He didn’t have the energy to argue.
“Come on. I’ll help you into the house before I move the truck into the shed out back. Can’t risk it being seen.”
Remy could only nod and, before he knew it, they were climbing the rickety stairs to the house, and making their way inside.
7
Upon entering the old house, Remy immediately fell into a chair in the kitchen—the closest to the door--waiting for Violet to return. He ran his hand over his hair, which had gotten damp under the pounding rain. When Violet returned, shaking the rain out of her own hair, he still hadn’t known what to do with himself, except follow her every move with his eyes as she ran all over the place with familiar ease.
She finally settled in the kitchen, looking over her shoulder to where he was all but collapsed in one of her dining chairs, looking like death.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asked. “I make a mean French Roast.”
For the first time since she’d met him, Violet saw a genuine smile cross Remy’s face. It was a truly beautiful sight, so much so that it had her entranced.
“I would kill for some coffee.”
“Kill? It’s a touch too early for murderous quips like that, Archibald,” she said, with a wag of her finger, as she retrieved the coffee tin. “We haven’t proven you innocent, yet.”
Remy’s eyes instantly fell to the ass of her cutoff shorts the moment she turned away, frowning deeply against the feelings they enticed. “And here I was, convinced the splitting headache I’ve had since the courthouse was because I got shot in the leg and have somehow been saddled with the loudest mouth in all of California.”
Violet rolled her eyes as she scooped the coffee into the maker. “Isn’t it?”
“No. It’s because I haven’t had my coffee.”
“Do they serve coffee in prison?”
“Yes, and thank god for that, or I may have really murdered somebody. And I would’ve been guilty this time.”
“What did I say about those murderous puns?” she teased. “So you’re a coffee head, like me.”
“I can’t function without it.”
Violet started the coffee before joining him at the table. “Me neither.” Her eyes ran down his body. “Why don’t you go sit on the couch? You need rest.”
He shook his head. “My mind is going too fast. And I think these meds are wearing off.”
Violet leapt out of her chair and grabbed the duffle bag from where she’d dropped it in the foyer. “Don’t worry, I swiped a few bottles on the way out of Barbara’s house.”
“You’re a regular MacGyver.”
“Don’t be a smartass.”
“Believe me. I’m not.”
“You can admit it, Remy. You need me.”
“I don’t need you.” His eyes hardened. “But I’ll take the pills.”
***
Hours later, Remy awoke on the couch and, for a moment, had no idea where he was. It had been a long time since he’d woken up on such a soft surface, with the sweet smell of spices and protein beckoning him. The lingering scent of that floral shampoo Violet wore was also doing it’s part in making this one of the nicest wake-up calls he’d had in months. From the kitchen, he could hear her humming along to an upbeat song he didn’t know.
His eyes went to the coffee table, and he had to shake his head at the sight of a glass of water and two pills calling out to him. He swiped them up and swallowed them down with ease, finishing off the entire glass of water before lifting himself off of the couch. He favored his good leg, and slowly trudged towards the kitchen, towards the sounds of crackling fry pans, towards that shampoo. He had no idea which was luring him in more, he just knew something in him had to get to wherever they were. Fast.
Clutching a beam that led the way into the open kitchen, he watched her quietly as she danced in front of the oven. A funk song he didn’t know played from an old radio tucked in the corner, eliciting swerves of her waist and hips that left him motionless.
As if sensing him, Violet suddenly looked over her shoulder, and nearly leapt out of her skin, placing her spatula clad hand over her heart.
“You scared me to death.” She smiled.
Remy didn’t smile back. She’d washed the straight style out of her hair, leaving it in thick, curly spirals that she’d thrown up into a high bun, showcasing her defined jaw and baby face even more. The matching black cotton shorts and t-shirt set she wore wasn’t figure hugging, but still did nothing to disguise her beautiful body. His heart churned. “When are you going to come to your senses and leave me?”
She seemed disappointed. “When are you going to get it? It’s not going to happen.” She motioned to a chair in the kitchen. “Now sit down. Food’s almost ready.”
***
At first Remy made an attempt to mind his manners and eat properly, but with each bite of Violet’s home made meal he took, the more ravenous he became.
With a shake of his head, he cleaned the second helping off of his plate, and Violet was quick to push the serving platter piled with skirt steak towards him in silent offer. He took more without question, digging in. “How do you have the supplies on hand to make such a delicious meal?”
“I told you. I secretly come here all the time. I was just here last weekend, so the fridge is stocked. I make sure to keep lots of food in the freezer, and cans in the cupboard. I’m a big foodie.”
“Yeah, I can tell. This is really delicious, Chambers.”
“You just haven’t had a real meal in half a year. God only knows what kind of slop they were tossing at you in the slammer,” she said, blushing modestly.
“It’s not just that. No. This is, truly…” He pointed his fork down at the plate. “Really good. Take it from the former pilot. I’ve travelled all over the world. I’ve eaten really good food, and I’ve eaten really bad food. This… is really good food. You have a gift.”
“Well.” Violet’s heart soared. “Once upon a time, I wanted to be a chef, but Daddy was having none of that.”
“No?”
“No. I come from a judicial family. We’re one of the largest and most respected judicial families in Redding.”
“Are you from Redding?”
“No. I was born in Louisiana.”
Remy raised his eyebrows. No wonder she’d been able to do such a good southern accent back at Barbara’s. She was a southerner.
“We left when I was five,” she said. “Thank god my father got us out of that hellhole.”
“Hellhole? I’ve always heard Louisiana was beautiful.”
“We’re from a very small, backwards town. Our house sat next to this beautiful, small stream, with ducks, and frogs, and colorful turtles. Everyday we’d cross the bridge over the stream to get from one side to the other, and it would be so hard not to stop and stare at the animals. The beauty. But we weren’t allowed to stop. It was forbidden.”
“Why?”
“The bridge was open on both sides, it had no handles. Long story short… There’s only so many times a white man in a pickup can try to run a seven year old girl with a backpack off the side of a bridge, for no reason, before you decide it’s probably time to pack up and go.”
“They tried to run you off?” Remy tried to imagine anyone wanting to run the round, porcelain face that sat across from him off a bridge, let alone a younger, sweeter version of that face, and he couldn’t. His heart hurt for the ignorance she’d faced, the unfairness, the injustice. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Like I said, we got the hell outta dodge.”
“Hm… And Redding is better?”
“Redding isn’t the most open minded of places, but… there was more opportunity for Daddy in California. He’s not done climbing. He never will be.”
“And he hates chefs?” he laughed.
“He loves judges, lawyers, justices, detectives… any of the above will do. But a chef? Nah. A chef doesn’t count as a real profession in my family. Most professions don�
�t. They almost had a heart attack when I told them I was quitting my job as a lawyer to go work at the station. Pretty sure my father still hasn’t completely forgiven me for it.”
Remy’s eyebrows squeezed together.
Violet’s eyes fell to her food, feeling suddenly shy at his unwavering attention. “That’s why I was so desperate to do well when my boss gave me the Remington Archibald case. I thought that I’d finally gotten my chance. My chance to really climb, maybe even get my own show, and prove to my father that I’m not a total fuck-up.”
Remy cringed. “You’re a college graduate. You have an enviable position at a news station. You’re a public figure. ‘Fuck up’ is not the term I’d use.”
“Well, anything but a doctor, lawyer, or detective equals fuck up to my family.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
She shrugged.
It bothered him that someone so amazing could be so unwilling to fight for herself. “I’d say you’re doing pretty well for yourself.” He went back to this food, then looked up at her. “Did you just say you were a lawyer before becoming a newscaster?”
“For a few years. I told you this house belonged to an old client of mine. I helped her work her way out of an airtight prenup a few years back. She walked away with a cool 200 mil. I think she loved me more than her own daughter.”
Remy snickered. “You said her daughter lives in London?”
“Yeah. She hasn’t been back to the states since her mother’s death. She’s convinced that her father did it, but that’s a whole other story…” Violet waved.
“Did you like being a lawyer?”
“I convinced myself I loved it for a long time. The truth was, I loved that my father loved it. But that stopped being enough pretty quickly. I finally got out when I realized I’d rather slit my own wrists than wake up and go to work.”
“Well that certainly explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“Why you’re such a bull-headed, stubborn, impossible, loud-mouthed, perpetual pain in my ass.”
“Aw, Archibald. You always know just what to say.” She paused. “I’m a woman with my own mind. If that makes me a loudmouth, then so be it.”
“It definitely does,” Remy said, allowing a shy smile to cross his face. “But it suits you.”
“Thank you.”
They smiled at each other across the table. Unable to help the blush burning her cheeks, Violet broke their gaze just in time to catch a familiar face flashing across the muted TV screen in the living room. She dropped her fork before swiping up the remote control and turning up the volume.
“It’s the man from the boat. They’re covering him on the news right now.” Relief washed over Violet’s eyes as she listened to the man from the speedboat giving an interview to a newscaster.
Remy set his fork down, as well, turning to the television. “He’s okay. That’s good.”
Violet grinned when the old man went on what could only be described as a verbal rampage, his eyes wide with fury as he screamed into the camera before him. “Well, he has no good things to say about you.”
“Can you blame him?”
Violet snickered as she switched the channel. Every station seemed to be doing their own segment on Remy’s escape. “I guess they know we’re alive now.”
“I guess so.”
“We got here not a moment too soon.”
At those words, Remy stopped eating and just stared at her.
Violet came to a stop on CNN, where they were playing a piece of live footage from the courthouse the day of his escape. In the footage, a blonde female newscaster was speaking into the camera just as Remy appeared in the distance behind her, stepping out of the courtroom’s double doors, gun in hand. The newscaster, clueless, continued on speaking even as Remy was walking by with the gun in his hand, looking determined. Not for one second did the newscaster realize what was happening just two feet behind her, nor did her, apparently worthless, cameraman.
They freeze-framed Remy breezing right passed in the background, then zoomed in on him, gun in hand. In the background, the commentators voice was filled with disbelief. Violet snorted, again.
“What’s so funny?” He looked back to the television, groaned, and brought his eyes back to hers. “Not my finest hour.”
Violet motioned to the television, smirking. “You took a bailiffs weapon, escaped the courtroom and thought you were going to breeze right out of there like you owned the place? Look at this.” She motioned to the freeze-framed image of him on the screen. “Look at that guy breezing on by. That is not the walk of a guy who just broke out of a federal courtroom.”
“I had to keep a low profile.” Remy grumbled. “I knew that a bunch of ego-manic reporters wouldn’t even realize I was there if I just kept my cool, so I did.”
“And you would be correct. Wow.” Violet sang, taking a huge bite of her food. Out of nowhere, she chortled again, causing bread and lettuce to fly out of her mouth. Embarrassed, she covered it and immediately looked to see if Remy had noticed.
He had. “That was disgusting.”
Violet muted the television, once more, and they went back to their plates. She was only able to take a few more bites before she was setting down her fork. “So can you tell me about that night? The night Meredith died?”
“I actually found her dead the next morning.” He’d begun staring a little too hard at his food. “And I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“How am I supposed to help you if you don’t tell me the whole story?”
“I’ve told you, repeatedly, that I don’t want your help. In fact, I’ve told you, repeatedly, that I don’t want you around at all. And yet…” He motioned to her. “Here you are.”
“You don’t get to tell me how little you want me around while you eat my food, off my plate, in my house.”
“I think I just did.”
“Now who’s bullheaded?” She looked back to the muted TV where a photo of Meredith Collins was now gracing the screen. Her hair was fire red, and she had a kind smile that made her green eyes dance. She had surely broken many hearts in her time. Sadness clouded Violet’s eyes. Whoever had murdered that girl was nothing short of a monster. “It’s no surprise the public has no problem believing an old pilot like you would have the hots for a pretty young flight attendant like her.”
“Old?”
“That’s all you took away from what I just said?”
“I hear what you’re saying. You’re saying the public stoning I’m receiving is justified. And, on top of that, you’re calling me old.”
“No. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that it looks plausible. It sounds plausible. And when there’s a dead body of a pretty young girl involved, plausibility is what will sink the main suspect. That would be you. The main suspect.”
“I didn’t kill her.”
“I believe you.”
He held her gaze. Several long moments passed between them before he sighed and looked away. “It was a flight from our home base in San Diego, to Redding. It’s usually a quick, easy flight, but everything that could have possibly gone wrong that day went wrong. We had a mechanical on the ground, a diversion in the air, an unruly passenger in the back.” He sighed. “It had been a long flight for everyone. The moment we landed, the entire crew made plans to go out and have a drink. That’s par for the course. Flight attendants and pilots are notorious drunks.”
Violet didn’t speak. She was afraid if she did, he wouldn’t continue. She gingerly removed a small notebook and pen she stashed the chair next to her. Just in case he felt like pouring his heart out during their meal.
Remy faltered. “Where did you get a pen and pad?”
“I work for a news station. I’m drowning in pens and pads. But this one I swiped from Barb’s foyer on the way into her house just in case I needed to jot down some notes. Plus, I thought the design on the front was cute,” she admitted, showing him the glittery pink cover before flipp
ing it open.
“That’s called theft, V.”
“You’re one to talk.”
“Such a reporter…”
“You can never be too prepared. Anyway, we’re getting off track.”
“Right… so… where was I?”
“Flight attendants. Pilots. Raging alcoholics. All of them.”
“Right.” He ran his hand furiously over his hair, feeling like he’d told this story a million times now. “Meredith was a newer flight attendant, so she didn’t know all the ropes. Somehow she got stuck working up front in first class, which is a pretty difficult position. You have to handle the million problems that arise during boarding, keep an eye on oversized bags, suspicious passengers, you have to get drinks out to all the entitled pricks who sit up front, and you have to take care of your pilots as well. Well, that morning I hadn’t had time to stop at Starbucks for my coffee, and there wasn’t a single coffee shop in the terminal.”
Violet scoffed. “Criminal.”
“The mechanical delay had everyone on edge, including me. I asked Meredith for a cup of coffee from the galley and she agreed, but during the madness she forgot about me. Then, once the delay was taken care of and we were set to close the door, she poked her head into the flight deck and asked if we were ready to push back. I told her that I would like my god damn coffee first.”
Violet pulled a face. “You said that to her?”
“Those exact words. ‘Meredith, I would actually like my god damn coffee before we close the door, thanks.’ ”
Violet’s stink face was strong, and she found herself rearing away from him.
“I know… I’m not proud of that, but I become a total degenerate without my coffee.”
“Me and you both, brotha.”
“So, Meredith—who was already on edge from dealing with the asshole passengers--starts crying and proceeds to run and rat me out to the old hags at the back of the plane, telling them what a monster I was. Naturally, they couldn’t resist coming up to the flight deck to give me a piece of their mind. So, at this point, the door of the aircraft hasn’t even closed, and I’ve already managed to piss off the flight attendants and been branded a heartless bastard.”
Dead or Alive Page 10
