TEN
Beth was not amused.
She stood in her stylish, going-to-a-wedding finery. I hoped it was glitter she had flecking her hair. If not, then she was truly sending off sparks. A memory flashed of the time my mother had caught me trying to stuff my high school sweetheart into the back of my bedroom closet. I doubted this situation would turn out any better than that one had.
Hands fisted on her hips, Beth’s foot tapped like a gavel.
“Hi!” I chirped, utilizing another handy AA motto: fake it till you make it. “Beth, I’d like you to meet Reggie. Reggie, my friend Beth. Reggie’s been telling me some very interesting things, Beth. Some very helpful things.”
I turned to Reggie, hoping in some vague way that her presence would temper Beth’s wrath. Reggie, however, eased off her stool, announcing the need for bathroom facilities.
Stranded, I was just opening my mouth to explain—or maybe to lie, I hadn’t thoroughly worked the plan out yet—when Beth let loose.
“What… the hell… do you think… you are doing?” She was deadly serious, and I suddenly lost all desire to spar with her. Especially when I knew she was right. I wasn’t used to pissing people off, not anymore; I’d never been a rebel—with or without a cause. I liked rules and courtesy and good character and decency. That’s why I avoided my own family so strenuously.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I really am.”
She took a cleansing breath.“You better be. If you expect us to continue… ” Another deep breath. “If you expect us to stay partners, you better help me understand what the bloody hell you are doing here by yourself. In a bar. Alone. Because we had an agreement. An agreement based on mutual decisions about what would be best for both of us. Rule number one: We do not go into the bars alone. What were you thinking?”
And she went on. “I’ve been calling you all afternoon. So, finally I tell myself, she’s gone shopping or something, right? But, no, I can’t let it go. I got a nasty feeling in my belly. In fact, I can’t even concentrate on the wedding vows. I start wondering about my stubborn, little friend, who I knew really wanted to come here today and I start to get this sinking feeling ‘cause I know how drunks are always trying to figure out how to get what we want. So, I think, ‘all right, she’s not at home?’ I’ll call Bruisers, and just make sure she’s not there because, of course, she’s not supposed to be there. So, I call and I get some Sam Elliot-Deep Throat guy who goes, ‘Letty? Snake’s friend? Yeah, she’s here. You want to talk to her?’ And I go, ‘No, that’s all right. I just want to surprise her a little.’ So! Are you surprised? Huh? ‘Cause I sure am. Now… What have you got to say for yourself?”
I felt awful. Manny peeked out from behind storeroom door.
“Beth,” I said, “I know you want an answer. You deserve one.” I faltered, searching for the right words for an action that was incomprehensible even to me. “I’m not trying to be flippant, but it really did seem like a good idea at the time. We needed to find Reggie. I can’t… I can’t just leave Paul in jail.”
“You realize, don’t you, that we have no idea what we’re doing?” Beth said. “Paul is going to need real professionals real soon. But if we have any chance at all, we have to be able to trust each other. Don’t you see that?”
“I know. You’re right. I really don’t know what came over me. One minute I’m cleaning my house and taking a bath, the next I’m hopping in the car and driving across town.”
For some long moments, Beth stood in front of me, searching my face, my eyes. Then, she leaned over, and sniffed.
“Are you wearing perfume?” she asked. Without waiting for an answer, her brow cleared, and her face brightened. “Oh, for goodness sake. You came here to meet up with your stud.”
“I did not.” My face flared. It only added to my embarrassment to realize that both Reggie and Manny had slithered back within earshot.
“And he’s not my… he had nothing to do with… I came here to talk to Reggie about Trinnie.”
“I see,” she replied in a creamy tone. “Let me see your pits. I bet you shaved, didn’t you?”
“What? Just… Get the hell away from me, you witch!” I snatched my arm away as she tried to lift it.
“You know,” Reggie entered the fray, “they used to burn witches for being psychic. Interesting, huh?”
This was one of those times when, afterward, I would spend hours obsessing the many scathing remarks I wished I’d made. None of these bon mots made even a single blip on my mental radar when I needed them most.
It wasn’t anything clever from me that diverted their attention, but the low rumble of a mean-sounding car as it turned into the bar lot. Blessedly, everyone’s head turned to the sound like it was an audible magnet.
The remission was woefully brief, however, because Manny announced, “Hey, cool. Here comes Snake now. Speak of the devil, huh?”
“Nobody was speaking of him,” I said in my firm therapist’s voice.
“Well, I was,” chirped the witch.
“Yeah, me too,” Reggie added. “I sure thought we were talking about Snake. Hey, I thought he had class on Saturdays. Did that change?”
Class?
“No,” Manny said to Reggie. “He’s got a couple more weeks before the semester ends.” Then, seeing our confusion, he answered the unspoken question. “Law school. In the summer, they do these accelerated classes, like, all day on Saturdays for so many weeks.”
“So, he’s not a bartender?” I asked weakly.
“Keeerash! You know what that sound is, doll?” Beth asked. “That’s the sound of your excuses falling to the ground.”
More material for my solitary playback sessions.
And then Eli walked in.
ELEVEN
He entered from the back. Quick scan: faded jeans, soft and supple; a sleeveless, black T-shirt, biker boots. Moving through the bar, he passed in and out of shadows creating a strobe effect, the serpent tattoos coming alive, flashing as he eased through the dusk toward the front of the bar.
Taking the seat next to me, he swiveled to face out, elbows hitched back on the edge. Beth hopped up on the stool to my right between Reggie and me. She leaned around to speak to Eli. “Hey, sexy. How are you doing today?”
I hated that she could get away with that casual, familiar greeting. He seemed to like it if the wink he tossed her was any indication. Then, he tilted his head, trying to catch my eyes, and whispered hello. Damn. Softness, especially when delivered in that thick, sleepy, breakfast-in-bed tone, is killer-sexy. Instant bedroom flashes. Not good for concentration.
Thankfully, Manny bumbled up, relieving the tension. Of course, I was the only one tense. Beth and Reggie had plunged deeply into conversation, although a schoolgirl gleefulness lurked beneath their veneer of casualness.
If I were going to prove—if only to myself—I wasn’t a complete social misfit, I had to at least talk to the guy. Besides, he might know something.
We talked for hours.
Somewhere in the middle, Beth came up to say good-bye in order to head back to her niece’s wedding. She mouthed “you be careful,” and tossed a warning-filled eyebrow tilt. Eli caught it and grinned.
Mostly the conversation wandered from topic to topic. I kept having to remind myself that I didn’t know this man, that we were looking for answers about Trinnie. That—even if he wasn’t the killer—he could be dangerous.
“Freebird” played on the jukebox and the pungent, spicy aroma of pepperoni teased my nose. My stomach growled. We ordered a pizza.
Early on, Eli brought up Trinnie, asking again what we were hoping for, but I wasn’t ready to go there yet. Instead, we talked about family: his two brothers and sister—Ezekial, Emmanuel, Elaine; my sister, Kris, who had used my sobriety as a cleaver to cut me out of her life; Neil, my little brother, who’d placed a continent between himself and his family as soon as he could afford plane tickets.
We talked about growing up. He explained to me the si
gnificance superheroes have in the development of a growing boy and of his vast disappointment in today’s current line-up of Saturday morning cartoons. I shared my early experiences with escapism through books: Pippi Longstocking, Nancy Drew, Lord of the Rings, and how the desire to hide descended into deeper, more troubling flights from reality.
We talked about his studies, his late-in-life decision to go to law school. He told me how hard it was for him to learn how to study, to take tests, how he’d never pictured himself as a student. He segued, as if in response to his ambivalence in that role, to an animated discourse on the restoration of his vintage ‘69 Camero.
He described working on the car with his dad, the only time the two seemed able to communicate, and how he didn’t learn until after his father’s death when Eli was twenty-four that love wasn’t about dependence or weakness.
I confessed the devastating bewilderment I’d felt when forced to recognize my alcoholism. From childhood on, I’d operated on the “that will never be me” mentality that came from watching my father’s struggle—and surrender—to booze.
Eli shared a story about his best friend, who had died years ago in a drunk driving accident after their high school prom. They’d had a huge fight when Luke insisted on getting behind the wheel, and Eli had stormed off in anger. Ever since, he’d wished he knocked his buddy down, knocked him out, wrestled the keys away.
He asked me about Beth, so I told him how she’d been on the board at the domestic abuse shelter where I’d recently helped out. And which had recently been shut down for a murder investigation. He’d read about it in the newspapers.
Finally, I told him about discovering Trinnie, about walking into the bloody gore of her bedroom. He listened. I told him how it hurt to know I’d never see her again, how I’d missed a chance to make a difference, that it had been stolen from us.
I even told him about the attack, and how fear throbbed below the surface of everything I did since then. How I was afraid of surrendering to that fear, letting it take over my life, and how I felt like I was fighting for my life the same way Trinnie must have fought for hers.
Hours passed. I blamed it on his eyes.
Dark had fallen before we came up for air. Manny had long since turned the lights up, and more than a dozen patrons sat scattered along the bar and the side tables.
“How long have we been sitting here?” I asked.
Eli blinked, and turned to the bar clock. It read 9:20, which meant, if we figured in “bar time,” it was closer to 9:00 pm.
“Listen,” I said. “I really have to go home. I never expected to stay this long. I feel like I’ve been in a time capsule or something.”
“I’ve got to head home, too. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do, since I skipped the last part of class to get here by 3:00.”
“You ditched class for me?” I grinned. “If I were your teacher, I would definitely not approve.”
“If you were my teacher, I wouldn’t ditch. Maybe you could keep me after class or something. Teach me a lesson.” His eyes were hooded, glints of gold twinkling from the dark.
“Oh, you wish.” I thought I’d been in remission from adolescence, but it unexpectedly flared up again.
He grinned at my red face. “I do wish. Very much. When can I see you again?”
I hesitated. Everything had gotten complicated… and so quickly.
“I just,” I faltered. “I just think that right now I need to focus on this thing with Trinnie. We’re probably crazy to think we can help when even the police might not be able to.”
“Maybe that’s beside the point,” he said. “I wouldn’t waste time comparing yourself to the cops. Maybe they’ll find the killer, maybe they won’t. Odds are, if anyone does, it will be them. They’ve got the resources and training and support and everything. But is that the point? It didn’t sound like you were describing a race with the cops when you were telling me about finding Trinnie. And, maybe I’m wrong, but it didn’t sound like the only answers you were looking for is who the killer is. You’re looking for more than that, aren’t you?”
He was right. This wasn’t just about the murder. As much as I cared about Paul, it wasn’t only about him either. Something else drove me, something connected to me and my reactions to Trinnie long before she died. I didn’t know what that something was, but I had to keep searching.
“Well, on that chipper note, I need to leave.” I gathered my purse, easing myself off the stool. After so many hours, my butt was numb, but I refrained from rubbing it. I can be a lady.
Eli stood, too, and I realized he meant to walk me out. I waved good-bye to Manny, but that wasn’t good enough and he bounced over for a hug. Eli smacked him on the back of the head, apparently a sign of much brotherly love. Manny reciprocated by calling Eli a name that would normally lead to physical assault if offered outside the boundaries of a tight relationship.
Men are so weird.
In the midst of the male bonding, I spied Reggie, and eased over to say good-bye before leaving. She was still ensconced on her stool. She had, however, developed the tripod stance that the truly sloshed use for balance at the end of a long drinking session: legs spread creating a tripod with the stool she sat upon. Her head bobbled to and fro between the apex, gently restoring balance when she overcorrected to one side or the other. She was hard-core, all right. She’d been drinking steadily for more than six hours with nothing to eat. Puking would commence shortly.
That being the case, I kept outside the estimated hurling distance. While I hesitated, trying to decide if I should offer her a ride, Eli took the situation in and signaled Manny. With relief, I heard Manny offer to call a taxi.
I allowed Eli to lead me away. Just as we reached the front door, it swung open to admit the twiggy babes from the night before. Their big smiles upon seeing Eli dissolved when they realized he was heading out… with me. If they kept scowling like that, they were going to need injections of Botox between their eyes before very long. The thought made me grin as we crossed the threshold into the dark night.
TWELVE
Eli caught sight of my smile.
“Be careful, girl,” he lightly chided. “Someone might think you’re the possessive type.”
“Oh, hush. I intend to savor the moment.”
“I got a better idea. Let’s really make ‘em crazy. We could go back inside and make out in the corner. How about it?” He slid his arm around my waist, pulling me in close. The night air had cooled, but the length of his body against mine felt like a flash fire. Shivering, I pulled away, but took his hand in mine—whether to maintain contact or keep track of his roving hands, I wasn’t sure.
He noticed the shiver, but misinterpreted it. “Cold? Hold on, I got something you can wear.” He led me over to a low-slung vehicle parked under the one of the overhead lights. The car’s interior light winked on briefly, displaying glints of chrome and black leather. Eli grabbed a coat in the same material, slipping it up my arms. A little big, the garment wrapped around me like a lover. He gently gathered my hair, freeing it from underneath the collar, his fingers grazing the back of my neck. More shivers. And this time I couldn’t blame them on the weather.
I slid away before the contact intensified, moving erratically toward the safe haven of my little, blue Focus. My fingers scrambled in the bottom of my purse, searching for keys. I finally set my bag on the hood, hauling out my wallet, phone, iPod, checkbook, miscellaneous papers, pens, several sticks of petrified Juicy Fruit, and some sticky coins. Several pens and a stray penny turned mutinous, clattering from the hood to the pavement, which I tried to cover by kicking them under the car. Eli stood, hands tucked under his arms, waiting patiently for me to pull myself together.
Eventually I managed to drag the resistant slivers of metal from the black hole of my purse, and began jittering them in the general vicinity of the lock. Eli reached across, taking them from me before I scratched a series of hieroglyphics across the panel, and thumbed the unlock button on t
he key fob. Forgot about that. Snatching the keys back, I opened the door and slid behind it, creating a physical barrier between us. My reprieve was short lived, however.
He simply eased around the obstacle, fixing me in place unless I chose to dive head first into the confines of the car. Having just made a graceless spectacle out of myself, I nixed that plan. Besides, despite clamoring girl-parts, I still wasn’t sure if I was ready for this. My girl-parts have deceived me before. I geared myself up into boundary-setting mode.
Instead of kissing me, however, he leaned a hip against the door jam and slid his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. His grin widened at my look of confusion—and disappointment. Then, without removing his hands from their self-imposed exile, he swooped in to whisper in my ear. “See you later, sugar.”
I stood, gaping, as he walked away. It was a great view. Coming back to earth, I looked around to make sure no one saw me standing there, mouth agape. Luckily, the lot lights had drawn the moths away, because my big, open mouth made a perfect bug catcher. Climbing into my car, I started the engine, and sat enfolded in the intoxicatingly male scent of leather and after-shave, trying to convince myself I was relieved.
Halfway home, my cell phone rang startling me out of the rosy haze I was drifting along in: Blodgett. Since I was already distracted, I pulled into an all-night gas station and snugged my car up under an exterior light for safety. I managed to answer before it clicked over to voice mail and was relieved to hear Blodgett’s hound dog-voice. A former detective, he had the tendency to talk so slowly that a person wanted to jump in and fill in the answers just to hasten the end of the sentence. Came in handy when he was interviewing suspects. As I’d learned firsthand.
“What have you gotten into now?” was the greeting he gave me.
“It’s not me,” I said. I didn’t bother with huffiness, because he knew my history better than anyone. “It’s Paul.”
Whittaker 03 The Secrets We Keep Page 6