“No,” Billy lied, “I haven’t seen him around for a while now.” He swallowed hard, thinking, I wish this cop was here to bag me for the loud exhaust pipe.
Jimmy collapsed to his front paws and looked up, watching the tense exchange—but staying out of it.
Detective Swanson studied Billy’s face for a few awkward moments, making Billy swallow even harder. Billy could feel himself blush. I hope my face doesn’t give me away, he thought.
“Do you know anything about him having a problem with Dalton Noble?” the seasoned detective asked. “Maybe some bad feelings between them over a girl named Bianca?”
Although the big man had a friendly demeanor, Billy could tell he was asking questions for answers he already knew. “Not that I know of,” Billy lied again, trying to avoid any extended eye contact. “At least he never told me about it.”
“When’s the last time you talked to Charlie?” the cop asked, writing into his spiral notebook with a ball point pen.
This guy’s old school, Billy thought. “A couple of weeks ago,” he replied.
“Where is he?” the cop fired back, picking up the questioning in both pace and volume.
Billy could feel Jimmy crawl closer to him; it actually felt like the dog gave him a nudge. “Home, I think. Like I said, I haven’t seen him much this summer. I’ve been working a lot,” Billy said, feeling the sweat drip down his back.
“Working a lot, huh?” Swanson repeated, peering into Billy’s eyes again.
Billy quickly nodded.
With a smirk, Detective Swanson closed his notebook. “Let me ask you one more question.”
“Sure.”
“Do you know who Dalton Noble is?”
Billy swallowed hard again. “He’s the kid who died in that bad car wreck on 88, right?” Billy said, surprised he could squeeze the words from his constricted throat.
“That’s right. I met with his parents last week and they’re in worse shape than he was the night he was lying on the hood of his car, bleeding to death.” He searched Billy’s eyes one last time. “Here’s my card,” Swanson said, handing it to Billy. “If you think of something you may have forgotten today, give me a call.” He nodded. “I just came from Charlie’s house. He wasn’t home, but I asked his mom to have him come into the station so we can talk.”
“Okay,” Billy said, trying to limit the use of his shaky voice.
The detective bent down and scratched Jimmy’s neck. “Good boy,” he said, but he wasn’t smiling.
Billy couldn’t tell whether he was talking to him or the dog. And his skin crawled when the man took three steps before turning around and staring straight through him.
“Just make sure Charlie comes to see me, okay?”
Nodding one last time, Billy struggled for air but retained eye contact with the intimidating man.
As Detective Swanson slid into the Ford Crown Victoria’s driver’s seat, he muttered, “New inspection sticker. Smart kid.” As he started the car, country music blared from its speakers.
After the unmarked cruiser left the parking lot, Billy sat with Jimmy in the Honda for fifteen minutes until his trembling ceased. Damn you, Charlie, he thought, and punched the steering wheel. “Damn you for all this bullshit!” he said aloud.
Jimmy lay on the front seat, his right paw covering his eyes. He even peeked out and whimpered a few times, as though he knew exactly what was going on.
“I know,” Billy told the dog. “I know. This is really bad.”
Billy turned the ignition and the Honda thundered to life. He looked around nervously. “And I can’t drive this noisy pig again until it gets fixed,” he told Jimmy.
Struggling to sit upright, the dog stuck his head out of the window, ready to catch a nice breeze on the way home.
Billy called Charlie’s cell phone several times until he picked up. “There’s a cop, a detective, who was waiting for me outside the animal shelter after work,” Billy blurted. “He was asking about you…about the last time I talked to you.”
“What did you tell him?” Charlie asked, panicked.
“I didn’t tell him anything. I told him we haven’t talked in a couple weeks.”
“Oh man, this isn’t good.” Charlie was breathing heavily, nearly hyperventilating into the phone. “This isn’t good at all,” he repeated. “My mother told me that a detective just came by here, looking to talk to me,” he said, thinking aloud. “Shit, it must be the same guy.”
“He knows, Charlie.”
“He knows what?”
“He knows you were involved in Dalton’s accident or at least that you had a problem with Dalton over Bianca.”
“You didn’t tell him…”
“I didn’t tell him anything,” Billy interrupted in a volume just shy of a scream, “but I didn’t have to. Just by the questions he was asking, he knows you had some bad blood with Dalton. He even mentioned Bianca’s name.”
“Oh God…” Charlie mumbled, and then there was silence.
“Charlie?”
“Yeah?” he said, in the voice of a terrified five-year-old boy.
“You don’t have a choice anymore. You have to turn yourself in.” Billy cleared the emotion from his throat. “They’ll eventually figure out what really happened that night and then it’ll be worse for everyone!” Without realizing it, he nearly screamed the last word.
“I…I need time to…to think,” Charlie stuttered.
“Just don’t take too much time, Charlie,” Billy said. “It’ll make things worse.”
Charlie dropped off the line.
Much worse, Billy thought, shaking his throbbing head. You need to tell Vicki, he told himself. Somehow, you need to find a way to tell her.
⁕
Charlie took a deep breath and reached under his bed for the shoebox. Removing the lid, he grabbed the .38 revolver and immediately placed it under his chin. Just do it, you coward, he told himself. You’re no good to anyone anymore. You were supposed to be an FBI agent, for God’s sake. Now you’re going to be a convict instead. There were no tears this time; they’d dried up long ago. It was no accident that night, he told himself, finally facing the truth. You killed that poor kid in a jealous rage and his family has suffered like dogs because of it. With a steady hand, he jammed the snub-nosed pistol deeper into his flesh. Just do it, chicken shit! he screamed inside his head, feeling the cold steel against his skin. But he didn’t squeeze the trigger; it wasn’t for the lack of courage or even the will to live. Deep inside the recesses of his soul, he knew it would be the easy way out, cheating Dalton’s family from any real justice. He pulled the gun down and looked at it. They deserve better, he thought. They deserve closure.
Chapter 11
The summer was more than half over, free falling toward autumn. Even being tormented over Charlie’s terrible secret, Billy’s feelings for Vicki were all-consuming. He awoke and immediately checked his cell phone. There was a text awaiting him from Vicki: the perfect start to a new day. I love you so much. It was only five words, but they were the greatest words Billy had ever read.
He typed back, I love you more.
Billy lay in bed for a few minutes with Jimmy, contemplating everything that had changed in just a few short weeks. “It’s almost too good to be true,” he told Jimmy, “but my relationship with Vicki is going better than I could have ever dreamed.” When he and Vicki weren’t together, they were talking on their cell phones or sending text messages to remind each other how they felt. Even still, every moment that passed, he was absolutely torn over his love for his girlfriend and his loyalty to his best friend. “I love Vicki so much, Lord knows I do,” he told the attentive dog, “but I have no choice but to keep Charlie’s secret.” He shook his head. “Arlene’s right though: the longer it takes for the truth to come out, the worse it’s going to be for everyone involved…me and
Vicki included.”
Jimmy stood, yawned and hobbled off the bed. He looked up at Billy and whined.
“I’m coming,” Billy said. “Hold your horses, I’m coming.”
⁕
Vicki got a ride to Billy’s house. She wasn’t even through the door when she asked, “What are you planning, Billy?” She gave him a quick kiss, not realizing they were alone in the house. “I know you’re planning something.”
Billy shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Giggling, Vicki shook her head before locking onto Billy’s eyes. “You’re so stupid,” she said. Even that statement made him feel like the luckiest man on the planet.
Billy could feel Vicki’s love every moment he was with her. And being in love with her was not something he’d ever imagined was missing from his life. There’s no way I could have, he thought. I didn’t have a clue just a few weeks ago. But now that I love her, there’s no going back and life will never be the same. That much he knew.
“I like your house,” Vicki said, looking around the living room. “Can I get the grand tour?”
He shook his head. “I would, but my room’s a mess right now,” he said.
As if he’d caught it, Jimmy’s head snapped up at the phrase right now.
“I can help you clean it,” Vicki offered. “Remember the job we did on Mark’s car?”
“Oh, I remember,” Billy said, laughing. “But this is different. Unless you brought a dump truck, it wouldn’t matter.”
Her eyebrow stood at attention.
“There’s no one else here, you know,” he said, trying to redirect her thoughts.
They sat on the couch for a while, hugging and kissing—until Jimmy refused to be ignored and finally tapped in. Vicki petted Jimmy. Billy joined in and petted Jimmy. Once they stopped, the spoiled mutt pawed at them until they indulged him again. “You’re such an attention vampire,” Billy told the mutt.
Vicki laughed and kept right on massaging the drooling canine.
Billy watched her and, overcome with physical desire, he jumped in again—more aggressively this time.
“Did you make reservations?” Vicki asked, pinned under his full body weight.
“I did,” Billy said, before kissing her one last time and rolling off of her to collect himself. “You’re right. We need to get going.”
While Billy and Vicki prepared to leave for their date, Jimmy whined like an angry tea kettle.
“Are you sure we can’t take my boyfriend with us?” Vicki asked, stroking Jimmy’s heavy coat again and peppering him with more kisses.
Shaking his head, Billy kneeled down to look Jimmy in the eye. “Sorry, buddy,” he said, “but not this time.” He leaned into Jimmy’s floppy ear and whispered, “I’ll tell you all about it when I get home.”
Vicki chuckled, while Jimmy whimpered once more. It was his final plea to join them.
“I’m sorry,” Billy said before grabbing his mother’s car keys and escorting Vicki to the door.
Vicki loved art, so Billy had planned a secret date at the Muse Paint Bar downtown. After two long weeks, he needed a reprieve from the anvil he carried on his shoulders. He was thrilled when the night finally arrived.
It all started at Harry’s Burgers and Beer, right next door to the paint bar, where he and Vicki ate hamburger sliders served at a high-top table in the back. It was a tiny joint, the walls lined with a menagerie of colorful beer taps. The burgers were hot and juicy, fried on a flat grill and delivered in record time. Each burger sat on a toasted potato roll, slathered in tangy house sauce and served with crispy sweet potato fries. The selection of craft beers was impressive, even if Billy and Vicki couldn’t enjoy any of them. Instead, they ordered two hand-scooped vanilla shakes. Toward the end of dinner, Billy kept stealing peeks at his cell phone to check the time, concerned they might be late for their paint reservation. They’d had difficulty finding parking, which had really eaten into the clock.
Vicki gasped when they walked through the front door of the Muse Paint Bar. She turned and kissed Billy in front of everyone. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Your thoughtfulness never ceases to amaze me.”
Billy smiled widely, happy that he’d put in the time and effort.
Table-top easels with blank white canvases, six per table, were packed together like happy sardines. There were mostly women in attendance for a “Girls Night Out”—sipping wine and laughing loudly, as if they’d just been released from prison. “Oh, how sweet,” one of them commented, referring to Billy and Vicki’s arrival. “Young love.”
Billy grinned slightly and then searched out his and Vicki’s name cards. Sitting side by side on hard, mismatched chairs, they donned matching paint-stained aprons and exchanged a smile.
Garrett, the art instructor, was an earthy-crunchy type, his age betraying he was no more than one or two years out of art school—which was located just three blocks east. His hair was intentionally wild and unruly, mirroring his grungy clothes.
He started the night by pointing out each tool provided for the budding artists. A paper plate was used as a palate that had five globs of paint, along with a water can containing five brushes that ranged in various widths.
“Let’s start with the filbert,” Garrett said.
“Which one is that?” Billy whispered to Vicki.
She laughed and pulled it out of the water can. “Aren’t you paying attention?” she asked.
“I am,” he said, “but this guy could have been an auctioneer. He’s talking so fast.”
She laughed.
It was true. Garrett commanded the room and had a friendly demeanor, but he provided instruction like he was trying to sell heads of cattle at the best price; this only added to the laughter shared between Billy and Vicki.
“Be sure to clean your brushes with a paper towel before mixing new colors,” Garrett said.
“Where are the paper towels?” Vicki asked, panicked.
“We don’t have any at our table,” Billy said and laughed aloud, catching a sideways glare from Garrett, who was in full motor-mouth mode.
“Details, details,” Garrett said. “Let’s see more blending and use your filbert.”
“I’m so lost,” Vicki sighed; frustrated, she blew a wisp of hair out of her soft eyes.
Billy looked around. Everyone was wearing the same comical facial expressions. “Everyone’s lost,” he whispered. “We just need to wing it.”
It was warm in the place, too warm, and the matching aprons caused more sweat. Billy felt embarrassed by his growing sweat ring until he noticed Vicki’s glistening forehead.
The painting began with a blue background; water on the bottom, sky on top. “Even brush strokes, side to side, and use lots of paint,” Garrett said. “Don’t let the canvas go dry.”
Billy and Vicki mixed colors, which was a practice in trial and error, and took so much more time than Garrett allowed. They painted a white horizontal line three quarters up the canvas, adding in a range of gray mountains.
“And be sure to shade those,” Garrett said, providing instruction like he presumed everyone was a seasoned artist.
Billy looked at Vicki. They laughed. “What a joke,” he whispered.
Next, they added small green lines and blotches that were supposed to depict a thick tree line. Billy sat back and surveyed his work. It looks like green lines and blotches, he thought.
The lake consisted of strokes of blue, green and white, slathered in a sophomoric attempt to create the illusion of layers and depth. Every time Billy tried to make an improvement, he made things worse. He cursed himself under his breath, drawing giggles from his smiling date.
Vicki kept stealing peeks at his painting. In turn, Billy stole a quick glance at hers. Yup, she’s lost too, he thought. They laughed again.
There were several mor
e remarks about how cute it was to see the young couple out on a date. “You’re the only guy in this whole place,” one woman teased Billy. “If you’d come here alone, you would have had your pick of the litter.”
Vicki’s head snapped up, upset with the callous comment.
Billy shook his head. “But I did get the pick of the litter,” he said sincerely.
Blushing, Vicki grinned and thanked him with her eyes—dabbing Billy’s nose in mountain-gray paint. As they laughed together, she grabbed a paper towel and wiped away the paint from his face—though she could have never wiped away his smile.
Next, they painted a gray dock, with long posts on each side—which took much more attention and focus. The pine tree in the foreground was the final—and scariest—detail to tackle.
A quick bathroom break was the only way to enjoy the air conditioning in the place. Billy followed it up with a trip to the bar to purchase two bottles of cold water.
At the end of the night, each party took their turn standing up on Garrett’s platform—a small stage with a red-bricked background—to take cell phone pictures of their finished masterpieces.
“Wow,” the woman who took Billy and Vicki’s photo said, “you guys did a great job!”
Too bad she’s lying, Billy thought. He couldn’t tell which painting was worse, his or Vicki’s. They’re both horrible.
⁕
Billy and Vicki stepped out into the humid night and stood in the shadows of the sidewalk, swapping paintings, along with a passionate kiss. “For me?” he asked, as he accepted her painting. The night air felt so good on his hot, sweaty neck.
She nodded. “I don’t want it,” she teased, and they both laughed.
He handed his painting to her. “Please tell me you’ll keep it forever,” he joked.
She nodded, her face serious. “I plan to.”
For the second time that night, Billy struggled to take in air. He lifted her painting into the air and whistled. “Beautiful,” he said.
She punched his arm and laughed, but he couldn’t imagine owning a more valuable work of art.
The Changing Season Page 21
