Murder Blog Mysteries Boxed Collection
Page 36
“It all happened so fast. He slid his hands under my shirt and grabbed my breasts and kissed my neck.” Her eyes swept the room, avoiding mine. “I could feel his… his thing pressing into my back. For a moment I was so stunned I just froze. Then I dropped the painting and he pulled me down on the bed, telling me how much he wanted me. Had to have me. That you didn’t really understand him.” Her eyes met mine. “Oh, Katy. It was so awful.”
I was shaking hard, feeling light-headed, barely able to draw a breath. Chad cheating on me with his trainer had cut me deeply, but this was ripping me apart. “Did he…”
“Oh, he tried, but I think my screaming was a real turnoff. That and I punched him in the throat like Pop taught me.” A faint smirk crossed her face. “Then I ran out of there like hell.”
Thinking of Chad clutching his throat, staggering and gasping for air made me feel a little better. “Good for you, but why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because he chased me to my car and wouldn’t let me open the door until I promised not to tell you. He said it would break your heart and then you’d hate both of us. That he didn’t know what had come over him. He was literally crying and blathering about how much he loved you… and I believed him. What else could I do, Katy? You loved him so much. How could I ruin that for you?”
I smoothed back her long dark hair and gazed into her dribbly gray eyes, maybe actually really seeing her for the first time. “He ruined it. Not you.”
“Well, I was nineteen. What did I know?”
“So instead, you moved away. Oh, Em. How awful for you.” The realization that she did that for me overwhelmed me.
“I think in the end it was probably a good thing I left. It helped me figure out who I am. I don’t know if I could have done that here.” She stood, mopping her tears with her robe sleeve. “How about a glass of wine? I could sure use one.”
“There’s an open bottle of white in the fridge.”
While Emily poured the wine, I went to my bedroom to get a bag of kettle corn that I’d hidden from her. There was no way I could eat anything, but suddenly I felt like sharing. I removed it from the top shelf in the closet, and when I turned back to the door, my eyes pinned on the painting over my dresser. The colorful abstract of a local vineyard in the late afternoon sunlight was my favorite. While I was packing up the house that Chad and I had shared, I’d found it in the attic, hidden behind a stack of boxes. I thought it must have been a wedding gift that had gotten misplaced in the shuffle when we had moved in several years before.
“Em?” I called, still locked on the painting. “Can you come in here, please?”
“I’m right here.” She stood in the doorway, holding two glasses of wine. “And yes to the question you’re about to ask. That’s the painting.” She set the glasses on the dresser. “I knew it was in here, but it makes my flesh crawl to look at it, so no way would I have ever found that bag of popcorn you must’ve stashed in here.”
I lifted the unframed painting off the wall and marched through the house and out the french doors into the backyard and tossed it into the metal fire pit on the lawn.
“I still can’t believe you burned it. It had to be valuable,” said Emily, sipping her fifth or sixth glass of wine.
It was dark and we were both bundled in blankets, watching the glowing embers in the fire pit. Soft strains of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Free Bird” floated through the air from across the street. I leaned out of my Adirondack chair and tossed another log on the crackling fire.
“It was actually a giclée, but I would have burned it even if it had been a Rembrandt.”
“It felt good watching it burn,” said Emily.
“It would have felt better if it had been Chad we torched.”
“Are you going to tell his wife?”
“She’s about to have triplets, and she’d probably go into labor if I told her now, but I can’t not tell her. Can I?”
“Everything would have been so much different if I’d told you instead of bailing like I did. You would have left him, instead of nursing him through cancer and—”
“Don’t do that to yourself.” I thought of Mom’s guilt over not telling her parents what her uncle had done to her. “None of this is your fault.”
We sat for a while, comfortable in the quiet of each other’s company. I tried to banish all thoughts of Chad, which got easier with each glass of wine. I’ll deal with him tomorrow.
“You said moving to San Diego helped you figure out who you are. So, little sister, who are you? Besides a total pain in the neck, of course. And your big sister is saying that with nothing but love.”
Emily picked up the half-empty bottle on the table between us, drained it into our glasses, and added it to the growing pile of empties by her chair.
“I don’t think I can drink anymore, Em. That’s like our third bottle.”
“Fourth, but who’s counting. Time for a toast.”
I lifted my glass, ready to clink and she said, “My friend said that when you toast someone you must always look them directly in the eyes or it’s bad luck.”
“Okay.” I stared into her eyes, although the flickering firelight and the previous several glasses of wine made focusing difficult.
“To my big sister, whom I’ve always looked up to and not just because you’re way taller than me,” said Emily.
That statement made me feel like a real jerk, and I silently vowed to work on my big-sister act. We clinked our glasses just as “Gimme Back My Bullets” hit the evening airwaves.
“What a perfect song choice. Lucky for Chad, I don’t have a gun, although Pop says he’s getting me one.”
“I don’t think that’s a bad idea considering what happened a few months ago, when you came home to that lunatic waiting for you in the house. How scary for you.” Emily reached out and rubbed Daisy’s neck. “You saved your Momma that day, huh girl?”
Dogs have an uncanny sense about people, and I think Daisy felt the shift that had taken place in our household.
“You still haven’t answered my question, Em. Who are you?”
Emily raised her glass again. “Another toast, or maybe it’s more like an announcement.”
I lifted my glass in expectation, and we locked eyeballs.
“I’m Emily Rose Melby. Not a rapper, maybe a writer, and very definitely gay.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
BETTER DEAD THAN WED
MONDAY • JULY 22
Posted by Katy McKenna
Private
Saturday, July 20
“Ten thirty-seven? Rats!” I had an 11:15 appointment at the printers. I leaped out of bed and nearly lost my balance as a wine-induced migraine slammed me full tilt, sprawling me back onto the bed, groaning in agony.
Daisy nuzzled me, whimpering. Was she worried about me dying? Or was she worried that she might starve to death if I died?
“I’m getting up, Daisy.” I struggled to a sitting position and twinkly stars danced in my vision. “But it’s going to take a while.”
Eyes shut against the blinding light in the house, I groped my way to the kitchen. I opened the cabinet by the sink and grabbed the ibuprofen bottle, intending to start with four, but I couldn’t open the damned bottle.
“Stupid, shitty, dumb, stupid childproof cap!” I banged the plastic container repeatedly against the edge of the tiled counter. “I hate you! I hate you so much!”
“Ooohhh, pleeease. Be quiet. Shhh.”
I squinted at my sister, sitting with her head resting on the wooden kitchen table.
“I couldn’t get it open either,” she moaned. “We need a toddler.”
A rhythmic thud began pounding the walls and rattling the windows. “Gimme Three Steps” was blasting at a decibel that would have muted the sound of a jumbo jet landing in the street. A moment later the music was accompanied by the revving thunder of a Harley. Broooom-brooom-vroooommmm. I actually felt the gray matter jiggling like gelatin in my skull. Not a good feeling.
“Yes! Let’s kill them.” I flinched with every word. “Then I’ll make coffee.”
We propped each other up as we staggered to the front door. Emily struggled to focus her rheumy eyes on me. “You look gross.”
“So do you.”
We halted at the porch top step, blinking in the glaring overcast and waited until there was a lull in the engine revving, then I shouted. “HEY! YOU!” Yelling hurt.
The guy on the Harley waved at us. Two other men shouted, “Woo-hoo! Let’s party!” and motioned us over, brandishing beers in the air.
I said to Emily, “You know, beer would probably help our hangovers.”
“Maybe settle our tummies, uh? Uh-oh. I think I’m going to—” Emily spun away and hurled into the red geraniums flanking the steps.
That’s when I realized I didn’t have my pajama bottoms on—panties, yes. Just no PJ bottoms. And that’s when Josh decided it was a good time to come outside and yell at the new neighbors but was instantly sidetracked by his other neighbors. The tipsy sisters.
I knew I was in no condition to drive myself to the printers, but I had that darn Clunker deadline and couldn’t wait until Monday, so I had to enlist Ruby’s help.
“Baby, you’re looking a little green around the gills,” said my astute granny as she strapped me into her tiny Spitfire. “You sure you can’t put this off until Monday?”
“I can’t. I have a deadline.”
Ruby revved her engine and we peeled out, hauling ass down Sycamore Lane. The top was down, and I was hanging out the window, trying not to puke. “Can you drive a little slower? Please. Like really, really slow. Especially around the corners.”
“You got it, sweetie.” Ruby slowed, shifting to third gear. “I still can’t get over it,” she shouted over the engine with nasty glee. “You and Emily. Bonding over—how many bottles of wine, did you say?”
“Four, maybe five.” My stomach rumbled in agreement. “We might have done a few shots too.”
“You’re a lightweight. You should have done what I always do before I drink. Take an antihistamine and a vitamin C with about a quart of water. And always drink one glass of water per glass of alcohol.”
“I guess I’m not a pro like you.” I burped a little bile and held my breath, willing the upchuck to go back down. “I was living in the moment and didn’t think.”
Ruby swung into the print shop parking lot and stopped. “Hold on.” She jumped out and came around to my side and opened the door, offering an arm. “Come on, old girl.”
I clung to her as she hauled me out of the little car and helped me to the door. Inside, she guided me to the counter where a young woman with several lower lip piercings gawked at us.
“Hello, I’m Ruby Armstrong. Ms. McKenna’s caretaker. She’s here to look at paper stock for the Clunker Carnival job.”
“You’re a little late.” She glanced at the wall clock. “Like about two hours.”
I laid my head on the counter, moaning.
“I’m sorry about that,” said Ruby. “She suffers from PPS.”
“Oh God. Why me?” I wailed. “What did I do to deserve this? I’m too young to die.”
The girl backed away from the counter. “Oh my God. That’s awful. Is it like contagious?”
Several hours later, after a long snooze, I opened the front door to Ruby and Mom. “Hey, kiddo. How was your nap?” hollered Ruby with a devilish grin. “Ready to party some more?”
“Wow, you look like hell.” Mom breezed through the entry clutching a cloth grocery bag. “Must’ve been some shindig. I hope you can keep food down because we brought dinner.”
I shut the door and leaned my forehead against it. “I can’t eat. I’m suffering from PPS.”
“And what, exactly, is PPS?” asked Mom. “I get so tired of everything being just initials these days. I never know what anyone is talking about.”
“Post Party Syndrome,” said Ruby.
“Oh. Your hangover. That’s why we’re here.” Mom headed to the kitchen.
“We’ve got dessert too.” Ruby rustled the bag in her arms. “We figured you’d need some mint chip ice cream.”
“We brought wine too,” called Mom from the kitchen. “We know how much you girls love your wine.”
Emily had staggered out of her bedroom in time to catch that last sentence. “No. No wine. Never again.”
“Famous last words,” said Ruby. “Don’t worry, the wine isn’t for you. Your mom’s just being nasty. We brought ginger ale for you.”
The tipsy sisters wobbled into the kitchen as Mom dumped homemade minestrone soup in a pan and popped a french bread baguette in the oven.
“I don’t think I can eat, Mom.” I sniffed the soupy aroma filling the kitchen. “That stinks. I need some air.”
“I’ll tell you what stinks.” Ruby wrinkled her nose. “You two could use a shower. You smell a little ripe. Why don’t you do that while the food warms up? It’ll make you feel better.”
Willing to do anything to get away from the smell of food, I said, “Good idea,” then dragged Emily to the living room and out into the backyard. Sucking in deep gulps of cool fresh air calmed my lurching belly. Back in control, I asked Emily, “Are you going to tell them that you’re, you know.”
“A les-bi-an? It’s okay, Katy, you can say it.”
“I know, it’s just I’ve never thought of you as a lesbian. You wear makeup.”
“Seriously? If I didn’t wear makeup, you would have known?”
“You know what I mean. No need to get your panties in a twist.” I admit I was having a little trouble accepting this new revelation, and my befuddlement, coupled with acute wine poisoning, was making my mouth run off.
“This is fairly new for me too. You just don’t wake up one day and say, ‘Gee, I think I’ll be a lesbian now.’ It’s taken me a long time to come to terms with it and embrace it, but Katy, I am so happy. I feel like… like me. Truly me. Finally.”
“Do you have a friend?” I asked.
“You mean girlfriend? I did, but we broke it off. That’s the real reason I wanted to come home. I hated keeping her a secret from you guys and it’s one of the reasons why we split up—the fact that I wasn’t ready to be open about it. It really hurt her last Christmas when I wouldn’t bring her up here to meet the family.”
“That must have been hard. I wished I’d known. So how’re you going to approach this with Mom and Grandma?”
“I’ve rehearsed endless speeches, but I think it went pretty well with you last night. You know, just blurting it out.”
“Yeah, but we were blotto.”
After Mom had tucked us in on opposite ends of the couch, I slurped her delectable soup, waiting for Emily to drop her bombs. She decided to lead in with the Chad molestation story, which undid both Mom and Ruby. Especially Mom, who has her own secret to tell her mother.
While listening to Emily’s story again, my thoughts drifted back to the day I met Chad at a ski lodge in Tahoe. It was a sunny spring day, and I’d just endured my first and last ski lesson and was trudging across the sun deck to the rental shop, jockeying skis and poles. I didn’t see Chad lounging with his feet flung out until I tripped over them and fell in his lap, and later into his bed…
“Katy? Katy?” Emily poked me. “Earth to Katy.”
“Hmm?”
“You going to tell them about Chad stalking you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Ruby.
“He’s stalking me, but it’s not like he’s stalking me, as in get a restraining order because he might kill me. He just won’t leave me alone. He calls, he texts, he e-mails me. He wants to get back together, if you can believe that.”
Ruby stomped to the kitchen, and a moment later a cork popped.
“This isn’t exactly a party.” Mom chugged her half-empty glass. “I don’t have any clients tomorrow, so a few glasses won’t hurt me. I’ll call Kurt to come get us.”
“And we took an antihistamine.” Ruby set the bottle and a glass of water on the coffee table. “Don’t forget to drink water, Marybeth.”
I continued with my Chad dilemma. “My quandary is, should I tell Chad’s wife? I was already wondering this before Emily told me her awful story.”
“You said this girl is a sweetheart,” said Ruby, “so she needs to know what kind of a schmuck she’s living with. I just wish he’d get hit by a bus. She could collect the insurance, and be way better off.”
Like Melanie’s sister losing her horrible husband in the nick of time, I thought, then looked pointedly at Emily, mentally urging her to make her big announcement.
“What’s that look you’re giving your sister?” Mom sat forward and squinted at me over her wineglass rim.
“Nuthin’.”
“Oh please. I know that look. Is there something else we need to know? Is one of you pregnant?” She shook her head. “No, that can’t be it. Not with all the wine you’ve consumed.” She glanced at Ruby. “Getting any psychic vibes, Mom?”
My semi-psychic grandma wasn’t tuning in on this. No way.
Ruby arched a perfectly penciled brow at Emily. “Maybe.”
“Hopefully it’s something good,” said Mom. “Because I don’t know how much more I can take.”
“Let’s have a toast!” I raised my ginger ale. “Emily, tell them how to toast.”
She did and we clinked and she blurted, “I’m gay!”
“Well it’s about damned time you said something,” said Ruby. “I really didn’t want to ask, in case the cards were wrong, but how often does that happen? Never.”
Mom set her glass down, gaping at my sister. “When did this happen?”