by Roslyn Woods
“What is it?
“A big, silver SUV,” he said.
“What should we do?” asked Shell with her pulse quickening.
“Try pulling in at a well lit place with plenty of cars, and we’ll see what happens.”
That might not be easy at ten p.m., but there was a large HEB grocery store on 41st Street. Shell headed for it. The car stayed right on her tail, and she wondered at the fact that the driver wasn’t making any attempt to disguise what he was doing.
She pulled in the lot and parked near the store entrance. Huge lights lit the blacktop, and even at this hour, there were probably forty cars. Safety, she thought. The SUV pulled in and parked about forty yards behind them between a Smart Car and a small pickup. “Can you see anything?” she asked.
“It’s pretty dark with those tinted windows. I can’t see the driver,” he said.
The car had a metallic finish, and Shell thought it looked like a Honda Pilot. She had admired the square shape as a car that would hold lots of paintings once. Suddenly, the car backed out of its spot and turned out of the parking lot.
“He’s leaving,” said Dean. “Either he was following us, or I’m over-thinking things. Maybe that car is just similar to the one I saw earlier. Maybe it’s just a coincidence that this car followed us in here.”
“And nobody got out? Maybe, but strange things have been happening lately, haven’t they?”
Dean didn’t answer as she drove out of the parking lot and headed for Barrow Avenue. There had been enough of this worry for one day. She wanted a break from it, and she could imagine that Dean desperately wanted things to feel normal.
She wondered what would happen when they got to her house. He would walk in through her door, but would he say he was tired and then head out the back door right away? She hoped he wouldn’t. She parked the car in the carport and looked up at him.
“Wine?” she asked with a smile.
“We could be developing a dangerous habit,” he said with a little indulgent laugh as he looked down at her. “Yes, wine,” he answered, smiling at her as he opened his door.
Shell found her new key as they mounted the steps. She unlocked the door and pushed it open. Something was happening between her and Dean, and the anticipation of what might happen next was making her heart pound a little. She turned on a lamp in the living room and walked into the kitchen. “Maybe you can pick a bottle while I get the glasses,” she said. “I’m afraid my wine selection isn’t as good as yours.”
He had followed her into the kitchen and was standing behind her as she reached up. “I’m not really here for the wine,” he said quietly. He was so close to her she could feel his breath in her hair, and his hands settled lightly on her waist. Her eyes closed as she set the glasses down on the counter and leaned back against him.
Shell was not to know what might have happened next. There was a loud pounding on the front door and they were both startled.
“I’d better see who that is,” he said, releasing her.
“I’m coming with you.”
The blinds were closed and they couldn’t see out. Dean checked the peephole. “It’s a man I’ve never seen before,” he said quietly. The pounding started up again.
“Let me look,” she whispered, and he stepped aside. She looked through the peephole and then at Dean. What happened next completely surprised him. She opened the door.
“What the hell are you doing here, Brad?” she asked.
Chapter 23
He walked right in. “I could ask you the same thing. What the hell are you doing here?”
“This is where I live,” she answered.
“And is this where he lives?” he asked angrily, tilting his blond head at Dean. He seemed larger than life in his angry state, though in actuality he wasn’t quite six feet tall. “I swear, we haven’t been apart for eight days and you’ve taken up with somebody new! And he’s just one of them! I’ve seen the other guy too!”
He was walking further into the living room, and he was clearly furious. Shell looked up at Dean. “Please don’t go,” she said to him. “I don’t know what this is all about.”
“Believe me, wild horses couldn’t drag me from here at this point,” he answered.
Brad turned and looked at him and started up again in a loud voice, “Do you know there’s another guy too? Do you know about him, or is that just how things are? Anything goes—”
“Listen, buddy,” Dean said, stepping closer and looking down at him, “you’re going to sit down and shut up for a minute, or I’m going to sit you down and shut you up.”
Brad took a step backwards, but he didn’t sit down.
Dean actually looked quite menacing at that moment, and Shell had the feeling the two men might actually come to blows. This was definitely not what she wanted to have happen. She had no doubt that, big and athletic as years of workouts at the tennis club had made Brad, Dean could teach him a lesson in a New York minute.
“Yes Brad, sit down and stop shouting,” said Shell. He just looked at her. “Please!” she said, and Dean took a step toward him.
“Okay, okay,” he said, and he sank onto her new couch.
Shell sat in the green armchair and stared at Brad. Dean remained standing across from him.
“Now, in a reasonable voice, tell us what’s going on from the beginning.”
Brad looked from Shell to Dean and back to Shell again. “You left me Shell,” he said, looking like a child. “I had to find you. You won’t answer my calls or my emails. I’ve sent you dozens of texts. Why won’t you talk to me?”
“Brad,” said Shell, exasperated, “We broke up. Why are you hounding me?”
“I love you, Shell,” he said.
“No you don’t.” Nothing would make her accept the idea that he still loved her or even that he ever had. She looked steadily at him. “Look, I was planning to break up with you the day I left, and when I came to your gallery to tell you, I found you with Lisa. So all bets are off. You forfeited your right to a lengthy explanation. I didn’t take up with somebody and then break up. We were both through with the relationship. Nothing is going to change that.”
“But I don’t love her,” he said.
“I can’t help that.”
He sat for a moment looking lost, and Shell had a moment of pity for him.
“What I need to know,” she said quietly, “is how you found me.”
“I went over to Margaret’s house and followed her over here. Since then I’ve been trying to decide what to do.”
Shell noticed Dean’s jaw clenching.
“Since when?” he asked.
“Since Saturday.”
“You mean,” asked Shell, “you’ve been watching me?”
“Just your house. I haven’t been able to see you exactly. Just getting in and out of your car and going in and out of the front door.” He sounded so pathetic. This was terribly embarrassing. Shell hated for Dean to witness this.
“And you’ve been sleeping in your car?”
“No. I’ve been staying downtown at the Hilton and coming up here in the morning.”
Shell saw the contemptuous smirk on Dean’s face. Brad looked like nothing but a pretty rich boy. She might have known that he wouldn’t skimp on his comforts. The Hilton explained why he appeared to be brushed and combed as usual in his leather jacket and Italian shoes.
“And you’ve been following me.”
“Yes, in your new car,” he said hopefully. “I thought I’d surprise you. I thought you’d like it—”
“What?”
“The Pilot. You once said that would be a good car for carrying your paintings, so I bought one. I just want you to come back to Dallas and marry me,” he said, leaning forward and looking earnestly at her.
Shell looked back at him with wide eyes. She was astonished at him, at what he was trying to do. She almost couldn’t speak. “I just don’t understand this.”
Dean was looking at her now. She felt a subtl
e change in his demeanor toward her, but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“Of course I’m following you,” Brad added. “I can’t see you any other way! Shell, do you have feelings for this guy?” he asked, looking at Dean. “What’s he got that I haven’t got? What’s the other guy got?”
“Have you been drinking? Who on earth are you talking about?”
“That guy. That guy who comes in and out over here. What’s he got that I haven’t got?”
Shell felt a chill go up her spine. She looked up at Dean. Her eyes were frightened now, and she looked back at Brad. It took a good fifteen seconds for her to take in this new bit of information. “Describe this person to us please,” she said.
“You mean you’re trying to tell me that this guy has keys to your place and you don’t know what he looks like?”
“Describe him,” she said stonily.
Brad swallowed and stared at Shell while he struggled with his emotions. He looked at Dean again. “It’s just you now, isn’t it? She’s just seeing you.” He looked as if he might break down, and he put his head in his hands.
Dean just looked at him in total silence. Shell thought she could see scorn in his eyes.
“Brad, please describe the man you’ve seen in my house,” she repeated.
When he looked up again, they could see that his face was flushed, and his eyes were red. “He’s just a guy,” he said, giving up. “I think he has brown hair. I don’t know anything else.”
“How tall is he?” Dean asked.
“Jesus, I don’t know. I don’t know his eye color either. I wasn’t up close, and to be honest, I didn’t really care what he looked like.”
“Do you know what he drives?” Dean asked.
“Hell, no, what does that matter?” he asked resentfully.
“Just try to remember,” said Shell.
“He didn’t park in front of the house. I didn’t get a good look at it.”
“Could you give us a type of car or a color?” she asked.
“An SUV. I think it was gray or silver.”
“Like yours?”
“Smaller.”
“How many times?” Dean asked. “How many times did you see him going into this house?”
“Two, no, probably three times.”
There was a long silence during which Dean glared at Brad. Then he turned to Shell. “I don’t think you’re in any danger with your boyfriend here. Apparently you have business to take care of.”
He sounded cold, and Shell looked at him with surprise in her eyes. “What? You’re leaving?” she asked.
“I am, unless you think you’re in any danger at all.” His eyes looked hard. She could see from the set of his jaw that he was angry, and she felt helpless to make things clear to him. What was he thinking? Did he think less of her because Brad was acting like such a fool?
“I don’t think Brad would hurt me, if that’s what you mean,” she answered quietly, feeling the blood drain from her face. He was leaving her.
“Then I’ll go,” he said. He didn’t even nod at Brad as he left. He walked out through the kitchen and Shell could hear the door open and close again.
“Okay. I think it’s time for you to go now, too,” Shell said quietly, looking across the room at Brad. “And take the car back to the dealer.”
“Don’t we have some talking to do? Don’t you think I deserve that?” he asked.
“Brad, I’ve explained already that I’m not in love with you. There isn’t any way to make it happen by effort. I want you to stop doing things like buying cars and hounding me. It just isn’t happening for me. We tried something that didn’t work. I like you fine. I just don’t love you. One day you’ll realize you don’t love me either. But I’m really sorry you’re unhappy. I’m really sorry this is difficult.” She was sorry. She couldn’t help but feel a measure of compassion for him even though her own heart was aching from the damage he had just done.
“Look,” he said, “I know I made a mistake—”
“We both made a mistake.”
He looked at her without speaking for a couple of minutes.
“Okay, right,” he said, standing up. He looked completely defeated, and Shell thought he looked like a small boy as he walked to the door.
“I won’t forget you,” he said, looking back.
“I hope you’ll be happy, Brad.”
She watched through the shade as he drove off. Her heart felt broken, but it wasn’t because of Brad.
Chapter 24
Shell dropped into the armchair and stared at the area rug. She tried to identify the mixture of emotions she was feeling. She did feel sorry for Brad, but that emotion was overwhelmed by shame and regret. The sweet moment she had shared with Dean was gone, and now she had to think about the stranger who had been invading her house.
She got up and went after her phone. She texted Dean. He’s gone. Would you please come back and talk to me?
She waited for a full two minutes. Finally, he responded. I’m really rather tired.
So now he was going to be distant and cold with her. She felt the blood rising into her face again as her heart began to pound with anger. She walked out her back door and down the steps in the dark. She climbed Dean’s back steps and began knocking, pounding really, on his back door. She heard Sadie barking almost immediately, and he was right behind her.
“Are you okay?” he asked as he opened the door, looking startled.
“No, I’m not okay. Why are you cold-shouldering me?” she asked.
“I’m not.” But he didn’t explain. Sadie wagged her tail but whined noisily.
“Don’t you think we should try to figure out who’s been going through my house?” she asked.
“Yes. We should.” But his eyes didn’t soften. He stepped back to allow her to pass and she walked into his kitchen. “We can sit in the living room,” he said quietly.
She went in and found a chair, but she was still burning. Sadie settled on the floor near her and put her head on Shell’s feet, whining a little. Dean sat in the chair opposite.
“It would appear that I was a bit late on changing the locks,” he said. It sounded almost like a Maxwell Smart joke, but he was all seriousness, and he was clearly ignoring the rest of the interchange that had taken place with Brad.
“What do you think it means?” Shell asked.
“It means someone thinks Amanda left something in that house and he has her keys,” he said, looking away from her. “My car has been at my place almost without a break. You, on the other hand, have been in and out a lot.”
“What do you think we should do?”
“I don’t know. Gonzalez won’t do anything about this, we can be pretty sure of that. I haven’t heard a word about his hunting down the license plate I gave him.”
“This sounds like a different person, Dean. Kojak is bald.”
“It seems as if there are more people involved in all this trouble than I thought,” he said, but his tone was cool. He looked at his hands. There was a long silence, and Shell could feel the distance that had come between them. Seeing Brad had changed him. Look at me, she thought. But he didn’t. He looked at the rug, the table, his books. After a few minutes he finally looked across the room at Shell, but his face was impassive.
“Look,” he said, “I don’t think you should stay in the house. I shouldn’t have rented it to you. I didn’t know it could be involved in Amanda’s murder, and I see now that you shouldn’t stay there. You can’t stay there. It isn’t safe.”
If his tone had been different, if he had said the same words with the familiar demeanor Shell was used to, she wouldn’t have felt so hurt. But Dean was completely changed from the man who had stood behind her in her kitchen a half hour earlier. Then he had been her friend and something had almost happened between them. Just this evening they were planning an outing together and talking about the weather. Now he was all business, and Shell was being sent away.
“What about you
?” she asked. “Are you safe in your house?”
“Probably safer than you are in your house.”
“Because?”
“A few reasons. Because I have a dog to alert me and to make an intruder beware. Because, despite what you and Margie think, I’m somewhat less vulnerable because I’m a man.”
“You think guns haven’t leveled the playing field a little?” she asked. She knew she was arguing with him and that there was an edge in her voice.
“They have, but I’m staying,” he said, sounding utterly calm.
“So what makes you less vulnerable? Is it your masculine strength?”
“Yes,” he said without apology. “You should probably stay with Margie. I’ll call her and explain.”
There was no, “I’m sorry,” no, “I wish it didn’t have to be this way.” So it was all settled. He wasn’t consulting her anymore. He was her landlord, and he was evicting her.
“I’m perfectly capable of calling my best friend and explaining. I don’t need you to take care of things for me,” she heard herself saying. She knew she sounded upset.
“You’re angry,” he said.
“Not at all,” she said, standing up. “I’m really rather tired,” she said, imitating his text. “Apparently I need to pack a few things.”
He just sat in the armchair looking at the books on his table. She wanted to go home now before her own coldness turned to angry tears. She started for the back door.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m going back to the house,” she said.
“I’m going with you.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because I don’t want you to be alone,” he said quietly.
“It was okay for me to be alone a few minutes ago,” she answered.
“I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
She glared at him for a moment before he added, “I would have come around and realized in a minute or two.”
“I’m sure I’ll be all right for the five or six minutes it will take me to pack a bag,” she said. “You shouldn’t feel obligated to come over and protect me with your masculinity.”
