Graveyard Shifts: A Pat Wyatt Novel

by Laura Del

  I patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Charlie. I’m not going anywhere. He just wants to take me to lunch.”

  “Who said you were going anywhere?” He sounded concerned.

  “No one,” I amended before he had a nervous breakdown. “It’s just that you don’t like Mr. Wolf because of what he does to Samuel’s women.”

  “Who told you that?” he asked, slightly offended.

  I shrugged. “Mr. Wolf. Plus your attitude toward him…” I paused, choosing my words carefully. “It’s really not something that warms the heart.”

  He sighed deeply. “You’re more observant than I thought.”

  I laughed. “You’re the second person to tell me that.” I grabbed my purse from the other room, slipped on my shoes and walked back into the foyer. “See you later, Charlie.”

  “Be seeing you, Pat,” he said, and he waved from the doorway when I left. And as I pulled away from the house, I could still see him waving.

  I headed for the address on the paper, thanking God that Tina had insisted we come to the Hamptons every summer. Otherwise I would have been completely lost and would never have known where to go.

  On my way there, I started to think about how weird everyone was acting. Tina was acting distant. Charlie was scared for some reason. Samuel just seemed to be interested in sex, and Mike was keeping something from me. Was it any wonder I was distracted?

  I must have run a red light or something because I heard sirens. And when I looked in the rearview mirror, I saw the police car behind me, so I pulled over. “Shoot.” I banged on the steering wheel and then rolled down the window obligingly.

  The cop walked up to me looking as thrilled as ever. “License and registration.” He sounded utterly bored. This was the first time I had been pulled over in years. The last time was only for a broken taillight, and the officer had let me off with a warning. I doubted that was going to happen this time.

  “Is there a problem, officer?” I asked, handing him my stuff.

  He yawned. “You ran a red light.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, thumbnail in my mouth (a nervous habit of mine). “I must’ve been distracted.”

  “I’ll be right back,” he said. The man seemed so happy to have a job.

  He walked back to his car, sitting himself down in the driver’s seat with his door wide open, probably running my license plate.

  I sat there for five minutes, just waiting for the ticket. But when he returned, he had an apologetic smile on his face. “I’m s-sorry, Mrs. Satané,” he stammered. “It w-won’t h-happen again.” He tipped his hat to me, handing me my papers.

  “No ticket?” I asked. I’d clearly broken the law, and I was willing, and able, to pay the price.

  “Absolutely not,” he huffed nervously. “You have a nice day now.” He sprinted back to his car and sped away.

  “Okay,” I said slowly, putting on my turn signal as I carefully moved my car back into traffic.

  I wondered why he hadn’t given me a ticket. After all, I’d gotten tickets before, mostly for illegal parking. As I mulled it over, it dawned on me. He had called me Mrs. Satané instead of Ms. Wyatt, which was the name on my driver’s license. And he was scared—really scared. This had Samuel written all over it.

  The next thing I knew, I was pulling up to a small one-story building. It had green trim around the glass door and windows, with a plaque that said it was “The Law Office of Michael R. Wolf, Esq.” And speaking of the southern gentleman, he was waiting outside for me. I unlocked the car door, and he hopped in.

  “Where to?” I asked when his door was shut.

  “Just around the corner,” he replied. “You can park in the lot.” He pointed to an open lot and smiled.

  I pulled into a parking space just a few feet away from a quaint little bistro. Mike got out of the car first, and I followed his lead. As we walked through the glass doors of Potter’s Café, Mike asked for a booth in the corner so we could “talk alone,” and the hostess gladly obliged.

  She was goth with a 1950s hairstyle, and tattoos up and down her slender white arms. After I took in her look, she showed us to a romantically-lit booth in the farthest corner of the café. She left smiling and whispered something to the waiter, who nodded in our direction for some strange reason.

  When we sat, he came over to us with a huge smile, and I noticed he was cute, in a nerdy sort of way. He wore big thick glasses, his skin was white as a ghost, and his eyes and hair were different shades of gold. He told us his name was Theo, in a nice smiley sort of way, and that he would be taking our orders today.

  We gave him our drink orders and told him we needed more time to decide the rest, and he walked away. I saw him nod toward the hostess again, and she smiled and winked at him. Something told me they had a bet going.

  I turned my attention back to Mike. “I’m sorry Tina couldn’t make it.”

  “That’s okay.” He sounded happy. “I’ll meet her some other time.”

  “So,” my voice was cheerful, “what did you want to talk about?”

  “Nothin’,” he admitted with a smile. I had to give him points for being honest. “I just wanted to see you again.”

  “Why didn’t you just come by the house?” I asked, not very wisely. But what did you expect from a woman with no social skills?

  He frowned. “I’m not really welcome there.” That’s right. Charlie wasn’t very nice to him. Actually, neither was Samuel, so I could understand.

  We sat in silence for a while until Theo dropped off our drinks and took the rest of our orders. When he left, I waited for Mike to speak, but it looked like he wasn’t going to. So I sighed and started to drum my fingernails on the table.

  “I like your shirt,” Mike said with a crooked smile, and I looked down at myself.

  I was wearing my “werewolves rule, vampires drool” shirt that Tina had gotten for me for my birthday two years ago as a gag, along with my skinny jeans and Birkenstocks. I hadn’t realized he was staring at me so intently that he’d noticed. “He speaks,” I said. I stopped drumming on the tabletop and placed my hand under my chin. “And thanks. I like it too.”

  “Do you mind if I ask you some questions?” he asked, his eyes now fixed on the straw in his drink.

  I shook my head. “I don’t mind.”

  He cleared his throat, and then his eyes found mine. “Okay. Where were you born?”

  I laughed. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that. But okay. Uh, in a little town called Danville. It’s about an hour or so away from Allentown, Pennsylvania. You?”

  “Louisiana,” he said with a shrug. “When were you born?”

  I leaned closer to him, pointing my toes under the table. Ready for anything. “January sixteenth, and I’m not telling you the year. When were you?” I asked him back.

  “July twenty-fifth. I’ll be thirty-two.” He smiled, and I loved that accuracy. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  I laughed. “What is this, twenty questions?” It had to be a lawyer thing.

  “Sorry.” He grimaced. “It’s been a while since I was out with a woman.” I disregarded that.

  I sighed. “To answer your question, I have an older sister. What about you?” I found myself asking as I stirred the straw in my soda.

  “I’m an only child,” he said, running his fingers through his hair, and my heart skipped a beat. “Are your parents still alive?”

  My left hand slipped from under my chin, and it banged the tabletop. “Wow,” I breathed. “Well, my pops still is.” Even after all these years, I couldn’t talk about my mother without it getting to me.

  “What about your mom?” he asked. He wasn’t very observant.

  “She died a little over three years ago,” I answered without emotion.

  He frowned, placing his hand over mine. “What’d she die from?”

  “A brain aneurism. One day she fell asleep and she never woke up.” I said it as fast as I could, so that the emotion wouldn’t catch up wit
h me. “What about yours?”

  His eyes seemed endlessly sad. “Both of my parents are dead. They died when I was eighteen.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I said, noticing our fingers were locked together, and I felt my heart squeeze. “Was it a car accident?” Only something that sudden and traumatic could cause such pain and sadness.

  “Yes,” he sounded surprised. “How’d you know that?”

  “I just guessed.” And as it turned out, it was a pretty good one.

  Thankfully, our food came before it had gotten too awkward, and I pulled away from him as Theo put our plates down. Then he asked if he could get us anything else, but we both shook our heads, so he left.

  “How did you become a lawyer?” I asked, trying to get off the subject of death.

  “My father was one.” That didn’t work out like I intended. “So I decided that I would follow in his footsteps.” That seemed to bring a smile to his face.

  I smiled back. “That’s nice.” I paused, eating a fry. “Do you like it?”

  “Wow.” He rubbed his neck. “I never know how to answer that,” he admitted, smiling even brighter, his green eyes sparkling. “Some days are better than others. But most of the time,” he paused, “yeah, I do.”

  “That’s the way it is with me too,” I said, winking at him, and he laughed. Then we started to eat, and after a minute or two I asked, “Are you married?”

  He shook his head, laughing. “No.”

  “What’s so funny?” I shied away from him. His sudden outburst scared me.

  “I was gonna ask you the same thing,” he said, still laughing musically.

  I gave him a thumbs-up with a smile. “It’s a good thing you remembered.”

  “Yeah,” he said, his laughter and smile gone. “Good thing.”

  I wanted to ask him what was wrong, but I was too focused on my growling stomach to care. We ate in silence for a long, thoughtful moment.

  “How long have you worked for Samuel?” I wasn’t really interested in the answer, but the silence was a killer.

  “About seven years,” he said through tight lips.

  “Oh.” My voice was soft because he was obviously angry. “That’s a long time.”

  After another short silence, he banged his fist on the table, and I jumped, almost choking on my food. “What’s wrong?” I asked, concerned.

  “I can’t take it anymore,” he whispered, furiously running his fingers through his hair. “He did this on purpose. He always does this. He takes somethin’ that I love, and he ruins it.”

  I was confused. “What’re you talking about?” Was he talking to himself or to me?

  “You,” he said, a little louder than I had expected, and I moved away from him. “I’m talkin’ about you.”

  I blinked. That was unexpected. “Me?”

  “He didn’t even know you existed until I told him,” he scoffed. “And then—” He laughed without humor. “Then he decided to marry you?” He banged his open palm on the table. “Goddamn him!”

  I held up my hands. He was completely hysterical. “Whoa, you’ve got to calm down.” As soon as I said that, he took some breaths with his eyes closed. “Now,” I breathed, “what are you talking about?” When I asked, he opened his mouth and eyes. “And say it calmly.”

  He checked himself before he spoke. “I’m the fan, not him,” he admitted with a sigh. “I’m the one who has everything you’ve ever written. I even have your picture on my desk.” Sure, that’s not creepy. “I know how it sounds, but I’m not a stalker. I promise. I just respect your work because you help people. I mean, come on.” He threw up his hands. “He didn’t even know who you were until a couple days ago.”

  “What?” I was seething. I couldn’t believe my husband was such a backstabbing bastard. He’d lied to me. Again. And I was really hot under the collar.

  “I was tryin’ to get up the nerve to meet you,” he said, and I believed that. Mike didn’t seem like the stalker type, so I let him explain. “So I called your editor and asked if you had an assignment. When he said yes, I wrote down all the places you’d visit. Then…um…Sam came by and asked me if I was goin’ out. I said I was, and that’s when he grabbed the paper from my hand and wouldn’t give it back to me until I told him everythin’. And when I did, he just laughed at me. He told me I was a fool for tryin’,” he paused, staring into my eyes, and I swear they pierced my very soul. “Finally,” he continued, “he said that since I was being a coward about the whole thing that he’d go as my advocate. Ya know, to tell you how wonderful I was. Then he’d bring you back to meet me. You see how well that turned out?” He gestured to nothing.

  I shook my head. “That’s why you looked at me like I had ten heads.” Now I understood his reaction yesterday, and I felt bad for him.

  He nodded, taking a deep breath. “Imagine how shocked I was when you said you were his wife.” He ruffled his hair again. “I knew somethin’ was up when I saw you in that robe, but I didn’t expect that.” He thrust his hands at me, which made me feel even worse.

  “Why didn’t you tell me all of this yesterday?” I asked. It would’ve made more sense if he had just been honest with me instead of letting it fester inside of him. As my mother used to say, “Fester, fester makes things messier.” It wasn’t one of her better sayings, but it got the point across.

  “Because,” he squeaked, and I had to stifle a laugh, “you don’t know Sam. He would’ve killed me.”

  “How would…?” How would he have known? Was what I was about to say. But then I understood. “Charlie.”

  He shrugged. “He tells Sam everythin’.”

  “So that’s why you took me out?” It took me too long to figure all of this out. And when he nodded, I felt like an idiot, and my heart sank. “Mike, I don’t know what to say.”

  “You love him, right?” he asked, his mouth set into a tight line. I knew that there was nothing I could say that would make him feel better.

  I frowned, a cold breeze griping me. “Less and less each hour,” I said, feeling the truth behind my words.

  “But you still love him,” he said, and even though it wasn’t a question, I slowly nodded. “Then there’s nothin’ more for you to say.” He got up, pulling out his wallet, and placed a fifty-dollar bill beside my plate. It felt like he was placing it on my nightstand instead of the table. “That should be enough for the bill and a tip. Just tell ’em to keep the change. I’m gonna be late for work.”

  “Mike.” I grabbed his elbow. I felt so sorry for him. But when I touched him, I could feel the heat and anger roll off him.

  He held up his hand, sliding his elbow from my hand. “There’s no need for that. I feel bad enough for myself already.” And with that he left.

  I flagged down Theo, paid the bill, and ran out to my car. I sat down inside, closing the door and placing my hands on the steering wheel. I gripped the wheel so tight I was white knuckled. That’s when I screamed so loud that my ear rang with the sound. I was just so angry with myself.

  “What have I done?” I yelled. It had been so stupid to marry a man I hardly knew. A man who would betray whatever Mike was to him for me of all people.

  I wished I had done it all differently. I’d done one stupid spontaneous thing in my entire life, and now I was stuck with it—for as long as we both lived.

  “Dear God,” I prayed, taking a deep breath, “help me get through this.” But I knew that He was not going to listen.

  chapter

  SEVEN

  I drove for hours so I could clear my head. And when I walked through the door of the Satané Manor, it was beyond dark outside.

  I saw that Samuel’s car was parked in the drive, and I had a bad feeling that this would lead to a fight. So I dragged my feet all the way inside.

  As I made it through the front door, I could hear Samuel screaming in the study. “What are you talking about, Mike?” The minute I heard his name, my heart leapt into my throat. There was no way he was here. Not now. “
No, Mike! She is not here! Where is she?” When he asked, I tapped lightly on the door. “Enter!”

  I walked into the study, making sure I was as quiet as possible. Samuel’s face was an impassive mask, and he hadn’t looked up from the desk when the doors creaked open. He banged his fist on the desk at something Mike said, and when he looked up, he did a double take, and his mouth fell open. “Never mind,” he said calmly, eyes wide as he scanned my expressionless face. “She is home.” I could hear Mike scream something on the other end of the phone, but Samuel hung up.

  We stood across the room from one another, staring for a moment or two. Then he leaped over the desk, rushing over to me and picking me up. Automatically, my arms and legs wrapped around him as he kicked the doors closed, pushing me up against them. After a moment, he brushed the hair out of my face, his cold blue eye searching for something, but he found nothing. His lips grazed along my jaw until they found mine. Then he kissed me harder than ever before. And reluctantly, I kissed back.

  “Where were you?” Samuel finally asked when we were naked on the floor.

  “Driving,” I managed to say while I stroked his cold cheek. I wondered what else he was hiding from me.

  His blue eyes scanned my face as if he was trying to remember something. “You had me worried sick. I thought I had lost you.” He closed his eyes tight, and when he reopened them, they were a little less intense. “I couldn’t remember your face, and it drove me crazy.”

  In case you were wondering, he stole that line from Waterloo Bridge, one of my mother’s favorite movies. Brought up in England, she relayed (more like forced) all of her culture to my sister and me. Unfortunately, I was the only one who’d soaked in any of it. And when he said that, I couldn’t believe he was being so unoriginal. Obviously, he didn’t think I was very bright. Otherwise, he would’ve at least said it right, or like Robert Taylor.

  “All I could think about was you,” I said with disdain. If he wanted me to smile, he was going to have to live with the disappointment.

  He chuckled. “You say that like it is a bad thing.”