by Shawna Seed
“She was insecure. If she didn’t think Cliff was paying enough attention to her, she’d find something to have a hissy fit about. Mostly she just said mean things, but sometimes she’d throw stuff or try to kick him.”
“And how did Cliff respond to that?”
“Cliff’s a big guy, so it’s not like she ever really hurt him,” Sharlah said. “He’d just catch her wrist and tell her to calm down. He was good with her.”
“So you never saw him respond with violence?”
“Never. Brian wouldn’t have been friends with him if anything like that had gone on. He doesn’t believe in hitting women.”
The detective turned a page. “So, if you don’t think Cliff could have done this, any thoughts on who might have? Anyone she had trouble with?”
“I don’t know,” Sharlah said. “I mean, it’s not like she hung around a rough crowd or anything.”
“What about this drug situation your boyfriend’s involved in?”
Sharlah’s temper flared. “Are you saying Brian had something to do with this? That’s bullshit! Brian wouldn’t hurt anybody! Anyway, you’ve had him locked up since Friday.”
“I’m asking whether you think the two things could be related, that’s all.”
“I’m not convinced Brian had anything to do with drugs,” Sharlah said, her voice rising. “I don’t have to believe it just because you all say so!”
It seemed as though the madder she got, the calmer the detective was. He eyed her steadily. “If you know something, you need to tell. We’re talking about a murder now.”
“I don’t know anything!”
The detective waited and watched.
“Honest to God, I don’t,” Sharlah said. “I never heard anybody talk about drugs. I never saw any money. Brian and me, we’re broke. Ask anybody. Ask our landlord how often we’re short for the rent and pay a couple days late. Ask my boss how often I pick up extra shifts.”
“OK,” the detective said, holding up his palm to slow her down. “OK. Do you know where Cliff Knorr is? We’ve been trying to locate him since Friday.”
“Since Friday? Why?”
Suddenly, everything became clear to Sharlah. Brian would never go out and do a drug deal on his own, but Cliff? He was trying to come up with money to open a bar.
Now she could see how it all might have happened: Cliff talked Brian into it, and Cliff probably had the money, and Cliff was the reason Brian wouldn’t talk to the police.
The detective was watching her closely, but she wasn’t going to let on that she’d figured anything out. She was determined not to make things worse for Brian.
“If Cliff’s not at his mom’s, or his dad’s, then I don’t know where he is,” Sharlah said.
“Let’s change gears,” the detective said. “In your experience, how conscious of her personal safety was Missy? Was she careful? Did she always lock the door?”
“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Sharlah said. “I used to work nights, and we talked about how you have to walk out with other people and have your keys already in your hand. She even talked about getting a gun, but I don’t think she did.”
“If I told you that she appeared to be dressed for bed, in a big T-shirt and her underpants, and that it didn’t appear anyone broke in, what would you surmise?”
Sharlah looked at him blankly.
“Guess,” he said, “what would you guess, based on those facts?”
Sharlah crossed her arms. “You’re trying to get me to say it was Cliff.”
“No,” the detective said. “I’m just asking, what do you think that means?”
“That it was someone she thought she was safe with,” Sharlah said quietly.
There was a tap at the door, and a man stuck his head into the room. “Notification’s done. Patrol’s got your witness. We’re waiting for his lawyer.”
“Cuff him in the waiting area,” the detective said. “Have the patrolman come get her.”
He slid a business card across the table to Sharlah. “I’m going to check out what you told me, and if I find out you’re lying about anything, you’re going to be right back down here, OK? If you think of anything else, you call the number on that card. We’re getting a patrolman to drive you back to your car. Wait here.”
He got up and followed the other man out of the room.
A minute or two later, the door opened again. Sharlah recognized the uniformed officer – he was the one who had helped her right her couch, the one who came to the diner.
“I’ll take you back to your car,” he said, all business, as usual.
“I know you,” Sharlah said. “You were at my house the other day.” She peered at his name tag. R. ZUK, it read. “How do you say your name?”
He looked down at the tag, as though he needed to read it. “Rhymes with book.” He held the door open. “This way, please. Down the hallway and…”
Sharlah stepped out of the room and then, at the end of the hallway, she spotted Brian. He was sitting on a bench, staring at the floor.
“Brian!”
Without even thinking, she sprinted toward him.
Brian looked up when she called his name. He tried to stand, but his right wrist was handcuffed to a metal ring bolted into the wall.
“Miss Webb! Stop!” Zuk called after her.
Sharlah reached Brian and awkwardly threw her arms around his neck. Brian wrapped his free arm around her. “Hey, Shar,” he murmured.
Zuk came hustling up behind, all the equipment on his belt rattling and squeaking. “Miss Webb,” he said. “Step back, please.”
Sharlah ignored him. Ever since she found Missy, she’d been trying to keep it together and do what the cops asked her to do, but she’d had enough.
Another cop came around the corner and stopped short. “What the hell is going on here? Break that up!”
Brian put his hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her away. “Shar, you have to do what they say.”
Sharlah sank to her knees and began to cry, big heaving sobs. Embarrassed, she put her hands to her face.
“She’s a friend of the dead girl,” Zuk told the other cop. “She ID’d the body.”
Brian leaned over, as close as he could get to Sharlah without touching her. His free hand twitched on his knee, inches from her head. “Shar, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”
That just made Sharlah cry harder. Then Brian’s breath became uneven, like he was crying, too.
“Get her up,” the second cop said. “Now.”
Zuk squatted down and took Sharlah’s elbow. “Miss Webb, you have to stand up.”
Sharlah reluctantly allowed him to pull her to her feet. She looked up at Zuk, then the other cop, her eyes still brimming with tears. She didn’t have a tissue; she dragged her hand across her face and wiped it on her T-shirt.
“Sorry,” she said.
Zuk exchanged a look with the other cop.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” the second cop said, sighing. “OK.”
Zuk fumbled on his belt for a key and unlocked Brian’s handcuff. “You can have a minute,” he said.
“One minute,” the other cop said, holding up one finger. “That’s it. And no talking!”
Freed from the cuff, Brian jumped up and wrapped his arms around Sharlah, pulling her in tight. She rested her head against his shoulder and buried her face in his neck.
The fabric of the jail shirt was rough against her cheek, and Brian smelled wrong – a harsh, chemical odor.
It didn’t matter.
“OK, that’s all,” the second cop said.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sharlah said into Brian’s neck. “At court.”
“I love you,” Brian whispered. “Hang in there.” Then he let her go and backed away.
When Officer Zuk dropped Sharlah at her car, he told her he was going to follow her home. She didn’t think that was necessary and told him so, but he seemed determined.
At the house, he offered to come in and take a look aro
und, which Sharlah thought was weird. She told Zuk thanks, but she was fine. She’d stayed in the house without Brian before – he was gone three days for his brother’s wedding, and his mom always insisted he had to spend one night at home at the holidays. She wasn’t worried.
Zuk told her to be sure to lock her doors, and then he left.
Sharlah did that right away, but she would have anyway. She didn’t need reminding. How did the detective put it? Sharlah was very conscious of her personal safety.
After she’d locked up, she went to the kitchen and surveyed the contents of the refrigerator and cupboard, trying to come up with something for dinner. She hadn’t eaten anything since a bowl of cereal at breakfast.
She didn’t have much to choose from. Friday was supposed to be payday for Brian; they’d been counting on his check for grocery money.
There was a box of macaroni and cheese, but no margarine or milk. Sharlah knew from experience that substituting water for the milk produced a runny, inedible mess. There were four slices of bread, counting the heel, and a little bit of peanut butter. Looked like she’d be having PBJ again. She thought there might be an apple left in the crisper drawer, but then she remembered that she’d packed it in Brian’s lunch Friday.
As soon as Brian made bail and came home, they were going to have to figure out what to do about money.
Sharlah fished an envelope and a pencil out of the junk drawer and did a little calculating while she ate her sandwich. She could pick up two or maybe three extra shifts a week, but it would be hard to get more than that unless somebody quit.
Assuming nothing else went wrong, they’d be OK for a couple weeks, especially since she had money in savings. If something went wrong – and Sharlah was pretty sure her clutch was just about shot – they’d be out of money a lot sooner.
She didn’t know whether Brian could work when he was out on bail, but she could look for a second job. In the corner of the envelope, she jotted down other things they could do. The record store bought albums back. They could sell the TV. She scanned the living room, looking for anything else they could do without.
It was important to come up with a plan. If she didn’t, Brian’s parents would impose one, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what that would be. They’d want Brian to move home and work for his dad, like he had summers and Saturdays all through high school. They’d try their damnedest to make it impossible for him to see Sharlah.
Of course, they were paying the lawyer, so Brian’s parents might do all of that anyway.
Sharlah found herself getting really mad at him for giving them the opening, but then she made herself stop and take a deep breath. She was trying hard not to be angry until she heard his side of things. For all she knew, Brian wasn’t even aware of the pot under the lumber in his truck. It would be just like him to do somebody a favor and not ask questions.
The phone rang then, a welcome distraction from her calculations.
It was Kevin. He’d already heard about Missy; Sharlah was glad she didn’t have to break the news. Like Brian, Kevin had known Missy a lot longer than Sharlah had.
He asked her what happened at the police station. She tried to keep it short, because she really didn’t feel like rehashing all the details.
“So I guess it had to be Cliff,” Kevin said when she was done.
“I don’t believe that,” Sharlah said. “I know they argued, but he loved Missy. I don’t think it’s fair to Cliff to say that.”
“Hey, I’m just saying that’s what the police think,” Kevin said. “Anyway, that’s not really why I called. I need to talk to you about Brian’s court appearance tomorrow.”
That was just like Kevin, cutting to the chase. That was the difference between him and Brian. Kevin was always focused.
“It’s at 11, right? And we’re supposed to meet the lawyer in the hallway at ten of?”
Kevin took a deep breath. “Here’s the thing, Sharlah. Mom thinks it’s really important to make a good impression on the judge. She wants him to see Brian’s not just a drug dealer, he’s…”
“Brian’s not a drug dealer!”
“Well, the police say he is. Mom wants to show he’s from a good family and…”
Sharlah should have known this was coming. She stamped her foot and fought the urge to cuss Kevin out.
“And she doesn’t want me there.”
“It’s not that she doesn’t want you there,” Kevin said. “It’s more like…”
“She never wants me around, Kevin. I’m not stupid.”
“No one’s saying you’re stupid, Sharlah.”
“So what are you saying?”
Kevin sighed. “Look, don’t shoot the messenger here, OK? I talked to Dad, and what we were thinking was, if you could maybe not wear your work uniform and…”
“I can’t skip work, Kevin. I need the money. I’m already leaving early.”
“Nobody’s asking you to skip work. But it would be great if you could change before you came to the courthouse.”
Sharlah added up in her head how much money she’d lose taking an additional 15 minutes off her shift. “Fine. I can change first.”
“Just make sure it’s not shorts or jeans. It needs to be something nice, like a skirt, but not a short skirt. Nothing that would look…”
“Like I’m Brian’s trailer-trash girlfriend?” That’s what Renee called her: Brian’s trailer-trash girlfriend. Sharlah knew this because Missy had told her.
“Sharlah, I’m trying to help you here.”
“Thanks, Kevin. I appreciate the help. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Sharlah slammed the receiver back in the cradle.
FOUR
Sharlah set her alarm a half-hour early so she’d have time to blow-dry and style her hair. Even as she carefully curled each section, watching herself in the mirror, she knew it was a waste of time. The first time she walked into the hot kitchen at the diner it would wilt. Anyway, Renee would probably give her the evil eye no matter how she looked.
Two sets of clothes were laid out on the bed: her uniform and her outfit for court.
She’d gone through her closet the night before and pulled out a plain blue cotton skirt that came to her knees and a yellow polo shirt. Missy had helped Sharlah shop for the clothes when she decided to try for an office job. The yellow was a terrible color on her, but the shirt had been marked down to $4, too cheap to pass up.
It was good she was getting another use out of the clothes, because she didn’t get the job. The ad in the paper said it was just answering the phone and filing, no typing necessary, but when Sharlah filled out the application, the woman said they couldn’t consider anyone without a high school diploma.
The only shoes Sharlah had that would work were a pair of Candies that hurt her feet, the ones Brian called her Barbie shoes. She’d borrowed a pair of blue espadrilles from Missy when she went to see about the job.
She’d dreamed the night before about shopping with Missy. Missy came out of the dressing room and said, “How do I look?” And when Sharlah looked, one side of her head was spurting blood.
“Ouch!” Sharlah yanked the hot curling iron away from her neck. She pushed her hair back and leaned up on her tiptoes to take a look in the mirror. Her neck was a little red, but it seemed like the burn mark would fade.
God only knew what Renee would say if she showed up with a red mark on her neck. She’d probably try to convince Brian some other guy put it there.
It was so stupid, the way Renee always got worked up over how Sharlah looked. It had been that way from the very beginning, since the first Thanksgiving Brian took her home. They’d only been together a few weeks, and she didn’t know that Brian’s mom expected everybody to dress up until she saw him putting on a sweater and khakis that morning.
Sharlah was in jeans and a sweatshirt. She didn’t own anything nicer, and there was no place open to buy anything, not that she could afford to. Brian told her not to worry and even changed into jea
ns to make her feel better, but it didn’t matter. His mom was pissed.
By their first Christmas, Sharlah had the job at the diner and volunteered to work. That’s what they always did now for holidays. Sharlah worked, and Brian packed his nice clothes and went to Houston the night before, to keep his mom happy.
Sharlah stopped and made herself take a deep breath. Sometimes just thinking about Brian’s mom made her so mad that her hands shook.
Sharlah knew her manager, Joan, didn’t like to think about anything too complicated until she’d had her first cup of coffee. Sharlah poured the cup herself and took it to Joan. She waited 10 more minutes before she went to explain about Brian’s court date.
Joan heard her out, but Sharlah could tell from her expression that she wasn’t happy.
“This is two times in three days you’ve asked me to let you go early, Sharlah, and both times with no warning.”
“I know,” Sharlah said, “and I’m sorry about that. But after today, Brian’s out on bail, and then I’ll have more notice before the next thing.”
Joan had little glasses that she wore on a beaded chain, and she liked to stare at people over the top of them when she was displeased.
“When did you find out about this?”
“On Saturday.”
“So why am I finding out today, which is Monday?”
“I was going to ask yesterday,” Sharlah said. She looked around and dropped her voice. “But a friend died, and I had to talk to the police. I was at the station all afternoon.”
Joan drew back in surprise. “That girl in the condo down on Seawall?”
Sharlah nodded.
“Let me look at the schedule. Get back to work now.”
Fifteen minutes later, Joan found Sharlah setting out salt and pepper shakers. “Come talk to me in the office,” she said.
Sharlah followed her down the hall, past the restrooms and the pay phone into a little cubbyhole next to the kitchen.
“Shut the door,” Joan said.
Sharlah scooted up against the desk and closed the door.
Joan had the morning paper spread out before her on the desk.