Wild Ride: A Changing Gears Novel

by Warren, Nancy

  Okay. So he’d noticed she wasn’t exactly rocking it in the hair department, at least her coiffure of humiliation was giving someone pleasure. “Well, that should give your libido a rest.”

  “Are you kidding? I love those old Doris Day movies. I could go for that look in a big way. In fact,” he said, leaning against her doorjamb and appearing to give the matter considerable thought, “I’d like to paint you like that.”

  “Well, I feel like I’m wearing the Statue of Liberty on my head, which is starting to pound. I am not in the mood.”

  “Should have had lunch with me. It would have been more fun.”

  Since she knew exactly how much fun it would have been, and she knew she’d have ended up with something a lot more pleasant than a headache and a bill for thirty-five bucks, she scowled at him. “Out.”

  He went, whistling “Que Sera Sera.”

  She opened her top drawer for painkillers and all thoughts of Katie, Doris Day, and lunchtime frolicking with Duncan Forbes fled her brain.

  There was a gun in her drawer.

  A chrome-and-black, I-kill-people-for-fun kind of gun. She must have made some sort of sound, possibly a strangled scream, for suddenly Duncan came pounding back and he wasn’t whistling. “What is it?”

  She swallowed, not lifting her head, as though the revolver might go on a shooting spree if she didn’t keep an eye on it. “A gun.”

  “Bad idea to keep a firearm in an unlocked desk drawer,” he said, coming around her desk to take a peek.

  “It’s not mine. I hate guns.” Her voice wobbled a little and his hand dropped to her shoulder with reassuring warmth.

  “Don’t touch it.”

  An unnecessary piece of advice. She couldn’t be more scared of that thing if it had fangs and snarled at her. She pressed her lips together, thinking that a mysterious dead man, a man who’d been shot, and a gun that certainly looked up to killing people being found in her library within the space of a couple of weeks had to be more than coincidence.

  “I’ll call the police,” she said, pulling herself together with an effort and picking up her phone.

  Luckily, Tom took the call.

  “There’s a gun in my desk drawer,” she told him as calmly as she could. “It’s not mine ” And the subtext was clear. Get it out of here.

  He said, “I’m there,” and disconnected without any of the chitchat they’d have indulged in two weeks earlier. Funny how a murder changed things.

  “Tom’s on his way,” she told Duncan, still unable to take her gaze off the black-and-silver object in her desk drawer.

  “Good.” He disappeared and she decided to be strong and not wail that she needed him beside her for this latest crisis.

  But he was back in less than two minutes with a mug of water and a bottle of pain killers in his hand. “Myrna’s,” he said when she glanced at him questioningly.

  Gratefully, she swallowed the pills. It was pretty obvious he hadn’t told Myrna why he needed them, or she’d be crowding in here, too.

  Duncan moved behind Alex and rubbed her shoulders, as though he could feel the burdens pressing down on them. She touched his hand briefly. “Thanks.”

  He didn’t ask what she was thanking him for, which was mostly being there when she needed him. “You’re welcome,” he said.

  Tom arrived in minutes. His eyes widened slightly when he took in her hair.

  “Did either of you touch the gun?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  Tom glanced at Duncan, who also replied in the negative.

  He came around behind Alex and stared at the thing in her drawer.

  “Jennings, nine millimeter, semiautomatic,” he mumbled to himself.

  “The murder weapon?” Duncan asked.

  As though realizing he wasn’t alone, Tom frowned. “When did you first notice the firearm?”

  “When I opened my desk drawer to get something. I called you right away.”

  “When did you last open that drawer?”

  She tried to think, but with the shock, the weight of hairspray, it was hard to focus. “Maybe yesterday? I don’t think I opened it this morning.”

  “I’d like you both to leave the office, please. Try not to touch anything.”

  “Yes, of course.” I know the drill, she felt like saying. “Should I close the library?”

  “Yes.”

  Tom pulled out a pair of surgical gloves and slipped them on, and she and Duncan left him to it. As they were leaving, he said, “Why don’t you go next door and wait for me in my office.”

  Alex glanced at Duncan, feeling puzzled. “Both of us?”

  “Yes. I want statements from you both.”

  With a shrug, Duncan fell into step and they went next door. She felt the stares of everyone she passed getting a load of the beehive and she thought as long as she lived she’d never forgive Katie for this.

  It was a whole lot easier being mad at Katie than admitting she was terrified.

  Tom didn’t keep them waiting long, nor did he separate them, so each heard the other’s story. He started with Alex. “Who’s been in the library today?”

  She blinked at him. Was he kidding? “It’s a public library. All kinds of people.”

  “Anyone you didn’t recognize?”

  “No. Well, a college student, but I think he’s been in before. They blend together. It’s hard to tell.”

  “Did you leave your office unattended?”

  “I went out for an appointment during my lunch hour.” She would not look at Duncan. “And I was in the library a fair bit today. Myrna might–”

  “I’ve asked Myrna to make a list of everyone she remembers.”

  “Good.”

  “I’d like you to do the same.”

  He turned to Duncan. “You see anything out of the ordinary?”

  She noticed Duncan’s eyes widen so slightly probably only she would notice. He was as surprised as she was to find Tom treating him more as an ally than a suspect.

  He paused, as though really giving the matter some thought. “No. Seemed like a regular day to me.” He paused, then turned to her, “The custodian was in your office.” He switched his attention to Tom. “He brought Alex some fall leaves and she went out of her office to fetch a vase. He was probably there three or four minutes. Plenty of time to plant a weapon.”

  They both stared at him. “Arnold?” she finally said.

  He shrugged. “Just doing my civic duty. The guy has the keys to the municipal buildings and he’s a big boy. He could haul in a dead guy.”

  “Why?”

  “Hey, I’m telling you what I saw. Not my place to make judgements about it. But I’ve noticed he brings Alex little gifts all the time. Not stuff you buy, usually things he’s scavenged.” He shrugged. “Maybe he’s like a cat. He killed something and brought it to her, like a trophy.”

  “You think Arnold Black killed Jerzy Plotnik?”

  “Or found him dead and dragged him into the library for Alex.”

  She shuddered at the idea.

  Tom scribbled a note, so she had to assume he was taking the possibility seriously. “When Alex was out of the office during lunch, were you in the library?”

  “No. I went out too. I ate lunch.”

  Tom nodded slowly. She wondered if he was tying to think up some other questions. Duncan said, “Well? Is it the murder weapon?”

  “We’ll send it out for tests. Check Alex’s office for finger prints.”

  She got home after that awful day, wondering why she’d ever thought this town was dull.

  The first thing she needed to do was shower at least seven times to get rid of the shellac feel to her hair. But once she got to the bathroom and caught a glimpse of herself, she clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “Gill should see this,” she mumbled behind her hand. They’d played hairdresser when they were younger, using both of their mothers’ photo albums as a guide. She’d never been much good at playing hairdresser
, but Gillian had a flair.

  As Alex stared at herself, she could swear it was her mother staring back.

  She didn’t have a mother anywhere close, either geographically or emotionally. She didn’t have any real family but Gillian. Since she’d called Tom the night she’d found her cousin with a black eye, well, she obviously hadn’t had Gillian on her side, either.

  Sticking out her lower lip, she blew out a breath. Her hair towered over her like a building had accidentally been dropped on top of her head, adding to the feeling of pressure she felt whenever she contemplated her cousin.

  Gillian needed her. She’d realized that for a while, but tonight, when she was feeling alone and unsettled and wanting to share the joke of Katie and her hairstyle with someone who would get it, she realized that in an odd way, she needed Gill, too.

  She stared at the phone for a while. Picked it up. Put it down. Put on the kettle for herbal tea and then never made a pot. Finally, she grabbed her coat and car keys and left.

  She reached Gillian’s house long before she was ready to face her but decided she had to suck it up and walk up that path.

  Even so, she spent a good two or three minutes out on the freshly swept front doorstep staring at the blue front door before she got up the courage to knock.

  It took a while for the door to open.

  “I know you’re there, Gillian,” she finally yelled. She could feel her cousin on the other side of the door.

  If a door could slam open, this one did. “What do you—” The surly words were cut off as Gillian snorted. Then the snort turned into a giggle, which led naturally into a lung-endangering guffaw. “You look like your mother on her prom night,” she shrieked.

  “I went to Katie’s K-K-Kut ‘n’ Kurl and ended up with a goddamn Bee Hive.”

  The laughter felt good, especially today and especially with Gill. They hadn’t laughed together for a long time. But it couldn’t last forever. By the time they’d quieted to snickers, Gill said, “So, why are you here?”

  She didn’t invite Alex inside.

  The hairstyle seemed even heavier as Alex tried to figure out what she wanted to say. Finally she went with the simplest. “Gill, I’m sorry.”

  Her cousin nodded, waiting for more. But she didn’t slam the door, so that was good.

  “I shouldn’t have said what I did the other night.” She wasn’t going to apologize for suggesting her cousin needed help, because she probably did. But, in retrospect, Alex could see that her behavior hadn’t been completely warmhearted, not to mention tactful.

  Gill stared at her. “You still think I need help?”

  Alex stared back, looking into her pretty blue eyes, the bruises were fading, probably with the help of cosmetics. Alex saw that her cousin’s hair was clean, her skin dewy, and that she looked—good. “Why don’t you tell me what you need?”

  The door opened wider. “Want some tea?”

  Alex thought maybe Katie had done her a good turn after all. “Yeah.”

  The funny thing was that they didn’t end up talking about drugs, or murder, or failed marriage. Among the packing boxes littering the kitchen, they talked about their grandparents.

  “Do you remember when Grandma caught us smoking?” Alex asked as they sat over tea in the kitchen.

  Gillian chuckled softly. “We wouldn’t have gotten caught if you hadn’t coughed your guts up.”

  “I couldn’t help it. Smoking didn’t come easily to me.”

  “Neither did sex.”

  They stared at each other and once more collapsed into giggles. “Oh, my God. I was such a geek.” Alex dropped her head into her hands, and banged her hairstyle against the kitchen table which only made them laugh harder. “I’m getting brain damage!”

  “You’ve got a long way to go to catch up with me,” Gillian said, and the mood turned serious.

  “Come back to the library,” Alex said.

  She touched her face. “I can’t. I’d scare the kids.”

  “The bruise has really faded. Come on.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve got a lot on right now. I’m moving this weekend, and I’ve got to start looking for a paying job.”

  Like that would be easy. If she, Gillian’s own flesh and blood, had had a hard time allowing her cousin to volunteer, she couldn’t imagine anyone in town paying her to work for them.

  “You did a great job in the library, you know. Some of the moms have been asking for you. The little kids really liked having you help them.”

  “Let me think about it, okay?”

  “Sure.” To change the subject, Alex said, “The word in Katie’s is that you’re seeing someone.” She’d been amused to hear that Tom Perkins was supposedly hot for her cousin, because he’d been seen driving her home. Some people made gossip out of thin air.

  But then she noticed that Gill had ducked her head so her honey blond hair spilled over her face, but not before Alex saw the blush. “Oh, my God. It’s true!”

  “Nothing’s happened. Yet.”

  “But you want it to?”

  Gillian raised her head and pulled back her shoulders. “Yes,” she said. “I want it to.”

  “I remember in high school you were—”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow. Okay.”

  “My marriage is over. I’m moving out of this house. It’s time for a fresh start.”

  And, why waste time? Naturally, she didn’t say that. What she said, rather surprisingly, was “Do you want some help moving?”

  Gillian poured more tea. “Sure. That would be great.”

  “I could bring Duncan to help.” She added milk and sugar to her tea so she didn’t have to look at her cousin. “You met him in the library.”

  “I know who he is.”

  “Right. Well, we’re kind of seeing each other.”

  “I’m not blind, Alex. I know. Is it serious?”

  “Oh,” Alex said, wondering if she’d also become fodder at Katie’s. Guessing she probably had. “Of course it’s not serious. He’ll be leaving in a couple of months.”

  And that was absolutely fine with her.

  19

  Tom waited until her moving day to approach Gillian. He’d thought long and hard about this crush he’d never seemed to shake. Her divorce was well on its way and she was moving out of the house she’d shared with her ex. He could start on that romancing he’d promised her. She looked like a woman who could use some romance.

  He’d checked her story. She’d been going faithfully to AA meetings in a town about half an hour’s drive away, keeping her sobriety a secret the way some people keep their drug habits quiet.

  He decided to show up, nice and casual, in a place where a strong back and a willing pair of hands would be of use. He’d start easy, and take it from there.

  He not only felt an urge to pound the son of a bitch who’d blackened her eye into the dirt, he also felt a powerful urge to protect Gillian. When he’d held her in his arms, he’d felt a fragility he hadn’t thought she possessed.

  To a guy who’d spent his life taking in strays and trundling birds with broken wings to the local vet, he acknowledged his own urge to heal even as he recognized there was something else mixed in with it. A possibility that sparkled.

  Wearing serviceable jeans, a work shirt, and his steel-toed boots, he showed up at Gillian’s house. The first thing he saw was a nice, trim ass bent over, the top half of the woman inside a rented U-Haul. But his blood pressure didn’t spike, so he knew it wasn’t Gillian’s backside. Sure enough, the woman emerged and he recognized her cousin.

  “Morning, Alex,” he said.

  “Hi.” She eyed him, pretty surprised to see him there.

  “I came to lend a hand.”

  “Gillian’s in the kitchen, I think.”

  “Woman, would you get your ass back in here so the damn bookcase doesn’t fall on my head?”

  So, Duncan Forbes was also helping on moving day. He had to hand it to the professor—he’d gone
from the man least likely to make Alex happy to see him, to top of her list in a couple of weeks. Alex climbed into the rented moving van at her lover’s command. He only hoped he could move in on Gillian that fast.

  He knocked on the open front door and called out as he strode down the hall to the kitchen, “Gillian? It’s me. Tom. I came to help you move.”

  He heard dishes bashing together in the kitchen and he figured she hadn’t heard him, so he yelled some more.

  “I’ve got a strong back and a pair of—hey!” he yelled, as a frying pan came flying down the hall like a demonically possessed Frisbee and narrowly missed the side of his head. “What the hell was that for?”

  Gillian stomped out of the kitchen looking mad enough to take him apart with her slender, graceful hands. He glanced behind him, wondering if some monster had wandered in, but nope. There was nobody else around. The flying pan seemed meant for him.

  “Unless you’ve come to arrest me, get out of my house!” she shrieked.

  “Are you deranged? I came to help move boxes.”

  “Is that why you canvassed the neighborhood asking if anyone had seen me the night of that man’s murder? If they’d maybe heard shots coming from my house?” Her voice was rising with each word and by the time she got to shots, he was worried about his long-term hearing. He was also getting a bit hot under the collar himself.

  “It’s my job, Gillian. I was doing my job.”

  “Hah!” He’d heard of women looking magnificent when they were angry. Gillian wasn’t one of them. Her face was red and blotchy, and her pretty blue eyes were screwed up tight as though the less of him she had to see the better. He was happy to notice that the bruising had faded to almost nothing.

  “You didn’t ask about one other single person in my neighborhood. Only me. Because I’m supposed to be the drugged-out loser. If there’s trouble, come looking for Gillian.”

  She was starting to cry, but not sad, little weepy tears; these were more like poison sparks flying out of her eyes. Each one seemed to prick him with tiny stabs of remorse.

  “I had to make certain.”

  “You said you believed me. For once, I thought someone I cared about really believed in me.” Now she was crying real tears. Slow, rolling heart breakers. “But you didn’t.” She shook her head violently when he made a move toward her. “You didn’t come here to make sure I was all right and fix me tea. You came in here to snoop around, didn’t you? Looking for blood or bullet holes or something. I know you, Tom Perkins, and you don’t have any guts.”