Disturbed

by Kevin O'Brien

  “I’ll see the kids off to school,” Jeff was saying. “You just sleep.”

  “You need to make Erin’s lunch,” she muttered, turning away from him.

  “I’ll handle it,” she heard him say. “Just do me a favor. If the phone rings today and the number’s blocked, don’t pick it up. And please don’t say anything to the police about those calls. Just hold off for today. You and I will straighten this out tonight, and then we’ll both talk to the police tomorrow. Okay?”

  Molly didn’t say anything.

  “Maybe we can get together with that cop who’s so fond of you, that Blazevich guy.”

  “Yes,” she said, tonelessly. “We’ll have to be discreet. When it comes out where you were that night, it’ll be embarrassing for you. Am I right, Jeff?”

  She heard him sigh. “We’ll work this out, Molly,” he said. “I promise.”

  Then she listened to his footsteps retreating down the stairs.

  Molly didn’t want to wait until tonight to “straighten this out.” She imagined trying to talk to Jeff about his infidelity while his children were in the house. They were better off having their discussion over lunch — preferably in a cafeteriastyle place, where they paid up front. So — if she wanted to storm out of there, she could. Or maybe they’d just talk in his office with the door closed and his assistant out to lunch.

  That was where she was now, downtown on the twenty-ninth floor of the Bank of America Tower. With a trench coat on over her navy-blue blouse and black skirt, Molly stepped off the elevator and through the glass double doors to the suite of offices for Kendall Pharmaceuticals. She never much cared for the wannabe — Jackson Pollock artwork on the walls. But she liked Jeff’s assistant, Peter, whose desk sat outside Jeff’s office in a separate alcove. A husky, handsome, ebony-skinned man with a goatee, Peter always wore vibrant-colored shirts with dark, subdued ties. Today, the shirt was Orange Crush orange.

  Usually, Molly enjoyed chatting with Peter, but this time she’d been hoping to catch Jeff with no one else around.

  “Hi, Molly,” Peter said, looking up from his monitor. “I’m sorry, but if you’re looking for Jeff, you just missed him. He’s out to lunch, I don’t know where. He told me he’ll be back in an hour, but you never know.”

  “Yeah, you never know with him,” she said, working up a smile. The frosted-glass door to his office was closed; and it looked dark in there. “Well, he wasn’t expecting me. I’ll just go in and leave him a note.”

  “Go on in. Do you want some coffee or a soda?”

  “No thanks, Peter.” She stepped inside Jeff’s office and closed the door. He had a spacious office with a bookcase on one wall, a sofa, and a large mahogany desk — on which sat a computer monitor and a framed photo of her, Chris, and Erin. One wall was a floor-to-ceiling window — with a view of the Olympics, Puget Sound, and the ferries on their way to and from the islands. Gray clouds hovered over the horizon, and not much light came into Jeff’s office. Molly switched on the overhead, then went to his desk and sat down.

  She was wondering about those business trips that hadn’t shown up on Jeff’s Visa or American Express accounts. He must have had a secret account, and the bills were either coming here or at a post office box someplace.

  Molly tried his desk drawers, but all of them were locked. She wondered if he’d set up the account online. But he’d logged off his computer, and she didn’t know the password. Molly tried her name, then Chris, then Erin, then Chriserin, and other combinations that included birthdays.

  Through the door’s fogged glass, she could see Peter getting up from his desk. She quickly grabbed a pen and started scribbling on a notepad.

  Peter knocked, and then stepped in. “I’m headed out to lunch, Molly,” he said. “I’d stick around and keep you company, but I’m meeting Mark and his mother at Ivar’s. I can’t keep her waiting. She already thinks I’m not good enough for her son. Anyway, take your time in here. Everything’s locked up, so just turn off the lights and close the door when you leave.”

  Molly nodded. “Will do, thanks,” she said. “And good luck with Mark’s mom.”

  “Thanks, I’ll need it,” he said. Then he set some mail on Jeff’s desk and headed for the door.

  Molly heard the door close after him. She wasn’t looking in that direction. She was staring at the mail he’d left in front of her — and the MasterCard logo in the left-hand corner of one envelope.

  At this point, she didn’t care if Jeff knew she’d looked at his mail. She was sick of secrets. With his letter opener, she cut open the envelope and pulled out the bill. The most recent purchase was listed on the day she’d found out about Angela’s death. He’d checked out of the Chateau Granville Hotel in Vancouver, British Columbia. The day before, there were charges from BC Liquor Store, Divine Vine Florist, and Blue Water Café—all in Vancouver.

  Earlier in the month, when Jeff was supposed to be in Minneapolis, he’d taken a brief trip north about sixty miles to La Conner instead. There, he stayed at the La Conner Channel Lodge, and he’d had a $122 dinner at Palmer’s Restaurant, and spent $247 at Windmill Antiques & Miniatures. From all the prices, Molly could see Jeff was treating his girlfriend to the finest hotels and restaurants. He was also buying her flowers and antiques. Maybe he was in love with her.

  Devastated, Molly unsteadily got to her feet. Stuffing the MasterCard bill back in the envelope, she stuck it in her purse. She turned off the overhead light and stepped out of his office. She was shaking and tried to hold back her tears as she walked through the corridor. Just outside the glass double doors, on her way to the elevators, she heard her cell phone ring.

  Molly reached into her purse, and checked the caller ID: CALLER UNKNOWN.

  She took a deep breath and pressed Talk. She didn’t say anything. She could hear the asthmatic breathing on the other end of the line — then that voice: “Mrs. Dennehy, do you know where your husband was when his ex-wife was murdered?”

  Molly swallowed hard. She couldn’t stop shaking. “He was in Vancouver, British Columbia,” she answered steadily. “And he was with you — you malignant bitch. Wasn’t he? How did you like the flowers?”

  She heard a click on the other end.

  Jeff heard a plane soaring overhead from the airport nearby. He walked into the Marriott’s bar, an all-glass and wood-beam circular dome. With the overcast skies above, the light pouring through to the bar was subdued. The place was about half full with the lunch crowd.

  Jeff found her at a table with a view of the indoor pool and tropical garden area. She was dressed demurely in a white turtleneck and black slacks, and she looked nervous. She had her favorite drink, a Tom Collins, in front of her. She smiled up at him.

  He plopped down in the chair across from her. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked under his breath.

  “I just wanted to be near you,” she said.

  A pretty Latino waitress approached their table. “Can I get you something from the bar?”

  “Nothing, thank you,” Jeff replied, turning his head away slightly.

  “He’ll have Wild Turkey — double, with a glass of ice on the side,” the woman said.

  He waited until the waitress left before he spoke again. “I’m not staying long,” he frowned. “And I’m not drinking with you. I told you when we first got together six months ago that it was nothing permanent. It shouldn’t have lasted even this long. I love Molly. I’m not going to let you destroy my marriage or my family.” He leaned in closer to her. “Are you out of your fucking mind, setting up house right on my block?”

  “But she doesn’t know,” argued his Willow Tree Court neighbor. “And I promise, she’ll never know — not until you’re ready to tell her. Have I ever tried to push you in that direction? I don’t want to break up your marriage. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I’m in love with you, Jeff. Like I said, I just wanted to be near you.”

  The waitress returned with his Wild Turkey and a glass of ice.
She set a dish of pretzels between them. “Thank you,” Jeff muttered, his head down.

  “No worries,” said the waitress, and then she headed to another table.

  “I really don’t get ‘no worries’ in lieu of ‘you’re welcome, ’ ” the woman said, nibbling at a pretzel. “It just doesn’t seem to be the right response to ‘thank you.’ It’s like I wasn’t worried, I was just thanking you. Know what I mean?”

  He stared across the table at her. He wondered how she could act so cute right now and make lighthearted conversation. She didn’t seem to comprehend the seriousness of what she’d done. “It’s over,” he said.

  She quickly shook her head. “No, please. Listen, listen, have your drink, and — and — and we’ll talk. I didn’t mean to make you angry when I moved into that house. I just wanted to be close by. I’m staying out of your way, Jeff. I mean, Jesus, I’ve been there all this time, and you haven’t even seen me — until yesterday.”

  He poured some of the Wild Turkey over the ice and gulped it down. “You look me in the eye and tell me that you don’t want to hurt anyone, and yet you’re telephoning Molly and asking if she knows where I was the night Angela was murdered.”

  She shook her head. “Not me, Jeff. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why would I want to blow the whistle on myself? I like what I have with you. I wouldn’t do anything to wreck that.”

  “You already have,” he said.

  She grabbed his hand. “Listen, if you’re really that upset about the move, I’ll just pack up my stuff and be gone by the end of the week. Poof, problem solved, okay?”

  He had another hit of his drink and leaned back in the chair. “I’m going to tell Molly about us tonight, and I’ll beg for her forgiveness. Then I’ll go to the police and explain to them that someone is harassing my wife. They’ll probably question you. If you’re telling me the truth, and it’s not you making those calls, then it’s probably one of your friends. Think over which of your friends you’ve told about us.”

  “Jeff, I haven’t told a soul,” she whispered, tearing up.

  “After today, I don’t want to see you again. You’ll have to move. I need you to stay away from me and my family.”

  “You can’t mean that,” she pleaded, shaking her head. “Don’t be this way, Jeff. I made a dumb mistake. People in love can do dumb things sometimes. Can’t you please forgive me?”

  He just glanced down at the tabletop.

  She sat back and kept one hand around her glass. “So — you want to break up. Do you have to be so cruel about it? Is this how you want to wrap up what we’ve had together? Six months, that’s a pretty good run, Jeff.” Her voice began to crack, but she was smiling. “Does it have to end so — so badly? Can’t we hold each other one last time? C’mon, honey, you’d think I could have some closure, at least. What do you say we have one last time? Listen, if you go to the front desk and get us a room, I’ll drive to the liquor store and buy us a bottle of Wild Turkey. Remember that time in Portland? It’ll be just like that.” Her hand came up to his face. “C’mon, baby. What do you say?”

  Closing his eyes, Jeff let out a long sigh of resignation.

  She parked around the corner from the liquor store’s entrance, near the Dumpster, where there was less foot traffic. No one could see her at work in the car’s front seat. She’d ground up ten tablets of ecstasy, and used the rolled-up liquor-store receipt to funnel it into the Wild Turkey bottle.

  She’d bought the pills from Wolf, the same sleazy character who had wired Courtney’s phone to blow up. She was a bit upset with him, since Courtney hadn’t died. But she figured it wasn’t his fault. Besides, she took a certain satisfaction in the fact that Courtney had been maimed and disfigured. No one would ever give Courtney Hahn a break or hold a door for her again just because the girl was pretty. Still, she was disappointed and had decided last night to abandon her notions of a miniature recreation of Courtney’s smash-up. After all, Courtney wasn’t dead. Yet she couldn’t toss out that little Courtney doll, wrapped in the material from her pullover, with half of its face blackened and slightly melted.

  She sort of cherished it.

  Along with the ecstasy, she’d purchased some cocaine and heroin from Wolf. It cost nine hundred dollars for a thin packet of heroin no bigger than a teabag. Wolf assured her that she was getting a terrific deal, and he even tutored her on how it should be introduced into the bloodstream for the effect she desired.

  Her cell phone rang, and she saw the number on her caller ID pad. She clicked it on, and put the phone to her ear. “Hi, Jeff,” she said.

  “I’m in room 104, on the first floor — by the pool,” he said.

  “See you in about five minutes, my love,” she replied. Then she clicked off.

  She put the bottle of Wild Turkey back inside the long, narrow brown paper bag. Starting up the car, she pulled onto International Boulevard and thought about what Chris’s guidance counselor had written in his notes regarding Jeff Dennehy:

  He’s a very nice guy, who obviously loves his son. But I believe he compartmentalizes his life. Jeff Dennehy doesn’t seem to realize how his womanizing ways are spilling over from one compartment and hurting his family. With his good looks & his friendly, confident manner, I’m guessing he attracts a lot of women & it’s hard for him to say no. Chris has felt very close to his dad. . until he found out about all the cheating. But I don’t know if Mr. Dennehy can stop, even with his new wife. It’s as if this is how he’s used to living. The guy just can’t say no to a pretty woman. .

  As she walked down the first-floor hallway of the Marriott, she felt as if someone was following her. She kept glancing over her shoulder at the vacant corridor with its gaudy-patterned green, pink, and oatmeal carpet. She peered at the darkened doorways and alcoves but didn’t see anyone. She told herself it was nothing, just her imagination.

  She reached room 104 and knocked. She knew Jeff would be there waiting for her.

  She knew how hard it was for him to say no.

  * * *

  He’d followed Angela Dennehy’s ex-husband as far as the twenty-ninth Floor of the Bank of America Tower, and then to this hotel near the airport. From a table on the other side of the domed bar, he’d watched Jeff and his Willow Tree Court neighbor have their pathetic little assignation.

  He’d been extra careful to make sure they hadn’t noticed him. It had been a close call yesterday, when Molly had spotted him in the backyard next door. He’d barely had enough time to check out the lock on the sliding glass door to the Dennehys’ house. He’d heard the police sirens while ducking back inside his car, parked on another dead-end road behind those woods. At the intersection of the other cul-de-sac, he’d watched the cop cars zoom by with their roof lights flashing and swirling. He’d counted four patrol cars. He’d felt sort of proud his presence on Willow Tree Court had prompted such a forceful response.

  Jeff Dennehy’s girlfriend seemed to pick up on the fact that someone was watching her in the Marriott’s first-floor hallway. She kept glancing over her shoulder as she sauntered down the corridor with her big purse. He stayed hidden in the alcove with the pop and ice machines. He heard her knocking on a door and waited for the sound of the door clicking open. Then he caught a peek of her stepping inside room 104. He didn’t want to listen in at the door. So he tried the window on the other side of the room and discovered that number 104 had access to the pool through a sliding glass door. Each one of the poolside rooms had one or two patio chairs outside it. An indoor mini-jungle separated the lanai area by the room entrance from the huge, star-shaped pool. So it was easy for him to wander around by those doors and not be seen.

  He could hear splashing and the laughter of children as he settled down in the patio chair outside room 104. Though Dennehy and his girlfriend had shut the drapes, the edges didn’t quite meet, and he could just make out their naked forms through the sheer curtain. He adjusted the chair so it was a bit closer to the glass.

  “Mar
co. . Polo. . Marco. . Polo!” some kids were yelling.

  He leaned over to one side, like he’d fallen asleep in the chair. He could see into the room now. The air conditioner — radiator must have been right near that sliding door, because every once in a while that sheer curtain fluttered open — and he could see everything. He spotted a quart bottle of Wild Turkey — a little over half full — on the table near the door.

  It looked like booze wasn’t the only thing she’d bought to the party. Lying naked on the bed, he saw her carefully applying something that might have been cocaine to her breasts. Dennehy was naked, poised over her on all fours. She grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head down. He eagerly sniffed and licked at her nipples. Even with the door closed — and the kids screaming and carrying on in the pool, he could hear her muffled laughter.

  The sheer curtain billowed and reflected against the glass, totally obscuring his view for a few moments. He wasn’t sure what he missed, but as the curtain moved again, he could see her walking across the room naked. At first, he thought she was coming to the sliding glass door, but she was only retrieving the bottle of Wild Turkey.

  Dennehy was sitting on the bed with his feet on the floor. He gripped the side of the mattress with his hands, and shook his head repeatedly as if having a spasm of some kind.

  Perhaps it wasn’t just cocaine he’d been snorting off his girlfriend’s breasts, but something even stronger. Dennehy put a hand to his forehead.

  She started to hand him the bottle, but he knocked it out of her hands.

  All at once, Dennehy bolted up. It looked as if he was about to attack her, but he took two steps and collapsed on the floor.

  The curtains began to billow again, and he couldn’t see much.

  It appeared as if she was just standing there with one hand on her hip, looking down at him.

  The man in the patio chair kept waiting for her to help Dennehy. But she didn’t move. The man thought about counting the seconds so he could time her, because she stood like that for a long, long time.