“You’re probably right.”
“You’ll get used to that.”
I snorted—but not too vigorously; I didn’t want her to take the plate away. “If it wasn’t fear of disclosure or blackmail, why else would either of them kill her after so much time had passed? If the affair ended when she quit going to church—”
“You’re assuming that,” Beth said.
“Yeah, but it’s likely. I’ll try to nail it down at the next meeting.”
“I don’t have to tell you about human nature, but Trinnie must have opened a lot of wounds when she made those Fourth Step calls. Even if Mary is trying to put the best face on it, she still seems pretty raw over the whole deal. And why wouldn’t she be? Not only does she have to put up with everyone knowing, but she has to focus on it twice a week. It’s like the female version of Prometheus chained to the rock, waiting for the vultures to swoop in and eat her liver.”
“I can’t imagine agreeing to co-lead a group like that,” I said. “And then, on top of that, the other woman calls to say she’s sorry.”
“And she’s drunk when she does it.” Beth sighed, and reached for another cookie.
“It’s too soon to cross anybody off.” My pants felt tight. I pushed the plate to the side. “For all we know, he could have been trying to get Trinnie back. Can you rule him out by sight?”
“You mean did I recognize him?” Beth reflected for a few minutes. “No. I can’t say I did, but I can’t rule him out, either. In general, he fits the build: medium height, lean. He’s young and fit enough to have slithered out the window the way the attacker did. At least I can rule out that Ralph-guy. He sounds like a complete ass, but if he’s as big as you say, he’d never have made it out the window.”
“That’s nice. One down.”
“Speaking of nice, that’s some rock you’re flashing there. Something you’re not telling me?”
I’d known I’d get grief over wearing Eli’s ring, but I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t just leave it on my nightstand. I explained why I was wearing it. Beth was interested in its history, too.
“It’s just lovely,” she said. She pulled my arm across the table, twisting it up to examine it in the sunlight. “Do you have any idea how much this little bauble is worth?”
“No, and I don’t want to know.” I snatched my hand back. “I’m nervous enough as it is. If I had somewhere safe, I would have hidden it away.”
Beth grinned. “You know, for a therapist, you don’t know yourself very well, do you?”
“Oh, shut up. I know myself just fine. This ring is only a prop.”
“Then, if you had a secure place, you’d leave it there?”
Damn. A trap. As rich as Beth was, she would certainly have a vault tucked away somewhere. And she was right. I didn’t want this beautiful piece of jewelry stuffed into some dark hole, but I’d take a lemming-dive off a cliff before admitting it. Problem was, I had clients later and a full day scheduled tomorrow, and I didn’t want them jumping to conclusions. Straining to act nonchalant, I pulled the rings off and slid them carefully across the table. Beth scooped them up, and disappeared into the bowels of her house. Given the size of this little shack, her rooms probably had names like the East Room or the Upper Library. At least I didn’t have to worry about it getting lost or stolen… which reminded me.
“Hey?” I said as she crossed the kitchen tundra. “Anything new about your security system? Jimmy looked pretty worried the other day.”
A frown dimmed her smile. “We are. For a while, it looked like someone was trying to gain access, but then it stopped. Jimmy’s been conferring with the security company, and we’re looking in to updating the system.”
We sat quietly, mulling over the possibilities. It didn’t feel like a coincidence. I shuddered at a stray memory. Pulling myself together, I asked, “Could the killer somehow know I picked up Trinnie’s Big Book?”
“I don’t know how,” Beth replied. “We didn’t even know you had it until the next day. How could he?”
“How did whoever it is find us to begin with? He saw me, sure, but it’s not like he had time to check my ID. I wasn’t wearing a name tag, for Pete’s sake.”
“No, but my car was. I have personalized plates, remember? EZDUZIT? I don’t know how people track those down these days, but I’m sure it’s possible. And if he found me, it wouldn’t be hard to find you. We met up the very next morning and we’ve been running around town together ever since.”
My stomach rolled in a smooth, languid motion completely at odds with my suddenly racing heart. “That means he could be following us.”
“Shit, yes. It also means our masquerading all around town may be a big joke to him. He could very well know who we are, Letty.”
“That’s if he’s tracked us down,” I pointed out. “We don’t know that for sure. Maybe your attempted breakins are just some local crack-head coming after your flat screen.”
“Maybe. But we can’t afford to be wrong.”
“As usual,” I said.
“What?”
“You’re right… as usual.”
A grin spread over Beth’s face. “Geez, that feels good. Say it again.”
“You’re such an alcoholic. Once is never enough. What’s our next step?”
“I’ve got an appointment this afternoon with the good reverend so he can counsel me in my grief.”
“I’ll give Judge Fochs a call, too, and see if we can set something up.”
I had time before my first client, so I took a chance and stopped off at Chad’s place to see if Paul was available. As I walked up to the farmhouse, I could hear a tractor working in some distant field. Chad, probably.
I knocked a couple times with no result and was halfway back to my car when the door opened. Paul stood in the doorway, squinting into the bright day.
“Oh, you are home,” I said. “I wasn’t sure.”
Paul blinked some more. He didn’t look good—wan and shaky. His eyes had a lost quality, and black circles bagged under them. He’d lost weight, too. Something he could sorely afford.
I tried again. “I’m glad I caught you.”
A wan smile flitted across his face. “Me, too.”
We sat side-by-side on the porch steps, the sun beating on our backs. I looked out across the farm yard, letting my eyes settle on the placid landscape. Paul seemed to fragile to hold up under eye contact.
“I messed up,” he said in a voice leached of emotion.
For just a second, I thought he meant… But I knew better. “We all mess up, Paul. I’ve relapsed, too. The point is to get back to the program. And you’re doing that. Are you and Chad still working on the Steps together?”
“Yeah. We’re doing the First Step again. Powerless over alcohol. And my life sure is unmanageable.”
“That’s good, Paul. It really is. You can’t… Don’t beat yourself up so much.”
“I know.”
More silence, then I asked if he’d heard from the cops lately.
“Every day,” he said. “They keep coming up with questions. They have to send them to my lawyer now, and then she calls me. I don’t know how I’m ever going to afford this. If I can even get a job. Do you know of any social service agency that’s going to hire me now? Or if I’ll even get my license.”
Paul had been working hard to become a social worker. And he’d earned it. After all, his internship almost killed him. And me, too.
“We’ll think of something, Paul. Just remember: you’re not in this alone.”
My reassurance probably sounded hollow. I hadn’t told him what I’d been doing for fear he’d want to side-kick around the bars with me. Looking at him now, I knew he wouldn’t have had the energy, but I didn’t want to risk it, so I stayed mum. I had questions for him, though. Questions I knew he wouldn’t want to answer.
“Paul, what happened with Trinnie?”
He flinched as if I’d flayed the skin off of his back. Or his heart.
“I don’t mean did you kill her,” I said. “I mean, I guess I didn’t realize you and she were friends. I was surprised. You never talked about her.”
He sighed. “I wouldn’t say we were friends. She just… You know, she went back out drinking and doing stupid stuff. I just helped her out a little. When she needed it.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes, she’d call for rides. Food. She wasn’t eating right; that’s for sure. Sometimes she’d borrow a little to get her through the week, she said.”
“Did she really steal your credit card?”
His lips thinned, and he shook his head, not in denial but in disgust. “Yeah. Ran it up to over eleven grand. She made lots of cash withdrawals on it, too, so I don’t have any idea what she spent that on.”
“I’m sure the police are looking into that,” I said.
He huffed a laugh. “Oh, yeah. That’s for damn sure.”
I’d never heard Paul swear before.
Before I could say anything, he turned to me. “We weren’t friends. Friends don’t do that to each other. I… I hate her.” His haunted eyes had a burning intensity. He almost looked feverish.
“Oh, Paul.” I reached over and put my hand over his. His bones felt like twigs that could snap off at the slightest pressure. I know you’re mad at her now, but remember she was drinking. We’ve all done things we regret when we’re using. I just wish she’d had a chance to clear some of that up.”
” I know.” The heat in his eyes cooled. “I wanted her to have that chance, too. That’s why I was kind of hanging around her. I figured if she decided to come back to AA, someone would need to be there to help her.”
My turn to sigh. “Paul, you’ve got to learn to let go. You can’t rescue everyone.”
“How is it any different than you bringing me here?”
Stupid logic. “It just is.”
Chad rounded the corner of the house, making us both jump like teenagers caught in the back seat. He smiled, but I could read concern in his eyes.
“Well, look who’s here,” he said, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. He glanced at Paul, or rather at the back of his head, since Paul was studying the ground like he was channeling his thesis statement from the ant hill next to his foot. “Hey, Paul, did you see the leftover fried chicken I left you?”
Paul looked up guiltily. “Um, I wasn’t really hungry.”
Paul earned himself a we’ve-talked-about-this look from his sponsor, which caused him to bid me farewell as he scurried inside, presumably to eat.
Chad came over and leaned against the porch railing, one foot hitched on the step. I stood, too, and started making goodbye noises.
“Letty, wait,” Chad said.
I paused, but Chad didn’t continue. Instead, worry creasing his face, he stared at the house as if his x-ray vision could see inside to the kitchen.
“He’s lost weight,” I said.
Chad turned back to me. “Letty, I don’t know how to say this in a way that won’t hurt your feelings, so I’m just gonna say it: You need to leave Paul alone for now.”
I felt a blush burning splotches across my face. “I just came to see how he’s doing. I was worried about him.”
Chad patted the air in a calm-down gesture. “I know that. And I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt the guy. In fact, I got an idea of what you’re really up to, which even though you didn’t ask for my opinion, I think is crazy. But pretty cool, too.
“But Letty,” he continued, “Paul’s gotta have some space to think things out. He’s working on a whole lot of different issues all at the same time. And, well, you just complicate things for him right now. I can’t have him concentrating on anything, except staying sober and staying alive.”
Staying alive? I thought about Blodgett telling me Paul was on suicide watch. My heart wrenched for my friend.
“Okay,” I said. “I understand.”
And I did. But it didn’t stop me from crying all the way to work.
THIRTY TWO
The next few hours at the clinic passed by in a haze of self-doubt. Not a helpful quality to bring to therapy—particularly when you are the therapist.
Later, when I escorted a client back up to the reception area so he could make his next appointment, Lisa waggled her eyebrows at me while nodding toward the small waiting area opposite the sliding glass window adjacent her desk.
“Someone waiting for you,” she said.
“I didn’t think I had anyone scheduled at 5:00.” I said looking into the lobby. Empty. “There’s no one there.”
“He’s not a client. He said he needed to speak with you, and he’s been waiting about forty minutes. He’s probably outside smoking. He smelled like an ashtray.”
I went through the waiting room and peeked out the glass exit doors. Det. Belch stood with his back against the brick wall, smoking as Lisa predicted. His peripheral vision must have caught movement because he flicked his butt to the sidewalk, ignoring the outdoor ashtray next to him. I debated saying anything but decided to refrain. We didn’t speak until we reached my office.
When he paused in the doorway, scanning, I shifted around him, claiming my leather desk chair and leaving him the faux-shabby chic loveseat or the conference chair to choose from. Not very hospitable on my part, but I didn’t want him dominating the environment as I suspected he was trained to do. I also had several client files and additional paperwork scattered across my desk, all confidential and all within eyesight of the desk chair. He smirked slightly, settling himself on the loveseat.
I took a deep breath, trying to reoxygenate my sluggish brain. “What can I do for you, Detective?”
“Just some follow-up questions. I was wondering what you’ve remembered.”
It wasn’t a question. I knew he was less than impressed with my assistance so far, but I’d already told him about Trinnie’s past and about her calling me when she decided to get sober. Admitting my own alcoholism wouldn’t advance his case and it would put my career in jeopardy. That wasn’t happening.
The only other thing I hadn’t shared was my possession, inadvertently, of Trinnie’s Big Book and, of course, the Fourth Step where she’d practically accused Paul of stalking her. I didn’t have to stretch my imagination too far to know how Belch would react to that.
“I’ve told you everything I could.”
He was too good an investigator to miss the qualifier in my statement, which I immediately regretted. He fake-smiled, narrowing his eyes.
“I see.” He sat for a while, pondering. After a few minutes, he apparently came to a decision. “How about we do this?” he said. “You and me, we both are what you might call professional people-watchers. And listeners. So, let’s put our bags of tricks away and cut the bullshit.”
Interesting proposition. I decided to try again. I didn’t like keeping things from the police—especially when, whether Belch knew it or not, we shared the same goal. And maybe I’d been too hasty. After all, I knew how Del felt about him, but not vice versa.
“Do you know Detective Blodgett?” I watched Belch’s expression closely.
Fail. Just the slightest contempt-curl of his lip and a barely discernible side-flick of his eyes—he was a cop, after all—but it was enough to tell me his feelings about my old friend. He paused too long before answering, too.
“Sure, I know Del. Good guy. And I’m sure he’d tell you not to keep holding back. Besides, you’re not the kind of person who likes to break rules, are you?” He spread his arms wide indicating my office. “After all, you’re in the helping field; you must like helping.”
“Now who’s playing games, Detective?”
“Habit,” he shrugged. “So, what can you tell me?”
“I’ll tell you this—if you think Paul LaFontaigne could hurt anybody, then you’re dead wrong. It’s not in him. He’s a good man, and he’d never, ever lift a hand to hurt a woman.” My heart thudded with the rise of emotions.
&nbs
p; Belch nodded—almost as if he cared. “That’s a nice, little testimonial, but I’m sure I don’t have to tell you sometimes people snap. Besides, I don’t see you giving me anything else to work with.”
“How about taking seriously Trinnie’s resolve to get sober and clean up her act? I watched all of your reactions when you learned about her lifestyle, but she called me that night, because she wanted to get sober. And she told me she’d been contacting other people all week. Maybe one of them didn’t want her sober.”
“I asked for information, not to be told how to do my job. We know about the phone calls, including the one to her little boyfriend, Paul. We’re checking into the rest, but she made a lot over the last week.”
“Did she call her step-brother?”
“Bruce St. James? Yeah, he was one. Why?”
“He’s a creep.”
Belch laughed, the first natural response I’d seen out of him. “Yeah, he’s a weasel. Unfortunately, he’s got an alibi.”
“An alibi?” My stomach curdled. If I’d had some way of knowing that before, I could have skipped the whole ugly scene of our “date.” Maybe I’d let Eli beat him up after all. “And you’re sure it checks out?”
“What else, Ms. Whittaker?”
He’d ignored my question. I needed to get a hold of Blodgett again. In the meantime, Belch was staring at me. I debated bringing up Judge Fochs. I’d called him earlier, and he’d suggested drinks rather than lunch. We were meeting at Red Hots later. It would be nice to get a cop’s perspective, but by implicating a judge I could be letting myself in for all sorts of problems.
“Um, you might want to check with Beth. She’s been able to come up with a general sort-of description. Height and so forth. Not much else, but you should talk to her.”
“She’s already on my list.”
I didn’t think I reacted when he said “list,” but his eyes narrowed in on me again. Rising, I walked to the door leaving him no choice but to follow suit—unless he was prepared to arrest me. I held my breath, but he let me escort him to the front. He hung around as if he wanted to ask Lisa some questions, but I fled back to my office. She could handle him.
Whittaker 03 The Secrets We Keep Page 16