Adelaide Upset

by Penny Greenhorn

  One thing I hadn’t planned for was the miserable trip. Marks lived on the other side of SL&S, so I had a long drive inland. It was hot and mucky, even with the windows down. To be stealthy I’d worn a black hoodie, thinking I might need to blend into the dark at some point in the night. I couldn’t say whether it was the sweatshirt or anxiety that made me perspire, but I was certainly nervous. So I stewed in my sweat, uneasy and uncomfortable.

  Marks lived on a back road much like my own, only his area wasn’t confined to a tiny island, so the houses were spread further apart. I slowed down, inching along as I kept track of the house numbers. His vehicle confirmed that I had reached the right place. I remembered the SUV, it was chunky and clean, shining like a brand new toy. I had seen it speed off at the picnic, big wheels churning gravel and dirt. I would expect a logger to drive something more... well, used. A beat-up truck, something to that effect. I guess it paid to sell company information, though I observed that his house was nothing special, so maybe it didn’t pay that much.

  I coasted past, hoping my car wouldn’t stall out, or worse, backfire. Lucky me, nothing dreadful happened and I continued down the road, pulling off to the shoulder when I found an inconspicuous place to park. It was that murky time during sunset, when the waning dregs of daylight flattened everything to gray. Soon it would be dark, until then I just had to lie low.

  I shouldn’t have left my book at home. It was just getting good too, with the heroine needing an urgent rescue. Rabid feminists would hate it, expecting the woman to jump up and save herself. But I didn’t mind the damsel in distress, sorry that the days of Snow White and Sleeping Beauty were long gone. The good old fashioned hero was an endangered species too, being replaced by a more sensitive and considerate breed. I was glad to have Lucas, rippling muscles and all. I was concerned that Francesca had pinned him down as dense though, thinking that because he said little and expressed less he was somehow stupid.

  I knew that while Lucas wasn’t verbally or emotionally expressive, he had an articulate mind. He thrived on challenge, whether it was piecing together one of my puzzles, or the more intricate parts of a car. He was a driven man, given to hard work and solitude. I felt privileged to be invited into his life, and it made me want to reciprocate.

  So I pretty much obliterated my boredom with thoughts of Lucas Finch. Thirty sweat-filled minutes of Luke—which sounds sexier than it was. But it served to occupy my mind, well, at least until I reckoned it was dark enough. Then it was time to get down to business.

  My plan was to confront him in a safe environment, but other than catching him off guard and alone, I was pretty much winging it. I let my car creep down the road until Marks’ farmhouse came into sight. I quickly cut the engine, wanting to go on foot from there.

  The SUV was still parked out front, and some lights were on. He appeared to be home—so good so far. The wraparound porch was raised up high, and I climbed the steps slowly. As I approached, I took notice of the front door. It was solid wood, but there were narrow panes of glass on either side, not textured or covered over with curtains, just glass. I peeked through, holding my breath.

  Truthfully there wasn’t much to see. A long hall, one side comprised of a staircase that faced away, the base and bannister all the way down at the other end. Underneath of the staircase, opening into the hall, was a little door. At first I thought closet, but in that case it would probably be closed, so more likely a bathroom. The source of light was beyond the stairs, from whatever was around the corner. My guess—the living room or kitchen. That was where I’d find Marks.

  But a plan was slowly forming, one a bit tricky and complex. Maybe I didn’t want to find Marks, maybe I wanted to lure him to me. If I could pull it off then I wouldn’t have to face him on even ground, and trust me, I was all for tipping the scale in my favor.

  I glanced down at his SUV, measuring the distance from there to the porch and then comparing it to the layout of his house. Just to be safe I took out the stun gun, holding it ready. Now all I had to do was work up the courage.

  One fortifying breath later and I was slipping down the stairs. I sidled up next to his SUV and without further ado began to jiggle the handle. The alarm blared straight away, startling me even as I expected it. That was my cue to run. I sprinted up the driveway, up the stairs, and around the porch, dropping to hide behind the hanging swing, its rusty chains lolling back and forth.

  My flip-flops had been clacking, so I slipped them off, putting one in my purse while I held the other ready. Then I waited. It took longer than I thought, almost a minute before Marks jerked open the front door. He boldly stepped through, his eyes scanning the dark driveway, peering into shadows as his SUV flashed angrily back at him.

  I waited, my own breath rushing through my ears, loud as the pounding of my heart. I was sure he would see me. But he didn’t even look in my direction, his eyes scanning the boundary of his property and beyond, stretching to the street. Nothing stirred but the palm fronds in his front yard. The lack of obvious threat eventually made him relax, his tall, burly frame turning slack as he ambled off the porch.

  I padded toward the open door, slinking silently inside. I’d been too scared to look behind me, hoping that Marks was quieting his car, but terrified that he was chasing me indoors. With that thought I went tearing down the hall, only pausing long enough to dip into the bathroom where I turned on the faucets full blast. Then it was down the hall, around the corner, and up the stairs. I collapsed there, the worn wood digging into my ribs and hip.

  The car alarm cut off, and to me the sudden quiet seemed louder than the noise had been. My breath came out in shuttering streams, the fear almost electric. The front door slammed shut, and the boards beneath me vibrated.

  Steps. A pause.

  I was moving before the faucets shut off, knowing I didn’t have much time. Just seconds. With both hands full I used my forearms to grab the banister, flipping over, my shoulder first, my body following along until my bare toes tapped down. I let go of the railing, slid my hand behind the bathroom door and slammed it shut.

  Trapped inside his own bathroom Marks went wild. He was loud, the noise matching his anger and shock. Then with the banging, his fists crashing against the door, thuds and kicks that made the wood reverberate beneath my spine. I was braced there, using the hallway wall as leverage to keep him from escaping. But he was determined, his violence increasing, the door quaking under the onslaught as he gave up using his fists and feet and instead rammed the flimsy thing, throwing his whole weight into the task.

  The door jumped open and shut, just an inch, but the next time it was two. I had to hurry. With my back still pressed flat against the door, I let myself slide down, sinking to the floor. The next time the door clicked shut I wedged my flip-flop into the gap underneath of it, holding it there until it caught, keeping the door in place.

  “Ed Marks,” I called, finally feeling as though I could relax.

  What a mistake.

  Hearing my voice only urged him to continue with renewed vigor. He was really pissed. He didn’t know who I was, to him just a trespasser, and he would gladly strangle the life from me.

  My flip-flop squealed as it was dragged along under the door, and Marks gained a few inches.

  “I have a gun,” I said, trying to sound firm. I flashed the Taser past the open crack, knowing he’d caught a glimpse when we both started to worry. The banging stopped and from inside the small bathroom he was dead quiet.

  “Remember me?” I asked. “The girl whose fingers you tried to flatten. It doesn’t feel good, does it? Being helpless.”

  His anger drained out, replaced with uncertainty.

  “I have it on good authority that you didn’t murder David Smith,” I continued. “So after this discussion is over I’m going to walk away. But if you’re tempted to stop me then let me warn you, if something happens to me, even something that appears accidental or self-inflicted, I’ve made sure yours is the first name on the list of su
spects.”

  He didn’t like that. “What do you want,” he growled, growing impatient.

  “I want to know why you and Smith argued before his disappearance.”

  “Who’ve you been talking to?” he demanded.

  “Why? So you can smash more fingers? I don’t think so,” I said, the impatience we shared goading me on. “Answer the question.”

  “He wanted to leave,” Marks answered, the words issuing forth slow like syrup. “Tried to stop him. Gave him an earful about abandonin’ his family, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  He was lying, but I didn’t have time to haggle for the truth. More than anything I wanted to finish up and leave.

  “So you two argued. Was that the last time you saw him or his family?”

  “Nah,” he said. “I help his wife once after...” He spiked upset, something setting off a trigger. Oh how I would have loved to read his mind just then. “I helped her move Smith’s stuff out.”

  “So you could look for the tape,” I guessed.

  I could feel him jerk through the door, slapped with surprise, disconcerted and wary.

  “What I want to know is why a man would tape his own wrongdoing,” I said, trying to draw him out. “It seems a bit incriminating and counterproductive, don’t you think?”

  He was bewildered by that. Not about the tape, but what was on it. He didn’t know its contents.

  One last thing I needed to know. “You didn’t kill Smith, but you know who did.”

  He was silent, but his emotions said it all. Roiling as they were, an array of anger and grief. But there was no surprise or bewilderment in response to my charge.

  He did know.

  I didn’t speak again, letting his emotions keep him company. Letting them distract him as I tiptoed down the hall, quietly opening the front door to slip outside. I ran the whole way to my car. My feet were stinging, probably bleeding, tiny bits of gravel pounded deep into each sole.

  Reaching my car, I climbed inside and sped off. But my hands didn’t stop shaking until I was halfway home. I was satisfied though, thinking things had gone better than expected. I had warned Marks that if he tried to harm me, he wouldn’t get off scot-free. That had been my primary purpose in going there, but he’d answered my questions too. Not with words, but in a far more honest way, with his feelings. But despite that, I still knew so little. And I wasn’t getting anywhere, just treading water, no closer to finding out what had happened to Smith. I hated not knowing, or worse, knowing someone was responsible, but not who. Maybe it was time to turn things over to the big guns, let someone else sort through this mess.

  I should probably tip off the police.

  Chapter 23

  Smith was still a soppy mess when I got home, though he’d relocated from the bathroom to the kitchen. I told him what’d happened with Marks, not needing to embellish or withhold any details from my narrative. He was relieved, but frustrated.

  “It’s your own fault,” I called, while returning the stun gun and pepper spray back to the washing machine. I’d have to find a better hiding spot soon. “You shouldn’t have tried to stop me,” I chided, without an ounce of pity. “Stick around. I’m going to Luke’s, but tomorrow morning we’ll get you back in working order.”

  He didn’t like that, his peevish attitude seeping in.

  “I have a life you know, and it doesn’t always include catering to my live-in ghost. So I think I’ll go spend the evening with my boyfriend, making out, etc. etc.”

  I swear I could feel his frown.

  “Do try and flip a switch while I’m gone,” I called over my shoulder as I stepped out the door. “Don’t just laze about.”

  Outside the heat washed over me, smothering and damp. My feet rebelled against the trip from yard to yard, finding the grass jabby and abrasive. I hadn’t bothered to bandage them or even change out of my sweaty getup. I just wanted to be at Luke’s. First I would take a long cool shower, after which I would borrow one of his shirts, using it as a makeshift nightgown. I went through the whole night, planning it out bit by bit.

  But none of those things were destined to happen. I knew it the second I stepped through Luke’s backdoor, waltzing right into the kitchen as if I owned the place. The problem: I wasn’t the only woman inside feeling entitled to be there.

  The first thing I saw was her bum. The offensive creature was bent over, rooting inside the open fridge. Her legs were long and lean, bare up to where a skimpy robe skimmed just under her ass crack.

  “Luke!” she shouted, oblivious to my presence. “You don’t have anything to eat!”

  Luke, I wanted to echo, there is a whore in your kitchen. Instead I said nothing, feeling her out. But there wasn’t much to feel. People aren’t always emotional; more often than not they go on autopilot.

  I had to move, to say something. The longer I stood there, the creepier I felt. As if I was the one that didn’t belong. But what the hell was I supposed to say?

  She didn’t give me a chance to think of something, righting herself as she shut the refrigerator door. I glimpsed a wad of red hair, all artfully tucked at the nape of her neck, before she spun around and saw me.

  We were, together, shocked. She recovered first, eyes evening out as she went from gaping to gazing, measuring me up. In her I stirred an anticipated challenge and struggle—which meant she thought of me as her competition. There was no question as to what the rivalry would be about. We both wanted access to Luke’s... shower.

  The man of the hour arrived and pulling a shirt on over his head, he didn’t sense the tension right away. His eyes focused on me first, cut to the other woman, and dragged back.

  “I take it this is Elaine?” I asked, masking my voice to be level and even. “I guess your conversation didn’t go over well.”

  That got her angry, but her paltry feelings were nothing to mine. “I’m glad that Luke’s been busy talking about me,” she said, her voice sultry and low. It was a lie, she wasn’t glad. “But he failed to mention you,” she added, tipping her head innocently off to the side.

  I thought I would have to duke it out alone, unable to picture Lucas picking his way through the cold war that was our girl fight. But he surprised me, coming to stand at my side, where he wrapped an arm around my waist, his hand gripping my hip.

  “Get dressed,” he said to Elaine. “I’m taking you to a hotel.”

  She stared at him, surprised and hurt. I would feel the same if he ever talked to me like that, voice cold, jaw tight. Lucas was mad.

  Elaine looked away, the bottom of her robe flapping as she swept out of the kitchen. I might have won the battle, but as far as she was concerned, I hadn’t won the war.

  I didn’t move until she was out of earshot. Then I spun around, turning to ask, “Lucas, what’s going on?”

  “She showed up,” he said, chafing the back of his neck.

  I watched his biceps flex from the gesture, waiting for more of an answer. He didn’t say anything so I prompted, “In her bathrobe?”

  He blew out a frustrated breath, looking me square in the eye. “No, Adelaide,” he said sharply. “She put that on hoping to stay over.”

  I swallowed thickly, a lump in my throat. “And if I hadn’t showed up, what then? Would you have let her?”

  He started to say something, but I was distracted by the emotions that flowed in from the hallway. Jerking, I turned to glare at Elaine. I thought it would make her happy, observing the two of us quibble, but she was horrified. Her head turned back and forth, watching us, troubled, disconcerted and distressed.

  I was at a loss to understand her, so we stood, the three of us, silent and staring. Then Lucas did something he never did before. He grabbed me and kissed me, audience and all. On the few occasions that we went out in public, we weren’t openly affectionate, a little hand holding, that was all. But this kiss was long and slow, sealing me up for later.

  “We’ll finish when I get back,” Lucas said, his meaning abstract. Did he mean the
kiss or our discussion?

  Elaine’s fierce anger and determination pulled at my awareness. She was framed in the hallway, her filmy summer dress slinking lightly around her, the thin fabric molding to her curves. She had one small piece of luggage resting beside her, handle in hand. “I’m ready when you are,” she said, brushing the sway of long hair over one shoulder. She’d taken it down, making her look all the more soft and feminine.

  Lucas walked toward her, prepared to move past, but she stopped him, her hand on his forearm. She left it there, slowly sliding her fingers down his skin as she turned to look back at me. “I can see that my being here makes you feel threatened,” she said, a verbal punch. “But I only want to help Lucas, and if you really care about him, then you won’t stand in my way.”

  “Why are you so concerned with the situation?” I asked. “Lucas isn’t nearly as worried as you are.”

  “That’s exactly why he needs my help.” She turned her back, heading for the front door, my boyfriend following after.

  I was missing something, and she made sure I was aware of it. It was glaringly obvious that she knew Lucas better, his history entwined with hers.

  I stood there for a while, vacillating. Finally I decided I didn’t want to use Luke’s shower. I didn’t want to wait for him either, not while he was playing taxi with his ex. I walked out the backdoor and headed for home.

  “You’re in luck,” I said to Smith, who hadn’t moved an inch. “I have time to help you because Luke’s taking his ex-girlfriend to a hotel.” And then, inexplicably, and totally out of character, I burst into tears. Usually I saved them for myself.