by Penny Wylder
Stop thinking about her, I remind myself. That’s becoming a daily ritual, at this point.
“How’s it going?” I ask as I head for the supply aisle, and grab a cart en route. Once there, I start to stock up on various grades of sandpaper, which I need for the table I just started yesterday.
Tommy groans in response.
“That well, huh?” I joke.
“These fucking cops, man. They don’t understand what they’re doing to the vibe out here. They’re up our asses, all day every day, one million question sessions…”
“Did they stop by here again?” I frown and reach for some nails, next.
“Not here, no. Interviewing Barb next door about her ‘whereabouts.’”
I glance over to see Tommy doing elaborate air-quotes on that word, and snort. “As if that old lady could lift a… how big did they say the city kid was? Two hundred-some pounds? As if Barb could’ve carried him out into a grave.”
“I dunno.” Tommy shrugs, looking suddenly amused. “Maybe if she had help from a giant gorilla or something…” He rolls his eyes, then leans on the counter, his half-eaten Hot Pocket forgotten. “It’s just bullshit, man. The cops are scaring everyone away. Half the tourists who’d planned to stay on after the festival fled the minute they caught wind of a missing person, and now half the locals are planning sudden new summer trips too. Even the Larsons!”
My jaw drops at that. Mr. and Mrs. Larson are a fixture in town. I don’t think they’ve set foot outside Bailey Village limits in the last 30 years. I didn’t even know they knew what the word trip meant. “You’re kidding.”
Tommy shakes his head. “They’re headed to the beach, they say, down in Florida. They’ll come back when things quiet down, they said. But then Mrs. Larson did that ‘Maybe’ thing of hers. Makes me think they might join the Jonases in moving away.”
I sigh. Bailey started out as a small town, but in the past few years, it’s been shrinking by leaps and bounds. My parents weren’t the only locals to high-tail it out of town for a bigger, faster-paced life in the city. “Guess if it’s what’s best for them…”
“What about what’s best for me?” Tommy asks through a mouthful of Hot Pocket. He swallows with a gulp of Diet Coke. “Nobody’s buying anything. Gil, you’re the first customer I’ve seen in here in a week—you might be my only customer at this point. Summer is always slow, and I know we’re approaching it now, but this is worse than my worst week of low season now. It’s only going to get worse if the cops keep doing this, pitting us all against one another, making everyone suspect everyone…”
“I thought everyone just suspected me,” I say wryly as I plunk my cart down on the table. I toss in a few extra supplies I don’t strictly need just yet, like an extra screwdriver set and some sanding blocks, because I know it’ll help Tommy out.
Tommy snorts. “Nobody really listens to Sara Potts. Remember that time she told everyone her parents died in a car wreck, about twenty minutes before they pulled up outside the house perfectly fine?”
“She was sixteen back then, Tommy.”
“Yeah, well, some people never change. Hell, just two months ago she was spreading rumors that Barry was sneaking out with old Mrs. Baker.”
I burst into laughter. Barry is about eighteen to Mrs. Baker’s eighty. “What is she, a GILF suddenly?”
“What’s a GILF?” Tommy asks.
“Grandmother I’d Like to Fuck, of course!”
Tommy about dies. “Good one, Gil,” he says when he recovers enough to breathe again. “Jesus.”
“Well who do you think did it?” I lean over the counter. “If you’re one of the few left in town who doesn’t buy it was me.”
Tommy glances around the shop, exaggeratedly, even though he just finished telling me I’m the only customer he’s had in a week. Obviously there’s nobody listening. Then he bends down, close to my ear. “Well,” he says. “There were about a million out-of-towners around that weekend. And half this guy Bradley’s coworkers hated him, from what I hear. How hard would it have been for them to gang up, get rid of him in a place where nobody would trace—”
He breaks off when the shop bell tinkles. We both turn to see Sara Potts, speak of the devil, stride into the store.
“Tommy, I need some light…” She freezes in place, staring straight at me. “Bulbs,” she finishes, eyes huge as saucers. “What’s he doing here?” she asks, voice going nasally and sharp. “Tommy, are you working with him? After what I told you?”
Fuck this. I toss my money on the counter for Tommy. “Keep the change,” I tell him, and scoop my purchases into a bag before I stride out. I’m not sticking around to get accused of shit I didn’t do, especially by the town’s biggest gossip-monger.
She makes a huge show of jumping out of my way as I approach, and I storm out the door, angrier than ever now. Tommy’s right. That wide-eyed show of Sara’s looks just like the ones she used to put on as a kid, when she’d lie about who stole the liquor her parents found in her bedroom.
I’m over it right now. In fact, I’m feeling pretty over this whole damn town. Maybe city life wouldn’t be so bad after all. You’re pretty cut off in a city, pretty isolated from the people who know and raised you. But maybe that’s a good thing.
Maybe I need a fresh start.
I’m thinking that through, storming up the street back the way I came, back toward home, when I nearly trip over my own feet.
I must be hallucinating. Because I’m pretty sure I just heard…
Nope. There it is again. My head jerks upright, and there she is, just twenty feet away from me, chatting loudly to another familiar face.
The world narrows to a point. The same way it did when she was in my bedroom, in my arms—suddenly there’s nothing else here, nobody but Jenna.
I’m staring, I realize dimly, somewhere in the back of my mind. But I can’t help it. I thought I’d never see her again. Now here she is, chatting away. That’s what caught my attention at first, the familiar cadence of her voice.
Funny how fast you can get to know somebody. How one night can rearrange your whole priority list.
I watch Jenna nod at something Detective Hartman is saying. Then I watch her tuck her hair behind one ear, self-conscious, and the movement brings back a million more memories.
Jenna spread-eagled on the bed before me. Jenna arching up into me as I licked and sucked on her clit. Jenna’s perfect fucking pussy, and the breathy little moans she made…
I tear my gaze away before Jenna or the detective notice. But I glance back when I see the pair turn, and watch long enough to see them head into the station.
Of course. The detective told me she’d need to confirm my alibi. They must have asked Jenna to come into the station to do it.
I should steer clear. Let the detective get what she wants. The last thing I want to do is seem guilty, like I’m interrupting the investigation. But I can’t help it. My feet seem to have made up their minds all on their own. Next thing I know, I’m walking straight toward the station, heart in my throat.
Last time, I fucked up. I didn’t chase her, didn’t ask her to come home with me Saturday night too, hell, Sunday night, all of the damn nights.
I’m not going to miss another opportunity. I’ve got one more chance at the girl I’ve spent a month thinking about. This time, I won’t fuck it up.
8
Gil
One glance inside the station window tells me I’ll need to wait a while.
Our precinct is tiny, so there are usually only one or two cops on duty. Today, that’s Graham Denver, the ancient old former police chief, who stays on now and mostly works the desk. He’s constantly trying to relive his glory days—not to mention mistaking himself for years younger than he actually is, and constantly hitting on anyone who moves, even if they’re barely of legal age.
It’s a wonder the station hasn’t fired him for inappropriate conduct yet.
Besides Graham, the waiting room is empty. Je
nna must be in the back with the detective.
For a moment, I linger at the window, hesitant. Then I decide sitting across the street will be far less obvious, and I force myself to retreat. Only for now, I promise myself. If I have to chase Jenna to the train station after this to get a shot, I’m not above that.
I grab a coffee at Erin’s place across the road—she, at least, doesn’t seem suspicious of me, and makes of point of smiling a little too much, adding a little extra milk and sugar to my coffee, to show she doesn’t buy these rumors. Well, that, and because I’m sure she’s hoping for a repeat of the one drunken night we had a few years ago after a party at Rick’s house.
I like Erin, really I do. But she’s not my type. I flash her a smile and take a seat near the window, propping up a newspaper that I barely even read the headline of, mostly as an excuse to keep one eye trained on the precinct.
It doesn’t take long for Detective Hartman to reemerge, surprising me. I’d have thought she’d want to grill Jenna, if she’s my only alibi, and I’m the most whispered-about suspect. But then again, last time I spoke to the detective, she reassured me that the precinct doesn’t take into account bad press when they do their investigations. It sort of seemed like her way of reassuring me that she didn’t buy the rumors—she was running this case by facts and facts only.
I appreciated that. Still do.
I watch the detective stride away up the street, and then glance back at the precinct, pulse picking up. Where’s Jenna?
One glance through the window makes me stand up and toss my tip for Erin onto the counter. “Leaving already?” she calls after me.
I wave over my shoulder. “Perfect brew as ever, Erin,” I call back. But I have eyes only for the station. Inside, I can see Graham circling around the desk to stand next to Jenna. Without even being able to hear their voices, or see much more than their heads—his constantly bobbing closer and closer to hers—I can tell he’s up to his usual shit.
I don’t even bother to knock. I just fling the precinct door wide, the handle on it crashing into the far wall. Jenna jumps at the sound, leaping about a foot away from Graham.
He doesn’t move. Just turns to glare at me, and then steps closer to Jenna. “With you in a minute,” he mutters gruffly. “Now, Ms. Walker, where were we?” He reaches for her elbow, which she twists out of his reach.
“You needed my information?” she asks.
“Yes, Ms. Walker, your local address.” His leer drops to her chest. He smirks. “Wherever you’re staying while you’re in town. And your number. Promise I’ll only use it to ask you for drinks.” He winks.
I want to strangle him. I step forward and plant myself firmly in between them. “She’s not interested, Graham.”
“That’s for her to decide,” he replies, trying to crane around me to smirk at her.
“Thanks but no thanks,” Jenna tells him. “You needed my hotel address?”
Graham glares at me, then huffs out an annoyed breath, and crosses back to his side of the desk. “And phone number.”
“Hotel phone will be fine,” I tell Jenna. “Trust me.”
“That’s not what—” Graham breaks off, scowling. “Fine.” He scribbles down the information Jenna reads off to him—the main hotel in town, near the fair, and then a landline at that same hotel. As we turn to leave, however, Graham starts muttering under his breath. “Cock-blocking little—”
I slam the door behind us to drown out whatever else he’s about to say.
Jenna whirls on me the second the door shuts. “I could’ve handled him myself, Gil. That guy’s old enough to be my grandpa.”
“Which is exactly why he shouldn’t go around creeping on young ladies and giving this whole town a bad reputation,” I reply with a scowl. “We’re not all complete pervs, I promise you.”
“Really?” She arches a single brow, her expression suddenly shifting from mild annoyance to interest. “You’re not a perv, Gil? Because I remember more than a few things you said that might be considered pervy…”
I smirk right back. “If I recall correctly, Jenna, you have just as dirty a mouth as I do. Not to mention, you know how to use yours pretty fucking well…”
She laughs. “Not that you gave me the chance to really demonstrate properly, if I recall.”
I hold her eye, my smile deepening. “My apologies. You’re right. If you’d like another chance to demonstrate, my night is wide open,” I lie, ignoring the bag full of supplies I’m holding and dismissing my plans to build that table tonight. I already ignored her for work once. I won’t make that mistake again.
She holds my eye. Smiles. “Hmm. That’s good to know,” she says, though I notice that’s not quite a yes. There’s something hesitant in her posture, her body language.
“How have you been, Jenna?” I ask, voice going low and serious now. Because I can imagine what all those questions with the detective must be like. After all, I’ve been through it myself already, one too many times this month.
She swallows hard. A quick look flashes across her face, something I can’t place. It’s almost like… fear. Or maybe sorrow? She glances away from me, turning her face so I can’t see her eyes, or anything but the downward turn of her mouth. “Fine, fine,” she says, voice forced and light. “I mean, aside from all this murder stuff. God, how insane.” When she turns back to me again, whatever I saw earlier is gone, replaced by concern. “Can you believe something like that happened right here, while we were in town?”
I shake my head. “I can’t believe it happened here, period. Bailey is a sleepy little place. Hell, the last time I heard about anything this scandalous was in the 1800s, when town legend has it a girl broke her neck trying to run away on horseback with the boy she loved.”
She looks away again, at that. “The cops say he was strangled.”
“I know.”
Jenna flashes me a wry glance. “Detective Hartman asked me to confirm your whereabouts that night.”
I swallow hard. “Sorry about that—I hope I didn’t drag you too deep into this. But I had to explain myself, and, well…”
Jenna shakes her head. “It’s all right. I’m happy to help. After all, your alibi is my alibi, that night.” Her cheeks go red in that way I’ve missed. She blushes so easily, this girl. “Anyway,” she carries on, “that’s the only reason I’m here. Just up for a couple days to give an official statement. It’s not because of… I mean, I didn’t come to see you again or anything, I’m not some stalker.” She forces a laugh, and turns up another street. “Well, this is me, so—”
“The hotel is this way,” I say, pointing in the opposite direction.
She nearly trips over her own feet. “Oh. Right.” Her cheeks heat again.
I take a chance and extend my arm. After a moment’s hesitation, she reaches out, and I loop her hand around my elbow. “Come on. We’ll go the long way, take the scenic route.” I walk her in the general direction of the hotel, though I make sure to meander up plenty of side streets, and give her plenty of rambling town history stories in order to drag this walk out as long as possible.
Her words keep echoing in my head. I didn’t come to see you or anything. Why is she acting like this? At first, right out of the station, she was flirting just like last time. Then suddenly, as soon as I asked what was wrong, she went all cold. I can’t work out why she’s being so distant.
The whole walk is like that. A flirty line here and there, some laughter, her leaning closer and closer to my arm… And then her pulling away again, disentangling her hand from my arm, putting a few steps between us, like she’s suddenly remembered she can’t do this.
And I can’t figure out why.
All too soon, we reach the lobby of the hotel. We cross inside, and we’re barely through the door when the main receptionist, a guy named Merill Vans, leaps to his feet. “You’re back!” he shouts, but not to me.
He’s looking at Jenna.
She smiles. “In the flesh.”
“I didn’t expect to see you up this way again,” he says as she approaches the check-in desk. “Especially not so soon, and not after… well…”
I clear my throat. “Merill.”
“Gil.” Merill nods toward me, though I notice he doesn’t quite meet my eyes. Great. Another townie convinced I’m the murderer around here.
“Yes, well, it’s actually because of that, ah, unpleasant business, that I’m back in town,” Jenna is saying, oblivious to the dynamic. “I had to come and give some statements to the detective leading up the case.”
“That so?” Merill asks absently as he swipes her credit card. “What about?”
Jenna shrugs one shoulder. “You know, just who I saw where and when, that kind of stuff. And the detective thinks maybe some of the photographs I took that night might be helpful.”
Merill passes her card back. “Well, here’s hoping. All right, I have your room all ready, staying two nights?”
“Hopefully no more.” Jenna glances in my direction, though only barely. “I have to get back to work soon, so I’m hoping the police don’t need me for long…”
“In my experience it’s been pretty quick,” Merill assures her. “They’ve spoken to most of us locals already, only takes a couple hours in the precinct.”
She flashes him a smile. “Well, it’s nice to see a familiar face, anyway.”
“A friendly one, anyway,” Merill adds, with a glare in my direction. “Some around here you can’t really trust.”
That finally tips her off. She turns to frown at me, confused. “Gil’s friendly,” she says. “Hell, I’d better hope so—he’s my alibi for the night of the murder,” she adds, with a laugh. “Never thought that was a sentence I’d say.”
Some of the clouds on Merill’s face begin to clear. “Oh. You mean you…”
Jenna whirls back on him. “What, did you think he was involved?” she asks, feigning surprise. “Aren’t you from here, Gil?” she calls over her shoulder. “Didn’t you grow up with these people?”
