If all I got out of the lousy relationship with Robert was an excuse to leave this party, it was worth it.
I went over to give Mary Kate a good-bye hug, but she clung to me, all forlorn.
“Are you leaving? I wanted to talk to you. Please?” The abused puppy was back.
“Um, well, I have to be somewhere in a few minutes”—her eyes welled up with tears—“but, yeah, sure.”
Her smile split wide enough to show back molars. “But not here,” she said. “In private.”
We went to my office, where Mary Kate scooched down in her usual seat.
“Just like old times, huh?” I said.
Mary Kate smiled wistfully. “I wish. These last few weeks have been so hard. Finals and saying good-bye and all that.”
“I know,” I said. “Changes are difficult, but once you get through finals it should lighten up, right? Have you thought about taking some time off?”
“Yeah, it’s funny you should say that. I have been thinking about whether or not to continue with school. I was thinking that maybe—”
“Whoa! I didn’t mean quitting school. I meant, like, a vacation. Some down-time. Quitting school is such a big decision. I thought you wanted to counsel? Are you sure?”
“I don’t know. Everything is just getting so hard, you know? I thought maybe I could take a break, maybe work here for a while. Like I could do phones and stuff while I decide.”
“I don’t even think we’re hiring, Mary Kate. You’d have to talk to Marshall about that. I just…” My voice trailed off. I had a natural therapist’s reluctance to giving advice, but as a friend I hated keeping quiet on such a huge issue. “I just hope you really think this through before making a decision. I know you’d make a good therapist and you seemed so passionate about the field. Why don’t you get through finals and take that vacation? Then you can see how you feel.”
“I guess.” She didn’t look convinced.
“All right, then, let’s get you back to your party.” I stood, and she reluctantly followed suit. She shadowed me back to the conference room looking more dejected than ever.
A chorus of “Here she is!” greeted us. When Lisa gathered up the two interns for opening the presents, Mary Kate perked up a tiny bit. I waited until she was ripping into the bright orange tissue paper before sneaking out. Just as I made my move for the door, Marshall caught my eye.
He stood just behind Mary Kate and Sarah, watching me. I hesitated. For half a heartbeat, we stared at each other, eyes searching. I shivered. Mentally shaking myself, I slipped out the door.
Chandlers, known for its surf-n-turf special, was crowded as usual. Robert was already seated at a discreet table near the stone fireplace when I got there. As I crossed the room, I wished I’d had a chance to go home and change, but it would have made me late. Robert stood as I approached, smiling in a way that reminded me why I’d fallen for him in the first place. The firelight danced in his hair, turning his honey-blond a deeper gold. He held the back of the chair for me as I sat.
As we made small talk and looked the menu over, it dawned on me that he was shoveling charm down my throat with both hands. He was attentive: asking about my day, complimenting me on my blouse. He was solicitous: asking what I might order, the temperature—too hot? Too cold?—near the fire. He was interested: asking whether the licensing complaint, which he referred to as “that witch hunt”—a phrase he’d never uttered when we were dating, had been resolved. When he asked how Sue was doing I decided he’d either smoked his lunch or wanted something from me.
If I was a person of stellar ethics, I would have cut the meal short knowing I had no intention of doing any favors for my ex. But technically, having just relapsed, I’d only been sober for a few days and was still a work in progress. Or maybe I’d have felt more generous if he’d been straightforward instead of being such a smarmy butt kisser.
As matters stood I had no compunction about ordering, and enjoying, a thick, juicy slab of prime rib. And, besides, it was nice, really nice, to sit quietly in pleasant surroundings and not wonder if the man across from me got his jollies from dark Renaissance verse and doll mutilation. Robert was far too self-absorbed to be obsessed with anyone who didn’t look back at him in the mirror. At least, I hoped.
About midway through the meal, Robert cleared his throat nervously. I felt the table jounce and knew if I peeked underneath I’d see Robert’s leg jiggling nervously. The bullshit cometh. . .
He cleared his throat again, looking to the side, avoiding eye contact. “So, that’s some pretty weird shit with Randy, huh?” He glanced back, checking my reaction.
I finished chewing, swallowed. “You mean Wayne, don’t you? And even if I hated him, ‘weird’ is an quite understatement. Horrible, maybe.”
“Have the police been talking to you?” He feigned interest in chasing a green bean around his plate.
“Of course. I’m probably the main suspect.” With a start, I realized I’d forgotten to call Blodgett back. So much for appearing cooperative.
“That’s crazy,” his voice strangely emphatic. “Obviously Rand—uh, Wayne—had a lot of problems. Anybody could have done it. I think they’re just taking the easy way out, focusing on the first people they come across.” A frown crossed his face as he probably recalled just how he came to the attention of the police in the first place. But he let it slide.
“I don’t believe that. After all, it makes sense that they need to check me out.” I paused, watching his face tighten as I declined the “us versus them” alliance he proposed. “I didn’t do it, of course, but how can they know that?”
“It’s too bad you don’t have an alibi, huh?” His eyes skittered away again, a line of sweat glistening on his upper lip.
Ah.
“I guess.” I stayed noncommittal, interested to see how he would continue.
“Listen, Letty. Just because we’ve had our differences doesn’t mean I won’t be there for you. If there’s anything, I can do…?”
He finally made eye contact, gazing with “significance” across the debris of our meal. What a crock. He’d left me dangling when I went to him for help with Wayne. It was obviously not my lack of alibi that had him sweating, and on top of that, the jerk apparently wanted me to proposition him into vouching for each other.
“Nope. Can’t think of anything,” I chirped. “But thanks.”
More throat noises. “It’s just so stupid, you know? I can’t believe the cops are stupid enough to think you would actually kill someone.”
“Maybe they don’t. Maybe they have someone else they’re considering. Like you said, ‘anybody could have done it.’” I stared at him, a slight smile on my face. Evil of me, I know.
He reached for his water glass, nearly tipping it over. “Have you heard anything about that? I mean, there must be a bunch of people mad at Wayne. He wasn’t a nice guy, you know.”
Well, no shit. Suddenly, I was sick of the whole charade. “Robert, what’s this all about? Why did you ask me here? And don’t give me any bullshit about enjoying my company or burying the hatchet or whatever else you might come up with. You’re obviously afraid the police consider you a suspect. Why?”
His lips thinned, but for the first time, he looked me straight in the eyes. “Because they heard you and I were dating.”
“So, that means, what? That you were avenging my honor or something?” I snorted. “Would it help if I told them that’s not your style?”
His eyes narrowed into flinty slits. “I’m not some Cro-Magnon, who can’t control himself. And it’s not like you came to me for help. You shut me out, so don’t blame me for not being there.”
The theme song from Rocky tinkled from his hip. He glanced at the Caller ID and mumbled, “I need to get this. I’ll be right back.” He stood and strode off to the front lobby.
“Rocky?” I snorted to his retreating back. “Puh-lease.”
The server walked up and motioned to the half-empty plates. “Did you want
me to wrap any of this?”
“No, there’s nothing worth saving.”
“Oh,” he said, eyes wide. “One of those dates? Would dessert help?”
I smiled for the first time. “It might, but I don’t want to get bogged down here. If he’s not back in the next few minutes, I’m out of here.”
“Good for you, hon. Don’t take any you-know-what from any of them.” With a wink, he moved off to another table. I’d make sure he got a big tip even if I had to leave it myself.
Robert showed up minutes later, apologizing. Not for his earlier boorishness, of course, but for the minor indiscretion of the phone call. What a boob.
By unspoken agreement, we let the discussion die. The walk up to the lobby was awkward enough, so I ditched into the bathroom to avoid continuing the farce into the parking lot. We said our good-byes quickly, and I hurried through the door with the triangle-shaped brass woman affixed to it.
After using the facilities, washing my hands twice, and counting one-Mississippi three hundred times, I decided it was safe to go. The relief I felt upon noticing Robert’s truck gone, however, was short-lived.
As I crossed the lot, I could see something the color of mottled blood on my windshield. I stopped, heart thudding. Screwing up my courage and uncapping my very own, handy-dandy “Slap My Ass And Call Me Sally” pepper spray, I moved forward.
A dead rose. Several petals littered the hood, leaving the flower nearly denuded, canting listlessly to the side. The stem had been thrust behind the wiper, thorns glinting sickly yellow in the lot’s sodium lighting. I shivered.
He’d been here.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
I waited until the next night to go to a meeting. The bad news was the first person I saw at the club was Sandra. I’d either have to face her or forgo a cup of badly needed coffee. She stood at the coffee bar—a fruit bowl in a sleeveless top that looked and clung to her fat chest like an orange peel. She’d had her highlights touched up, too, adding a lemony glow.
The good news was that I was in the mood for a fight.
“Wow, Letty, no offense, but you look like something the cat puked up. You weren’t out drinking again, were you?”
Having been up all night brooding on the subject of dead flora, I probably did look like a hacked-up hairball. But the reference to my relapse was a low blow. Knowing she was all dolled up for Robert, I plastered a fake smile on my face and said, “Of course not. I had a lovely dinner at Chandlers. I just love their prime rib.”
“Chandlers?” Sandra’s eyes narrowed at the mention of Robert’s favorite restaurant.
Ignoring her, I grabbed my mug from its peg, pouring myself some surprisingly fresh coffee.
“What time were you there?” she persisted.
The people around the counter quieted, the better to enjoy the unfolding drama.
“I’m sorry. Did you say something?” I smiled sleepily as though the cause of my late night was a certain blond real estate agent rather than a Shakespearian psychopath with a flower fetish.
“What time were you at Chandlers?” At least I think that’s what she said. Her teeth were gritted hard enough to splinter into tiny shards.
“About 7:30 or so. Why?” I asked, all Shirley Temple-innocent.
“Oh, no reason,” she lied. Then unable to stop herself, she blurted, “I guess you must have seen Robert there, too.”
I let my eyebrows rise as if surprised at her naiveté. “Well, sure,” I said with a laugh. “It would have been hard not to. He was sitting across from me.”
Several sucked-in “Ooh’s!” whistled through the air, heightening both my pleasure and Sandra’s rage.
And then Robert, proving he’d been born under a particularly unlucky star, chose that moment to walk in to the club. He looked nice and relaxed for approximately 1.5 nanoseconds, which is how long it took his brain to process the information that his ex was standing next to his slut, and they were both pissed. Pure guy hell.
For a brief, satisfying moment, it looked like he was going to turn and run. Paul, one of the spectators, laughed out loud. Sandra got to Robert first, crossing the room like an orange puma with the scent of meat teasing her nostrils. I smiled at Robert’s startled face and waggled my fingers “hi!”
“Did you enjoy your dinner last night, Robert?” Sandra snarled. “Huh? While I sat at home waiting for you? Did you have a good time?” She punctuated every fifth or sixth word by poking him in the chest with long, tangerine-tipped claws. Looked painful.
Robert looked over at me desperately. I shrugged, hands wide as though “Gosh, was I not supposed to have mentioned that to Sandra?”
Sandra stabbed again. This time, his forehead, leaving a red, half-moon dent. “Look at me when I’m talking to you! What? I’m not good enough to take out to dinner, but you’ll take Miss Priss? She must not be putting out yet, ‘cause you sure were panting for it when you finally showed up at my door. Was she sitting right there when I called? Is that all I am to you?”
So that’s who’d called during dinner. I shook my head in disgust. Strangely, my anger at Sandra faded away.
Just then, she looked over at me and must have decided I looked too complacent. Or, worse, maybe she saw pity. “Oh, and by the way? Where do you think he’s been every Wednesday and Sunday night while you sat at home with your legs crossed like an ice princess? Don’t fall off that high horse or you’ll ram the stick up your ass.”
With that wild flurry of mixed metaphors, she slammed out of the club.
Robert’s face took on an alarming, red-and-white toile pattern. Again, he looked my way. But not for help.
I squinted “bring it on,” pointing outside, having just enough class to not want an Act II screaming match in the lobby. I regretted beating him through the door, though, because that meant he got to slam it. Normally I’d be freaking out over a confrontation of this nature, but all the fear and frustrated anger of the last few weeks had finally found a target. He’d been cheating on me the whole time?
Unfortunately, we never got farther than the sidewalk leading to the parking lot. Before we could get into it, the sound of a racing engine made us turn around. Sandra’s Accord jounced wildly over the three speed bumps. Her hands clenched the wheel and her eyes, glittering weirdly, met mine. For a moment, I thought she might add a couple of human speed bumps to the lot, but she settled for whipping us the bird before squealing out of the lot.
“Are you happy now?” Robert spit the words at me.
“Yes. Yes, I am. See?” I laughed, just to prove it. Sounded more than a little maniacal, but he was too pissed to notice.
“Listen, you little bitch, I’ve got half a mind—”
“Somehow I always knew you only had half a mind.”
“—to smack the crap out of you. What did you say?”
I rolled my eyes. This was too easy. “Robert, you are a narcissistic asshole and definitely not worth my time.” I flicked a hand as if waving away our past. “If you were only half the man I thought you were I might feel bad about breaking up, but now? I’m just glad I only wasted a few months on you.”
He grabbed my upper arm, and I forced myself not to show fear.
“Hey!”
Paul had followed us. His face showed the fear I’d schooled mine to hide. “Let go of her!” His voice trembled, but he pushed at Robert’s hand, trying to peel his fingers off my bicep. Robert released me, slapping Paul’s hand away.
“Get off me, you little asswipe! This is none of your business.”
But Paul was caught up in an emotion stronger than his fear. “You are such a j-jerk. I can’t believe you treat her this way. You should be treating her like a princess, but instead you cheat on her with that skank! I would worship her.”
Robert grabbed Paul by the front of the shirt, lifting the slight man off his feet.
“Robert! Stop it!” I pushed between them. “Stop it!”
Robert threw Paul down to the ground, flinging him into the gra
ss, not the concrete sidewalk. Paul’s face scrunched up, as tears, snot, and a trickle of blood where Robert’s hand had clipped his bottom lip, trickled down his face. Robert looked stunned, wiping his hand across his own face as though to scrub it clean.
“Ah, shit,” he said, running his hand through his blond mop. He reached a hand down to Paul, offering to pull him up. Paul kicked at it.
“Get away!”
“Shit,” Robert said again. “I’m sorry, Letty.” Then he turned and walked away, heading for his car.
I stood on the sidewalk feeling like a tsunami had just washed over me, leaving debris and dead bodies in its wake. Paul pulled his knees up to his chest, burying his face in the crook of his arm.
I knelt, touching his hand. It was cold and shaking. “Paul?”
A muffled “go away” warned me off.
“Okay, I’ll leave, but I want to say thank you. Paul, I—”
“Go away!” he howled.
“Okay. Okay, Paul. I’m leaving.” I walked backward, not wanting to leave him, knowing that staying would only make his humiliation worse. I got in my car and sat, trying to think. Then I pulled my cell phone out, scrolled through my contact list, found Chad’s number and called. I could only hope that he’d get here before Paul took off for the nearest bar to deaden his shame.
As I sat slouched in my car, watching the sobbing, huddled mess from afar, a horrible suspicion rose and bloomed.
Worship me?
Chad showed up a few minutes later, his calm demeanor a welcome presence. He walked over to the side of my car and leaned in the window, keeping a steady eye on Paul.
“Thanks, Chad. I didn’t know who else to call.”
“No thanks needed, Letty. You did right.” He glanced at me with a worried frown. “You said Robert and Paul got into it?”
Raising his head, Paul noticed us staring. He slowly got to his feet, wiping his face with his t-shirt.
“Actually, Sandra and I got into it, and then Sandra and Robert. Then me and Robert, and then Robert and Paul.”
The Enemy We Know Page 20
