Clouds In My Coffee

by ANDREA SMITH

  He gives me a dark frown and I know I’ve crossed some line he’s drawn in his Marco sand with my question. “So, what if I do, Parrish? You haven’t had any complaints, have you?”

  I stand up and walk to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. I can’t believe his fucking audacity!

  Man whore!

  I dress in record time and then spend about five minutes blow-drying my hair. I need to be out of here. I head back out to the bedroom, find my boots and tug them on, grab my jacket and purse and then walk in front of the television that Marco has now turned on to watch.

  “Take me home.”

  He glances up at me and his cluelessness is very evident. “What the fuck, Parrish. Are you pissed?”

  “Gee, I don’t know. You think?”

  “What fucking reason do you have to be pissed off? I mean, shit! You’ve been perfectly down with us being physical, even outlining the whole ‘no strings’ deal, right? So what’s changed?”

  “You’re really an idiot, aren’t you?” I say, feeling my eyes boring into him. “It’s one thing to have a no-strings affiliation, but it’s totally something else to stagger chicks like that!”

  “Stagger? What the hell…stagger?”

  “Yes, Agent Trevani, stagger—the verb form meaning: to take turns; change back and forth. Hell, why stagger? I mean, shit, let’s get ole Michelle back over here and do a threesome!”

  I see a flash of interest spark in Marco’s eyes when I throw that one out there. “Eww, take me home. You’re a man whore!”

  He gets up and closes the distance between us, looking down into my eyes, amusement dancing in his, “That, love, is an oxymoron.”

  “You’re the fucking moron if you think for one second that I share!”

  And in my mind, my inner voice tells me just how fucking contradictory, hypocritical and off-the-charts this is! Talk about double standards? I guess it does work both ways!

  He shrugs, grabs his keys and we head out to his car. The drive home is done in complete silence. I don’t look over at him once the whole way. He doesn’t say a word.

  Once he pulls up into the driveway of my father’s home, I open the door and quickly exit his car, slamming the door behind me. I don’t look back.

  I never have to see Marco Trevani, Jr. again.

  And, for some reason, that bothers me.

  Chapter 38

  It’s official. I’m brooding.

  I haven’t left my room since returning yesterday afternoon from Marco’s. I have probably said twenty words to Dad and Sheila, making a hasty retreat upstairs as soon as I came through the door.

  I half-ass listened to Ryan’s message, wondering how I was doing and letting me know that he’s packed all of the rest of my things very carefully, and will be happy to ship them to whatever address I provide.

  How about shipping them to URANUS, Ryan?

  As in YOUR-ANUS, you asshole!

  And now I’m laying across my bed brooding and the tears show up as uninvited guests to my pity party.

  What the hell have I been doing?

  And I know what I’ve been doing. I’ve been trying my damnedest to not deal with the pain of my break-up with Ryan by getting another man between my legs posthaste.

  As if that ever works. At my age, I should know better. There is no escaping grief. It’s part of the process of healing and one that I thought I could skip over.

  Ain’t happening.

  So the tears flow as I try my best to muffle the sobs that come with them so that I don’t have my vigilant father tapping on my door wanting to talk, or worse yet, trying to fix things that can’t be fixed.

  Heartbreak is a fact of life. Hell, my last two episodes have proven that to me more than the first twenty-seven years of my life ever could have!

  Then I think about Cece.

  My tears evaporate quickly, as I get my ass in gear. I have unfinished business with Cece. I need to go to her; to let her know. How could I have forgotten my prime purpose for even being here? I mean, shit! In the scheme of things, my heartbreak is nothing compared to what that poor girl went through.

  I dress warmly and take Sheila’s car, heading to the cemetery where I know she’ll be. At least I’ll have someone to talk to; someone that I can hopefully provide some comfort to by giving her the good news. At least I think it’s good news. I mean, I won’t personally see how everything shakes out since Marco has basically told me that my work here is done.

  As in adios, Parrish.

  I find her grave and see the dirt piled up high as if it’s fresh, but I know that it’s only because of the exhumation. Sure hope she’s not pissed about that. There are fresh flowers nearby. I’m betting someone brought Mrs. Adams out here after Cece was reinterred. Probably felt like she was reliving it all over again.

  The winter wind is blowing and the sky has cloud cover as if it might be getting ready to cut loose with a major winter snowstorm. I heard Dad say something about business being good with the upcoming forecast this morning as I stayed in my room, eavesdropping on him and Sheila in the next room.

  I perch myself on her headstone with a heavy sigh escaping me. “Cece, it’s me,” I say, “Sorry I haven’t been out here before now, but I do have news for you.”

  I wait a few moments, looking up into the gray, sepia sky, with the threatening cloud cover thick and rolling across the horizon. The sky looks just like I feel at the moment.

  “If I cry, my tears will freeze,” I say aloud to no one.

  “That’s funny,” a voice behind me says. “But I don’t think it’s true.”

  I turn and there she is, still looking perfectly spirited in her cheerleading garb. I feel like we’re friends.

  “Hey Cece,” I greet, “Sorry about…the exhumation and all. Maybe I should’ve warned you.”

  “Hey, whatever it takes,” she replies, “No skin off my back.”

  And I stop for a moment and realize just how weird that old saying is for this particular situation and then I do something I haven’t done in a while.

  I laugh.

  Hysterically.

  I laugh until I want to roll around on the hard, frozen ground in order to make me stop.

  “You cool?” she asks, a look of concern crossing over her ghostly face.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say, catching my breath. “But it’s been a fucked up few weeks. I guess I needed that laugh.”

  “Don’t sweat it,” she replies, smiling. “So, catch me up?”

  “Yeah, sure. Okay, I have good news. The forensic results prove that Marshall injected you with something that starts with a “suck” that is a major muscle relaxer used with anesthesia prior to operations on animals. Not only that, but Marshall’s mother is cooperating and allowed Marco to search the log home in Ogden.”

  “Marco?”

  “Oh…sorry, he’s the FBI Agent my father arranged to assist me with this. So, the search uncovered all the stuff in that trunk, plus your silver ring from Erik. And they have Marshall’s fingerprint from the ring, plus the FBI is sending some kind of a profile expert in to interview Marshall Rydell. He’s a judge now—in Denver.”

  “No shit?”

  “Yep. And I want you to know that we interviewed Kim. She told us about her and Keith picking Marshall up that night after he’d pushed your car over that cliff and, somewhere along the way, he told Keith everything that he’d done to both you and Angie.”

  “That’s far-fucking out!” she replies, clearly excited.

  “Yeah, well not so much. Keith is dead so it’s hearsay.”

  “Bummer.”

  “Yeah, I know. But hey, don’t sweat it because I know that Marco will get the son-of-a-bitch.”

  “So, you will come back and keep me informed of your progress?”

  My heart sinks. I can’t lie to her; she’s a ghost for Chrissakes! “I’m done here, Cece. Marco has made it clear my assistance is no longer needed.”

  “No,” she says quickly, “You’re
my only hope of knowing that it all gets resolved. Please don’t go.”

  I look over at her, seeing a soul that has wandered for forty years trying to get resolution. “What about Angie?” I ask. “Why is it that she could go on, but you couldn’t?”

  She lowers her eyes to her white tennis shoes. “Because she didn’t pass still loving someone on earth more than she loved herself. I did.”

  “Erik,” I say exhaling a breath. “Oh God, I meant to tell you that we talked to him as well.”

  I can see her perk up, her ponytail bounces as she looks to me for more. “How…how is Erik?”

  “Still loving you,” I reply and it’s the truth. “He’s never had children, only one failed marriage and he spoke of his love for you. He even opened that diner he showed you on Route 189. Named it ‘Clouds in my Coffee’.”

  “Ooh,” she says, smiling, “That’s after one of my favorite songs.”

  “I know, remember?”

  “Far out. Thanks for telling me this. It helps.”

  “You’re welcome, and Cece?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m not going anywhere until I have an answer for you, I promise.”

  “Dig that.”

  I’m on my way back home after leaving the cemetery when my cell beeps with a text message, it’s from Marco: Mia Caro—I have news. Please call me when it’s convenient. -M.

  He has my cell number in his contacts list?

  I never realized that because he’s never texted me before, only phoned. And while I know that it’s no big deal, it does please me that Marco had added me to his phone at some point. I had added his name after the first time we’d met.

  As soon as I’m home, I give him a call.

  “Hey,” he answers, “I’ve got some news.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Agent Matthews and I are going to Denver tomorrow to interview Judge Rydell. We’ve gone over everything since his arrival. He’s built a profile of sorts on Marshall Rydell, which helps when interviewing.”

  “That’s great,” I reply, “I just got home from the cemetery. I…uh…visited Cece. You know, I wanted to fill her in.”

  “I understand.”

  “So, hey, that’s great because I promised Cece I’d let her know what the end result is on this.”

  “Would you like to accompany me?”

  “To Denver?”

  “Yes.”

  “But I’m not allowed to be present, am I?”

  “No, not during the interview, but afterwards I may be able to share certain things with you.”

  “Well what time would I need to be there? I’ve got to see if I can borrow Sheila’s car and I’m not even sure how long of a drive it is or anything.”

  “Parrish,” he interrupts. “I’ll pick you up in an hour. Have your bags packed. We’re going together, leaving early in the morning. It only makes sense we get a good night’s rest being that we have to be up so early.”

  I feel my belly tingle and I realize that this is as good as it gets for Marco…at least for now. “I’ll be ready,” I reply softly.

  Chapter 39

  I’m sitting alone in my hotel suite at the Hilton North. Dumbass that I am, I had insisted on booking my own accommodations, even though I knew Marco wanted me staying with him.

  Pride is a funny thing. It can get in the way of pleasure sometimes. I’ve heard that it goeth before the fall, whatever the hell that means!

  Dad had raised his brow in fatherly concern when I explained I’d be gone overnight. Sheila had thrown him one of her looks, so he hadn’t voiced his opinion one way or another.

  Marco had spent the better part of the afternoon video conferencing with Trace Matthews—or ‘Taz’ as he calls him, on developing the questions that will be posed to Judge Marshall Rydell tomorrow afternoon during their interview. Marco had clued Taz in about my special gift, promising me that, as an FBI agent, he would respect the fact that I didn’t want it to be public knowledge, for obvious reasons.

  I asked Marco if Agent Matthews had seemed skeptical. “Not really,” he replied, “Sometimes agents find themselves working with psychics that have actually provided sound information to help solve cases, so we’re all fairly open-minded.”

  So, here I sit, having just ordered my dinner from room service and having no further plans for this evening after that. My mind drifts to Marco and I’m curious as to what he’s doing at the moment.

  There’s a soft knock on my door. When I open it, there stands Marco looking sinfully handsome—even for a man whore. He’s wearing jeans and a white pullover sweater that does nothing to hide his hard-muscled physique.

  I sigh involuntarily. “Yes?” I ask.

  “May I come in?” he asks, giving me a sexy smile.

  “What for?”

  “Just to talk, Parrish. I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself, even though you know damn well that’s not really what you want,” he replies.

  Pompous ass!

  “Come in,” I say, backing up to let him in. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Our flight leaves tomorrow at seven-thirty in the morning. We’ll go to the FBI Field Office in Denver to meet Taz. He may want to go over some of the details of your...episode with you, ask questions and so forth before we head out to interview the judge.”

  “Fine,” I reply curtly. “Glad to help. Anything else?”

  “You mind if I sit down?” he asks, nodding toward the bed since I’m sitting in the chair at the desk where my laptop is open. I’d been checking emails before he showed up.

  “Go right ahead,” I reply, turning my full attention to him.

  He takes a seat, leaning forward and steepling his hands under his chin. I notice his thick eyelashes as he closes his eyes for a moment, apparently trying to choose his words. No man deserves long, thick eyelashes like that, I think to myself.

  “Parrish…I’m a bit baffled, I guess, by your reaction the other evening when...”

  “Michelle,” I provide a bit sarcastically.

  “Okay, Michelle,” he repeats just as sarcastically, “stopped by my hotel suite. I thought we were both on the same page.”

  “What page is that, Agent Trevani?”

  “No strings. No complications, right? I mean, you’ve been pretty damn adamant about it if I’m correct.

  I nod.

  “So, then why the attitude and quick flight out?”

  He’s got me there. I can’t really justify it myself.

  I shrug, “There’s a difference between ‘no strings’ and ‘staggering,’” I reply, hoping like hell it sounds feasible.

  “Hell,” he growls, “I met the woman the first week I arrived in Salt Lake. It’s not like she and I are involved or anything. We’ve gone out once or twice, that’s it.”

  “Gone out? What does that mean, Marco? You’ve fucked her once or twice?”

  He quirks a brow and I can see his jaw tighten. I’ve pissed him off, I can tell. “What business is that of yours? We have no exclusivity clause that I recall. Besides that, I haven’t touched her since...well, since you and I fucked, so there’s been no staggering or whatever the hell you want to label it!”

  I stand up now and cross my arms, giving him a glare. I’m tapping my foot impatiently just like Ma does when she’s ticked off about something. “You’re right, it isn’t any of my business. And, for the record? Don’t stop fucking her on my account, Agent Trevani. It’s kind of a moot point, as they say, because you sure as hell won’t be getting in my knickers again.”

  He stands up, getting a bit of a wicked smile on his handsome face and takes a step closer to me. He’s close enough that I catch the scent of his sexy cologne, as he rubs a hand along his jawline, where his five o’clock shadow is driving me to fucking distraction. “Don’t bite off your nose to spite your face, babe,” he murmurs huskily, “You’re only fooling yourself if you think the next guy in your bed can fuck you the way that I can.”

  I feel my jaw drop at t
he audacity of his words and, before I can snap a sarcastic comeback, he’s gone, cheating me out of getting the last word.

  But somehow I know that it’s more than that bothering me at the moment. There is truth in his parting words, but damn him for saying them to me.

  Chapter 40

  It’s been a grueling morning and it’s past noon when Agent Matthews stops grilling me on the details of my episode as Cece. Marco’s assertion that he might have some questions for me was a huge understatement.

  My God!

  This profiler, for lack of a better title, not only asked for exact dialogue spoken, but also all sorts of things about the way Marshall had dressed, his body language, the way he drove his car, his grooming, how his voice had sounded, his interactions with other teenagers back then.

  His interest piqued when I told him about Christmas Eve when Erik and Cece had been decorating the tree and I heard Marshall’s voice on the radio with a song dedication. It had seemed prophetic after learning later that night that Angie had died. He grilled me for five minutes on that alone.

  Finally, he and Marco left the conference room to discuss changes in questioning. They’re meeting with Marshall at two o’clock and I’m to stay put here until they return.

  I’m disappointed, in a way, because I would love to see what Marshall looks like these days, but I suppose I can find him by Googling, which is probably how I’ll spend my time alone here anyway.

  Agent Matthews is pretty hot. He looks like he might be a couple of years older than Marco, but damn if he isn’t well-muscled with some fucking sexy green eyes.

  What the hell is wrong with me? I’m like a bitch in heat!

  Trace—or Taz, as Marco calls him, wears a wedding band and is all about business, I can tell. Not that he isn’t really nice, because I think he is, but I also think that Marco could take a lesson from Taz in that respect.

  Speaking of Marco, he is barely acknowledging me today and, when he does, it’s in a very brusque way. I’m pretty sure Taz noticed because a couple of times, I caught him studying Marco when he snapped at me about this or that during questioning.