by Lorena May
“Hey, baby, long time no see!” He winks broadly. “I’ve got some great shit. Wanna party?”
Her heart-beat races. She stares at him through pleading eyes. Please. Go away. She shakes her head a little. No, and continues walking, trying to ignore him. Hoping Mike doesn’t notice. Hoping the guy will just leave.
He grabs her shoulder. “Hey! Are you ignoring me, Grace?”
Feverishly she cries, “No! Please leave.” The dishes shake precariously in her arms.
Mike sets the plates he’s holding on a table, and takes hers to place beside them, watching as the young man grasps Grace’s arms and pulls her along. “Come on. I need a little lovin’.”
Swiftly, Mike moves to step between them, pushing the intruder in the chest, shoving him away. His voice is cold and hard. “The lady said no. You need to leave.”
“What the fuck? Lady? I know this little junkie whore.”
Mike remains firm, his face set. “Leave. Now.”
Stomping across the floor, shouting obscenities, turning to shout at Grace, the young man storms out. She, white-faced and sweating, stands gasping. One look at Mike – his eyes. She grabs her plates from the table and races into the kitchen.
When Mike enters she’s doubled over, sick and breathless. He stands in the door-way, white-faced, his mouth set in a hard line. Seeing him tells her everything she needs to know. He hates me. On rubber legs, she grabs her purse from under the counter, runs from the kitchen, through the dining room and out the front door.
Chapter 35
~Darby
Cindy Harrington is even thinner and more haggard-looking than she was when they informed her of her husband’s murder. Her pregnant belly looks like a ball stuck onto a stick. Her eyes flick to the clock on the wall as she totters on high heels into the interview room, carrying a lap-top, setting it on the table. “Here’s Gabe’s computer. Nobody’s touched it since . . .”
“Great. Thanks.”
“I have to pick Ronnie up in an hour. My mom’s got an appointment.”
“We’ll try to be quick,” Darby reassures her, pulling out the most comfortable chair she can find. One with a padded seat and arms. “Would you like something to drink?”
“No thank you.” Clearly, this will not be a social visit.
“How have you been managing?” Darby asks, concerned.
“Okay. My brother is staying with me. He’s out of town for a few days, but he’s been a big help. There’s so much to do in terms of changing over things.”
Darby raises an eyebrow.
“Like the utilities, bank accounts . . . Everything was in Gabe’s name.”
“Will you be okay financially?”
“Steve’s been giving me money to tide us over until the insurance comes through. Then I can pay the company what Gabe owed, and they will give me a percentage of the profits.” She smiles and nods. “We’ll be okay.”
Win-win! “And how are you feeling?”
“Fat!” Cindy pats her tummy. “Tired . . . okay.”
“Cindy,” Darby leans forward. Now the hard questions. “Do you have any idea who could have shot your husband?”
Round-eyed, Cindy shakes her head. No.
“I understand you were separated for a while?”
She blanches. One nod of her head downward, indicates ‘yes’.
“I’m sorry to have to ask this. Can you tell me about your separation?”
“We were separated for a year. When Ronnie was just a baby.” Darby notices a slight clenching of her jaw, nostrils flaring.
“Pppuhhh! The worst possible time!”
The young woman nods in agreement, her eyes are wet. “Not that he was ever much help with her.”
“What was the reason for the separation, Cindy?”
Her mouth twists. “He was having an affair.”
Now Darby’s eyes are wet. “I’m so sorry.” She touches Cindy’s forearm. “That must have been very painful.”
Tears gush from Cindy’s eyes as she looks into Darby’s compassionate ones. “He was a cheater, but I loved him.”
“Do you know who he was cheating with?”
She shakes her head. “He wouldn’t tell me her name, but . . . . It was just . . . It was like they wanted me to know. I’d find things in his pocket that he’d never have bought himself. Things like silk handkerchiefs, expensive little colognes, gold cuff-links . . . It’s like she didn’t even know him!” Her lips draw back in a snarl. “The phone would ring and he’d take off to talk. If I answered she’d hang up, but I’d hear a woman giggle first.”
“Ohmygod, Cindy. It’s like they were taunting you!”
Sadness clouds her features. “When Ronnie was a couple of months old he told me he didn’t want to be married any more. Ronnie cried a lot and he didn’t like that. I let myself go. We weren’t getting any sleep. Things just went from bad to worse and he left.”
“Where did he go?”
“He rented an apartment downtown. I hardly saw him all that year.”
“And you didn’t know who or if he was seeing someone?”
“No. Nobody seemed to know. Some of my friends saw him at different things, but he was never with a woman, so I don’t know . . .” She shrugs.
“How did you happen to get back together?”
“Eight months ago he asked if he could move back in, and – stupid me – I said, yes.”
“It was a stupid move?”
“Well, now I’m pregnant.” Her lower lip trembles. “And I have no husband.”
“Do you think he was cheating again?”
Cindy’s voice becomes a squeak as she tries to hold back the tears. “I don’t know. He hadn’t changed. He came and went. And now he’s gone for good.”
Darby moves to hug the broken woman, and holds her while she cries. A frail little body, shaking beneath her arms. Poor kid!
Sobs turn to snuffles to a kind of calm. “I’m sorry,” Cindy whispers.
“No need.” Darby rubs circles on her bony back. “You’ve been through a lot.”
“I’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.” She says it as if to convince herself.
“You know,” Darby speaks sincerely, “I really think you will. You’re young and strong. You have a lovely home, beautiful little girl and a child on the way. A supportive family . . .”
Cindy nods rapidly. “I do.”
“Is Nate still living with you?”
“Yeah. He’s helped me a lot.”
“How did he get along with Gabe?”
Cindy lowers her eyes, staring down at her hands, picking at ragged cuticles. “He didn’t”
“Did they ever fight or have disagreements?”
“All the time. Not physical ones. Nate would’ve killed Gabe.”
Darby hesitates. Then, “Do you think he did?”
Cindy looks up at her, stricken. “No!”
“Was there a key to the restaurant in your house?”
“I suppose so, but Nate didn’t use it.”
“No chance that he did so to protect you?”
“No.” Her jaw is firmly set. This interview is over.
As Darby walks her to the door, Jill gestures from her desk in Reception. “Got something for you.”
Watching Gabe’s wife stumble to her car, Darby sighs. That’s what love gets you! “Whatcha got? Something good? I’m getting desperate here!” She hurries to look over Jill’s shoulder, eying the computer screen. “Yes!” Darby does a little dance, thumbs up. “The gun’s been printed and traced.”
“Yep. A 9 mm Winchester. Same bullets as they found in Gabe Harrington. Gun’s registered to Steve Williams, and his were the only prints found on it.”
Darby stops short, eyes squinting. “But, according to his wife, he was at their cabin when the murder took place.” She chews her bottom lip. “And why has that gun shown up now?”
Chapter 36
~ Grace
She looks back to see if he’s following. Of course, he’s n
ot. Grace ploughs on, a bitter wind slashing her face, feet drumming rapidly along the pavement. He’s probably busy telling his mother what fools they’ve been to have taken in a low-down junkie hooker. Probably sickened. And can she blame him? What was she thinking? That she could move seamlessly into a normal life? She thinks of the hundreds of men that have ravaged her, the cocks she’s drawn into her mouth, the shameless pillaging of her body.
She thinks of Sue who she’s lied to. Over and over. I’m a restaurateur. No I’m not. I’m Chloe. No, I’m Grace. On and on. You can’t have real friendship without truth. What the fuck was she thinking?
Tap tap tap on the cracked pavement, her boots tromp, passing by run-down stores and restaurants and grubby bars. Emblems of her life. Finally, she turns the corner to her own apartment, yanks open the door and clatters up the rickety steps. With shaking hands, she inserts her key, twists the knob and steps in. Home.
Her brain is buzzing. He said street people were his equals. What a farce! What a hypocrite. Sure, he can treat them as equals when he’s patronizing them. When he can feed them donated food and go home to his sweet, clean little house. To his loving mother. He has no idea! How respectable would he be if he’d been kicked from pillar to post all his life? If he’d been out on the street as a child? If he hadn’t had Sue’s love and support? Fuck Mike.
Grace looks in the mirror. She no longer sees the hollowed cheeks, the skeletal shoulders, the grey skin. But the haunted look in her eyes is back. She will never escape her past. The need. She will never fit into that world. They’ll never really accept her. Her stomach twists with a putrid poison. Bile rises to her throat. She kneels to reach under her bed, grabbing her grey metal box. Twirling the lock, she rants in her mind. Fuck them all. She knows how to survive. She’s done it all her life and managed just fine without their charity. Two-faced prigs! She stares into the box. The worn photo of two little girls whose lives began the same but turned out so differently. She fingers the scrap of green and yellow flannel; the tiny bit that is left of her security blanket. Sucked and rubbed and sniffed to ebb away into a raggedy, threadbare scrap.
And there is what she needs. Thank God she saved it. A precious cap of heroine.
The phone rings. Who is it? Sue, calling to fire her? Mike phoning to call her out for deceiving him? She looks at the screen. Chloe. Grace hesitates. Sure. Sure, I’ll talk to Chloe and tell her just how successful I can be in that world. She has no idea! Easy for her to say . . .
She taps ‘answer’. “Hello.”
Chloe’s voice is clear and melodious, as always. Of course! She lives in an entitled world. “Hey, Gracie. Sorry I haven’t called in a while. How’s it going?” That familiar voice. One that feels almost part of her.
Grace snorts loudly. “About as I should’ve expected.”
Chloe’s tone is grim. “What happened?”
Big, rough sobs spring from her chest. “It’s all over, Chloe.”
She pours out the story. “You should’ve seen his face.” The horror of it looms before her own eyes. “Ohmygod, his face!”
Chloe is making sympathetic noises, and it helps. “Where are you now?”
“I ran home.”
“And are you about to shoot up?” The sympathetic note is gone.
Grace whimpers. “What’s the point, Chloe? I just want to feel good.”
“And how have you felt all this time while you were working at the café?”
“I know, it’s been good, but Chloe it’s really hard.”
Chloe purrs, kindly again. “I know, Gracie, but it’ll get easier and easier. Are you sick?”
“No, not really. Not with the methadone, but the craving . . . It’s fucking hard.”
“So you think everything is always going to be rosy? You think you’re the only one who has disappointments?”
“Disappointment! Fuck you, Chloe. You have no idea.”
“No, Grace. You have no idea. If you want to flush your life down the toilet go right ahead. Blame me. Blame Mike and go fuck yourself.” Bang. Chloe hangs up.
Grace sits on the floor, chin on her knees, staring at the open box, her thoughts running wild: She thinks of Sue, her warm eyes, her words of wisdom, her unspoken approval. The regulars at the café – a group of retirees. “You’re our little ray of sunshine,” they’ve told her more than once. The young mother in her therapy group who is working so valiantly to curb her addiction, looking to Grace as a sort of mentor. Ha! If she only knew. And Mike? Well, screw Mike.
She picks up the heroin cap, twisting it in her fingers, and closes her eyes.
Chapter 37
~Darby
‘You see the writing on the wall
Hold onto me and I’ma hold you
You see the writing on the wall
I’l bring it back, bring it back, yeah’ blares from the squad car’s radio.
Darby holds her hands to her head, grimacing. “Turn that shit down!”
Brandon grins. “Shit? I’ll have you know that’s pure art, baby.”
“Does it have to be so loud?” She laughs, in spite of herself. “I’m trying to see the writing on the wall.”
Brandon flicks the radio off, and they stare at the Ritz, scrutinizing it’s brick gates, rolling lawns, lush gardens, the morning sunlight glinting off its massive windows.
“The shooter probably entered from the side door.” Brandon points. “To avoid the camera.” He scans his notes. “Shot at close range – about a meter from the vic at a height of about one and a half meters. So, a tall person holding the gun at his waist, or a shorter person. Doesn’t tell us a hell of a lot, does it?”
“Shot with a 9 mm Winchester Magnum, registered to Steve with only his prints on it,” Darby adds. “All neat and tidy.”
“A neat and tidy guy!” Brandon says. “Took the time to spick and span.”
“With the silencer the shooter wasn’t worried about anyone hearing the shot,” Darby muses. “And Steve has an alibi.”
“And if it holds we have diddly-squat.”
“Gabe entered at midnight. Either the shooter was already there or came in shortly afterward. Must’ve arranged to meet.”
“Who?” Brandon turns to look Darby in the eye. “Steve?”
“They’d been talking several times throughout the day. Why would they meet at midnight?”
“To make whatever transaction they agreed upon?” Brandon raises a brow.
“But why not wait till Monday?”
“Maybe he needed money right away. Who did he owe?”
“We’d best find out,” Darby agrees. “And if not Steve . . .”
“Tom? Even if he stayed late at work would Gabe come here to meet him?” Brandon idly scratches his stubble.
“If Tom planned a calculated murder . . . Not likely. This was premeditated - cold-blooded. No passionate fury here.”
“Nate? His record includes a DUI, and a Disturbing the Peace. Nothing violent, but you never know . . . Could he have given Gabe some bullshit excuse to leave the house and come here? Maybe so Cindy wouldn’t see . . .”
“Or did she arrange to meet here? God knows she had reason!” Darby chews her lip. “But I can’t see it. Gabe wore the pants in that relationship, and even if she promised a romantic little rendezvous . . . No.”
“But a hook-up with Ana? Or Mona? Chloe? Hannah?” Brandon smirks. “Any of them would give ya a bang-over.”
Darby gives her partner a swift glower.
“Ha! Pew! Surprise!” Pointing his finger he gestures shooting a gun. Darby is not amused.
“I don’t see it being Hannah. She was genuinely shocked when we told her. But Ana stabbed her ex-lover!” Brandon says.
“She did. Maybe found it’s not so hard sticking it to an abuser.”
“Maybe. And that sexy manager – Mona . . .”
“She liked you!” Eyes flickering with amusement, Darby grins. “And didn’t she know a lot of details about the vic for someone she just works for? Sh
e seemed genuinely upset over Gabe’s death, but there was something when we interviewed her. A look in her eye? I don’t know . . .”
“She’s tough as nails,” Brandon twists his lip.
“Bitterness?” Darby is still trying to put her finger on the feeling she got from Mona. “And then there’s Cindy. Angry as hell. For good reason.”
“Do you think she’s capable?”
“I think she’s stronger than she appears, but I can’t see her meeting her husband at the restaurant.”
“How about the trophy wife? Chloe?”
“Darby leans her head back, brow furrowed. “I don’t know what to make of her. She’s so composed; so perfect. Too perfect.”
“I’ll gladly look into her!”
Darby rolls her eyes. “I’m sure you will!”
We need to find out who he was having the affair with. Did they have access to the Ritz?”
“Jill’s searching his computer?” Brandon asks.
“Yeah. Hopefully there’s something there . . . “Let’s go see what Steve has to say.”
As they climb out of the squad car Darby’s phone pings. A message. Sam. ‘I need to see you.’
Chapter 38
~ Grace
Slowly, she puts the heroine cap back in the metal box. It takes everything she has. Jaw set, lips pressed tightly, she locks it and taps out her sister’s number. “Chloe?” her voice is barely more than a whisper.
“Grace?”
“Just talk to me.”
Chloe’s voice takes on a familiar rhythm. One from long, long ago. “Grace, you know that you’re good and strong and smart. Nobody can take that away from you. You and me. Together we can do anything.”
Grace laughs, a choked gurgle. “Do you know how many times since you left those words have gone through my head?”
Chloe purrs. “Mmm good.”
‘But then we weren’t together any more, were we?” Bitterness spews.