Leg Up

by Annabelle Hunter

  Main Street had a collection of bars and restaurants on the beach side, and everything else on the land side. Somehow the town had fought off the entry of any big-name chains and still had mom-and-pop stores lining the street, catering to the tourists and locals alike. The biggest was the grocery store, which had a surprising collection of gourmet cheeses and foods, enough to make me, coming from the land of Whole Foods and organic everything, feel at home.

  Next to the grocery store was the liquor store, which also doubled as a ‘tasting’ venue. During the summer it had daily wine tastings of local California wine, but during the off season they expanded their tastings to all the other alcohols. Over the past year, Jen and I had become regulars at these special tastings, and I now had not only a favorite vodka, but rum and tequila as well. All overpriced and hard to get. Another example of good marketing. I really needed to follow their examples.

  Next to the liquor store was the yoga studio, were I cross-trained weekly when I couldn’t find a reason not to, followed by the gym and a kid’s indoor playground that also watched kids for the tourists too cheap to pay for child care on the resort. After that started the gimmicks. The art stores, the figurines, the special branded glasses. If a tourist wanted to buy it, there was a store for it. I didn’t go there often.

  After grabbing brie, bread, apples, and our favorite wine, I headed over to Jen’s. Jen lived two streets back in a newer area, and her house showed it. Whereas mine was all old-time charm, hers was all contemporary lines and trendy beige. She loved it. I hated it. We agreed to disagree.

  As I knocked, Jen opened the door and grabbed the wine, then walked away, leaving it slightly open. I watched her bright blond hair bounce as she walked, perfectly groomed into what I assumed was a fashionable cascade of waves. Shorter than me by a few inches, she was still tall enough to carry her curves gracefully, though she never thought that.

  “Nice to see you, too!” I called out after her, carrying the brie and my overnight bag into the house. Dropping the bag under a side table in the entryway, I followed her into the kitchen where she was opening the first bottle. “I guess the day didn’t improve?”

  “I’m a CPA. Not a miracle worker. There is no such thing as miracle math. Nor is it my job to manage department heads when they fail to understand what the word ‘budget’ means.”

  “Well, if you ever figure out that miracle thing, let me know. I could use a little miracle math myself.”

  “I thought you were getting that horse back.”

  “Still haven’t heard anything for sure.” I grabbed the glass Jen put in front of me and took a sip. Well, more like downed half the glass, but I had no kid to watch tonight and a leg to forget. On top of all of that, I had the to-do list that the day’s unplanned appearance had delayed. I drank the rest of the glass.

  “You’ll get her. I have faith in you.”

  “Glad someone does.”

  “When does Hailey get back from her dad’s?”

  “Saturday.” I checked my watch. “She should call me around seven. I should probably be somewhat sober.”

  “Boo.” She noticed the bag of food I had placed on the counter and looked inside. “Brie? And Gil’s French bread? I love you.”

  “Fresh out of the oven when I got there. I thought we deserved it after today.”

  “Please tell me you got chocolate.”

  “Please. Cake or fudge?” I asked, pulling both out of my overnight bag. I had bought them the night before on a whim. The whim now seemed more like fate.

  “Both,” she answered with a firm nod. We were on the same page.

  After we ate the cake and cheese, and drank most of the first bottle of wine, I managed to still be sober enough to talk to Hailey when she called. After listening to her tell me all the fun things she was doing with her father and his latest fling, I was eyeing the wine bottle again. Hailey wasn’t impressed with this new one and didn’t think she would make it too much longer. The assistant trainer I caught him with left him when the barn started to struggle. It was the little things in life that made me happy.

  After consuming the rest of the first bottle and the second, I crashed in the spare bedroom, drunk enough to ignore the dreadful contemporary artwork that Jen loves. Maybe I missed the art appreciation class when I skipped college, but something about modern art’s straight lines disturbed me. Maybe it was the disordered chaos. Or maybe that was the feeling I was supposed to get, and I rejected the piece instead of appreciating the emotions it evoked. Either way, it creeped me out.

  Blocking everything else out, I tried to focus on the potential of tomorrow instead of the failure of today. Tomorrow was going to be better. It had to be.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning sucked.

  Opening my blurry eyes to the chaos of Jen’s so-called painting was horrifying. Then my headache kicked in. Why did I think I was still twenty-five? I couldn’t drink two bottles of wine anymore. Not if I didn’t drink regularly. I made a mental note to either drink more or drink less.

  “Lark? You want some Advil?”

  “You are a goddess,” I groaned. Jen came in with a bottle of water and two magic pills. The pills that turned me into a human again. I swallowed all her offerings and we sat, contemplating the art from hell. “What is that supposed to be?” I finally asked.

  “I don’t know. My ex-boyfriend loved it and would go on and on about it. I love modern art, but that one? It’s complete trash. He took my dislike as proof I ‘didn't get him.’”

  “So why didn’t you let him keep it?”

  “It drives the cheating bastard crazy that I have it. Plus, it freaks my mother out, so she stays fewer days when she visits. Last year she even stayed at the resort to avoid it. I will keep it forever for that alone.”

  “You’re crazy. But brilliant.” The genius of her plan was impressive.

  “Worse than crazy. I’m out of coffee.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  “Nope.”

  “I hate you.”

  “Please. Like you could survive a day without me. Get a shower and I’ll buy you a coffee from Tops after yoga.” She patted me on the shoulder and got up to walk out. Yoga. We had yoga today. I wished I had remembered that last night before we drank so much. Cross training after drinking was horrible. But yoga helps too much for me to skip it today. Well, that and Jen being right outside the door to make me feel guilty.

  “I will not forget this!” I called after her.

  “Shower! You smell!” she called back.

  “Brat,” I muttered. But I got up, grabbed my clothing, and followed orders.

  Clean, almost awake, and smelling like lavender, I found her in the kitchen searching her fridge.

  “I have nothing in here that hasn’t expired,” she griped.

  “When was the last time you went to the store?” I asked. She closed the door and turned to face me, biting her lip and looking sideways as she thought.

  “Is it a bad sign I don’t remember?”

  “Jesus, Jen! What are you living on?”

  “Pizza. And Chinese takeout. Oooo! I had salad last week, so I had to have gone then.”

  “You need to work less.”

  “I know. I just like the money.”

  “You like the shoes.”

  “I love the shoes.”

  “I don’t get it. They aren’t even comfortable.”

  “Who needs comfort when I can have red soles?”

  “Me. I need comfort.” I pointed at myself.

  “Oh please. Like those riding boots you walk around in weren’t just as expensive.”

  “But they are comfortable.”

  “You got sores where they rubbed your skin off when you were breaking them in.”

  “But they’re comfortable now,” I protested in the defense of my thousand-dollar, custom-designed show boots. Maybe throwing shoes at glass houses wasn’t the best idea.
“Coffee.”

  “After yoga.”

  “This is not a negotiation! I want coffee!” I cried as she pulled us out the door.

  An hour later I was sweaty, sore, and ready for coffee. Any coffee. Scratch that. At this point I would have accepted any source of caffeine.

  “Caffeine. Now,” I threatened.

  “We need to talk about your caffeine addiction.”

  “How are you this annoyingly upbeat?”

  “I’m a morning person. I’m always this upbeat after this class. Usually you are, too.”

  “With caffeine. I assumed you were on caffeine, too. It isn’t as annoying with caffeine. Without caffeine it is super annoying.”

  “Stop whining. We will get you your drug of choice.”

  “Everyone’s drug of choice,” I mumbled.

  “You know not everyone drinks coffee, right?”

  “Heathens. Or they don’t know better. I think I read somewhere that they’re psychopaths.”

  “I think you are referring to people who drink their coffee black, and it was an urban myth.”

  “You are seriously annoying.”

  “You already said that. Several times.”

  “Ahhhh!” I stormed away, locating the coffee shop and heading straight there, waiting only for the cars to pass, before forcing my way in. Jen followed, shaking her head and trailing in my wake.

  Tops was full of people, some waiting, too many standing in line, and I realized the Greeks had it right. The Gods were cruel. Not that I believed in the Greek gods. Contemplating religion was something only people who guaranteed they wouldn’t end up working Sundays got to do. I, on the other hand, had managed to find a show every Sunday for the first three months after we moved here. After the third month, Gran gave up. Which was good, since even during the off season, I was usually at the barn, doing make-up rides or lessons.

  I got in line as I watched Laura, the owner of the shop, run around trying to make drinks. Her afternoon helper, Ana, took orders, looking overwhelmed as she ran her hands through her hair, ripping it out of its ponytail, and shooting Laura panicked glances every time she received a complicated order. She took twice as long as usual, and I was irked at Bryan, who had spoiled me with his quick service and happy smile. How could he not have come in today? And how much less busy was the afternoon shift that Ana had gotten away with this level of incompetence?

  Bryan’s absence had dragged the service almost to a standstill that my uncaffeinated mind wasn’t able to handle. I watched as Laura took over the register to let Ana take a break, just as I made it to the front of the line.

  “Can I take your order?” Laura asked without looking at me.

  “Mocha. Large.” My voice brought her head up.

  “Lark. I heard you found a leg on your porch yesterday. Do you know whose?” she asked, leaning towards me a little too much for comfort. I liked my personal space.

  “Not a clue.” That was weird. “Why?”

  “Nothing.” She wrote my order down and brushed a stray strand of brown hair out of her face, stopping to frantically hand out drinks.

  “Where is Bryan?” I asked when she turned back for my money.

  “He didn’t show yesterday. Or this morning. That makes him fired. So fired that I can’t even say how fired. Bastard.” Her face turned red and I could see her hands clench at the mention of her best worker and his unplanned absence.

  Oops. Guess I shouldn’t have asked. She handed me the wrong change and then went back to handing out drinks.

  “Umm…”

  “What?” she asked, working to fill the next order. When she didn’t even look back at me, I took the missing change as a stressed-out barista fee and moved to join the group of people waiting for drinks. Jen stood there, drinking water and looking healthy. Brat.

  “Where is Bryan? This crowd looks like it’s about to go feral,” Jen commented after taking another swig of her water.

  “He didn’t show yesterday morning or today. It sounded like a no call/no show. Laura said he is fired. Very fired, evidently.”

  “Didn’t show yesterday? You don’t think—” Her voice trailed off as she looked thoughtful.

  “Don’t think what?” I asked, watching the drinks coming up like a hawk. Please be mine. Please be mine.

  “You don’t think Bryan could be the leg, do you?”

  “What are you talking about? Of course Bryan isn’t the leg. I mean, who would want to cut up Bryan?”

  “It disturbs me that the cutting up part is what you question, instead of the killing part.”

  “My mind disturbs me, too.”

  “Lark!” Laura called out my name, and I rushed to the front to grab my drink. Holding it close to my chest, I breathed in the fumes like a starving person at a four-course meal. Taking a sip as I walked back to Jen, I could feel the caffeine rushing through my body. It may have been a placebo effect, but it worked, and I didn’t mess with things that worked.

  I needed three sips before we left the coffee shop for my house, coffee in hand and yoga mats bouncing on our backs. Suddenly, Jen’s words made it through the post-morning fog.

  Marine tattoo.

  “Oh my god. The leg was Bryan’s.” My eyes met Jen’s.

  “I told you!”

  “Why would anyone want to kill Bryan?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t drink coffee. What was he like?”

  “Nice. Happy. Flirty, but not pushy about it. Asked me out once.” I thought harder. “Maybe twice. He was around my age, which I thought was weird, but jobs are scarce in town. Drove a car to work.”

  “He drove a car to work? That’s weird.”

  “Yeah, I assumed that he must live on the outskirts of town at first, but I heard him talking to Mrs. Miller about their shared fence the other day, and she only lives three streets up. Not far enough to drive, I would think.”

  “He lives next to the Millers? Dang. That’s a nice neighborhood.”

  I frowned at her. “It’s Barrow Bay. They’re all nice neighborhoods.”

  “Yeah, but the Millers live in a six-bedroom house with over 4,000 square feet. And the surrounding houses are just as big. How did he afford something like that when he works as a barista?”

  “Really good tips?” I guessed.

  She gave me a look.

  “No one gets tips that good. Maybe he was a gigolo for the rich ladies up at the resort?”

  “Okay, I know that we now support two drug dealers, but I’m drawing the line at gigolos. This town does not have gigolos!” I stopped walking for a second to emphasize my ‘line.’

  “Because drugs are easier to believe?” She raised her eyebrows, daring me to argue. I regretted telling her about them last night during my complaining.

  “Because I would be a horrible mother if I had thought about going out with a gigolo.”

  “So this is back to being about you?”

  “Shut up.”

  “No, really, we should delve into this. What about gigolos offends you?”

  “I’m going to work now!” I said as I spotted my silver truck, which somehow still looked reasonably new even though my ex had bought it for me before the split and it had lived through too many horse shows. Jen giggled at me and let me go. “I’ll call if they don’t give me my house back by tonight,” I called out the window.

  “Okay! See you later!” she called back as she kept walking towards her house.

  I sat there for a moment, contemplating my phone. Should I call the police? I mean, I didn’t know for sure. I was just guessing that the leg was Bryan’s. And if I guessed this quickly, I was sure the police were already on top of it. Plus, how would it look if I, the unwanted finder of the leg, admitted I suddenly knew who he was? Or thought I knew. Yeah, I didn’t think calling John to tell him I might have a guess would end well for me. I would check in with him later to make sure they were on the same track.

  The drive out to the barn took about 15 minutes, and I used all of them t
o contemplate Bryan’s likelihood of being the victim. And a gigolo. Please god, don’t let him have been a gigolo.

  Chapter 4

  I was finishing up riding my last horse when I saw the car pulling into the barn’s driveway. From the flashes I could see through the arena beams, the car looked like John’s. Why would the detective come to see me again?

  I was riding Twice, and we were close to done, but I decided another few turns around the arena wouldn’t hurt. Plus, I kind of liked the idea of being on higher ground when John came in. I was nervous about him showing up, and what it could possibly mean for me. Trying to find my inner peace, I took in the views of my barn, which had quickly become my pride and joy. Because of my hatred of the sun, rain, and really any weather, I had splurged and built an indoor arena. Mirrors lined the far side, and the openings between the ceiling beams allowed me to watch horses play in the turnouts while riding. I could also see my outdoor jumping arena, which I used as a giant turnout in addition to my smaller turnouts. Every morning when I turned out the horses in it, I thought of my ex and how much he would have loved this arena. How he would have spent an hour trying to set up the best jumping course. And then I let the horses play. I didn’t even own jumps yet. It brought me glee.

  I was enjoying the rocking of Twice’s smooth walk when I saw the two men in the mirrors. John’s identity I had gathered from the car, but I squinted at the second person. The distance was too far for me to get a good look at him, but I was pretty sure he wasn’t from around here. As Twice and I strolled closer to the mirrors, I lost myself in the gentle sway of her back, focusing on the good ride we’d just had, men forgotten. I let myself stay in the moment until I was almost all the way back to the entrance, but was not prepared for what awaited me.

  Goodness gracious great balls of Captain America.

  I stared. As I processed having a movie star in my arena, my horse drifted to a stop, enjoying an excuse to rest. The newcomer had dirty blond hair, and a square chin that was… well, chiseled. High cheekbones and large, expressive eyes that pulled me in. Now that I was closer, I could see that this man had a small button nose versus Chris Evan’s beak, but the hair was definitely Captain America a la the first few movies.