The Good Byline

by Jill Orr

  He regarded me, knitted his eyebrows together, then shook his head as if to clear the thought This chick is insane from his brain like an Etch-a-Sketch.

  He reached for my hand. “Why don’t we take my car?”

  CHAPTER 26

  Don’t ever let them take you to a second location. Don’t ever let them take you to a second location. This thought played through my mind on a loop as we drove out of the library parking lot.

  “Are you sure you feel like doing this?” Ajay asked as we turned onto I-95.

  I wiped at my forehead, which had started to sweat a little. “I’m fine! It just, you know, takes a while to come down after work.”

  “Things get pretty intense at the library, do they?”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised,” I said as the image of poor Dr. H handcuffed to that pipe flashed before my eyes.

  “Well,” Ajay’s eyes briefly darted from the road to me, “you’re all mine now. So you can just relax.”

  Yes, Ajay, I can just relax because I’m with you. A married man who has lied to me about a number of things, including ties to a possible gangster who may have had something to do with my childhood best friend’s death. “So, where’re we heading?”

  “I’m taking you to one of my favorite places, over in West Bay,” he said. “It’s nothing fancy, but I think you’ll love it.”

  I decided I’d use the time in the car to see if I could get him to talk. “So how was your day?”

  “Good.” He smiled at the road ahead.

  “Yeah? Why was it so good?”

  “Because I looked forward to seeing you all day.”

  My cheeks reddened. I thought, If this man were not a big, fat liar, I’d be dying at how sweet he is. But I made myself focus. I could not be deterred by sweetness.

  “You said you were at the sheriff’s office today?”

  “Yeah, I’m helping them with some Continuing Ed while school is out for summer.”

  That didn’t explain why he was listed as a consultant for Romero. I’d need to dig deeper. “That’s cool.”

  I tried to think of what Holman would say. He’d tell me to use my sexuality. I couldn’t believe it had come down to taking Holman’s stupid advice, but against my better judgment, I reached up and covertly unbuttoned the top button on my Peter Pan collar. I was now showing slightly more skin than an Amish lady. I doubted my collarbone would throw Ajay into a lust-induced confession, so I unbuttoned the next one too.

  “Are you too warm?” Ajay asked. “I can turn up the air conditioning.”

  “Oh, no, that’s okay,” I said. “I’m just, you know, getting more comfortable.” Just then, I felt my phone vibrate inside my purse. It was Holman calling. I pressed the end button.

  “You can take that if you need to.”

  “No, it’s okay. So, you were saying you work with the sheriff?”

  “Yeah,” Ajay said. “Interesting guy.” “That’s one word for him.”

  “I take it you’re not a fan?”

  “No.”

  “Sounds like there’s a story there.”

  “Let’s just say we haven’t always seen eye to eye,” I said and left it at that. I was on a mission. I needed to get Ajay talking about Jordan and Romero, not stupid Joe Tackett. Once again, I heard Holman’s voice inside my head. Since my exposed clavicle obviously wasn’t getting the job done, I tried to think of other ways to be sexy. Sexiness wasn’t exactly in my wheelhouse.

  In the book Twilight, Bella was always chewing on her lip, and that seemed to drive Edward mad with lust. I knew it wasn’t much, but it was all I could think to do. I curled the corner of my bottom lip into my mouth and bit down.

  No reaction. Ajay’s eyes were on the road.

  I angled myself toward him and tucked in my lip a little further. I felt Ajay’s eyes on me. Maybe it was working? He gave me a look that could have been unbridled passion. Or it could have been unbridled bewilderment, but either way, the lip-chewing was garnering some sort of response. I kept it up.

  “We should be there soon,” Ajay said. He flicked on the turn signal and veered off the exit to the left. “You seem pretty hungry.”

  We were now stopped at a light. He turned to me. “Riley,” he said, his voice slightly strained.

  “Yesth?”

  His gaze was intense. He seemed like he was bursting to tell me something. Could Holman have been right? Had my sexuality cast a spell over him? Was he just going to come out with it all right here and now? I work for Romero. I dated Jordan. I know how she died.…

  The light changed, and the spell was broken. He started driving, and before he could say anything, the car thunked over a pothole.

  “Ow!” The force of the bump caused me to bite down and pierce the tender skin of my lower lip. Warm, salty blood rushed to the surface.

  “Oh, gosh,” Ajay used his right hand to get a packet of tissues from the glove compartment. “Here. You okay?”

  I dabbed the blood, but wished I had something to mop up my pride. I was botching this whole undercover thing way worse than I expected. And I hadn’t expected much. Holman had put his faith in the wrong girl. Jordan had been the reporter, not me. I felt my lip starting to swell. Great, I thought, because there’s nothing sexier than a fat lip, right?

  I was about to make up an excuse and ask Ajay to take me home when I felt the car come to a stop. If I thought the evening couldn’t get any worse, I was wrong. I looked out the car window, and my stomach lurched with fear. We were sitting in front of Romero’s restaurant.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Ajay asked once we were seated inside the large, brightly colored room. “Do you want some ice for your lip?”

  “I’m fine!” I insisted, completely unconvincingly. My leg bounced up and down under the table. I felt like I just drank a case of Red Bull.

  “I can’t believe you’ve never been here,” Ajay said after I admitted that this was my first visit to the West Bay Romero’s location. “They have great tableside guacamole here. And good margaritas, too.”

  “I think I’ve been to the one in Richmond before,” I said, but I could tell I sounded distracted, agitated. I debated whether or not to excuse myself and call Holman. I wasn’t sure what significance, if any, Ajay bringing me to Romero’s had. But it felt creepy. I looked across the table and wondered if Ajay knew that I was after his secrets. If I called Holman, he’d probably just tell me to find a way to get information from him. I had no idea how I was supposed to do that, but I decided I’d try a little longer. If things went south, I could always text Holman to come get me.

  “Want to split?”

  “Huh?” I had been lost in my thoughts and didn’t hear what Ajay had said.

  “A peach margarita—want to share? They’re pretty big.”

  I could not share a margarita with a married man. It was just not appropriate. My mind flashed back to our passionate kiss, and the words “not appropriate” took on a whole new meaning. I wiped the thought from my mind and pasted on a fake smile. “I think I’ll just have my own, if that’s okay.”

  The server came over and took our drink order. I ordered the top shelf on the rocks; Ajay got the peach. I looked around the restaurant. In many ways, it was your typical Mexican restaurant, painted in warm oranges and yellows, ornate iron lanterns hanging from the ceilings, a large bar with neon signs for Dos Equis and Pacifico. And it looked identical to the one I’d eaten at in Richmond. But to me, the whole place had taken on a sinister feel. Every person working looked suspicious, every customer a potential criminal.

  The server came back with our drinks within a minute. Ajay held his glass up. “To us,” he said.

  “Cheers.” I clinked his glass without looking him in the eye, then took a long, greedy sip. The cold glass felt good in my hands, a life preserver of sorts. I took another, longer sip. I had never been a big drinker, but my nerves were on overload, and I decided I really needed this margarita.

  I did not, however, need the next tw
o.

  CHAPTER 27

  I woke to the sound of pounding on my door at 6:15 the next morning. Or was it inside my head? I was having a dream that a tiny man was sitting on top of my head playing that Ring the Bell carnival game on my skull. Pound-ding! Pound-ding! Pound-ding! Eventually, though, the noise penetrated my consciousness to the point that I couldn’t ignore it any longer. Someone was at my house and very eager to speak to me.

  I grabbed my turquoise robe and pulled it on as I shuffled to the door, opening my eyes as little as possible on the way. The light was excruciating.

  “Riley?” A panicked voice shouted on the other side. “Are you in there? Open up!”

  It was Dr. H and Tabitha. What in the world were they doing at my house? Together? At 6 a.m.?

  I opened the door.

  “Oh, thank heavens!” Dr. H nearly collapsed with relief when he saw me.

  “Riley!” For the first time ever, Tabitha actually looked happy to see me.

  “Hey,” my voice sounded croaky. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m sorry, dear, but may we come inside?”

  I stepped back to let them in.

  “Sorry for this intrusion at such an early hour,” Dr. H said once they were inside, “but you didn’t answer your phone, and we were so worried about you.”

  “Worried about me?”

  “Yes, dear,” Dr. H said. “There’s been an incident at the library. No one was hurt,” he added quickly.

  “No people, anyway,” Tabitha murmured under her breath.

  “Okaaaay,” I said.

  Dr. H threw Tabitha a dark look and then said to me, “Someone blew up your car, Riley.”

  At first I thought I had heard him wrong. I looked to Tabitha who nodded gravely. What? Someone blew up my car? I was so stunned, I think all I said was, “What…who…wha?”

  “Why’d you leave your car in the parking lot last night anyway?” Tabitha said. She had a way of making everything seem like an accusation. It was like she was suggesting that getting one’s car blown up was a natural side effect of leaving it in a parking lot overnight.

  “I got a call from the sheriff’s department about an hour ago,” Dr. H cut in, “and when I heard it was your car, well.…” He stopped talking and looked at me. There were tears shining in his eyes. “Well, you can imagine how worried I was.”

  I reached out and gave him a hug. What a sweet man. I could tell he’d been truly worried. He sniffed a few times, and I reached over and gave him a tissue from the credenza. Tabitha, always uncomfortable with any show of emotion, pretended to check her phone.

  “Anyway,” he continued once he’d pulled himself together, “the police are calling it vandalism, but I think the three of us know who is behind this.” He was clearly referring to the library thugs.

  I was still in shock. My car had been destroyed? My car—my sweet, happy, environmentally responsible car—had been the victim of a violent crime? This didn’t make any sense.

  “But why would those people want to hurt my car?” I lowered myself down onto the couch.

  “I think they were trying to send a message,” Tabitha said, knowingly.

  “But what is the message?”

  “I’m not sure, but it seems too coincidental with their threats of blowing things up and all,” she said.

  A kernel of doubt bloomed in the corner of my brain. What if the car bombing had nothing to do with the library? What if this was about me looking into Jordan’s death. What if that was the message: Stay off the case or else.

  “Are you okay?” Dr. H touched his own lip, while looking at mine. It must still have been swollen.

  “Oh, yeah. I, uh, ran into a door.” He blinked at me and looked like he was about to ask a question when I cut him off. “I don’t suppose you told the police anything about those men who came to see you?”

  “No.”

  “They have a mole,” Tabitha said, her tone implying I was stupid for even asking.

  “Yeah, but this is—”

  “Riley,” Dr. H said in his most earnest tone, “if you would like to me to tell the police what I know in order for them to find and prosecute the people who did this to your car, I will gladly do so.” He held my gaze for a few extra seconds to make sure I knew he was serious.

  I thought about it. If there really was a mole inside the sheriff’s department and it got back to Twain’s boss that Dr. H had informed on him, things could get bad for Dr. H and for the library. Obviously, these people were not messing around.

  “No,” I said, “it’s fine. I’m sure I can claim it on insurance just as well under vandalism.” I attempted a smile in the hopes of getting Dr. H to do the same. He had dark circles under his eyes. The stress of the past few weeks was showing on his face.

  “I don’t know who’d believe vandals blew up a Honda Fit, but whatever,” Tabitha said.

  I gave her a look that said shut it.

  “Okay, dear,” Dr. H said, rising to leave. “Insurance should sort you out in no time. And until then, well, you have a bicycle, I trust?” He opened the door, but before walking out he turned to me. “I’m just so relieved you’re all right.” His voice broke again. I gave him another tight squeeze, as Tabitha pretended to be super interested in the cracking mortar on my brick walkway.

  After they left, I bolted the door, trundled back into my bedroom, and flopped onto my bed. My car had been the victim of a violent crime, I was dating a married man, and I was now more hung over than I could ever remember feeling in my whole life. When I decided to change my life less than a week ago, this was not really the direction I had in mind.

  I picked up the phone to call my parents and tell them what happened, but I saw that I had one text from Ajay and three from Holman. I clicked on Ajay’s first.

  Hope ur feeling ok this morning.

  A wave of nausea rippled through me. I tried to sift through my muddled brain for memories of what happened after that first margarita. I remembered asking him about his classes and telling him about my brief experience as a teaching assistant in Intro to English during my senior year at UVA. I remembered ordering a cheese quesadilla, which garnered a look of disgust from the server. And I remembered talking to him about Ryan. Oh no.

  A blurry memory of me telling Ajay everything about Ryan and Ridley swam in my head. I concentrated, trying to will myself to remember. I could see Ajay’s face, his eyes filled with pity. And then I got a flash of being in the bathroom talking to a woman I’d never seen before. She was consoling me. Although I couldn’t exactly remember, I had the distinct impression I’d been crying.

  I picked up my phone to scroll through the texts I’d sent last night hoping there’d be a clue in there somewhere. But before I could read them, another rash of pounding began on my door. My breathing stilled. What if it was the people who torched my car looking to finish the job? I grabbed the most menacing object in arm’s reach, which was a quiz bowl trophy from my sophomore year in high school, and tiptoed toward the front door.

  “Riley! Are you in there?” It was Holman. He rushed inside as soon as I opened the door. “Thank goodness! You scared me to death!”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.” I locked the door behind him. “How’d you hear about my car?”

  “Your car?” He pointed to the trophy in my hand. “What’s that?”

  “Quiz bowl trophy. My car got blown up. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  “Your car got blown up, and you won a quiz bowl tournament?”

  I sighed and padded over to the sofa. I slumped onto the couch. Holman remained standing. “Dr. H just came by to tell me someone blew up my car in the library parking lot last night.”

  “What?”

  “What were you worried about?”

  “Your text from last night.”

  “Um,” I said, kneading my temples, “last night is a little fuzzy.”

  Holman frowned. “Riley, did you drink alcoho
l with Ajay?”

  My mouth said nothing, but my sallow skin and bloodshot eyes said duh.

  “It’s unprofessional to drink on the job, you know.”

  “Good thing this isn’t my job,” I said, fighting the urge to chuck my trophy at his head.

  “You really need to decide if you are in or out. Either you want to help me find out what happened to Jordan, or you don’t.”

  The pounding in my head was gaining strength. “You know,” I said, “I’m getting a little sick of you treating me like I work for you or something. I’m a librarian, sort of, not a reporter. So if you don’t like the way I do things, you can just work this story all by yourself!”

  Holman stared at me for a moment, then turned away and walked into the kitchen. A minute later he came back with a tall glass of orange juice and a box of Ritz crackers.

  “Eat,” he said. “Then we’ll talk.”

  I was too tired to argue, so I obeyed and silently munched on the crackers and drank my juice while Holman stared at me with his unblinking eyes. It was unsettling, but the more I hung around him, the more used to it I got.

  “Have some of your brain cells rehydrated yet?” Holman asked once I’d finished the juice.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Good,” he said. “First, I am sorry about your car.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Second, I am not sorry for pushing you to be a better reporter. You have some innate talent, but you need training.”

  I thought about arguing but just didn’t have the energy for it.

  “Now, tell me what happened last night.”

  “Ajay took me to Romero’s.”

  “I got that much from your text.”

  “Umm,” I started slowly. “I think was able to get Ajay to talk about his work a little.”

  “Did you use your sexuality?”

  My cheeks flooded with warmth. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “What happened to your lip?”

  My cheeks grew hot. “Collateral damage.”