Sally Berneathy - Death by Chocolate 01 - Death by Chocolate

by Sally Berneathy

  “Bye!” he called.

  “Bye!” we all responded, even the cops. Creighton smiled, but Trent winced and his lips clenched as if he’d suddenly realized what he’d done…let his macho façade slip. Kinda cute. He’d probably clench his lips even harder if he knew I thought that. I considered telling him, just to see him react.

  Then Creighton stood, the movement making his gun belt creak again, and again Paula flinched at the sound.

  But she braced herself, drew in a deep, shaky breath and faced the cops squarely. “I don’t know Lester Mackey. I was here at home last night. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.” She turned and walked toward the door.

  Very classy, slick effort to get rid of them, I thought. Maybe I’d try it next time I got caught going a little fast. Nope, I wasn’t speeding. Must have been somebody else. I’m sorry, officer, but I can’t help you. Then drive away.

  “Can anybody verify that you were here all evening?” Trent asked, ignoring her efforts to get rid of him. It probably wouldn’t work for me with the future traffic cop, either. He turned and looked at me. “How about you, best friend?”

  As if I didn’t already feel bad enough about spending the evening with Rick, now it meant I couldn’t provide an alibi for Paula. If only I had come over to play Gin Rummy instead of letting him inside my house, both Paula and I would be a lot better off.

  I thought about attempting another lie, but Paula had already admitted she’d been home alone.

  “No,” I said. “I can’t verify that. I was…busy last night.”

  Trent’s gaze flickered from Paula to me and back again, studying us in silence for a long moment. Those eyes were intense, almost totally brown, no hint of spring in them now. I’d seen enough cop movies. I knew he was waiting for us to crack. He was good at it, I have to give him credit. I found myself wanting to confess that I’d done eighty down Highway 470 yesterday evening and then I’d spent the night with my almost-ex-husband, thus letting my friend and myself down. But I didn’t really think that was the kind of cracking he was looking for.

  Finally he withdrew a couple of cards from his wallet and handed one to Paula. “Call me if you remember anything.”

  Then he handed the other one to me. “You, too.” For just a second there my brain slipped a cog and I thought he was coming on to me. Good grief! Not even completely divorced yet, my almost-ex still asleep in my bed, and I was already reading things into men’s glances and business cards.

  Still, I couldn’t stop myself from checking to see whether he was wearing a wedding ring. He wasn’t.

  I was glad I’d already taken mine off and tossed it into the Missouri River.

  Okay, that’s a lie. I told Rick I tossed it into the Missouri River, but the truth is, I sold it. I wanted to toss it into the river, but it had a big diamond. Heck, I cringed when Rose made the grand gesture of throwing her necklace into the ocean at the end of Titanic. What a waste. She could have sold it, kept the money and lied about throwing it away like I did.

  The cops started to leave, but Trent turned back at the door. “You don’t sound like you’re from around here, Ms. Walters,” he said. “Do I detect a hint of Texas in that accent?”

  She froze. “No,” she said, her voice scarcely more than a whisper. “I’m from…Wyoming.”

  Interesting. She’d told me California when she leased the house.

  Trent didn’t believe her, either, but he nodded. “I see. Just thought I’d ask. Lester Mackey’s from Dallas.”

  “I’ve never been to Dallas.” Paula was doing a very poor job of lying. We both needed deceit lessons. I made myself a mental note to check at Longview College for night classes.

  Trent gave me another quick glance. It couldn’t be to see if I was lying. I hadn’t said anything. I winked at him just to see what he’d do.

  That man had stoicism down to an art. He didn’t react at all.

  Except I did see some green lights come back into those eyes.

  When they were finally out the door, Paula turned the deadbolt lock and put on the chain with trembling fingers.

  I collapsed onto the sofa, grabbed another cookie and swigged some more Coke. “What was that all about?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “Zach!”

  He charged into the living room, laughing and clutching a purple dinosaur that was almost as big as he was. She scooped him up and sank onto the sofa, holding him so tightly he protested and squirmed to be free.

  She let him go. He sat down between us and helped himself to a chocolate cookie. Paula didn’t say anything, and I wasn’t about to spoil his fun. Heck, what harm could one do? Oh, I know what they say! You think you can try it and not get hooked, then before you know it, you’re a chocoholic. Hey, at least the kid would have a constant source of the good stuff from his Aunt Lindsay, the Chocoholic Queen.

  “Are you in some kind of trouble?” I asked Paula. “Tell me, damn it! I’m your friend. Let me help you.”

  She shook her head, chewed her thumbnail and looked across the room.

  “Did your husband beat you?”

  The crude question got her attention. Her head spun toward me so fast, I was afraid it would keep on going and we’d find ourselves in the middle of a scene from The Exorcist. Two pink spots stood out like clown makeup on her cheeks.

  “Please don’t do this, Lindsay,” she said.

  “Well, that answers that question! Since I already know he put that scar on your face and that you’re hiding from him, you might as well tell me the rest.”

  Again she confirmed my speculation by failing to deny it. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful I am that you gave me a job and a place to live. You saved my life and Zach’s. You’ve always been there for me, and I’ll always be there for you. I’ll do anything you ask me to do, except tell you about my past.”

  “Well, we’ve made some progress. This is the first time you’ve admitted you have a past and didn’t spring, fully grown, from the front seat of that rolling wreck you used to drive.”

  Paula bit her lip as if she regretted saying that much. Her blue-gray eyes clouded, and I realized the subject was closed.

  I pushed myself up from the sofa. “I guess I’ll go see what I can do to get Rick out of the house with minimal damage to what’s left of my emotions.” I leaned over to Zach. “Give Aunt Lindsay a hug.” He reached up and hugged my neck then planted a kiss on my cheek. A bonus.

  “I want you to know I’m not mad at you,” I told Paula, “just because you’re supposed to be my friend but you won’t even tell me the intimate details of your sex life.”

  She relaxed enough to smile.

  I ruffled Zach’s hair then crossed the room and unlocked the door. I turned back to say goodbye and wasn’t surprised that Paula had followed me. She’d have that door locked again before I was across the porch. “Time to touch up those blond roots,” I said, just to let her know I’d noticed. “And those blond brows and lashes are a dead giveaway.”

  Paula blanched, losing what little color she’d regained. “Do you think they noticed?” The question came out in a desperate whisper, and I immediately regretted adding to her fear.

  “I don’t know. Men can be pretty unobservant about stuff like that.” But I didn’t for one minute believe Trent had failed to notice. “Any time you need help, you know where I live,” I said.

  Paula nodded, that jerky motion again, and twisted her lips in an imitation smile. “Thanks.”

  I left her house feeling like a jerk for the blond roots remark and like I ought to do something to help her, but clueless what that something might be.

  I wasn’t even sure I could help myself. I took my time going back toward my house. I wasn’t in any hurry to face the task of dealing with the man that one part of me wanted gone from my life and the other part wanted back. In a different way, I was every bit as terrified of him as Paula was of the abusive man, I was now positive, she�
��d known in her past.

  I slapped the fender of Rick’s SUV as I went past, deliberately leaving fingerprints. He hated that.

  I stepped up onto my porch and saw another problem. The cat was still there, lying on my door mat, draped over Taz, creating a perfect border for the Go Away! part. Obviously he couldn’t read.

  But then, neither could Rick who had stood on that same mat last night and paid just as much attention to the message as the cat did.

  “Go home,” I ordered.

  He stood up and stretched, arching his back.

  I picked up the newspaper, opened the door, and he darted inside.

  Yes, it was pretty obvious this cat was a male. He ignored me just like Rick did.

  “What’s that cat doing here?” Rick demanded as the feline leapt gracefully onto my faded rose-colored recliner. He was a big cat, completely filling the seat and draping his head and front paws over one arm of the chair. He looked up with those killer blue eyes and gave a contented meow before settling down, completely at home.

  Rick sprawled on my sofa, making himself as much at home as the cat. I’d been gone long enough for him to shower, blow dry his hair with my dryer, shave with my razor, and slip back into his khaki Docker slacks, Italian loafers and white Polo shirt that enhanced his tan. To top it all off, he was drinking from my favorite mug, the one that said “Life is uncertain. Eat chocolate now.”

  “Go home,” I repeated.

  “Yeah, cat, go home.”

  “I was talking to you. This is—” I looked at the regal creature in my chair— “this is King Henry, my new cat. He’s staying and you’re going.”

  Chapter Three

  Rick set my cup down on my coffee table, the one I found years ago at a garage sale and he would never let me use in our house where everything had to match. The table was wrought iron with a top of colorful mosaic tiles, almost all of which were intact and unchipped. It had character.

  “You never liked that table,” I snapped, tossing the newspaper down beside his cup. “Get away from it.”

  He lifted his arms toward me and smiled. Given enough time, I could learn to hate that smile. But not quite yet. Against all common sense, it still had the power to tickle the edges of my heart.

  “C’mere, babe.”

  I took a step backward, ignoring him.

  He rose and came after me. I reminded myself that he hadn’t come after me the evening I left. In fact, instead of falling to his knees and begging my forgiveness after I’d caught him in our bed with that Fluffy person, he’d pointed out that this house was between tenants, empty and available, and maybe I should move in. He and Buffy the Erection Slayer would keep the one we’d been living in since it was too expensive for me. Real magnanimous of him.

  The memory of that nightmare afternoon…the pain and the anger…washed over me, and I turned and headed for the door. I’d go back outside. Hide in the bushes. Crawl down the storm sewer. Take up jogging and run to Oklahoma. Whatever it took to get away from him.

  He wrapped his arms around me from behind and started nibbling the side of my neck.

  Somebody moaned, somebody with no pride and no common sense. Me.

  “We never used to have the paper delivered,” he whispered. “Let’s toss that one in Paula’s yard, and I’ll go out for another one, just like I used to do every Sunday. I’ll bring back a paper and some of those chocolate doughnuts you love. We’ll sit in bed and read the paper while we eat doughnuts.” He nibbled the other side of my neck. “And you can read the comics out loud while I do some wicked things to your body.” He ran his hands over my body and pulled it against his, reminding me of some of those wicked things he’d done as recently as last night.

  Fortunately, the chocolate doughnuts also reminded me of some other wicked things he’d done…a different kind of wicked.

  “You chose that doughnut place across town so you’d have time to go see your girl-friend-of-the-week for a quickie before coming home,” I reminded him, pulling back and facing him. “The doughnuts were to give you the energy to perform again with me.”

  He ducked his head and looked repentant. Well, as close to repentant as it was possible for him to look. “Lindsay, I’m sorry. I made a mistake, a lot of mistakes. I love you and I’ve missed you.”

  I’m sorry. I made a mistake, a lot of mistakes. I love you and I’ve missed you. I knew they were just empty words, a sales spiel. I knew he wasn’t going to change. Still, I’d been waiting six weeks to hear him say that…and he did know how to press all the right buttons. I knew I needed to shove him away, check out the storm sewer, run for my life and sanity. But I remained standing there, inches away from my tormentor.

  He could see I was vacillating. He moved closer and put his arms around my waist, his forehead against mine. Affectionate and familiar rather than seductive. He really was a good salesman. “Remember when we first got married and we were so broke we had to sleep on the floor? The ironing board doubled as our table. A big night for us was a picnic in the park. I’d take that old guitar I got at a pawn shop and sing to you. For our first anniversary, I climbed a tree and sang Mariah.” He began to sing softly in a voice that matched his smile.

  This trip down Memory Lane was much more seductive than all the caresses of the night before.

  Behind us something thudded and made a hideous rowring noise.

  We both whirled around. The cat stood on the coffee table, tail in the air, back arched, his blue eyes looking suddenly demonic with their black vertical slits. He opened his mouth to make that noise again, and his fangs looked half an inch long. He seemed twice as big as I remembered. I had one instant of panic, wondering if he was rabid or something, but his glare was focused solely on Rick.

  “Something’s wrong with that cat,” Rick said, backing away. “We better call Animal Control.”

  The cat in question dipped his head and peered into the mug Rick had been drinking from, then gave a cat sneeze or maybe a snort of disgust. He was acting strange, but he’d given me the diversion I needed to find some of my common sense and maybe a smidgen of pride. I pulled away from Rick and went over to the cat who now looked as docile as ever though he still had that I am cat; I am your superior expression.

  I leaned down to pet him in order to give myself a few more seconds to recover from the Invasion of Rick. As I did, I peered idly at the dark liquid in the cup, curious as to what Rick might be drinking that the cat found so disgusting. It had to be either Coke, tea, or water. That’s all I had in the house.

  It didn’t look like any of those. There was a remote possibility he could have made hot chocolate, but it didn’t look like that, either. What it did look like was—

  “What are you drinking?” I demanded. “I don’t have any coffee in the house.”

  “I had a jar of instant in my briefcase.”

  He’d brought his own coffee.

  I could feel the steam suddenly pouring from my ears, just like in one of those cartoons.

  Obviously the arrogant man had intended to spend the night all along!

  I looked around for a blunt weapon.

  That’s what comes from having a clean house. There wasn’t a weapon in sight.

  I stomped to the end of the sofa, grabbed his briefcase, and tossed it at him with as much force as I could muster.

  It hit smack in his stomach, a bit higher than I’d been aiming. Too bad.

  “Ow! That hurt!”

  “Good. Now get out.” I glared at him and pointed toward the door.

  “Calm down, babe. I’ll go get some chocolate doughnuts and we’ll talk about this—”

  That final reminder of his deceptions was what it took to send me over the edge. I went ballistic. “If you call me babe one more time or remain in my house one more minute, I’m going to get my brand new double-barreled shotgun and change you from a bull to a steer right here in my living room, and that’s one mess I won’t mind cleaning up!”

  He grabbed the briefcase, held
it in front of him and gave a nervous laugh. “I know you. You’d never buy a gun.” But I could tell he wasn’t sure. Sweat popped out on his forehead.

  I fisted my hands on my hips. “Wouldn’t I? Remember all those times when I questioned your late night appointments and the perfume on your shirts and you told me I was crazy? Well, guess what? You were right! I am crazy! I bought a gun and I’m going to shoot off your public-property penis and grind it up in the garbage disposal and they’ll give me Prozac and therapy and I won’t even have to go to jail because I’m crazy!” I moved to the coat closet and wrapped my hand around the doorknob.

  “Now, babe—”

  I glared at him again, turned the knob and yanked the door open. I had so much stuff in there, I knew he couldn’t tell if I was hiding a cannon. I pushed aside some coats and groped behind the vacuum cleaner.

  “Uh, listen, ba—uh, Lindsay, I gotta go. I’ll call you.”

  He dashed out the front door. I didn’t watch him go. I just stood there beside the coat closet that held several coats, my snow boots, an ice bucket with no lid, a vacuum cleaner, a broom, an ironing board and other odds and ends…but no shotgun.

  I had successfully scammed Rick into leaving my house. I felt good, real good. The adrenaline was surging. I laughed and danced an uncoordinated little jig around my living room.

  My empty living room.

  Yep, I’d managed to get Rick to leave. Accomplished what I set out to do, what I needed to do. I’d done good.

  When that adrenaline rush passed, it sure did leave a nasty residue behind.

  Damn his sorry hide! I’d been doing okay. Maybe not great, but okay. Now I was pretty much back to that day I’d come home from the shop early with a stomach virus and caught him and Tuffy in my bed.

  Between bouts of hanging my head over the commode, I’d packed a suitcase with my college scrapbook, two pairs of blue jeans but no shirts, a red silk dress and other odds and ends chosen randomly since my brain wasn’t functioning at that point, then walked out the door. With every article I put in that suitcase and every step toward that door, I’d repeated to myself that I’d just been through the worst, that it could only get better.