Hidden Vices

by C. J. Carpenter

  “It’s not Missus. How is Clyde?”

  “He lost a lot of blood, but he’s going to pull through. We’ll need to keep him here for a day, maybe two, but he will be okay.”

  “Thank God.” Megan was relieved beyond measure. “Can I see him? Would it be okay?”

  “Of course. The doctor is in with him now. He’ll go over everything with you. You can follow me.”

  “Go. I’ll wait here,” Callie said with a big smile on his face.

  Megan walked into the back area where they were holding Clyde. He had a big bandage around his neck and the other areas where the BBs were removed had been shaved and covered in smaller dressings. There was an IV bag inserted into one paw. The vet took a step back. “Hey, big guy. Your mom is here.”

  Clyde was groggy and, to Megan, looked basically stoned. “Hey, sweets. How’s my guy?” She petted him, sure to not go near where he’d been hurt. Without fail, Clyde’s tail thumped on the table. A sound that once annoyed her was now sheer bliss to hear. “You’re going to be okay. You’ll stay here for a day or two and then come back home.” Megan whispered in his ear, “I’ll get you your favorite slice of pizza when I pick you up.” Clyde proceeded to lick Megan’s hand. The word pizza apparently was the key ingredient in restoring Clyde’s medicinal well-being.

  The veterinarian spoke with Megan about some minor details and told her Clyde may even be strong enough to return home at the end of the following day. He asked that she call in the afternoon to check his progress.

  Megan returned to Callie and gave him the update as they walked out to the car. Callie felt the need to mention the obvious. “Um, that is going to be one big-ass bill, Trouble.”

  Megan nodded and said with no uncertainty, “Not as big of a bill the motherfucker who did this will be paying. He wants to fuck with me? Throw me in freezing boathouse water? Try to choke and drown me? Threaten me on a snowmobile? It was a wrong move to fuck with my dog.” She hopped into the truck, adding, “Wrong, stupid fucking move. Motherfucker.”

  If Megan was forced to put a dollar in a jar for every swear word she’d uttered since moving to Lake Hopatcong, the Salvation Army would be making out like bandits this holiday season.

  Thirty-Six

  I wasn’t about to be able to sleep after watching hours of news centering on the Judge and the discovery in the main house. I wondered if my mother knew and if that’s why he hated us so much, because she found his secret. She was a smart woman—not for marrying him but smart enough to hold something over him to keep her and I together. I know he had something to do with her death, and now I will never know how. All I do know is she’s gone and I’m alone. I thank God for Callie. I look out my window at the Macks’ house and I see the main light on, and I thank God for Megan too.

  Callie dropped Megan off. Both were exhausted from the evening at the veterinarian clinic, but Megan just couldn’t bring herself to sleep. It was either heat up more Chinese food or have a go on the treadmill in the lower level of the house. She was worried about Clyde and missed his presence. Megan would go swim laps at a nearby gym to de-stress from cases when she was in Manhattan. It cleared her mind and helped calm her. She donned the only set of gym clothes she had packed and remembered how cold the lower level got. She started with just a slow-paced walk, then revved the speed as high as she could go, given her lack of exercise in the last month, if not more. Quite soon Megan broke out into a full sweat, and it felt good. The panting coming from a good run was different from the kind of heavy breathing she’d shared with Callie lately. Most of all it felt good to be alone—with the exception of Clyde’s absence, of course. It was nearly an hour before she finished on the treadmill and was soaked through to the bone. Megan sat down for a moment to catch her breath before heading into the shower to wash off her form of meditation.

  The next morning Megan woke to find a few inches of snow had fallen during the night. Though it looked completely barren of life, there was a beauty to the trees with snow coating the branches. She stood drinking her coffee, and then decided to text Vivian to see if she’d like some company. She assumed she would, and if anyone could help her with the sign language DVD, it would be a deaf woman.

  Vivian was very welcoming of Megan’s text. Her last lake walk was such a success that she decided to put on the cleats again and walk over to Vivian’s via the frozen lake. Megan wasn’t in the mood to clean off Arnold and wait for the engine to warm.

  Before leaving she put a phone call out to the veterinarian’s office, and the report of Clyde having a good night and perking up relaxed her. They told her he’d probably be fine to be picked up at the end of day. Quite relieved, she threw the DVDs in a backpack and headed out.

  Megan was less apprehensive walking over the frozen lake this time. There was little if any breeze and the sun shone brightly. She wasn’t chilled to the bone as she had often been since arriving at Lake Hopatcong. There were more police at the front of the judge’s house than there had been when she and Callie took food over to Vivian’s gatehouse the previous afternoon. Detectives Krause and Michalski’s car was parked out front, but there was no sign of either. She wondered at the cause of their presence now, when everything in the house had surely been gone through and confiscated.

  Unless it hadn’t, she thought.

  Megan yanked the cleats from her boots when Vivian answered the door. She had been watching the police and saw Megan when she arrived. Megan pointed to her boots and finger spelled, Off?

  She shook her head no. As Megan walked in, Vivian looked over her shoulder, keeping an eye on the happenings at the big house. Vivian gestured for Megan to sit and then raised a glass of water, pointing back and forth between the glass and Megan. She spelled no and couldn’t help but notice Vivian’s odd stare at her. Megan took the DVDs from her backpack, placing them on the coffee table.

  Vivian picked one up and mouthed, “I know sign language.”

  Megan pointed to herself. “For me.”

  She raised her eyebrows and shrugged, then wrote on a note pad, “Okay, if you want to try.”

  Megan took the pad of paper and pencil. She knew her limited finger spelling would take an hour to ask her questions and wrote, “Do you know what is going on over at the judge’s house? Has anyone been over here? Bothering you?”

  Vivian walked over to the window looking nearly mesmerized. Megan wondered if she was questioning her actions the night her father was murdered. She tapped her on the shoulder, motioning her to start one of the DVDs. Anything for a distraction. They sat for the following two hours practicing different signs, numbers, and small sentences. Then suddenly, Vivian looked saddened, or perhaps frightened. Megan finger spelled, asking her what was wrong.

  Vivian took out her laptop and opened a word processor. What she had to tell her must be lengthy, and it would be faster this way until Megan was more proficient with sign language. Vivian typed two paragraphs explaining the day the man in the dark helmet got into her car. She handed Megan the laptop to read and could see Megan’s face fill with concern with each sentence she read. Megan typed, asking why she hadn’t told anyone and if Callie knew.

  Too afraid, no one knows but you and I, Vivian typed back.

  Megan had a million questions for Vivian but in the end had only one request: that if she saw the man again, to contact her right away. They were interrupted when Callie texted Vivian checking up on her. She had an odd expression and looked over at Megan, showing her the screen on her phone. Megan read the text: Checking in. I’m over at Megan’s. We’ll touch base later.

  Megan shot up off the couch and looked over at the Macks’ house. There was a blind side to the back of the house, so she was unsure if anyone was there. She called Callie immediately. He picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Trouble. I’m on the way over. How is Clyde doing?”

  “Oh, well, I’m at Vivian’s. I’m on my way back now. Clyde is much
better. I think I can pick him up later today, actually. I’ll see you in a bit.” She hung up without hearing or for the moment caring about his response. She longed for the privacy of her late-night hour on the treadmill. Megan signed thank you to Vivian for her tutoring skills and reminded her to lock up after she left, though Megan knew if the man in the dark helmet wanted to get in, he would.

  As I kept an eye on Megan crossing the lake to go home, the oddest thought came to me. I’m not sure why, but I asked myself: When does she put down her armor? She is so self-protective and suspicious that it comes through in her body language, yet she came over to be helped in learning sign language, something she’d most likely never have to use again. Why? My mother taught me the prayer to the Virgin Mary and I said it for Megan, to protect and guide her. As she neared the house and I felt she was now safely there, I realized we were more kindred spirits than new friends—both going through a different kind of hell that changes you, that changes how you see the world and the people around you.

  Thirty-Seven

  Megan was walking up the back steps to the house when Nappa rang her cell. “Hey, Nappa.”

  “You sound out of breath.”

  “I’m outside. Did you get any more information for me?” Megan and Nappa had a way of diving right into conversation, though it didn’t stop him from making fun of it.

  “I’m fine, thank you for asking. Had a small organ transplant this week, but I’m healing.”

  Megan shook her head. “Great. Oh, wait, don’t you want to fill me in on if you’re still constipated?”

  “Never constipated having you as my partner because you’re always taking the shit out of me.”

  They shared a short laugh over Nappa’s coarse sense of humor, which undoubtedly he picked up from her.

  “So, anything on Duane Baker’s juvie record?”

  “That’s why I’m calling. Yes, he was in juvie for beating up some councilman when he was young. His name was Collins. When I say beat up, I mean the guy went into a coma and had multiple broken bones, including his jaw. You name it and Duane Baker did it.”

  “Just to this guy?”

  “I wouldn’t say just. The guy never walked again, and he had minor brain damage from the assault.”

  “In the file was there a reason he gave? Duane?”

  “The only thing he said was, ‘he had it coming’.” Nappa paused. “Oh, and the marina owner guy, Norden? No rap sheet. He’s clean.”

  Megan stared over at the judge’s house. Nappa continued to speak, but there was little seeping in as Megan again mentally replayed the video of the boys being attacked. Sexually mauled. Little doubt, perhaps, that Duane had been a victim and the councilman was one of the robed sons of bitches.

  “Okay, thanks Nappa. Gotta go. I’ll be in touch.”

  Megan had long ago mastered the art of hanging up without a goodbye, ciao, or even her usual bite me. Callie had just pulled in the driveway and she was preoccupied.

  He gave a small kiss on her cheek when he closed the front door. “You okay?”

  Megan waved it off. “I’m good. I tested out the new cleats again and walked over to Vivian’s.”

  “Oh, okay. I sent her a text and said maybe we’d check in on her later. Tomorrow being Christmas Eve and all.”

  The comment made Megan stop in her tracks. “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve?” Her heart sank. She visualized Woodlawn Cemetery before leaving for New Jersey, saying goodbye to her parents. Everyone says the first year is the hardest when you lose someone, but after losing both parents within months, nothing felt like it would ever be right again. The sadness, the loss, was the only piece in her that was constant. She hated it, but it felt like her life now. It felt as though it had been her life for a long time.

  “What are you doing for the holiday?” Callie asked.

  “I already celebrated it.” She stared down at her boots. “It’s just another day.”

  Callie was rubbing his hands. “Can we go in? I’m freezing.”

  They went in and Megan put a pot of coffee on. “I’m making a sandwich. Do you want anything?”

  He nodded. “Sure. What were you doing at Vivian’s?”

  Megan didn’t want to mention what Vivian had told her about the man and the motorcycle. Callie barely believed her about the guy on the snowmobile and she didn’t feel the need to defend herself. It wasn’t enough to disguise everything that was on her mind. She could feel Callie sizing her up, attempting to register her emotions. He didn’t know how beautifully she masked them.

  Megan’s limited culinary expertise resulted a roast beef sandwich with tomato, cheese, and horseradish sauce. She would make one for herself and her dad when they watched a game or one of his favorite Spencer Tracy movies. It was a small memory from the past, but one that had stayed with her.

  They sat in silence while eating their small meal when Callie suggested, “If you want, you can come to the restaurant tomorrow. I’ll be really busy, but you shouldn’t be home alone on a holiday.”

  Megan wiped her mouth with a napkin. “I’m always alone on holidays. Like I said, it’s just another day. You’re open on Christmas Eve?”

  “We’re only closed on Christmas Day and New Year’s. You wouldn’t believe how many people don’t want to cook and are willing to pay a damn high price for a holiday dinner.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Megan paused and then asked, “Say, can you make me a full plate tomorrow? I’d like to take it over to Billie in the hospital. I’m sure whatever she’ll have doesn’t come close, given hospital food and all.”

  He shrugged. “Of course. Just send me a text when you want to pick it up and I’ll have everything ready.” Callie stopped to take another bite of roast beef. “You sure have taken a shine to that kid. I never would have pegged you for the sensitive type.”

  Megan was only slightly offended because she knew in the past her heartstrings weren’t exactly pulled easily. “You’re making me sound as frozen as the lake out there.”

  “I didn’t mean to. It’s just you with a dog and kind of mentoring this kid down the street … It’s just not you.”

  Megan got up and placed her plate in the dishwasher, leaning on the counter. “But helping out a friend of yours when I could lose my badge for it, and putting myself on the line is what?” She said it with the doggedness she used to interrogate perps.

  Callie sighed. “Megan, stop. You and I both know how you can be. Or, maybe how you were. Don’t pretend you weren’t that way.”

  Megan shook her head and proceeded to do what every man so adores in a woman: she slammed her index finger into his chest, “Let me tell you what I had to be to get where I am. Independent. Strong. No one had my back! My dad being a detective meant I had to work twice as hard to prove myself. So if I lose a little of that hard edge along the way to help the victims and their families? It’s worth it. Christ, I’m just taking food over to a neighbor. It’s hardly sainthood.” Megan’s phone interrupted her verbal tongue lashing. “What!” She reeled her emotion back in. “Sorry. Yes, this is Megan. So he’s okay? For sure? I’ll be right over.”

  Megan looked up at Callie, who was surprisingly unaffected by her rant. “Clyde can come home. I’m going to go pick him up now.”

  Callie placed his plate in the sink. “I’ll drive, and I think I blocked you in. By the way, do you do finger push-ups? My chest hurts from you poking me.”

  His smart-ass comment broke her mood. “Shut up.” It was not God’s plan to have Megan write sentimental Hallmark cards.

  Callie parked in front of the clinic and kept the engine running. “You go in. I’ll stay and keep the truck warm and help you get him in.”

  Megan jumped out of the truck, more excited than she anticipated on being. “I’m here for Clyde.” The receptionist took her credit card faster than a greyhound chasing a rabbit in a dog race. Megan
signed every slip and experienced momentary chest pains when she saw the final balance, but when Clyde strutted down the hallway, it was worth every penny. “Come here, boy!” She would deny it until her last breath, but Megan did well up with tears of joy to see the big guy. “How are you?” She scratched his ears and rubbed any areas where there weren’t bandages or shaven spots with stitches. The veterinarian handed her ointment for the wounds and gave Clyde an otherwise clean bill of health. He jumped in the back of Callie’s truck as if he had just been out for a jaunt at the dog park.

  “Well, he’s in good spirits,” Callie commented.

  Then Megan’s Irish side came out. “Yes, he is. Now I’m going to find the bastard who did this to him.”

  “Megan,” Callie sighed, “this is hunting season for everything. It was probably just some kids messing around trying to be cool. Adolescent bullshit that went wrong. Something like that.”

  Megan stroked Clyde’s head. “With a fucking BB gun? I don’t think so. Drive.” Megan wasn’t sure, but she could have sworn Callie whispered, “Pain in my fucking ass.”

  Not the first time, she thought to herself.

  Thirty-Eight

  Megan felt as close as she ever would to bringing home a newborn: Clyde. She allowed him on the couch and fed him, as promised, his favorite pizza. She basically spoiled the hell out of him. Callie told Megan to pick up the Christmas dinners at noon and there would be no charge, given her kind demeanor throughout the night. The sarcasm was duly noted. She sat thinking of the following day and could not quell the feelings of guilt and shame for not acknowledging the impending holiday. She wanted to go back to a time when her parents were alive and smiling. Now, she felt she was dead inside. Clyde must have picked up on her mood; he barked at her and proceeded to maul her with dog kisses.