That Touch of Ink

by Vallere, Diane

  He pulled the briefcase from the trunk of the car and lowered the trunk lid until it snapped into place. His eyes followed mine to my keys, resting in the gravel. He came toward me.

  I rattled the doorknob again, irrationally hoping it would jostle open. It didn’t. I heard a hiss and the air filled with the stench of skunk again.

  The man in the mask coughed twice. A furry black and white critter ran out from underneath and disappeared through the chain link fence. I pulled my robe up over my face. The man flung the briefcase onto the passenger seat of his car and drove out of the parking lot.

  I gagged on the smell that hung in the air. I needed a deep breath but couldn’t take one. I couldn’t get into my car or into my building. I couldn’t do anything without my keys. I had to go back for them.

  I dropped to my hands and knees between Brad’s Mustang and my neighbor’s El Camino. My keys were within reach. The skunk spray must have hit the tire in front of me, because the proximity of the scent was sickening. I tucked my face into my robe again, inhaled through the fabric and held my breath as I reached under the car. By the time I succeeded, I was dirty, smelly, and nauseous.

  The reasons I couldn’t go back to my apartment were numerous. I unlocked the door to my car, pulled out of the lot, and drove into the darkness.

  The roads of Lakewood were dark and lonely, the opposite of what I wanted. I had nothing with me, nothing but the pajamas on my back, the now-filthy terrycloth robe, and the fluffy pink slippers on my feet. I drove to my studio but didn’t pull in. My car was too recognizable, like a yellow highlighter in the middle of a black and white page. I needed a different place to stay. One where nobody would think to look for me. I continued past my studio for about eight blocks and turned left on Monticello.

  I was about to move in to Thelma Johnson’s house.

  Aside from the glow of an almost ripe moon, the M streets were dark. Thelma Johnson’s house had a garage, and I remembered it to be empty. I used a key on my keychain to unlock and haul the door overhead, then returned to the car and pulled it in. One problem solved, temporarily, at least. After lowering the hinged door into place I threw the locking mechanism. I took off the skunk-scented robe and tossed it into the neighbor’s trash bin, then scampered to the side entrance of the house.

  Thelma Johnson had kept her house in the style to which she’d become accustomed sometime in the late fifties, I’d guess. Most of her belongings were in a storage facility behind my studio. Had I known that one day I’d seek refuge here, I would have left the furniture untouched, but it was too late to think about that now. It was too late to think about much other than a shower and sleep, both of which I desperately needed.

  I found a half-empty bottle of liquid dish detergent by the sink and carried it upstairs. I stood under the hot spray of the shower far longer than usual and lathered twice. By the time I got out, my fingers and toes were wrinkled and I’d replaced the scent of skunk with lemons. The color of my normally pale skin was only slightly lighter than a third degree burn.

  I wrapped a sheet around my torso like a toga and washed my pajamas and undies in the tub with the remainder of the dish detergent. The water bubbled up like a malfunctioning washing machine and seeped over the edge of the tub onto the floor. I hung my garments over the shower curtain rod and headed toward the bedroom.

  From a hall closet that I’d yet to empty, I pulled a canary-colored blanket trimmed in satin along with a set of white sheets printed with faded flowers in pink, blue, and yellow. I carried them to the larger of the two bedrooms and set up camp in the middle of the floor where the four poster bed had once sat.

  I was too keyed up to fall asleep, but there was nothing I could do until morning. The best thing for me to do was think. I stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours. My mind raced with implications and accusations based on the suitcase of questionable contents I’d seen in the trunk of Brad’s car.

  What did it mean? I didn’t know. What I did know was that Brad’s surprise visit to Dallas was a main course that came with a side dish of hidden agenda. Worse was the only thing I had for my snooping were more questions.

  Which was the truth: the repentant former lover who wanted to pick up where we left off? Or this new Brad, who had secrets and a muddy past and was somehow connected to a counterfeiting plot I couldn’t quite comprehend? Which version of the man I once knew was spending the night at my apartment?

  Had Brad been watching me and my apartment since before he knocked on my door, bringing some unknown danger into my life? I’d invited him into my house. He was asleep on my sofa. Had he manipulated me into accepting his version of events, all the while vying for access to my apartment so he could search for the five thousand dollar bill?

  The longer I lay there, the more I knew I had to do something. My mind raced a thousand different directions, and I couldn’t begin to comprehend how Brad would react when he woke up and discovered I was missing.

  I wasn’t the only thing Brad would notice was missing. His key was missing from his key ring. If the masked man hadn’t take it, then it was still in the trunk of his car.

  I didn’t know what Brad was up to, or whether he was one of the good guys or the bad.

  By the time the sun came up, I’d dozed through fits of memories and nightmares. The sun filtered through yellow gingham curtains, painting the room with an innocent glow. And despite the idyllic colors of Thelma Johnson’s bedroom, I was in a dark place.

  I pushed myself into a sitting position, then stood up and flexed my joints. I was stiff in seven different places from sleeping on the floor again. The memory of the skunk’s scent hung in my mind despite last night’s shower. I moved to the bathroom and splashed water on my face. I wasn’t sure what I was going to wear considering the only thing I had was a pair of not-quite-dry blue flannel pajamas.

  I took another shower, this time using a squirt of pink liquid soap that sat on the edge of Thelma Johnson’s bathtub. As the scalding spray massaged the kinks out of my muscles, I scrubbed my body like I wished I could scrub my life. I turned off the water and stepped into a room filled with steam.

  Water was still running. I double checked the hot and cold nozzles, but that wasn’t it. I dripped onto the yellow and white tile floor and moved to the window, looking for the source of the sound.

  I found it in my front yard.

  Tex stood in front of the flower beds with a hose in his hand, watering my garden.

  I threw the lock on the window and pushed it open. “What do you think you’re doing?” I yelled through the screen of the window. His head snapped up to look at me.

  “Who is that?” He shielded his eyes. “Night?”

  “Wait right there.” I wrapped a towel around my otherwise naked body and descended the stairs. When I reached the front door, Tex had it open and was starting to come inside. I pushed him backward with my right hand and slammed the door with my left.

  The towel dropped to the floor.

  SIXTEEN

  I whipped around and pressed my back against the door to keep it shut.

  “Get out of here!” I yelled.

  “Have you lost your mind?” he asked. “This is private property.”

  “Yes, it is private property. It’s my private property. What about you? Who asked you to water my garden?”

  “Your garden?”

  “My garden.”

  “I knew there was a reason I wanted to water it.”

  “Go away, Lieutenant.”

  “I don’t think so, Night.”

  “Then be a gentleman and get away from the front door so I can pick up my towel.”

  “Consider it done.”

  I turned my head to the side and watched Tex walk down the three concrete stairs out front. When I could no longer see him, I turned my head to the other side. He
disappeared around the side of the house. I scooped up the faded towel from the floor and wrapped it around my torso, securing the end under my left arm. I went upstairs.

  I put the damp pajamas on and looked out the bathroom window. Tex stood, hands on hips, assessing the condition of the flower beds. His apparent interest in gardening was unexpected.

  “Wait there,” I called out the window. “I have to talk to you about something.” I went back downstairs and out the front door. Tex hadn’t moved. I felt about as naked in my pajamas as I had when I was naked.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Terry Johnson left me this house. There were a couple thousand dollars in back taxes due, but I thought what the heck, so I paid them. Right now, nobody knows I own this place except me, you, and the real estate agent who made it all happen. I want to keep it that way.”

  “Where’s your car?”

  “In the garage.”

  “You’re trying to lay low,” he said. “Avoiding someone.”

  “Oh yeah, Mr. Detective?” I said, forgetting for a moment that Tex actually was a detective. “Care to elaborate on why you’re here at the house once owned by the mother of your ex-girlfriend from twenty years ago? That wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that there’s trouble in police paradise, would it? I’m guessing she wouldn’t like knowing you’re here tending my garden.”

  “Night, if you want me to take you seriously, you’re going to have to stop talking about your untended garden.” He smiled a half smile and turned around. “Okay, okay,” he said, hands up like he was surrendering. “I’ll leave.”

  “Wait—” I said, throwing a hand out to catch his arm. “I don’t have anything here. Phone, wallet, clothes. I don’t have Rocky.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Effie’s apartment. The center unit across the hall from mine.”

  “This is the second time you asked me to go to your apartment and pick up stuff for you.”

  I didn’t answer at first. If Brad was up to something, it would be good for Tex to show up unannounced. See things for himself instead of taking my word for anything. I pulled my apartment keys from my key ring and handed them to him. “Meet me at my studio and we’ll talk.”

  Tex looked up at the blue sky over the roof of Thelma Johnson’s house and squinted at the sun. He rested one arm on the roof of his car and the other on the open car door.

  “Let me give you some advice, Night. This thing with Turlington is a chance for you to get resolution. So get it and move on.”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  “I’m just saying, don’t ignore your garden so long that the weeds choke out whatever’s trying to survive. If you do, you’ll end up with nothing.” He lowered himself into his car and pulled the door shut.

  I was tired of double talk and of things not being what they seemed. I pounded on the driver’s side window before he pulled away. He rolled it down halfway.

  “What do you want from me?” I asked before he could say a word.

  “I want you to acknowledge the truth.”

  “About what?”

  “About your relationship with your boyfriend, for starters.”

  “What gives you the right to say that? Besides, you’re in a relationship too. We are the same, Lieutenant.”

  He got out of the car and slammed the door. “You’re right, we are the same. Only you won’t see it.” He moved toward me, and I stepped backward.

  “I take it back, we’re not the same. I asked you for a favor, but I never used you. You’re using me now, just like you used me when you thought I could help you with the pillow stalkings. And as soon as it was over, after all of your attention, you dropped out of my life.”

  We were face to face. My eyes went from his eyes to his mouth. I closed the gap between us and kissed him.

  His hands were like irons on my arms, searing through the flannel pajamas. I was shocked by my forwardness. As suddenly as I’d started the kiss, I stopped.

  Tex’s woodsy cologne mingled with the scent of the social garlic plant blooming by the foundation of the house.

  “What do you want, Madison?” he asked in a husky voice.

  “I want everybody to realize I’m an adult with a perfectly good life all by myself.”

  I could feel myself breathing deeply, could see the rise and fall of my own chest. I only partially knew what I was saying. Tex let go of my arms and stepped backward.

  “Madison, my job is to protect the citizens of Dallas. You’re a citizen of Dallas. But let me be clear. Ever since I saw you in that fluffy yellow nightgown, my thoughts about you are definitely of the adult variety.”

  I closed my eyes, afraid of the emotions I’d see in Tex’s face. When I opened them, he wasn’t looking at me anymore. He was looking at a Dallas Police patrol car that was driving past us.

  I stepped back. I couldn’t believe I’d kissed Tex in front of Thelma Johnson’s house, or that we’d been spied by someone on the force. I was forty-seven years old, and I felt like I was fourteen.

  I turned around and stormed back into the house. A part of me expected Tex to follow. He didn’t.

  I splashed cool water on my face and wrists and tried to ignore what just happened. Despite every single thing wrong with the way Tex and I interacted, there was a shred of attraction that I’d have to acknowledge, sooner rather than later.

  What was it I’d said to Tex that he’d repeated to me? When people are in a relationship, they’re supposed to want to spend time together.

  So why was I spending more time with him than with Brad, or even with Hudson? And why was Tex spending time with me instead of Nasty?

  I was not the type to juggle multiple men. I also wasn’t the type to encourage cheating. Brad knew that. That’s why, back when he was trying to get away from the people who he claimed were after him, he told me he was married. He knew it was the only way to get me to steer clear of him. But even before I had evidence that the reason for Brad’s return was less than romantic, I hadn’t been willing to open back up to him.

  And there was Hudson, too. Why did I make excuses for not accepting his invitation or advances? Why did I go out of my way to only encourage our professional relationship?

  And why, oh why, of all people in the world, did I end up kissing Lieutenant Tex Allen, the most annoying man this side of the Mississippi?

  I gave Tex a fifteen minute head start before leaving for the studio. I didn’t know if I could count on him to bring me anything, but I couldn’t run about in my pajamas all day.

  I drove to the studio and tried to read emails, but I was too tired to concentrate. I lay my head on top of folded arms and closed my eyes. It was the shrill ring of the donut phone that woke me up.

  “Mad for Mod,” I said into the receiver after knocking the base off the desk.

  “Unlock your back door,” commanded Tex through the phone. In the background I heard a small, excited yip.

  I raced to the back in my wrinkled pajamas. I hadn’t expected Tex to come through for me. When I opened the door, Rocky charged. Tex stood against his cop car with Rocky’s leash in his hand. I ignored the leash and scooped up Rocky.

  “I suppose I owe you a thank you,” I said as Rocky licked the side of my face.

  “Not now, Night,” he answered.

  Before I could think of a comeback, Officer Nast got out of the driver’s side of the cruiser. Her eyes dropped to my pajamas and slippers, jumped to Tex for a moment, then settled on my face. Immediately, things changed.

  “What’s up, officers?” I asked.

  “Donna has to use your restroom,” Tex said.

  I looked at his face, then hers, then back at his. She looked as annoyed with the situation as I felt. I didn’t think for a second that they
were there for a bathroom break, but I couldn’t figure out anything else to say or do. I crossed the lot to the back door and unlocked it, then held it open for her to enter.

  “My office is to the right. To the left of the cork wall is a small door. Inside is the powder room. Go crazy.”

  She pushed past me without saying thank you. I wasn’t surprised.

  As soon as I heard the sound of the door closing inside the office, Tex grabbed a bag from the back seat of his car and tossed it on the ground in front of me. He grabbed my upper arm and pulled me away from the building.

  “We’ve got about three minutes. I did what you asked, now it’s your turn.”

  “For what?”

  “You know what I want, Night. You were holding out on me earlier, but I’m not a patient man.”

  “I don’t think now is the time or place to talk about what that kiss meant.” I looked past him at the back door. “Nasty is—Officer Nast is going to be back any second.”

  “Stop stalling, Night. You know what I’m talking about. Tell me what you know about the money.”

  SEVENTEEN

  I searched Tex’s face. His hand was still on my arm, biting into my flesh. I wasn’t sure what he expected me to say or how I could possibly tell him my concerns in three minutes. Two and a half, really, since I had already wasted so much time thinking about our kiss.

  “No,” I said.

  “There’s no time for you to be stubborn.”

  “I’m not being stubborn. If you want to know what I know, you’re going to have to figure out a way to be alone with me for more than three minutes.”

  His eyebrows shot up.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  His crystal blue eyes bored into mine like drill bits piercing concrete, but I stood my ground. Despite what I’d said, I was being stubborn, but not for the reasons Tex thought.

  He dropped his hand from my arm and tucked his thumbs into his front pockets, fingers dangling loosely.