Past Due

by Jenna Bennett

“Who the hell—?” Rafe said.

  It took just a second for me to dredge the name up from the recesses of my mind. “Millie Ruth Durbin. She used to teach science at Columbia High. Before my time, but she taught Dix and Catherine. I met her after Yvonne was stabbed. You’d gone off with the sheriff.”

  He nodded, and raised his voice. “Miz Durbin.”

  “Rafael Collier.” She beamed up at him, a large woman with a friendly face and a low, pleasant voice. “And the youngest Martin girl.”

  “Savannah,” I said.

  She nodded, looking from him to me and back. “Nothing’s wrong, I hope?”

  The last time she and I had spoken, Yvonne had been on her way to the hospital and Rafe to the sheriff’s office. I guess I couldn’t blame her for asking. “Not here. Ethan Underwood is dead. So is Matt Perkins. And Danny Emerson’s in the hospital.”

  Millie Ruth tilted her head to the side, like a plump, overgrown bird. “I heard about Ethan. Not the others.”

  I ran through the events of the day again, briskly—I was starting to get the story down to just a couple of sentences, having been over it so many times—while Rafe stood by and let me talk. “I don’t suppose you know of anything that happened back then, that might have some bearing on this?”

  Millie Ruth shook her head. “After my time, dear. Your class hadn’t started yet when I retired.”

  Of course.

  “I barely managed to make the acquaintance of this handsome boy here.” She grinned at Rafe, who grinned back. “I taught your mother, though.”

  “Did you?”

  “That was when I first started teaching. I’m sorry she’s gone.” She patted his arm.

  “Me, too.”

  Me, three. I’d never gotten to meet Rafe’s mother other than in passing, the way you do when you live in the same town. But LaDonna definitely hadn’t been ‘our kind,’ so it wasn’t like I’d had much occasion to spend time with her. Mother had hired her to help out at the mansion sometimes, when Rafe and I were both in nappies, but of course I’d been too young to take advantage of the situation then. Now that I was in love with him, I wished I’d had the opportunity to meet her, to hug her and thank her. In spite of the many strikes against her, she had managed to turn her son into something pretty damned special.

  I didn’t know he missed her, although I should have guessed he might. I’d miss my mother, pain in the posterior though she was.

  “Do you ever talk to the other teachers at Columbia High?” I asked Millie Ruth, who told me that from time to time she did, indeed, grab breakfast or dinner with one of her old colleagues. “Has any of them said anything about Ethan Underwood and the student he supposedly slept with?”

  Millie Ruth blew out a breath. “Heard about that, did you?”

  “Yvonne overheard Ethan brag to Matt Perkins. She let it slip when she found out that Ethan was dead.”

  “Nasty business,” Millie Ruth said. “And not a thing anyone can do about it. The girl’s over eighteen. She’s graduating this month.”

  “That doesn’t make it OK. She’s still a student and he’s a teacher.” Or he had been a teacher. When he was still alive.

  “Oh,” Millie Ruth said, “they tried to make something out of that, believe me. But the girl’s of age. She can sleep with anyone she wants.”

  Yes, she could. It was still an unequal relationship, though. “Did it have anything to do with her grades? Did he put pressure on her to sleep with him? Promise her he’d give her a recommendation for college or something?”

  Millie Ruth shook her head. “She fancied herself in love with him. It didn’t happen during school hours, or on school property. Apparently she just knocked on his door one night and when he let her in, she seduced him.”

  “And called the cops?” Rafe asked.

  Millie Ruth shook her head. “She told someone. One of her friends. The friend told someone else, who told someone else, and eventually it got back to Principal Halloway. But since they were two consenting adults having sex in their spare time, and nothing had happened on school property, there wasn’t much anyone could do. Ethan got a slap on the wrist.”

  And then he got dead. “Do you think this has something to do with why someone killed him?”

  “I don’t see what. The girl wouldn’t kill him. She thinks she’s in love with him. I’m sure her parents are upset, but I don’t think they’d kill anyone, either. And if Matt Perkins is dead...”

  Right. But— “Where there’s one girl, there could be another.”

  “Possibly,” Millie Ruth said. “I remember his name coming up once before, too. Years ago now. Some kind of party gone awry. Back when you were all still in school.”

  “I don’t remember hearing about that.” I glanced at Rafe, who shook his head.

  “You may have graduated, dear.” Millie Ruth patted Rafe’s arm again. It was hard to blame her. He has very nice arms: hard muscle covered by smooth skin. I’m not above copping a feel myself from time to time. “And they were keeping it quiet. Very much a case of he said, she said.”

  “She, who?”

  But Millie Ruth shook her head. “That I can’t tell you, dear. It was after my time. I had it second, or maybe even third, hand. I don’t know any of the details. Just that someone felt she had been wronged, and that it had something to do with Ethan and his friends.”

  “Thanks.” I glanced at Rafe.

  “I should get back to the kitties,” Millie Ruth said with a glance at her own little tract house. “They’ll be getting hungry for dinner. I just saw you out here and wanted to say hello.” She gave Rafe a last pat on the arm. He made her day by leaning in and kissing her cheeks.

  “I’m glad you did, Miz Durbin. It was nice to see you.”

  “I always liked you,” Millie Ruth said and wandered off, the voluminous house dress swaying around her calves.

  Rafe grinned as he handed me into the car.

  “That was interesting,” I told him when he’d gotten behind the wheel and we were rolling down the street.

  He nodded. “Not much help, though. We don’t know who she was talking about.”

  “But at least we know that something bad happened, and that it was hushed up. Now we just have to figure out who was involved.”

  “How d’you figure we do that?” He slowed down for the stop sign on Main Street and signaled a right hand turn.

  “We do what we planned to do,” I said, leaning back in the seat, “and talk to Darlene.”

  The Wellington lobby looked just as it had last night. Elegant, with a fluffy patterned carpet in blue and green, and a giant chandelier suspended from the ceiling.

  We headed for the front desk. The young receptionist looked up, and her eyes widened at the sight of Rafe.

  He grinned and leaned an elbow on the counter. “Evening, sugar.”

  I stayed back and let him take the lead, since the young woman was clearly taken with him.

  “I’m looking for a friend,” he told her.

  She nodded, and swallowed audibly.

  “Can you ring Darlene West’s room for me and see if she’s in?”

  The girl nodded. “One moment.” Her voice cracked and she flushed a deeper shade of magenta.

  “Take your time.” He gave her another melting smile—not at all geared to making things better, as I could have told him. Her eyes were glassy when she turned her attention to the phone. Rafe turned to me and grinned.

  I shook my head. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

  He didn’t look the least bit ashamed, and he also didn’t pretend not to understand what I was talking about. “It gets the job done.”

  Or not. The girl hung up the phone, looking inordinately bad that she had to disappoint him. “I’m sorry, sir. There’s no answer in her room.”

  Rafe tried another smile. “I don’t guess you’ve got any idea where we might could find her?”

  The girl hesitated. “I didn’t see them leave. But you could try the
dining room.”

  My stomach chose that moment to complain, loudly, about the lack of sustenance for the past couple of hours. It was probably the mentioning of the dining room that did it. And I don’t see how Rafe could have heard me—it wasn’t that loud—but he glanced at me over his shoulder, his eyes lit with amusement. “I guess we might could do that.”

  “I think I’d be able to eat something,” I said demurely.

  “Good to know.” He put an arm around my shoulders while the receptionist looked on, enviously. “Thanks for the help, sugar.”

  “Come back anytime.”

  We had already turned away, and I wasn’t about to turn back, but I wanted to. “That girl hit on you!”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  “Yes, she did. If I hadn’t been standing right there, she would have given you her phone number.”

  “Yeah,” Rafe said, “but you did. So she didn’t. So she didn’t actually hit on me.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  He quirked a brow. “Would you rather I was fat and bald so nobody’d want me?”

  “I wouldn’t care if you were fat and bald.” He wasn’t all that far from bald right now, although it was by razor, not by nature. And he was nowhere near fat. “I’d love you anyway.”

  But no, I wouldn’t want that. While I hadn’t fallen in love with him because of the way he looked, it certainly didn’t hurt that I found him attractive.

  Then again, if I truly loved him, I’d probably find him attractive if he were fat and bald, too.

  “Even if some woman gives me her number, I ain’t gonna call her, darlin’.”

  “I know that,” I said.

  “Then it’s not a problem, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just addressed the hostess at the entrance to the dining room. “We’re looking for someone. If she ain’t here, we’ll get our own table.”

  She nodded. “Have a look around. If you don’t find your friend, come back and I’ll seat you.”

  “Thanks, sugar.” He smiled. She smiled back, politely, her eyes never once straying south of his chin.

  “Thank you,” I said sincerely as we filed past.

  “You’re welcome.” She’d already looked away, as opposed to the receptionist, who was still watching Rafe’s backside with glassy-eyed lust. As we passed into the dining room and out of sight, I just barely managed not to stick my tongue out at her.

  “There she is,” Rafe said. While I’d been looking at the elegant trappings—crystal chandeliers and gleaming silverware against white tablecloths—he’d been scanning the dining room for Darlene. That fact probably said a lot about the two of us, but at the moment I didn’t feel like examining the implications. I didn’t need another reminder of how different we were, or how Rafe would probably be better off with someone less concerned with appearances than me.

  She was sitting at a table in the middle of the room with Rhonda and Epiphany.

  They hadn’t noticed us yet, but as we made our way toward them, Epiphany looked up and saw us. She said something to Darlene, who looked up, too.

  For just a second, I thought I saw something flit across Darlene’s face—something dark—but then it was gone. It might have been my imagination. The smile she bestowed on us was certainly friendly enough, and so was her greeting. “Look who’s here! Are you looking for dinner?”

  I was about to tell her that we were actually looking for her when Rafe nodded. “Savannah’s eating for two these days. I gotta feed her regularly.”

  I blinked. So did they. “You’re pregnant?” Rhonda asked.

  I nodded, and wondered why he kept bringing that up. Was he making sure that everyone knew the couple of extra pounds around my middle were due to the baby and nothing else? Was he ashamed of the way I looked?

  “So that’s why you didn’t indulge at dinner yesterday.” Darlene grinned. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.”

  We hovered. I was about to ask whether we could join them when Epiphany said, “Would you like to sit with us?”

  Rafe grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.” He pulled out the chair between Rhonda and Epiphany. “Here, darlin’. Have a seat.”

  I sat. “What about you?”

  “I’ll grab a chair from somewhere else.” He looked around and spied an empty chair at another table. While he went to liberate it—hopefully while politely making sure it was OK—I turned to the others.

  “Thanks.”

  They all shrugged or made depreciating noises. “That’s exciting,” Darlene said.

  A little more exciting than I wanted it to be. It’d be nice not to have to worry so much.

  “Your first?” Rhonda asked.

  “Third pregnancy. I’ve had two miscarriages.”

  I have no idea why that fell out of my mouth. It certainly wasn’t what Mother would have considered proper conversation at the dinner table.

  “I’m sorry,” Epiphany said.

  In the silence, Rafe came back with a chair and wedged it into the space between me and Epiphany. She moved left, I moved right, to give him room.

  “We were just sitting here talking about Ethan,” Darlene said. “Do you know if they’ve arrested anyone?”

  “Not as far as I know.” In fact, I was pretty sure they hadn’t. Lupe Vasquez would have mentioned it, wouldn’t she, the last time I’d spoken to her? “They hadn’t as of this afternoon.”

  “What happened this afternoon?”

  I let Rafe tell them about Matt Perkins and Danny Emerson. Surprisingly, Danny’s fate seemed to shock them more.

  “Who’d want to hurt Danny?” Darlene exclaimed. “He’s such a nice guy. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “He may have done it himself.”

  She shook her head. “He has a wife and kids. He wouldn’t do that to them.”

  “Poor Jan,” Epiphany added. “Is she all right?”

  “As much as can be expected, I guess, with her husband in the hospital. Were you friends?”

  Epiphany shrugged. “We grew up together. Went to school together for thirteen years.”

  As I’d done with Charlotte and Darlene. While I’d only spent four years with Epiphany and Jan. And for that matter with Ethan, Matt, and Danny.

  And one with Rafe, who graduated three years before me, and who had attended Sweetwater’s other elementary school.

  “Did you know Danny?” he asked Darlene.

  She nodded. “Sure. I knew ‘em all. I was a jock, too.”

  “Danny wasn’t a jock, was he?”

  “He wasn’t a football player,” Darlene said. “That was Ethan and Matt. Danny did wrestling. But he hung out with them because he always had.”

  “You said Danny wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  She nodded.

  “Does that go for Ethan or Matt, too?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The only answer I got was silence, and in the midst of it, the waitress arrived to ask whether Rafe and I wanted to eat.

  I hesitated. Part of me still felt a bit as if I were imposing. But my belly grumbled again, and that settled the question.

  “Yes, please. Do you have Chicken Marsala?” My standby whenever I go to a nice restaurant.

  “Of course.”

  “Make it two, sugar,” Rafe said. “And sweet tea.”

  “You can have something stronger,” I told him. The first time he’d taken me out, he’d done the same thing—waited for me to order Chicken Marsala and then ordered the same—and I’d given him a hard time about drinking beer with the food. Chicken Marsala should be eaten with wine, in my book.

  When wine is an option, of course. In this case, I would have been happy to have him order the beer.

  “If you have to suffer, I’ll suffer, too.” He winked at me.

  “When are you due?” Rhonda asked, as the waitress withdrew toward the kitchen.

  “December.” For a second, the thought crossed my mind that Rafe had deliberately steered the conversation her
e, just as he’d done at Dix’s house, so I’d be forced to admit to being pregnant... but that was ridiculous. Wasn’t it?

  “Are you going to name her Noelle, if it’s a girl?” Darlene grinned.

  “We haven’t talked about names yet.” But no, probably not. I had a name in mind if the baby turned out to be a girl, and it wasn’t Noelle. “About Ethan and Matt...”

  Her face sobered.

  “You said Danny wouldn’t hurt a fly. But I’ve heard rumors that Ethan would.”

  There was a pause. Darlene chewed on her bottom lip. We all waited.

  “It’s OK,” Rhonda said, leaning over to put her hand over Darlene’s. “You can tell them.”

  Darlene looked amazingly vulnerable as she looked at her girlfriend, and I realized that looks can be deceiving. Darlene may be bigger and stronger and more butch than Rhonda, but Rhonda seemed to be the more dominant partner in their relationship.

  I felt like we all held our collective breaths. Eventually, Darlene turned to me. “Ethan raped me.”

  Epiphany winced. Rafe didn’t, so I guess he’d expected it.

  “I never knew that,” I told Darlene, who by now was clinging to Rhonda’s hand.

  “No one did.”

  “You didn’t report it?”

  “I didn’t even know it happened.”

  “How...” I blinked and thought better of what I’d been about to say. Probably best not to ask point blank whether she’d been too drunk to realize it. “Had you been drinking?” I suggested instead, a bit more diplomatically.

  Darlene shook her head, and then recanted. “Well, yes. I had. We all had. But that’s not why.”

  “Why, then?”

  She was still holding tightly to Rhonda’s hand, and without thinking, I reached for Rafe’s. His fingers were warm and hard around mine. He shot me a quick glance from out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t speak.

  “I wasn’t sure it had really happened,” Darlene said.

  I wrinkled my brows—frankly, that clarification didn’t clarify anything—and she shook her head. “It was at a party. There were parties at Ethan’s place, or Matt’s, or Willem Gunther’s, almost every weekend. We all had too much to drink all the time. But I wasn’t unconscious or anything. I know I slept with him. I just didn’t know...” She trailed off.