"But you said she'd never stopped loving him."
"She didn't, but right now she's in denial. She believes that she got over him. It was her way of dealing with the loss, and getting on with her life."
"Hmm.” It was obvious by his puzzled tone that Reuben didn't understand. “Do you think Zack will believe that nonsense about Justine being in love with Fowler and using him as a rebound?"
Mini clicked her beak in frustration as she remembered the scene between Zack and that blundering idiot, Barry. “If he's smart he won't, but I don't think Fowler helped matters."
"I wished he'd come into the store. I'd give him a rash or make his hair fall out or something,” Reuben grumbled. “That mortal is a nuisance we can do without."
A giggle escaped Mini. “The monkey must have thought so, too."
With a deep chuckle, Reuben agreed. “The little creature reminds me of myself when I was a young warlock."
Mini cocked her head at his admiring tone. “You like the monkey, then?” It wasn't a cat, but...
"Not that much, so don't get any ideas about taking him home with us,” Reuben said, guessing her thoughts. “Let's see how Justine and Jordan are doing, shall we? Zack will be cleaning for a while, I expect."
Producing her crystal ball again, Mini suspended it before them and waited. After a few seconds of concentrating on Justine and Jordan's image, they came into view.
"That looks delicious,” Reuben declared, watching as the young mortal Jordan took a huge bite from a slice of pizza.
"Darling.” Mini nudged him.
"Hmm?"
"My feathers are getting wet."
"Pardon?"
"You're drooling all over my wing."
"Oh.” Reuben produced a handkerchief and wiped the moisture from his beak. “Sorry, my dear. Say, you don't suppose—"
"No, we can't eat pizza."
She laughed at his crestfallen expression.
The monkey took one look at Zack's murderous expression and let out a shriek. He threw the canister in the air, scattering the remaining inch or so of flour and adding it to the rest settling on the wet floor. The tin container hit the floor with a crash, startling the monkey. With another squeal he plowed through the pasty mess and disappeared into Zack's bedroom—the only room that wasn't covered in water, flour, or both.
A second later the door slammed shut.
Zack slowly closed his mouth. Now he knew the meaning behind the saying, truth is stranger than fiction. The monkey might be a little touched in the head, but he certainly wasn't stupid. He'd known how to turn on faucets, plug the drain, and he obviously recognized rage. Rage was a mild definition of what he felt, but he was too stunned to think of a word that did fit. He wasn't sure there was one.
But standing in place wouldn't make the mess disappear. He needed to get it cleaned up before the landlord came home, before Fowler got to him and complained. Zack didn't doubt for a moment that he'd get a visit tonight from one or both. Fowler didn't really worry him; he'd just refuse to answer the door.
The landlord—Mr. Potter—had a duplicate key to his apartment. If the water from the bathroom had leaked through the floor into his bathroom, it would collaborate Fowler's story and Mr. Potter would feel obligated to check out Fowler's claim.
They would find Dennis. He'd get a nice formal eviction notice and Fowler would rub his pudgy hands together and smirk his little smirk. He'd get the hot water all to himself, not that Zack cared.
Zack felt sick. He knew it was his ego talking, but he just couldn't tolerate the thought of Fowler witnessing his humiliation, especially after what he'd said about Justine. True or not—and later he would have to consider it—it was unchivalrous of Fowler to talk about Justine as if she were nothing more than a...a slutty Goldilocks who couldn't decide whose bed suited her.
There was only one thing to do; hide the monkey and get rid of every trace of evidence so Fowler's incredible story wouldn't hold water. Ha. Ha. Zack didn't crack a smile, didn't have the slightest urge to laugh at his pun.
The water in the foyer would have to go first, and that meant he'd have to risk running into Fowler before he was finished. Unless...Zack's gaze narrowed speculatively on the south window. He walked across the room and lifted it, inspecting the fire escape. Yes, he could see a few dry patches in the ice. If he were careful, he could go down the fire escape, come in through the front door, and mop up the water in the foyer.
If he left the window open a bit, he could return the same way with Fowler none the wiser.
Zack grabbed an armful of towels and climbed through the window onto the fire escape. Leaving the window cracked, he tucked the towels beneath his arm and carefully placed his feet on the dry spots, avoiding the dangerous patches of ice.
He made it to the bottom of the slick metal stairs without mishap. After establishing that Mr. Potter's car was still absent from the garage, he rounded the corner of the house and entered the empty foyer. The cleanup took only moments, and once again he climbed the treacherous fire escape. This time the towels were wet and heavy. His left side of his sweat shirt was soaked and cold by the time he reached the window to his apartment.
It was closed.
Muttering a disbelieving curse, Zack dropped the wet towels and tugged on the window. It wasn't just closed, he realized, it was locked. There was only one explanation: the monkey had locked him out.
Zack peered through the glass, cursing when he spotted his keys lying on the hall table. It was a habit, and one he decided then and there to break. He'd never again take his keys from his pocket until he changed pants. Fat lot of good his resolution did him now, though.
He could break the window, but then he might attract unwanted attention with the noise. Another solution would be to wait for Mr. Potter's return and get his duplicate key.
But waiting would wreck his plans of getting rid of the evidence. He would get evicted, Fowler would gloat, the monkey would have to be returned to the store, and Justine would think him irresponsible.
Zack tapped his fingers against the glass as an outrageous idea came to him. It was a long shot, but what if Mr. Potter's window wasn't locked? He knew Cannon Bay's crime rate to be admirably low, and he himself rarely checked the locks on his windows. Zack's cold lips tilted in a humorless smile as he remembered the consequences of his indifference. Leaving his window unlocked had been an open invitation for someone to come in and snoop.
But he didn't want to snoop; he just wanted a key. It wouldn't exactly be breaking and entering, would it? He would be borrowing a key to his own apartment. In and out without anyone knowing. No harm done. Later, he could slip the key beneath Mr. Potter's door. It wasn't like he was planning to steal anything valuable.
Zack shook his head, wondering if he'd gone crazy. He was sneaking around on fire escapes, thinking about slipping through his landlord's window, just to...what? Save his apartment? Protect his ego? Help a monkey who turned out to be much, much smarter than anyone anticipated? Oh, and he'd almost forgotten the assault charges Fowler was likely to bring against him.
The cold had begun to seep through his sweatshirt before Zack finally convinced himself there was no other way. The sun had sunk below a line of trees in the distance, reminding Zack that it would be dark soon. He had to do something, and soon.
With a bad feeling in his gut and a few choice curses directed at a certain clever monkey, he carefully descended again. The irony didn't escape Zack. His intelligence was superior to that of the monkey's, yet he was sneaking around in the cold while Dennis the Menace Monkey was safe and warm inside the apartment.
The realization did nothing for his bruised pride.
Evening shadows cast by the fire escape gave Zack a false sense of invisibility as he crept to Mr. Potter's window. With fingers raw and red from the cold, he gave the window a gentle tug.
It didn't budge.
Zack cupped his hands around his eyes and pressed his face to the glass. It was locked, but he saw th
at the latch was just a hair's breadth away from the edge of the frame. A quick jiggle or two might do the trick. It crossed his mind that just a few nights ago, someone might have been doing the same to his window, but Zack didn't think about it long.
He gripped the upper edges of the window and lifted up, then let go. Another peek. Yes, it looked like it might work. He did it again, and again. On the fourth jiggle, the lock slipped off the frame. The well-oiled window came up so fast it startled Zack.
But not as much as the voice that spoke directly behind him.
"Don't make any sudden moves, mister. Raise your arms real slow."
Since Zack already had his arms in the air, he simply left them there. Something hard and cold pressed against his neck. It didn't feel like a gun, but it got the point across all the same.
"You have the right to remain silent."
Cold steel clicked over his left wrist.
"Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law,” the faceless voice intoned.
Zack finally found his voice. “You're making a mistake."
"Is this your apartment?"
"Well, no, but—"
The handcuff clicked over his right wrist.
He tried a different tactic. “I'm Zachary Wayne, the substitute football coach—"
"I don't care if you're the pope. If I caught him breaking into someone's house, I'd arrest him, too."
Slowly, Zack closed his eyes and leaned his head against the cold window pane. Obviously, the officer wasn't a football fan, or he would have recognized his name.
"Turn around, Mr. Wayne, nice and slow."
On second thought, Zack didn't think it would matter.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Fifteen
"I shouldn't have come here."
Justine said the words out loud as she waited for Zack to answer the door. She would step inside for just a moment—keep her coat on—and say what she came to say. He would nod. Perhaps his ego would suffer a slight stroke, but when he realized that she was serious he would have to accept that she wasn't the type to have casual affairs.
And absolutely no way was she going to believe him if he began to tell her it wasn't casual, that he cared. The cruise ship subject was out. Taboo. Long gone and over with.
She'd been that route once, had believed him once, and now she knew better. In fact, she wouldn't stick around to listen at all. He couldn't force her to listen, and he most certainly couldn't force her to believe. He'd see that she wasn't the same gullible fool she'd once been.
When Zachary Wayne left Cannon Bay, he wouldn't be leaving her broken heart behind.
Strengthened by her decisiveness, Justine knocked on the door again. Louder. She frowned, listening for the sound of footsteps, or his voice calling out. Moments ticked by. She began to have doubts.
His Explorer was parked in the garage. She had seen a light shining through his window.
So why wasn't he answering the door?
"He won't answer."
She jumped and swung around, placing a hand over her clamoring heart. It was just Barry...holding an ice pack to the back his head. His suit was damp and wrinkled and his hair was a mess. But there was an angry gleam in his eye, and his mouth was puckered in a pout.
He reminded Justine of the town bully who had finally met someone his own size. She immediately chided herself for her unkind thought and asked solicitously, “What happened to your head?"
"Ask your lover boy when you see him."
"Zack did that to you?” Justine saw a flicker of uncertainty in Barry's eyes before an ugly sneer took over.
"Don't look so surprised.” He gingerly adjusted the ice pack. “And don't worry, he didn't stick his own neck out—he had someone else do the job."
"Do...the job?” Perhaps he had a concussion, Justine thought, because he certainly wasn't making any sense.
"He wants me out of the way, now that he knows about us."
"Barry.” Justine spoke gently, convinced now that he was talking out of his head. “There is no us. Not anymore. There hasn't been for a long time now.” It shouldn't have been news to Barry; she reminded him at least once a week when he called.
"But you agreed to go out with me. I thought—"
"I shouldn't have. It—it was a mistake.” Justine felt her face heat in a shameful blush for leading him on. It was Zack's fault for coming to town and stirring up old feelings she thought she'd buried. Damn him. “Barry, I'm sorry."
"It's him, isn't it? He told me you were with him last night."
Justine froze. She figured someone could easily light a match on her face, it was so hot. Barry knew about last night? Zack had told him? Had bragged about it?
Of course he had. There was no other way Barry could know.
The realization settled like a cold, hard stone in her belly. He'd turned a private moment into something nasty and public. She'd known he was a coldhearted man—anyone who broke hearts for kicks had to be—but she hadn't known he was that cold. She asked another question, figuring she had nothing to lose. Better to be prepared than to be in the dark. “Did he tell you anything else?"
"Just that you fell in love with him on that stupid cruise.” He followed this with a scornful laugh that made Justine flinch and wonder for the hundredth time what she ever saw in him. He was a weak, mean-spirited person.
Justine clenched her hands inside her coat pockets. Her eyes burned, but there was no way in hell she was going to allow one single tear-drop to fall with Barry watching.
"Zack was wrong,” she lied without a qualm. “I thought I was in love with him, just like I thought I was in love with you.” Her smile nearly cracked her skin, it was so brittle. “I was wrong on both counts. Guilty as charged."
She turned and walked away, gallantly fighting tears. When she reached the foyer, she slipped in a puddle of water and almost fell. She glared down at the water through a blur of tears.
If she had fallen, it would have been the last straw.
The close-up in the crystal ball of Justine's, big, shimmering eyes was heartbreakingly clear. “Oh, dear,” Mini whispered pityingly. “Poor Justine."
Reuben was too furious over what Barry had said to feel any sympathy for Justine. Mini was much better at it anyway. “Why, that lousy black-hearted—” He broke off, so incensed he was speechless for the first time in his long and checkered life.
"She believed him.” Mini felt a spurt of silly tears spring to her own eyes. “She believed him, and now things are worse. What are we going to do?"
"That obnoxious mortal twisted Zack's words!” Reuben raged. “When Zack tells Justine the truth—"
"I don't think she'll listen.” Mini's heart sank at the thought. They'd made so much progress—or so she had believed.
"Let's see what Zack is doing. He should be finished cleaning by now.” Reuben bent his head as Mini turned the crystal ball around. “I predict he'll get right on the phone the moment he finishes."
Her voice shaking, Mini said slowly, “I don't think so, dear husband. Look!"
Reuben blinked at the image in the crystal ball, stumbled back a step, and stared at Mini with his mouth agape. “He's behind bars!"
"Oh, Reuben! We've made such an awful mess!” Mini collapsed against his breast and began to sob as if her heart were breaking.
Stunned by her reaction, Reuben patted her back and made an awkward attempt to soothe her. “Now, now, dear. No need to get upset."
Mini cried harder.
Justine hated to cry. It made her eyelids swollen and red, and her face blotchy.
The bubble bath didn't seem to be helping. Each time she sniffed, more tears leaked out and ran down her stinging cheeks. She couldn't even get the temperature of the water right. Maybe when she got out of the tub she'd write Calgon a nasty letter. She wiped at her cheeks and took a shuddering breath. Sue them for false advertisement. Yeah, that's what she'd do.
She cupped a handful of water and dribbled i
t onto Thor, who sat next to the tub waiting for her to do just that. Perched on the shelf above the tub, Rogue dozed off and on, jerking his head up each time he heard the water slosh.
Squeeze was nowhere to be found. Justine had made a quick search while the tub filled, but hadn't found her. She wasn't too concerned; the snake couldn't have gotten out of the apartment. Justine hiccupped and slumped against the tub.
This was the pits. How had it happened? She'd been determined...strong. And stupid. Making love with Zack had been stupid, stupid, stupid.
The phone began to ring, but Justine made no move to answer it. That's what answering machines were—
Zack's voice interrupted her thoughts. Justine froze.
"Justine, it's Zack."
As if she didn't recognize his voice! It did sound strange, though, as if he spoke with his hand cupped around his mouth.
"I'm in jail. I need your help."
To the point, yet in a secretive tone totally unlike Zack.
Justine sat up so quickly Thor got more than just a sprinkle. The iguana shook the water from his head and lumbered away as if insulted. She climbed from the tub and dried herself in record time.
Zack was in jail. She couldn't believe it...but it would explain why his Explorer had been parked in the garage when he apparently wasn't home. Had Barry pressed charges? she wondered, quickly braiding her hair. He hadn't mentioned it, but he could have changed his mind after she left.
Zack had said he needed her help.
In her bedroom, Justine grabbed a sweatshirt from her closet and yanked it over her head. She tugged on a pair of jeans, slipped on thick socks, and was halfway out the door before she realized she'd forgotten her shoes.
She took a deep breath and shut the door. Hysteria would not help Zack, she chided herself, pressing a fist against her racing heart. And where had she been going, anyway? To the jailhouse? To do what? They wouldn't just let him go because she insisted. She wasn't even sure why he was in jail!
But she could find out. Quickly, she dialed the police station and asked for Mac. Mac would know. Mac would tell her.
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