stewed tomatoes and evaporated milk. “Oh, did you hear from Officer Webley? Poor man.”

  “I did, and why poor man?”

  “He’s sunburned.”

  Tony tipped his head and scrutinized her. “Your face is a little pink, too.”

  Because she was skimpily dressed and he was here. Instead of sitting at the kitchen table, he’d settled on a tall kitchen stool, close enough she could see the individual bristles on his jaw.

  “It was awfully hot out there. And boring.”

  “So I gather.”

  “I didn’t disagree with a single decision either Matt or Emily made about that stuff.” Pulling a fat yellow bell pepper from the refrigerator, she asked, “What about your day?”

  “I irritated a lot of people and can’t say I learned anything useful.” He blew out a sigh. “Did you know Emily is telling people about the drawing?”

  “Yes. She called just after I left Dad’s. I don’t even know why, when she was so sullen. She said Mom deserved to be humiliated and, when I pointed out that she was kind of past that, Emily went off about what a stuffed shirt Matt is, and saying Dad wouldn’t notice even if people are talking about him. I kind of hung up on her.”

  “Good.”

  “Do you hang up on your sisters or mother?”

  He grimaced. “I should.”

  Beth laughed, even though she didn’t actually feel like it. With the sauce simmering, she put hot water for the pasta on to boil, then turned to face him.

  “Tony, Emily hasn’t just told people about the drawing.” Seeing the way his expression changed, she went on. “She told them I’d seen another drawing by the guy and am trying to remember who he is.”

  He swore. “I cannot believe—No, I can. Is she malicious or just stupid?”

  Defending Emily came automatically, even though Beth had wondered the same thing. Except she’d wondered instead whether her little sister was that dumb—or hated her.

  “Would you like it if I said something like that about one of your sisters?”

  Tony made a disbelieving sound. “If she shoved me onto a busy freeway? Yeah, I think I’d wonder about her motives.”

  Beth turned hastily to stir her sauce and added the evaporated milk she’d already measured out. “I...couldn’t tell if she even thought about what she’d done. It was like...” Frowning, Beth tried to pin down her impression. “She’s mad at everyone. Maybe...maybe she intended to challenge Mom’s killer, to say ‘You’ll be caught. You’ll pay for what you did.’”

  She didn’t hear him move. The first she knew, his big hands closed on her shoulders, and he gently turned her around. The compassion on his face was almost more than she could stand.

  “Are you not friends at all?”

  “We are.” Or so Beth had believed. Or deceived herself. “She’s...moody. She always was, really. She clung to me after Mom left, until teenage hormones hit a year later. Then she needed me desperately one minute, screamed ‘You can’t tell me what to do!’ the next. I guess some of that has lingered.” She found herself searching Tony’s face for understanding. “Did I tell you how she blew up at Matt last weekend for throwing away those Christmas ornaments? I thought she really wanted them to bring back a time when she was happier. Now, I don’t know. She resented us telling her she couldn’t have Mom’s clothes, too. Maybe she’s a spoiled brat who didn’t want to be denied anything she wanted. But if that’s so...it had to be me who spoiled her.”

  The warmth in his dark eyes didn’t abate. “Oh, sweetheart...not true. She had parents until she was twelve. What’s more, you were a child when you took responsibility for her. You did your best, and I’m betting it was pretty damn good. Anyway, from what you say, she resents Matt, too, and what did he do to her?”

  “I don’t know,” she had to admit. “Dad...well, Matt and he had the rockiest relationship, but I guess Emily wanted his attention more than I realized.”

  “She’d lost her mother. You’d all lost your mother.” His smooth voice had hardened. “How could he not see how much you all needed him?”

  “I don’t know.” How often had she said that lately? “Dad and I talked today. Let me cook, and I’ll tell you about it.”

  “Okay.” There was his gentle side again. “Is there anything I can do?”

  He poured drinks and got out silverware and napkins, while she poured the boiling water and pasta into a colander, then transferred the pasta to one bowl and sauce to another.

  When she brought them to the table, going back to the refrigerator for grated parmesan, Tony said, “Why don’t we hold off on the serious stuff until we’re done eating?”

  “Are you trying to tell me my sister makes you queasy?” she said, in mock challenge.

  Tony laughed, but his eyes looked serious when he said, “I don’t like it when she upsets you.”

  Stunned, Beth was conscious of warmth spreading from her chest outward until even her fingers and toes tingled. It was like nothing else she’d ever felt.

  Because no one has ever worried first about me, she realized. Or...worried about me at all. No, she came to everyone else’s rescue. Wasn’t that her entire purpose in life? Well, friends cared, but that was different. They didn’t focus on her the way he was doing now.

  “What are you thinking?” Tony had paused in the act of sprinkling parmesan on his pasta.

  “I...” She shook her head, then smiled tremulously. “Thank you.”

  He watched her for a moment, as if unconvinced, but finally nodded.

  They ate for a couple minutes without either speaking. Beth finally said, “Will you tell me why you went into law enforcement?”

  He smiled. “You mean, what tragedy pointed me that way? Wasn’t one.”

  “Something must have.”

  “Actually, I went pretty wild when I was sixteen, seventeen. I was the oldest, and my parents expected a lot of me. It wasn’t only that I wanted to party like my friends did, instead of babysitting my little sisters and brother. It was the lectures about how I was their role model. I felt pressure to be perfect. So, being a typical American teenager...”

  “You rebelled.” Beth found herself smiling. “I’m having trouble picturing you drunk and disorderly, but okay.”

  “I turned into a shit. Got arrested a couple of times. I was with some buddies when they stole a car.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yeah. That’s when I got lucky. The cop who stopped us singled me out. He volunteered at the Boys and Girls Club. In my rebel mind, not a cool place—” Tony’s amusement showed “—but he talked me into playing some pickup basketball games there, hanging out with him. I wasn’t his only project, but I felt like I mattered to him. He told stories about being cop, and I soaked it all up. My parents were grateful but uneasy, too.”

  “Was he Latino?”

  “No, and that was part of it, I’m sure. Mostly, Mom and Dad and a lot of other people they knew had butted heads with the police. There was a good-size population of illegal immigrants around, and they were scared to death of cops. So they were both dismayed and proud of me for graduating with a degree in criminology and then from the police academy. My father asked if I’d pull some brown-skinned farm worker over just because he had a taillight out, and I said yes, but that I’d only warn him to get it fixed, not insist on seeing his birth certificate.”

  “Has it been an issue? I mean, are you expected to look for immigration violations?”

  He shook his head. “Not so far. In fact, we try to stay hands-off. It’s more important to us that people who witnesse
d a crime be willing to talk to us than be afraid we’ll get them deported.”

  “That makes sense.” She’d had that impression. “Your police friend. Is he still around?”

  “Retired, but yeah. I’ll take you to meet him someday.” He resumed eating, not seeming aware of the implications of that promise.

  Her sense of warmth and hope deepened. “Does he have a family?”

  Tony shook his head. “He and his wife hadn’t had kids, and she’d died of cancer a few years before I met him. That’s probably why he started volunteering the amount of time he did.”

  “You were lucky that he believed in you.”

  His eyebrows rose. “You mean, that he bullied me into taking a hard look at my options?”

  Beth laughed. “Either/or.”

  “I don’t know what would have happened to me if he hadn’t come along. I don’t like imagining.”

  “You don’t really think...”

  “If I’d been arrested for stealing a car when I was seventeen, I could have been tried as an adult. Or sent to juvenile detention until I aged out. Would I have emerged a reformed, optimistic young man? I really doubt it. No, he caught me just in time.”

  That...sobered her. Trying to see a hard-bitten ex-con instead of the Detective Navarro she knew was a challenge, but he was right. Not much separated tough young men or women who took one path from those who took another.

  He pushed his empty plate away. “Okay,” he said, in a different voice. “Now I want to know what the hell you were thinking to tell your sister something that could put you at risk if it got out!”

  “Don’t yell at me.” Was her lower lip poking out the way Emily’s did when anyone lectured her?

  “Beth.”

  Hearing the warning, she said, “I didn’t think of it that way. I was telling her what’s going on, that’s all. It didn’t occur to me that she’d pass on every detail of what I said, and especially not to Mom and Dad’s old friends. It’s not like she’d ever talked to any of them. Who knew they’d call her? And...” Her throat clogged. “Mom was killed an awfully long time ago.” Even more meekly, she asked, “You don’t really think I’m in danger, do you?”