by Wayne Tripp
“Thanks James. Yeah, I’ll keep my weather eye out for the old fart. I’ll talk to Tom in the morning. Oh…Kat, darling?”
Jamie turned around, and there she was, smiling up into his face, looking so sweet and tempting in her low-cut lacy chemise and leather boots. For a moment, he forgot all about Ezekiel Browne, Lacey, and the pouring rain.
* * * *
She sang five more songs after her break, moving her way down off the stage and weaving through the crowd to stand before Jamie’s corner table. Her tunes were sea shanties, local favorites anyway, but she sang them especially for Jamie. He sat with his free beer untouched, completely under her spell, knowing that if she were singing on the shore as he sailed by, he’d drive Rattlesnake hard aground on the sharp rocks just to be near her, and never blink once. In his pocket, his cell had recorded three messages from Lacey, each more desperate than the last. They’d ceased abruptly, though it wouldn’t matter, because he’d ignored them completely, and her desperate need was long past.
Beginning her last song of the evening–Spanish Ladies–Kat rose from leaning across Jamie’s table and closed up the front of her lacy chemise before she turned and began to work her way back through the late night crowd. Only Jamie had been treated to the vision of her half bared chest–she’d teasingly slipped each button undone and spread the thin cotton aside to offer him a tantalizing glimpse of her breasts. Her invitation had been blatantly obvious. He imagined in her mind, if her plan worked, she’d soon be in his bedroom letting him have her.
“Farewell and Adieu, you fair Spanish Ladies.” The entire crowd picked up the well-known refrain, many of the tipsy patrons sloshing half empty tankards and rocking back and forth with their neighbors. Kat felt tonight’s crowd would have done any pirate crew proud. Now to bed the captain.
* * * *
Within ten minutes they’d said their good-byes to the midnight revelers, with Jamie promising Shamus to “take care of his little problem”. Sean had been good at his word, declaring he had something special brewing so he was unable to give Kat her usual ride home. Certain as the evening tide, her knight in shiny armor, stepped into the breach and offered her a ride in his steed. Pleased with herself, she’d accepted; soon they were working their way away through the fog-shrouded water front, and headed for his place. They passed by Slocum’s hardware store, the beam from the lone harbor lighthouse struggling to penetrate the roiling fog and light up the crowded display window. They inched by Eldridge’s Marine Supply, and Lucy’s, another watering hole, and then picked up a little speed as they passed a string of four identical B&Bs, fashioned to look turn of the century, yet barely two years old. Jamie smiled at Kat. Smugly, she beamed back. He hadn’t taken much convincing; she’d seen how intoxicated he was as they staggered across the rain-slick cobble stones toward his Escape. The rain had stopped, chased away by a thick eerie fog engulfing the harbor. Kat snuggled next to Jamie as they walked arm in arm, encouraging him to take her. So here they were, driving to his bed.
Finally clear of winding cobblestone roads, he drove with one hand, and began pawing at her breasts with the other. She undid her flimsy chemise, and thrust her breasts within easy reach, but she could see his urgent need, so she pulled away and stopped flaunting herself. It pleased her that he was so excited, but she didn’t want him coming in his pants. He had to be all of twenty-eight, and she didn’t want to wait all night while he worked up some more juice.
“Shamus told me why they call you the Mad Scotsman. It’s because you sail that sloop of yours in the wildest weather when everybody else stays in port, and you take all the really dangerous police work that nobody else wants.”
He shot her a quick look, unable to believe that flaunting her near naked boobies in his face seconds before–enough to make his cock rock hard–she’d suddenly turned prude and decided to talk about sailing and police work. They weren’t crime-fighting partners now.
“What? Kat, you work me up to a fever-pitch, and now you want to talk about sailing? What gives?” Exactly, what was her damned plan? Was he getting laid or not? He was really horny now, and a bad case of blue balls just wasn’t part of his plan.
“I’m just making small talk. Like talking about the Red Sox in bed. I can see you’re really turned on, and I want to make sure we make the bedroom.”
“I’m not twelve! I have had sex before. Usually without complaint.”
“You mean with her?”
“Oh Christ! Yes, Lacey. You know that! W-we ran into a little . . . problem. It's you I came to see, not her. Now, should I turn this car around, or do we continue?”
For an answer, she shrugged out of her coat, and pulled her chemise open. In the dim light, her naked breasts appeared ghostly white. Unable to keep his eyes off her, Jamie swerved across the empty country road.
“Jesus, Kat!”
“Here’s your answer, officer. I’m so horny, I think you better throw me in your bed and arrest me.”
Jamie laughed at the over-used cliché, and touched her closest breast. “You sure about this, Kat? You could still make a run for it.”
“You know I’ve wanted you since we met, Jamie. Take me to bed, Copper.”
* * * *
Late at night the fog cleared off, and a spectral galleon of a moon sailed across a sea of angry clouds. Insisting on taking Kat home, Jamie did talk shop as they drove. He told her a lot of what he knew about the seedier side of crime on little old Grim Island. He reminded her that the island had been a dumping ground for Rhode Island from the beginning. Times had changed, but sometimes old curses died hard. Postcard pretty as the quaint coastal community was, sometimes centuries of bad peoples’ shit just left an underlying god awful stink.
She seemed to accept that, so he left the fouler truths unsaid. There was only so much he dared tell her, so much she was ready to handle. They’d talked about her son; she’d admitted she was well aware he was gone–it just gave her comfort sometimes to pretend he was still with her, going through the motions as though he really was. Apparently she hired the Standish kids to watch him, just so she could slip them a little extra help-out money without hurting their pride. Ever since their parents had died in a car crash, they’d had it pretty rough financially. Did he know about that car crash? Out near Raven’s Rest. Some pretty weird shit there.
She knew some people thought she was crazy, but that was an acceptable price for a little Christian charity towards those dear kids. She bit her lower lip then, keeping a few of her other secrets to herself; conveniently failing to tell him why she was still lactating even though her son was long dead, and not daring to breath a word about believing she was actually seeing and holding Brian.
* * * *
Lois Ricci had pulled a late one waiting tables at the Frolicking Mermaid. That new singer, Kat O'Hara had been on tap that night with Celtic Cross and she’d really packed them in. The place had really been hopping for a week night, and Lois had cleaned up on tips. Happy with the jingle of rent money in her apron, she decided to stop at Soares Sunoco station and treat her thirsty Chevy. Still in her green and white waitress uniform, she pulled up to the full service island and laid on her Chevelle’s horn until she saw old man Soares stir.
Grumbling all the way to the pump, Rufus mumbled and spit the whole time he forced gas down the Chevy’s throat. His pump dinged off at thirty-four, but he was able to cajole the old car into wolfing down an additional buck and three cents. Cursing up a storm over the cents his tardy trigger finger cost him; he shuffled over to Lois’s window. She thrust two twenties at him as though she couldn’t wait to see him curse and spit some more. He did, but turned on his worn work shoe heel, and trudged back inside. Impatient to be home, Louise kicked off her shoes and wiggled her tired toes. Starting the Chevy, she ran a brush through her hair. God, two twenties for a thirty-five dollar charge. Couldn’t the old coot do it in his head? She could almost picture him stru
ggling with the nub of a pencil, scratching out wrong answers. It’d almost be funny if she wasn’t so damned tired and anxious to go home.
Actually, Rufus was real good with figures, and not just the ones with curves. He’d reached in the register for a five and been starting out to Lois when he got a bad case of the shits. Man his age often had a problem going. A couple laxatives usually did the trick, but they had a habit of sneaking up on you, and when they said you got to go, you went! Trouble was, while he was sitting and pooping he heard a noise. Weird fucking noise. Coming from the back of the station and working to the front. Scared the crap out of him!
Empty as a brand-new vacuum, he hurried out the front door and trundled lickety-split over to Miss Ricci’s purring car. Only trouble was, she wasn’t in it. Rufus scratched his head, looked around, even calling her name two or three times. What could have happened to the pretty little thing? Finally, he pocketed the five, got in her car and drove it around back. Maybe she’d be back in the morning to pick it up. Maybe he’d think about calling Chief DeCosta and reporting the whole disturbing event. Maybe.
Chapter 16
“Hey, MacLeod,” tossed Larry, “doesn’t your girlfriend, that school teacher live out at the old Wetherill farmhouse?” Larry got instant attention from the previous night’s love birds, one of sudden interest, the other's, icy annoyance. “At 29 Sweet Bottom Lane?”
“Yeah, she does.” Jamie glanced at Kat, realizing he’d just opened a basket of spitting cobras. “Why, what’s up Larry? By the way, we missed you at the Mermaid last night. Thought you were going. What happened?”
“Wife wouldn’t let me out. She’s got a list of honey do items as long as my schlong.”
“So you should have been done in record time then,” teased Kat. “We did miss you though. Jamie made it after all.”
“Don’t be a smart ass, O’Malley. I like you better as the sweet young thing. Oh, and so it’s Jamie now, is it?”
“Larry–what’s the deal with Miss Rodriguez?”
“Oh her. Seems there’s been some trouble at her home. Something about being attacked. I gather it was pretty bad. Ambulance and our boys are on their way. Teacher friend of hers named Julie Parker, got concerned, went over and found her. You know Ms. Parker? Anyway, she says Miss Rodriguez tried to contact you a dozen times for help. I gather this Parker isn’t one of your biggest fans. She seemed really pissed at you, Jamie. Hey, where the hell are you going now?”
“Where the hell do you think I’m going?”
“Wait up, Jamie–I’ll go with you,” Kat grabbed her purse from the desk as she chased after Jamie, threading her hand through his arm, and drawing herself close. “I might be able to help.”
“You don’t have to, Kat,” he said, stopping and looking sternly at her as he held her at arm’s length. “I don’t think it’s such a good idea.”
“I’m going!” Kat grabbed his arm again and turned him towards the door, almost dragging the bigger man. “Let’s stop wasting time!”
* * * *
By the time Jamie slid to a stop in front of Lacey’s rambling farmhouse, both the town’s police cruiser and the ambulance were parked outside and empty. Not waiting on Kat, Jamie raced up Lacey’s brick walkway, showed his shield to the uniform stationed outside, and bolted inside. Heedless of the drastically diminished light inside, he headed straight for the cluster of uniformed first responders gathered around the entrance to Lacey’s cellar. Flashing his shield again and not waiting for clearance, Jamie shoved his way through the crowd and was halfway down the stairs before he was challenged.
He could tell at a glance it was bad. Lacey was sprawled at the foot of the stairs, while two paramedics worked over her doing what they could. A third man knelt near her face, talking softly to her while he doctored her injured arm. Off to one side stood a woman of about forty, deep worry biting into her plain face. When she turned, Jamie saw smiley face pajama bottoms and a Patriots sweatshirt under her raincoat. The ever present cigarette shoved between her lips, beady eyes blazing with fury, Julie Parker glared up at him.
“MacLeod, what the hell are you doing here? Where were you when she needed you?” She left Lacey’s side, flying toward the stairs like an angry harpy. “Get out of here! You’re too late.” She began flailing her arms like a crazed woman, screwing up her unattractive face as though she’d just sucked on a steaming horse bun. “We don’t want you here now! Get the fuck out!”
She strutted back toward Lacey and bent low over her sprawled friend. Dazed, Jamie took in the torn nightgown and splotches of blood. Oh God, it was bad.
“Oh God—Lacey!" When he got no response, he turned on Parker, ready to hit someone. "Any ideas who did this? W-was she raped?”
That triggered Parker again, she was instantly in his face, exhaling her noxious fumes before he could take a step backwards. “Well, let me see. That would depend if the scratches, bruises and bite marks all over her body are brand new or not. You wouldn’t know anything about those MacLeod, would you? Christ, what kind of vermin are you? Did you do this to the woman you claim to love?”
“NO! Of course not! We had a. . . disagreement, that's all. I haven't seen her since. Wanted to let things cool down."
“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot. Valentine’s Day, you were nowhere to be found. Probably shacked up with some bimbo. You sure as shit weren’t with Lacey. Oh, that’s right– you’ve never actually said you loved her. Fact is, looking at the damage you inflicted; I’d say you most certainly don’t. Well, we’re going to get you, MacLeod. DeCosta’s coming with a rape kit. Get out of here, you pervert! Enjoy the fresh air. You might be going away for a long time, asshole.”
Suddenly there was a flurry of desperate movement and a weak voice cried out, “Jamie?” Dear God, could that pitiful croaking be coming from Lacey? She called him again, no stronger, just more frantic. The paramedics and Julie closed in, forcing her back down, urging her not to upset herself. They shot meaningful daggers at MacLeod, demanding he leave immediately. Behind him, Kat plucked at his sleeve, urging him to obey. He shook her off.
“I’m here Lacey! Oh God, I’m so sorry.” Behind him, a mere two steps away, he heard Kat gasp. She tried to tug him back; he shrugged her off again like a bothersome insect. She no longer mattered.
Ignoring Julie's protests, Jamie came down the stairs and dropped to Lacey’s side. Taking her uninjured hand, he bent forward and kissed her bloodied forehead. “I’m here, Lace. I’m so sorry this happened, sweetheart. I should have been here.”
“Jamie? You’re really here? Where?”
“Right here, honey. Next to you.” It broke his heart listening to her weak voice. Even though he knew she’d been given a ton of drugs, her wavering voice betrayed so much agonized pain. He squeezed her hand and looked at the scowling paramedic. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here with you, Lace.”
“Jamie, I hear you. I-I feel you…next to me. Oh God–no, no, NO!”
Tomblike silence filled the cellar as all those closest to the injured woman wondered what new horror she was about to reveal. The heart-breaking silence stretched on until Lacey spoke once more.
“Jamie… I can’t see you. Why can’t I see you?”
Chapter 17
Kat was pissed. She stormed around her cluttered apartment ranting to herself, desperately fighting the urge to pick up her few treasures and smash them against the floor. Sleep was impossible. Finally, she did pick up a prized tea cup her grandmother had brought over on the storm-racked boat all the way from Belfast, and hurled it against the bureau. It smashed into a million pieces, just like her heart. She collapsed in a storm of tears.
The ride back from Rodriguez’s had been a nightmare. MacLeod had been in another world, barely acknowledging that Kat sat scarcely two feet away. When she placed her hand, and then her head on his shoulder, he’d immediately shrugged her off. She’d
tried everything: gentle touching, little kisses on his cheek, soothing words. She’d even tried to show sympathy for the bitch Rodriguez. Nothing moved him; it was like she wasn’t there. She’d seen tears coursing down his cheeks, listened to his mumbling mantra that he should have been there, as though what they’d shared the night before didn’t matter at all. His actions made it clear their quick passionate pressing of the flesh held all the lasting value of spit drying on a sidewalk. She'd dared to tell him how she felt. Pummeled his chest and burst into tears. Knowing she’d made a complete fool of herself showing how much she cared for the man, Kat stumbled from his SUV without a parting word. He hadn’t tried to stop her or call her back. Jamie MacLeod had driven away and out of her life without as much as a backward glance.
* * * *
Except for the loss of her sight, the town doctor said that Lacey Rodriguez would make a full recovery. He seemed a little embarrassed that none of the medical team had noticed her loss of sight until MacLeod showed up, but then with the tears, drugs and hallucinations, Lacey hadn’t seemed to want to see anything until the detective showed up. Dr. Reynolds checked over her other injuries, the worse being a badly sprained wrist and arm, saying she was young and would be back on her feet in no time. The attack had been savage. She’d been thrown down the cellar stairs, hitting her head. She hadn’t been sexually assaulted. Various bruises and the sprained forearm came from her fall, and the fresh scratches showed someone, a woman or child had been at her flesh. When it came to her blindness, he was at a loss. Although she had a nasty whack on the side of her head, it hadn’t been severe enough to cause blindness. Tests showed there was no real permanent damage; Doctor Reynolds felt Lacey’s injury was purely psychosomatic. She could regain her sight tomorrow, or her blindness could drag on for years. It was largely up to her. It was almost as if what had come creeping up the stairs had been just too hideous to watch.