Every Time I Think of You

by Tracey Garvis Graves

  “Did you tell your grandmother what happened that night?”

  “No. She knew about Scott’s drug problems—I was always open about that. But other than Pam and Shane, and now you, I’ve never told anyone about that night. It’s very hard for me to talk about it. I feel so ashamed.”

  “Why would you feel ashamed?” Brooks sounded incredulous. “You did nothing wrong.”

  “I know I didn’t, but it was such an act of betrayal. So barbaric. This man had stood up with me in a church in front of our family and friends and promised to love and cherish me. Instead, he was willing to stand by and let someone rape his wife.”

  “That disgusts me, Daisy. It really does.” Brooks pressed his fingers to his temples and then looked up. “Did you by any chance mention this other man to Jack Quick?”

  “I thought about saying something to him that night at the police station. But what would I have said? I’m pretty sure one of my husband’s meth-head friends had horrible intentions once? What could Jack have done with that? I don’t even know the guy’s name.”

  Brooks seemed lost in thought for a moment. “Where’s your computer?”

  “It’s on the kitchen counter.”

  “Can you get it? There’s something I want you to look at.”

  I retrieved my laptop and sat down on the couch next to Brooks. After I turned it on, I handed it to him, and he typed in a web address and then entered the name “Dale Reber” in the website’s search box. When a man’s image filled the screen, I drew in a quick breath and my muscles tensed. I sank deeper into the cushions and pulled my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them.

  “That’s him, isn’t it?” Brooks said.

  “How could you possibly have known?”

  “This is the man who answered the door when I went out to speak to Scott. The address you gave me is his. Dale Reber was armed when he came to the door. I’m not telling you this because I’m trying to scare you. I’m telling you this because I want you to be careful.”

  I’d moved a little closer to Brooks in order to see the computer screen, but now my body was pressed closer still, although I had no conscious recollection of moving toward him. Vividly aware of how safe I felt with his body next to mine, I stayed put.

  So did he.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “No,” I said. “Not really.”

  Brooks set the computer on the table beside the couch and turned toward me. He rested his arm along the back of the couch, which wasn’t quite the same as him putting his arm around me, but I still felt comforted by it.

  “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to let Jack know about this.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I’ll call him in the morning.” Brooks glanced at his watch. “It’s ten thirty, Daisy. I shouldn’t have kept you up so late.”

  “I’ll be okay. I’ll get an extra-big coffee on my way to work tomorrow. I think your T-shirt is still drying, though.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’ll get it next time.”

  Next time.

  Brooks slipped back into his suit coat and I walked him to the door.

  “I don’t know if your ex-husband or Dale Reber had anything to do with your grandmother’s death, but I intend to find out. They’re despicable human beings. Be careful.”

  Though it was a warning he’d uttered several times, this time it was accompanied by a tender expression I hadn’t seen on his face before. I opened the door.

  “Lock this behind me.”

  “I will. Good night, Brooks.” After I locked the door, I checked on Elliott and turned off the lights. As I walked down the hallway the dryer buzzed, signaling the end of the cycle. I pulled out Brooks’s T-shirt and folded it, but before I set it down I held it to my nose. There was no hint of his cologne, nor could I detect the smell of his skin.

  The only thing I smelled was laundry detergent and fabric softener.

  CHAPTER 28

  BROOKS

  Scott DiStefano answered the door of Dale Reber’s house when I knocked on it at eight o’clock the next morning, and the sight of him filled me with rage. When he realized I was paying him another visit, he went off on me.

  “This is the last time you will knock on my fucking door,” he roared. “I told you I don’t have anything to say about Pauline Thorpe.” He puffed himself up, spoiling for a fight, but backed down almost as quickly. Maybe it was because I was bigger than him, or maybe it was the look he saw in my eyes. I was short on sleep, short on patience, and wound tight enough that I would have welcomed any excuse to knock his teeth down his throat.

  “First of all, I’ll knock on your door anytime I feel like it.” Unlike the first time I’d paid Scott a visit, this time I was armed. “Second, I’m not here about Pauline Thorpe. I’m here to tell you that if you, or Dale Reber, ever come near Daisy again, if you scare her, or put her, or Elliott, in any kind of danger, you’ll answer to me. You can count on that.”

  “Oh… I see.” Scott smiled and leaned against the doorframe like he was settling in for a while. “I thought you said you were a reporter, but you must also be the new boyfriend. Here to stake your claim.” He laughed. “You think I care that you’re fucking my wife?”

  Yeah, Scott. I think you would care. I think you’d care a lot.

  “She’s not your wife anymore. And a man that fails to protect his wife isn’t much of a husband. Or a man.” He started to slam the door in my face, but I reached out to stop him and said. “Dale Reber. Get him now.”

  “I don’t have to do anything,” he said. “You’re a reporter, not a cop.”

  “That may be true,” I said. “But I could call my friend Jack down at the police station and tell him I have reason to believe that there are drugs on the premises. He’d get a warrant to search the place, and God only knows what he’d find. I bet that would put a real damper on your high.” I pulled out my cell phone.

  “Fuck off,” he said and slammed the door.

  “You fuck off,” I muttered.

  I waited because I knew we weren’t done. Dale Reber opened the door five minutes later wearing a look of pure rage, his gun stuffed down the front of his pants again. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak I cut him off. “Do not go near Daisy DiStefano ever again. Do not look at her. Do not speak to her or touch her. If you do, I’ll have the police crawling up your ass so fast your head will spin.”

  He looked at me with those cold, dead eyes and placed his hand on his gun.

  I pushed my jacket back so he could see my holster. “I wouldn’t.”

  He didn’t draw the gun, but he didn’t remove his hand either. Maybe he figured a gunfight wasn’t worth it, or maybe he figured it would draw too much attention if I suddenly came up missing. He spit on the ground by my feet and slammed the door.

  I was halfway to my car when he opened the door again and yelled, “It’s a shame she came through with the money. That would have been one fine piece of ass.”

  My first instinct was to turn around and go back, but I forced myself to keep walking because if I saw the look on his face, I was afraid I might shoot him.

  Once I was in my car I took deep breaths and waited for my blood pressure to return to normal.

  Daisy, you are messed up in some bad shit.

  And I was getting a lot more involved than I should have, considering the temporary nature of my stay in Fenton.

  I looked out over the empty yard. I’d forgotten to bring a burger for the dog, but it didn’t matter because it was nowhere to be found. The collar that had been around its neck was still attached to the chain; the water bowl was overturned. Possibly they’d neglected it so badly that it died. The thought of that bothered me all the way back to town.

  I called Jack Quick on the way. “Can you meet me at the diner? I need to run something by you.”

  “Sure. That’ll work,” he said. “See you in a few.”

  *

  “I’m guessin
g this isn’t a social call,” Jack said when he sat down beside me at the counter. The waitress poured him a cup of coffee and took our orders.

  “I had dinner with Daisy DiStefano last night, at her house. Her son used one of his toys to reenact what happened the night Pauline Thorpe died.”

  “And?”

  “Whoever killed Pauline said, ‘Tell me,’ and Pauline said, ‘No, I won’t.’ Daisy and I looked through Pauline’s personal items again, but there still doesn’t seem to be anything missing.” I passed Jack the picture of Dale Reber. “I’m not so sure robbery was the motive, at least not in the sense that whoever killed Pauline Thorpe went there in search of something to steal. I think you should take a look at this guy. His name is Dale Reber.”

  Jack studied the picture. “What’s so special about him?”

  “Dale Reber owns the house where Scott DiStefano is living. Shortly before Daisy divorced Scott, she had a run-in with Dale.”

  Our breakfast arrived.

  “Describe run-in,” Jack said.

  “Scott owed Dale money but was just fine with letting Daisy pay off the debt with her body.”

  Jack shook his head and grunted in disgust. “I could tell you stories about the things people have done in this town for drug money,” he said, fork hovering over his scrambled eggs. “It’s the kind of shit that keeps me from sleeping at night. Did he sexually assault her?”

  “No. She had some money hidden. She told them they could have it, but then they’d have to leave.”

  “Smart girl.” Jack took a bite of his eggs.

  “Yes, but Dale told Daisy he wasn’t done with her, and I’m not so sure it was a throwaway comment. He might have meant it. Daisy said she would have told you about it that night at the station, but she didn’t have a name to give you and didn’t think you could do anything with the information.”

  “She’s right about that. So, what… Scott got behind in his payments again and Dale decided to see if Daisy would come through, voluntarily or involuntarily?”

  “That’s one possibility. Or maybe Dale needed money for himself and decided to pay Daisy a visit. It worked for him before. In a town this size, anyone could find out where she lived. Or maybe he was in the middle of a binge and decided porn wasn’t going to be quite as satisfying as the real thing. You know what meth does to a person’s sex drive.”

  “Unfortunately, I do.”

  “But what Dale didn’t plan on was Pauline Thorpe answering the door. Maybe his ‘tell me’ meant that he wanted to know where he could find Daisy.”

  “So why’d he kill Pauline?” Jack asked.

  “Rage. Drug-fueled psychosis. Maybe he got rough with her and when she fell, she hit her head.”

  “I think you’re reaching.”

  “Maybe. But I can’t help but think there’s a connection there.”

  “I can have Dale brought in for questioning,” Jack said. “See where he was on the evening of Pauline Thorpe’s murder. You never know. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “Well, it’s not like anything else is panning out.”

  “Oh, that hurts McClain.” Jack pretended to take a bullet to the chest, but he was smiling a little.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “No, it’s the truth,” Jack said. “And breakfast is on me today.”

  CHAPTER 29

  DAISY

  The knock came around eight thirty. I’d just finished taking a long, hot bath and was looking forward to crawling into bed with a book. As Brooks had predicted, I was exhausted from working a twelve-hour shift after staying up with him so late the night before. All I wanted was to read for a while and then fall into restful oblivion. But hearing those three short taps on the door gave me a sudden burst of energy, and I smiled.

  Does this man ever call ahead?

  I surveyed my appearance and sighed. I was wearing my oldest sweats, the ones with the hole in the knee, and a long-sleeve T-shirt. I’d piled my hair on top of my head in a haphazard bun so it wouldn’t get wet in the tub. If Brooks had any interest at all in seeing my glamorous side, he was going to have to give me a bit more lead time.

  My smile faded when I looked through the peephole. My heart skittered and knocked around in my chest as the adrenaline started to flow.

  Scott must have known how his visit would be received because he said, “Open up, Daisy. I just want to talk to you.” His voice sounded more pleading than angry, and he was alone. Regardless, I kept the chain on when I opened the door.

  It had been a little over six months since I’d last seen him, and his appearance had continued to deteriorate. He’d once been a very handsome man, but now his cheekbones were craggy ridges in his gaunt face, and the skin that stretched over them looked sallow. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot; who knew how long it had been since he’d slept? My formerly clean-cut and impeccably groomed ex-husband, who’d insisted on having his hair trimmed every four weeks and rarely skipped a shave, now had at least ten days of beard growth. His hair was long and straggly, and he tucked it behind his ears repeatedly while shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet.

  He was also high. I could spot the signs with ease: the fidgeting. The dilated pupils. The beads of sweat dotting his forehead.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “The cops came to my house and I got dragged down to the station and interrogated about Pauline, which I had nothing to do with. Now I got your asshole reporter boyfriend making his second visit, stakin’ his claim and telling me I can’t come near you. I caught all kinds of hell from my landlord because of that. He gets really pissed off when someone comes nosin’ around.”

  “Landlord, as in Dale Reber?” I asked. He at least had the decency to flinch when I said Dale’s name.

  “It’s private property,” Scott said. “He doesn’t want people thinking they can drop by whenever they want.”

  His words infuriated me, especially when I thought about the night he and Dale had dropped by my house. “I don’t care what Dale Reber thinks or what pisses him off, and you can tell him I said so. And if either one of you think I’m the same defenseless woman I was that night, you’ll learn differently.”

  He jammed his hands into his pockets and looked down at the floor for a minute. He sounded defeated when he said, “Just tell your boyfriend not to come out to the house anymore.”

  I didn’t bother to explain that Brooks wasn’t my boyfriend because it was none of Scott’s business.

  I was about to shut the door when he looked up and said, “Daisy.” There were tears in his eyes. “I miss you. I miss Elliott. I’ll do whatever you want. Just let me come home.”

  “You won’t do what I want. You’ll do what you want, the way you always have. And what you want is to get high. The only thing I ever wanted was a husband who loved me and loved our son. I wanted us to be a family. What I got was a man who chose drugs over both of us.”

  His expression changed and hardened. “You’re a bitch. You never cared about me.”

  We’d had countless fights that followed this pattern: anger, empty promises and remorse, anger. Arguing with an addict was pointless and futile, and I no longer had the patience for it.

  “How dare you say that to me. I’m not a bitch, and all I ever did was try to help you. I suggest you rifle through your memory bank and think about every visit with Elliott that you didn’t show up for. Every promise to me that you broke. You threw away every good thing in your life for your addiction. I hope it was worth it.” I took a deep breath. “Don’t come back here, Scott. Next time I’ll call the police.”

  I shut the door and slid down until I was sitting on the floor, letting my head rest against it. I was proud of myself for standing my ground, but how many more times would Scott and I have to go round and round? The confrontation had only added to my exhaustion, and frustrated tears began to fall. When I finally stemmed their flow, I felt more alone than I ever had.

  I wondered where Brooks was a
t that moment, what he was doing. Just the thought of him was enough to make me feel better, and I remembered what he’d said the night he brought me home after we went to the shooting range.

  Call me. If you need me, I’ll come.

  I felt stupid reaching out to him now that Scott was gone. The surprise visit had left me unsettled, but I’d never been in any danger. Maybe I didn’t need Brooks, but I wanted him. I dug my phone out of the pocket of my sweatpants and sent him a text. Scott was here. I wouldn’t let him in. He’s gone now.

  Brooks’s replied immediately. I’m on my way.

  I closed my eyes and felt my whole body relax.

  “Are you okay?” Brooks asked when I let him in.

  “I’m fine. Really,” I said. “I overreacted.”

  “You’ve been crying.” His tone was comforting, and all I wanted was to bury my face in his chest and have him put his arms around me.

  “I always cry when Scott and I fight.” I locked the door and Brooks followed me into the living room and sat down next to me on the couch. He was still wearing his work clothes, but he’d loosened his tie and looked tired. He’d probably been sitting on the couch with his dad, eating or watching TV when he received my text.

  “It’s my fault he came here,” Brooks said. “I went out there this morning,”

  “He mentioned that. What did you say to him?”

  “I told him if he came near you again, or if he put you or Elliott in any kind of danger, he’d have to answer to me.” Brooks ran his hands through his hair and exhaled. “I’m sorry. I should have known this was the first place he’d come.”

  Oh, Brooks. You did that for us? “There’s no need to apologize.”