Dangerous Habits

by Susan Hunter

  “Why didn’t you just take out an ad that said, ‘Miller Caldwell Killed My Sister’?” my mother asked.

  “I thought about it.”

  “Who had the opportunity to take your phone—and get it back to you?” Karen asked.

  “Dozens of people wandered in and out of Miguel’s on Saturday, you know that. A lot of them were at the Fun Run the next day. Plus, I’m not 100 percent I lost it at the party, it just seems most likely. The last time I remember using it was mid-afternoon. I got a text from Miguel to make sure I was coming. Then I ran some errands, got my hair cut. I could’ve dropped it somewhere maybe, but the party seems like a place where I might have set it down.”

  She waved her hand impatiently. “How many people knew about your problem last year with your ex-boss?”

  “I didn’t think anyone but Mom knew, and I asked her not to say anything. I see she shared with you.”

  I raised an eyebrow at my mother. She had the grace to look abashed.

  “Since she already told you about it, I hope she also said it wasn’t a problem, Karen. Not like Ross made it sound. It was just a dumbass joke that got out of hand. My boss Hilary was a real piece of work. She didn’t know a good lead from a lift quote. She had this bad-tempered, mouth-breathing little dog that she dressed up in a Dolphins cap and carried around the office in a baby harness for God’s sake.

  “Once she found out I used to date her fiancé, she wouldn’t get off my case. She was almost as bad with the rest of the reporters. Nobody liked her, and a couple of them actually hated her. They got pretty wasted one night and decided it would be hilarious to make a fake ransom flyer for her dog Shadow—only she spelled it C-H-A-D-E-A-U-X—you can see what a pretentious idiot she was.

  “They texted her a bunch of dumb things like ‘I’ll get you and your little dog, too.’ One said, ‘Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? Your Chadeaux does.’ With a picture of the hat her little dog used to wear.”

  I couldn’t stop a little grin at the memory.

  “Leah, are you laughing about this? Because it’s potentially very serious.”

  “No, no, I know. I’m sorry. She thought the stuff came from me, and she freaked and she called me in and started screaming. That’s when the guys who did it confessed, but Hilary didn’t believe them. Thought they were covering for me. The police didn’t pursue the complaint. They could see it was ridiculous. But she wouldn’t let go.

  “We got into it. I was fed up. I threatened to quit. She said fine. So, I thought, all right then. I let her have it—verbally only. But it got pretty heated. After I left, she spun it like she had to fire me, because I was emotionally unstable. And I guess the scene I had with her in the office—but it was justified, I swear—I can see how some people might have thought she was right. And when your ex-boss tells every reference check that she fired you because you’re crazy, well it’s kind of hard to shake.”

  “Did you ask Ross how he found out?”

  “He said he was a good investigator who does his homework. Ha.”

  “Would your ex-editor have talked to him?”

  “Oh, yeah. But how would he know to check with her? You really think Ross has that much initiative?”

  “Don’t underestimate him, Leah. Or the initiative a push from the Caldwell family can give.”

  “Well, what do I do now?”

  “Nothing. Don’t speak to him again without me. I’ll talk to a friend of mine in the DA’s office, see how serious this is. I’ll be in touch when I know something.”

  “Thanks, Karen.”

  “No problem.”

  As my mother walked out to the car with her, I hobbled over to the couch, thought better of the challenges of getting back up from its cushiony depths, and opted for the rocking chair. I opened my phone and looked for the text from Delite that should have come in on Saturday. Nothing. In fact, all my texts were gone—those I sent and those I received. I thought a minute, then decided to call the casino and see if I could get her supervisor to give me her home number.

  Twenty-Five

  “She doesn’t work here.”

  “What? I just saw her there a few days ago.”

  “Well, she isn’t here now.”

  “Did she quit?”

  “I’m not allowed to say.”

  “You mean she got fired.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “I’m an old friend. I’ve really got to get in touch with her. Could you please give me her number?”

  “We don’t give out personal information about employees. Or ex-employees.”

  “Please, it’s about her sister. She’s in a bad way, and I know Delite would want to know. It could be her last chance to talk to her. Ever.”

  “Her sister doesn’t have her number?” she asked, suspicion replacing truculence.

  “They had a falling out. It’s been years since they’ve talked. If I don’t reach Delite, she’ll never have the chance.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to get in trouble—”

  I heard the hesitancy and pushed. “Seriously, that’s all I want to do. Just let her know about her sister. Brandee is hanging on by a thread. No one needs to know how I got the number. Please.”

  Sigh. “All right. It’s 293-555-0124.”

  “Thank you, thank you. It will mean so much to Brandee.”

  I called the number immediately.

  “This is Delite. You know what to do.”

  “Delite, this is Leah Nash. My mother said you tried to reach me Saturday. I lost my phone, so if you called or texted, I didn’t get it. But it’s back now, so please call me when you get this.”

  My leg was throbbing again. The effort not to let Ross see me sweat had taken a lot out of me. I caved then, and let my mother give me a Vicodin along with my grilled cheese and tomato soup. Soon I nodded in the chair, alternately dozing and floating in a Vicodin fog.

  When I re-entered consciousness, I heard my mother talking to someone in the kitchen. I stretched without thinking, shooting a sharp pain through my shoulders and sending my phone clattering from my lap to the floor. I reached for it, but a large hand with a zigzag scar on the index finger beat me to it.

  I looked up and smiled at Coop.

  “Hey, you.” He gave me the phone, then offered the plastic cup with straw he held in his other hand.

  “Diet Coke, extra ice?”

  “Absolutely. How you doing?”

  “Not so bad. A little stiff. And I’m gonna have a mark on my leg that’ll put your wimpy old finger scar to shame. Otherwise, OK.”

  “So, how’s your friend Ben? You want to sing me a verse or two?”

  “Shut up. I don’t know. He’s OK, I guess. How’s Sherry?”

  “Fine.”

  “When did you guys become a thing?”

  “We’re not a thing. We just ran into each other at Miguel’s.”

  “Huh. Looked more like she was welded to your arm.”

  “You know Sherry. She’s affectionate,” he said, giving me a half-smile. “Where did you and Ben meet? You two seemed to be getting on pretty well.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” my mother said as she came into the room and rolled her eyes at Coop.

  “Oh?”

  I gave her a look that could freeze an open flame, and she shrugged.

  “Nothing. Mom’s being what she thinks is funny.”

  “What’s his last name? He looked kinda familiar,” Coop said.

  “Kalek. He’s not from Himmel. He’s just here to fix up his grandmother’s house for selling. She died a few months ago.”

  “Ah. How does Miguel know him?”

  “How does Miguel know anybody? He met him at the gym and decided to take him home as a pet, I guess.”

  He laughed, and my mother excused herself and went down the hall to the laundry room.

  “Are you going back to work tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. Unless of course, Ross comes back and arrests me.”r />
  “What?”

  I explained what had happened.

  “Can’t you just stay away from the Caldwells?”

  “What? You think I’m some psycho stalker?”

  “No, but I know how far you’ll go to prove you’re right.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’ve been pretty pissed off, and I don’t think your judgment is the best right now. I’m just thinking if you were a little out of it—like you were Saturday night—well, if you did anything stupid, maybe I can help get it straightened out.”

  “I didn’t send those texts. Maybe Georgia sent them herself. Or maybe Miller did.”

  “Why would either of them do something like that?”

  “To land me in a mess. Worst case scenario, I could wind up with a Class I felony, a fine, and maybe even jail time. Nothing like a stint in prison to enhance your resume. Best case scenario, charges are dismissed, but I’m remembered as the obsessed reporter who crossed the line and can’t be trusted. It casts doubt on everything I do, and especially on anything I turn up related to Miller and Lacey.”

  “But wouldn’t pressing charges just put attention on what you think they’re trying to hide?”

  “If Miller can make everyone think I’m a nut job, he won’t have to worry about that. Nothing I find out will be taken seriously.”

  He tried a different approach.

  “How would Miller or Georgia get your phone?”

  “Maybe I dropped it somewhere?”

  “Oh, and they were just trailing along after you, waiting for that lucky break?”

  “At the party, then.”

  “They weren’t at the party.”

  “Someone who was there gave it to them.”

  “Really?”

  “They have money, they have influence. They could have someone working for them to get me.”

  “Leah, I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt and say it’s the pain-killers talking. You sound like you should be in a steel bunker with a sliding panel, waiting for me to whisper the password to you.”

  “I am not paranoid.”

  “All right.”

  “Somebody pushed me. That’s real.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  My mother came in just then. “Oh, she finally told you.”

  “Not exactly, Carol. Why didn’t you say anything before?”

  “Who’d believe me? You don’t.”

  “You could’ve at least told me.”

  “Why? So, you could dismiss it like you have everything I’ve told you for the past month?”

  “Tell me now.”

  When I finished, he said, “You were lucky this time. If Miguel hadn’t come—”

  “I know. Like I know it was Miller who pushed me. Or maybe his crazy wife.”

  “Coop, talk to her. Tell her she needs to stop.”

  “She won’t listen, Carol. She never has.”

  “Hello? She’s right here. Listening.”

  “Good. Then you’ll hear me when I tell you the push in the park isn’t what you think. If you don’t back away from Miller and Georgia, things could get ugly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means back off. It means trust that someone besides you knows how to do their job.”

  I stared at him, then all the tumblers clicked into place. “You’ve got something on Miller. All this time you’ve been jerking me around, telling me I’m way off base, practically telling me I’m mentally unstable and you were sitting on information.”

  He shook his head in frustration. “I’m not gonna get into this with you. Look, I’m asking you. Please leave it alone. You’ll understand. I’ll call you.”

  As he turned to leave, my mother grabbed his arm.

  “Coop, just tell me. Is Leah safe? What if the person who pushed her last night decides to try again?”

  “It’s all right, Carol. I’ve got it covered.”

  “Mom, just let the great big man protect us. We women folk don’t need to know about anything scary.”

  “Leah Marie, that’s enough. Coop has had your back more times than I can count. Probably more times than I want to know.”

  I was still mad, but her words hit home.

  “All right. Yeah. Fine.” That’s me, grace under fire.

  “I’ll see you later,” he said, leaving by the kitchen door.

  I was getting tired of apologizing every time I turned around. Of course, I guess if I didn’t talk without thinking so often, I wouldn’t be in that position. Still, Coop was holding out on me and I couldn’t help feeling betrayed.

  “Is your leg hurting you?”

  “It’s OK, not bad.”

  “Then there’s no excuse for you to behave like such a little brat.”

  “OK, I’m sorry. I said I was sorry.”

  “Oh, really? That was your version of sorry, ‘all right, fine, yeah’?” She shook her head in disgust.

  “Okaayyy. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. But you can see, can’t you, that he’s on Miller’s tail? That he knows about him? He didn’t have any right to keep that from me.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re not a member of the Himmel Police Department. You’re really not even a member of the press on this. And the way you’ve steamrolled ahead, I can see why he didn’t say anything.”

  “But—”

  “No. We’re not going to argue about this. You need to relax, eat a good dinner, and get a good night’s sleep.”

  I sank back onto the chair without another word. I was ticked, but too tired to argue.

  “Stay where you are, I’ll bring you a tray.”

  “Mom, I’m not an invalid. I’m going to work tomorrow. I think I can walk two feet to the kitchen.”

  “Just stay there. Tomorrow is tomorrow; tonight, I’m taking care of you.”

  Twenty-Six

  We ate off tray tables in the living room, neither one of us saying it, but both thinking how we used to do that every Friday night when Lacey was little. I guess current parenting theories say you should sit down around the dinner table to a nice meal, but we had some of our most fun times eating crock pot dinners on the couch and watching old movies on Friday nights. My mother loved classic films, so we learned to, too. My favorite was Notorious with Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman. I loved how tough but vulnerable she was. And the closing scene, best ever.

  Lacey and my mother liked the MGM musicals. The three of us would sometimes sing songs from the movies around the house—I know, corny, right? Can I help it if I got the music in me? Unfortunately, I don’t have the voice in me, too. Lacey got her voice from Mom. I got mine from our father.

  Sometimes when I joined them in a spontaneous song, or bellowed out a solo in a particularly heartfelt off-key rendition, they would look at each other and Lacey would start to giggle, and eventually she’d laugh so hard she got the hiccups. I’d pretend to be insulted, and then she would feel bad.

  Once in a fit of compassion, she said, “That’s OK, Lee-Lee, you don’t have to sing. Your talking voice is nice. Like caramel corn. Sweet and crackly. And everybody likes caramel corn.” We laughed so hard.

  And that night with Mom was fun, too, in a weird out-of-time-and-space kind of way. We watched Notorious. And repeated in unison the closing lines, “Alex, will you come in, please? I wish to talk to you,” as a very wicked, but very scared, Claude Raines made the lonely walk to his doom.

  Getting up the next morning was tough, but I’d set the alarm to give me enough time to stand in the hot shower for a while, and by the time I got out, I was feeling fairly loose. I lifted my arms to pull on my T-shirt without wincing, and changed the bandage on my leg without grossing myself out. It had stopped seeping and actually didn’t look too nasty, though it still gave me the willies.

  When I got to the office, everyone was out except Courtnee.

  “Wow. You look terrible, Leah. If you want, I could try to cover up those scrapes and ma
ybe that bruise on your chin,” she said, pulling out her drawer and grabbing a bag presumably filled with make-up cures. “I don’t really have anything for that puffy spot over your eye though.”

  “No, that’s OK, Courtnee, I’ll just stay au naturel today. Where is everybody?”

  “I don’t know. Nobody ever tells me where they’re going.”

  Max was old school, and even though everyone had cell phones and was accessible day and night, he still insisted we use the sign-out sheet at the front desk so Courtnee could keep track of us. As if that was going to happen.

  I swung the clipboard over and scanned it. Max was at a Chamber meeting, Miguel was at the Middle School Awards Assembly, Duff, an advertising sales rep, was at a Rotary breakfast.

  “Courtnee, it says right here where everyone is.”

  She rolled her eyes. “If you already know, Leah, why did you ask? I’m too busy to play your games,” she said, turning back to the Facebook page that was up on her computer.

  “You’re right. Sorry.”

  Back in the newsroom, I lowered myself gingerly onto my chair and went through my messages, then pulled up the copy for the week’s paper and started editing. I dimly heard Max come in, but he didn’t stop by the newsroom. It was close to noon when I heard the excited voices of Miguel and Courtnee in the front.

  Then Max yelled for me from the back. He didn’t sound happy. Apparently, I wasn’t going to get even a one-day get-out-of-trouble-free card, despite my battered body. His door was open, and I gave a slight knock. He turned from his computer screen. His face was as red and angry as I’d ever seen it.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I—”

  He turned up the volume on his computer and moved so I could see a blonde anchor staring into the camera and speaking with local news gravitas. An unflattering photograph of me loomed in the background over her left shoulder.

  * * *

  This just in. Local reporter Leah Nash of the Himmel Times Weekly is the subject of a Himmel County Sheriff’s Department investigation. Ms. Nash, 32, has been accused of stalking by Georgia Caldwell, wife of prominent businessman and state senate candidate Miller Caldwell. Nash allegedly sent multiple texts and email of a threatening nature to Mrs. Caldwell, and showed up uninvited at the couple’s residence. No arrest has been made. Police are refusing comment on what they say is an ongoing investigation.