The Kindness of Strangers (Skip Langdon Mystery #6) (The Skip Langdon Series)

by Julie Smith

  Faylice said, “You ain’ goin’ home yet, I guess.”

  For some reason, that didn’t depress Torian. She felt she could cope with whatever happened. “You got that right.”

  I’m happy here, she thought. I wonder how long I can stay?

  The notion of simply staying, of not thinking for a while of Lise, or her father, or school, or even Noel was wonderfully appealing.

  I wonder if I could just stay forever.

  I’d miss Sheila, though. And then, as if it were a sudden revelation: That’s who I’ll call.

  “Sheila?”

  “‘Torian! Thank God. Listen, your boyfriend’s a jerk.”

  “What?”

  “All hell’s broken loose here. Lise came over and made a scene—”

  “What kind of scene?”

  “She yelled at everybody. I thought Skip was going to arrest her.”

  Torian giggled.

  “But listen, she is your mother. It’s not right for her not to know—”

  “I just called her.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah. She called me a whore.”

  “Omigod. She found out about Noel.”

  “I don’t think so. She seems to think I’m shacked up with some pierced-noser.”

  “Oh yeah. She mentioned that to us.”

  “She did?”

  “Except I think it was pierced nipples in that version.” They both giggled.

  Sheila said, “Wonder what she’d think if she did know?”

  “She’d probably be jealous. Why is he a jerk, by the way?”

  “Well, I figured he knows where you are—”

  “He sent me here.”

  “—so I went to find out. He told me I wear too much makeup.”

  “No!”

  “And I’m just a crazy little kid—”

  “Little. You’re my age.”

  “And he threatened me. He said to watch myself or I’ll be sorry.”

  Torian was suddenly depressed again. “Oh, shit. Just when I was beginning to feel better.”

  “I think you should dump that dude.”

  Torian was quiet.

  Sheila said, “Are you there?”

  “I was just thinking. He might be a little nuts.”

  “He’s not exactly Mr. Normal. I mean, first of all—”

  “I know, I know. What’s he doing with a kid half his age?”

  “I wasn’t going to say it.”

  “I know it’s crazy—maybe we’re both crazy. But we’re in love. You can’t control who you fall in love with. Can you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, anyway, he sent me to a great place.”

  “What kind of place?”

  “Oh, yeah, I want to give you the address. I want somebody to know where I am.”

  “Wait a minute. You just said Noel sent you. Doesn’t he know?”

  “I don’t know.” Torian realized she was confused about it. “I thought it was his friend’s house, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe it’s the Rev’s friend. Anyway, she’s somebody really nice. From the church.”

  “The church?”

  “You know. The Rev’s church. There’s these two black girls here. If you think we’ve got problems … I’ll tell you about them later. Anyway, here’s my address.” She read it off. “Promise you won’t tell Lise—I don’t care if she rips your fingernails out.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m your friend.”

  “Well, how are you, anyway? Have you been out with Joe Eddie yet?”

  “Not yet. He cancelled on me.”

  “Shit.”

  “But we’ve rescheduled for tonight.”

  “Cool. I’ll call back. You have to tell me everything.”

  “I hope it doesn’t rain—that hurricane’s supposed to be coming.”

  “Not till tomorrow, I thought.”

  “Yes, but you know how storms are—rain and wind forever. Anyway, give me your number. I’ll call you when I get back.”

  When she hung up, she called Noel at the office.

  “I’m sorry,” said an icy voice. “Mr. Treadaway is no longer with us.”

  She was so freaked she called him at home, thinking to hang up if Boo answered. His voice came urgently over the line: “‘Torian. Torian, I love you.”

  “Oh, Noel. Oh, God, Noel, I miss you.” She hadn’t realized how much; how familiar and comforting he had become to her. Before this, when she thought of him, it was with passion. He seemed suddenly like a relative, someone who’d always been there, who’d protect her when she needed it.

  For the first time she was homesick, rather than plagued by the nagging feeling that she ought to get home. A sudden desperate urge came over her—to get back to normal, just to be home again, going to school, seeing Sheila, home in her own room, where her cigarettes were hidden.

  But I can’t. Lise is there.

  “‘Torian, let me come get you. Everyone’s really worried.”

  “Oh, Noel, I don’t know. I just don’t know. A part of me really wants to come home. I desperately want to see you; and I want to see Sheila, but I don’t see how I can go back to Lise. I just can’t see it.”

  “She’ll talk to you now. I think you finally got her attention.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? You’d really think so. But she’s meaner than ever, Noel, I swear it. I called her. I talked to her. Do you know what she called me? Whore! She called me a whore.”

  “Does she know about us?”

  “Of course not. That’s just her little way of showing affection.”

  “‘Torian, please. I think you should come home. I miss you so much.”

  “Oh, Noel. Oh God, I love you.” Something clicked on the line. “What was that?”

  “I don’t know. Don’t worry about it. Boo’s at Whole Foods—it couldn’t have been her.”

  * * *

  Boo had had to hang up and run to the bathroom to vomit.

  Washing her face, she fought for balance. She was dizzy, barely able to stand. A pulse pounded in her scalp.

  I’m going to fall on the floor. I have to get control.

  For the first time, she understood what it meant when someone said her head was spinning. She couldn’t focus, felt her head literally moving back and forth as her eyes sought … what? A sign, maybe? A billboard that said: “You didn’t hear your husband declaring his love to the fifteen-year-old babysitter. It’s all a big mistake.”

  Get a grip, Boo. Come on. Chill. Her hands were shaking.

  She heard Noel coming down the stairs. Moving very slowly, she dried her face, patting it with a pink towel. Then she closed the toilet seat and sat, staring at a space on the wall, saying over and over, I can handle this. I am calm and adult; I can handle anything.

  When she had sat there ten minutes or more, maybe twenty, when she had said the mantra so many times it bored her, she saw that her hands had stopped shaking and realized she no longer felt the pulse in her scalp.

  She stood up. That was tricky, but she managed it. When she felt steady, she looked in the mirror. She said again I am an adult. I am going out there, and I’m going to handle this with dignity.

  She went out to the courtyard, where Noel was reading last Sunday’s papers, catching up, the sort of thing a person did who’d just been fired. He was sitting at a round wrought iron table, sections on the table, on the ground, lying all around him like so much shed skin. He said, “Honey. I didn’t hear you come home.”

  He looked a little uncertain, but probably not because he suspected anything. He had apologized after his tantrum, but they were still uneasy with each other.

  “Obviously not.” She watched his smile fade, though probably, she thought, because of the ominous tone of her voice. He hadn’t yet caught on. “The phone was ringing when I came in. I guess we picked up at the same time.”

  She watched fear fill his eyes. And regret? Or was that her imagination? His mouth started to work, but no wor
ds came out. Probably he couldn’t think what to say.

  “Excuse me. I didn’t have time to unpack the groceries.” She went into the kitchen and started taking things out of bags. But she left them on the table, unable to put them in the proper cabinets or the refrigerator. She couldn’t really think where anything belonged.

  Noel followed her in. He said, “Look, I didn’t mean for this to happen. Certain things you just…can’t control.”

  “Oh, really? Then I suppose no babysitter in America’s safe.” Ice cream. That had to go in the freezer. She opened the door and shoved it in.

  Frozen pizza. That, too.

  Noel said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “What it means, Noel, is that ninety-nine percent of grown men manage to keep their hands off the babysitter. In other words, do control ‘certain things.’ These are the ones who’ve grown up.”

  “Boo, this isn’t some frivolous little flirtation.”

  “I heard you declaring your ‘love.’ Christ! You stupid fuck! Who do you think you are? The captain of the football team? Think you can fuck her and nobody’ll find out? Then when you break her heart, she quits babysitting and you just grope the next little cutie who comes over to take care of your darling baby daughter?”

  Cereal. The cabinet to the left of the sink.

  “Boo, you’re not getting the hang of this. You’re treating it way too lightly.” She had been staring down at a packet of sun-dried tomatoes, trying to remember why she’d bought them and what she planned to do with them.

  His tone made her look at him. It was measured—not angry, not whiny, simply straightforward; the last thing she’d have expected. His face was immeasurably sad, and she had the oddest feeling that it was on her account, that he felt badly for her.

  “Lightly? You’re quite mistaken. I haven’t even begun to figure out how to treat it. But lightly isn’t one of the options I’m considering.”

  He walked over to her and took both her hands. “Boo, I love her. Please try to understand that.”

  She jerked away and spun around, bracing her arms on the sink. She stared down at the drain. “She’s fifteen! She’s a baby!”

  “She’s the most extraordinary human being I’ve ever met. I love her more deeply than I would have thought possible.” There was a calm in the way he spoke, an unexpected dignity.

  “You don’t love her! You can’t. You’re just projecting.” She heard the whininess in her voice. Her eyes flicked to the counter, where dishes had been left—her cup and saucer, the plate she’d put her toast on, the knife she’d cut the bread with. She looked at the serrated edge of the knife and thought about it tearing human flesh. It wouldn’t be a swift, clean cut; it would be slow and jagged.

  “I’m sorry you had to find out.”

  “Sorry I had to find out! What were you planning to do, live this little lie until she graduates?”

  Some expression that she couldn’t name crossed his face. She had a sudden intuitive flash: That is what he meant to do. Omigod, what have I married?

  Despair gripped her for a second, and then it let go, forced out by raging, pounding fury. “Let me ask you something. What’s so extraordinary about this child? Just what could a grown man possibly see in a skinny kid— except a real docile lay, I mean.”

  She thought, I’m a pretty docile lay myself, and she hated herself for getting hooked. She knew perfectly well what he saw in the girl. If he’d been her client he’d have been as transparent as a fishpond—with someone that young, he’d be a hero, he’d always be in control, he’d always be right, he’d be worshiped, he could do no wrong, he could dominate her utterly.

  How strange, she thought. He’s passive as hell with me.

  He said, “I don’t think I can explain it. We’re soulmates, that’s all.” He grinned. “Isn’t it ironic? What a weird twist of fate I had to get one who’s fifteen. I mean, it’s not like I asked for this.”

  “You idiot!” She picked up the knife and raised it, blind with rage, not at his infidelity, but at his inconceivable stupidity. Furious with herself as well—for failing to see what a perennial adolescent he was, for getting involved with someone so passive, so unformed.

  “Watch it, Boo! Watch it, watch it!” He grabbed her wrist and the knife fell. He stepped back, staring at her as if she were a murderer.

  For Christ’s sake. He looks like he’s got a two-figure IQ, and for all I know he has.

  She hated him. Without realizing what she was doing she balled up her hands and threw herself at him, pounding on his chest as hard as she could.

  He didn’t do anything. Didn’t raise a hand to stop her, didn’t open his mouth, just stood there and let her pound. She found it curiously unsatisfying.

  “Goddammit, fight back.”

  He sighed. “I guess I deserve it.”

  “Damn right you deserve it.” She was just getting down to the second level of what this thing meant—it not only meant her marriage was over, her husband was an adolescent, it meant…

  “Oh, shit. You bastard.” She pounded harder, beginning to enjoy it, especially as he was finally wincing.

  When you got right down to it, it meant he’d seduced a child.

  “I can never trust you with Joy! I can’t even leave your own daughter alone with you.”

  He caught her wrist. “Joy? What does she have to do with this?”

  “She’s a child. Obviously you’re attracted to children, and you have no impulse control.”

  “She’s a baby, for Christ’s sake!”

  She pulled away from him. “Where do you draw the line, Noel?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. I said, where do you draw the line?”

  “You vindictive bitch!” He stepped toward her, looking around, she thought, for a weapon. Frightened, she stepped back.

  But he didn’t so much as raise his arm. He let his shoulders sag, turned around, and left by the front door.

  Chapter Nineteen

  STEVE WAS IN the courtyard when Skip arrived home from Savannah. He had changed to khaki shorts, found himself a Turbo Dog, and was drinking it with Angel at his feet.

  He got up as she came in, ready to engulf her. “You look better.”

  “Better than what?”

  “Better than a rag, a bone, and a hank of hair.”

  “I was that bad?”

  “Worse. I’m just too polite to mention it.”

  “Then I guess I am better.” She stepped into his arms. Angel’s tail thumped against her legs as she and Steve kissed. “I really think I am.”

  “Shall we go inside?”

  “Does that mean what I think?”

  “Happy women turn me on.” He held up the beer. “Besides I’ve had two of these. I have no inhibitions.”

  “Better seize the day, then.” She was surprised at how much the idea of making love appealed to her.

  Steve walked behind her to the second floor and when they were in her bedroom, it was she who moved toward him, propelled by a sudden electric surge.

  “You smell like beer,” she said, the instant before their lips met.

  Steve broke away. “I’ll brush my teeth.”

  “No. I like it. I want you now.”

  He took on a mischievous look. “Maybe we should wait till tomorrow. Think how great it’ll be in a hurricane.”

  “We’ll try it both ways.” She had a hand under his T-shirt, feeling the depression of his spine, pushing his body closer to hers. She hadn’t felt like this in months, not since …

  Since I fell into the depression.

  But what the hell, I used to smoke pot when I got depressed. Sex is healthier.

  She let him bend her backward so that they were lying on the bed, his body on top of hers. “Take your shirt off.”

  He stood up and obeyed. He was a large man, several inches taller than her own six feet, and he was well filled- out—a bear, Jimmy Dee called him. He had a good coat of fur on his chest, and appare
ntly knew it. He posed for a moment, letting Skip absorb the effect.

  She said, “Come here, bear.”

  He straddled her, a hand closing over each breast, obeying but doing it his way. She stared at him as he caressed her, their eyes locked, and when he said, “Show me,” she took off her T-shirt and bra.

  His mouth closed over her nipple, and she felt herself slide into a different consciousness. She had always hallucinated when they made love, and this time she saw a river of honey flowing in a ruby canyon, felt herself flowing with it, falling over the edge as the honey reached the end and cascaded downward, riding on it, tossed gently, as if by soft breezes and waves, face glowing in the warm sun.

  Steve took off his khaki shorts. She couldn’t believe he still had them on. She had been in another world.

  She went away again. She could have sworn she could taste honey, but it was probably Turbo Dog, she thought, holding Steve’s shoulders with her right arm, not letting him get off her.

  “You missed me,” he said.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “We were due at Jimmy Dee’s five minutes ago.”

  She bit his ear. “You’re lying.”

  “No, I mean it.”

  “Damn.” She let him go, wriggled out from under, and reached for the phone. “Dee-Dee, listen …”

  “Are you going to be the teeniest bit late? You young people have fun now.” He hung up.

  Steve looked at her quizzically.

  “He was pretty understanding. Want to flip for the shower?”

  “You go first. You probably want to wash your hair.”

  Later, as she was drying it, and Steve was unpacking, he asked her about Jacomine. She told him what Alice Sherman had said. “It kills me. Every day I become more and more convinced he’s dangerous as a scorpion. But I can’t seem to get anything Jane can print.”

  “Why don’t you just give the stuff to Perretti?”

  “For one thing, I don’t like him.”

  Steve nodded.

  “For another, I’m still a police officer. Which means I can’t work for a political candidate. Even if I wasn’t working for him when I did the investigation, I don’t see how I could suddenly turn over my results to him.”

  “On the other hand if you don’t do something, a maniac is going to be elected mayor.”