Money Creek

by Anne Laughlin

  Clare had been trying to forget about the party the Nelsons were throwing on Friday night to mark her signing on with the firm. She couldn’t absorb the trouble they were taking to make her feel welcome. All week, Elizabeth and Hank had been going out of their way to include her in the firm’s activity. They took her to lunch with the other associates, introduced her to clients, had her sit in on conferences on other cases. As a lawyer she was thrilled with being made such a part of the firm. It was so differentfrom being a mere cog at Dearborn Pike. But it was almost overwhelming. So much attention also meant scrutiny. She couldn’t withstand much scrutiny.

  “I’ll be there,” Clare said, trying to sound cheerful.

  “I know you just got to town, but feel free to bring a date. Everyone’s significant other will be there.”

  Clare almost laughed. “A date? I’m afraid I don’t operate that quickly.”

  “Did you leave anyone behind in Chicago?” Elizabeth sounded more conversational than nosy.

  “Nope. I’m about as single as you can get.”

  “I don’t think that will last very long.”

  “It will if I have anything to say about it,” she said lightly. “There’s been enough change in my life recently.”

  Elizabeth turned into the town square. “You’re young. You’ll adapt quickly. My main concern is you’re happy with your work.”

  “Oh, I am. Thank you so much for giving me this opportunity.” She didn’t have to fake her enthusiasm. She knew she was lucky to have ended up with someone like Elizabeth. For the first time, she felt she had a future.

  They stopped for lunch at the Lincoln Diner and Clare struggled to eat a respectable amount of her salad. It seemed like no matter how much she ate, the salad still filled the bowl. Her appetite was suppressed, as usual. She had to work to keep her weight up when she was using speed, which was basically all the time. Maybe she’d lay off speed tomorrow so she’d have an appetite at the dinner party. That was a situation that called more for Valium than anything amping her up.

  Back at the office, Clare settled into the empty case room and began reading where she’d left off. Jo walked in carrying a cup of coffee and sat at the other end of the table without saying a word. What was it with this woman? Was she socially inept or did she actively dislike Clare?

  “Hi, Jo. Did you grab some lunch?”

  Jo looked at her in surprise. “Yeah, I always bring my lunch to work.”

  “That’s a good way to control what you eat, nutrition wise, I mean. It’s not like you have to watch what you eat.” Oh, God, she was fumbling her way further from Jo’s good graces.

  “It’s also a good way to save money,” Jo said. “I don’t get paid like an associate.” She turned back to her documents.

  Was that it? She was resentful that lawyers made more than paralegals? Welcome to reality, Jo. Go to law school for three years and then bring up equal pay. They were currently doing the same job, but the responsibility for it was on Clare’s shoulders. The decisions as to relevancy and attorney privilege were hers to make. She didn’t understand why Jo would take this out on her.

  Clare stayed silent and went on with her work. At length, she said, “Are you going to the party at the Nelsons’ tomorrow night?” She sounded like she really cared if Jo went, when in fact it would be great if she didn’t.

  Jo relaxed a little. “The Nelsons give great parties. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Elizabeth told me I could bring a date, which is laughable. I don’t know anyone. Are you bringing someone?”

  “I’m bringing my girlfriend, Freya.” She looked at Clare as if expecting a reaction to that, as if she didn’t come from Chicago, where there were more gay people living in her neighborhood than the entire population of Money Creek.

  “That’s great. How long have you been together?”

  Jo smiled at her for the first time. This was something she wanted to talk about. “Only three months. It’s new, but I think it’s the real deal.”

  “Lucky you,” Clare said. She tried to keep things going. “What does Freya do?”

  “She’s a cop. Illinois State Police detective.”

  “Really?” Clare said, as if Jo had told her she’s a troll under the bridge.

  Jo laughed. “Really. She and her partner are stationed here while they work on their drug task force, but she lives in Bloomington.”

  Drug task force? That didn’t sound good. She kept a neutral expression. “Wow. I think the most exciting person I ever dated was a cameraman at Wrigley Field. Does she ever tell you about her work?”

  “She can’t, really, not that I’d betray a confidence. I get the broad outlines, but no details,” Jo said. She took a sip of her coffee and turned back to her work.

  “I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

  Jo looked at her again. “What’s your story? Straight? Gay?” Apparently, the floodgates were now open.

  “Straight. Boring.” Clare leaned back in her chair. She was always uncomfortable when this question was asked of her, which seemed to be frequently. Did she even know if she was straight or gay? She slept with men, and what little bit of dating she did was with men. But an interesting woman could occupy her thoughts, make her want more. She’d been too stressed and busy since law school started to do much more than think about it. Too timid. Maybe now that she lived in Money Creek it would become clear, though there couldn’t be that many lesbians in town to help her figure it out. Jo might be one of the only two, thrown together out of sheer necessity. She wasn’t about to share her complicated sexual identity with her.

  Jo laughed. “That’s a funny way to describe it, not that I disagree with you. I’ll keep my eyes peeled for any non-boring men I come across.”

  “Please don’t,” Clare said quickly. “I don’t think I can handle anything else new right now.”

  They both picked up their documents and started to read. The atmosphere was relaxed, at least compared to previously. Nothing like a little talk about romance to thaw the air. Jo left for the day at five, along with the rest of the staff and most of the lawyers. When she went to the break room to get a LaCroix, she saw the lights still on in both Elizabeth’s and Hank’s offices. No harm in working late to impress the bosses. The documents were incredibly boring and she wanted to stop, but what came after work seemed worse than continuing it. She’d spent every evening at home, cooking dinner, watching Netflix, reading. Not a bad way to spend an evening, but not every evening. Her life outside of work spun out in front of her in a monotonous fashion, and it made her nervous.

  Hank and Elizabeth left at six. Hank ducked his head into the document room and told her not to burn herself out, which was comical given the hours she used to work. She stayed another hour before locking up and walking home in the cold air.

  * * *

  She knew she was going to have to learn to cook. There was no Thai restaurant on the corner, no Grubhub to deliver her dinner. She could drive out to Woodlawn Avenue every evening for her choice of Olive Garden or Red Lobster, but the thought depressed her. She’d stocked her kitchen with chicken and steak and vegetables, along with a fair number of frozen dinners, and cobbled together some meals with the help of internet recipes.

  She changed into jeans and a long sleeve T-shirt, her moccasins on her feet. Her house was neat, the kitchen sparkling. She pulled a steak out of the fridge, along with some green beans. She snapped the beans and washed them in a colander before putting them in a pan on the stove to steam. Then she seasoned the steak and threw it onto a grill pan at a high temperature. This, she’d learned, would sear the steak and lock in the juices. Who knew? She set the table, and when the dinner was done sat down with a copy of the New Yorker by her plate. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She enjoyed the food, found some satisfaction in having cooked it. The idea that this is what normal people did made her feel safe somehow. As if the trappings of a home life would make her content with one. She wanted to be normal, without the chaos o
f her former life. But it was a little dull.

  She washed the dishes and saw it was only eight o’clock, a full three hours until her bedtime. She thought of calling one of her few friends in Chicago, but couldn’t get over her irritation that no one had called her since she moved. She decided to go for a drink. She needed to start making friends. She only knew of one bar in town because she passed it on her way to work every day. Abe’s Tavern was located in a storefront on a street off the town square. Its old-fashioned neon beer signs for Pabst Blue Ribbon and Old Style had attracted her each evening as she walked home, but she’d not yet stopped in. She bundled into her down coat and walked toward the tavern. When she got downtown she saw the glow of the bar in the dark, a beacon to anyone needing to be with people, strangers even, to feel a part of something.

  She pulled the door open and saw the drinkers at the bar turn to see who’d come in and turn back to their drinks, an autonomic response to the sound of the door creaking. The long, rectangular room had several empty stools at the bar. The right side was filled with scarred wood tables. At the far end were two pool tables with a small crowd gathered around them. The room smelled like burgers and fries, and about half the tables were filled, some with families with children. Clare sat at the bar.

  The bartender approached and wiped the space in front of her. “You’re new here,” he said matter-of-factly. “What can I get you?” His smile was friendly.

  Clare pulled her wallet out of her jacket pocket. “Give me a shot of Four Roses and a beer back. I don’t care what beer.” He brought her the drinks and took her money, remaining in front of her as if expecting more.

  “I’m Clare. I just moved here last week.” She took a sip of beer and hoped he’d stay to talk longer.

  He stuck his hand out across the bar. “I’m Danny. I own the place. Where did you move from?”

  “Chicago. North side.”

  “Go Cubs,” he said with a smile. “Why Money Creek?” Danny looked to be in his forties. He wore an ISU sweatshirt and jeans and had a thick wedding ring on his finger.

  “I took a job with a law firm.”

  “You’re a lawyer?” He sounded genuinely surprised. Maybe they didn’t get many of the professional classes in the bar. “I never would have guessed.”

  “Why? Because I’m young?” She smiled, keeping it conversational. She was trying to figure out what was unlawyerly about her, other than everything.

  “I suppose that’s it. We love having new young people in town.” What was the average age in Money Creek? Usually her age was something used to make her feel inadequate, especially in the practice of law. Lack of experience, seasoning, common sense. Money Creek must be like so many small towns where the young people move out and only the rare few move in.

  Country music blared from the jukebox, and she tried not to cringe. She generally disparaged the genre, though she knew nothing about it. She needed an open mind or she wouldn’t be at all happy in Money Creek. Hunting, country music, lots of churches—she’d have to get used to it all.

  Danny took care of another customer and then wandered back. “We have bands here Friday and Saturday nights. You should check it out if you’re looking for something to do.”

  She looked at him brightly. “I might do that. How else do people entertain themselves in this town?”

  “Oh, you know. Drinking. There’s a car track west of town and folks like watching the races. Lots of parties. Most stay in and watch cable these days, but there is a movie theater.”

  God. What was she going to do here? She needed a hobby. Maybe painting. She’d always wanted to try that, though there was no evidence she was the least bit talented. Genealogy? Building doll house furniture? There were no pastimes that jumped out at her. She ordered another shot. A man climbed onto the stool next to her and Danny turned to him with a smile. “Hey, Ben. How you doing, man?”

  Ben reached across the bar and their hands slapped together with a loud crack before they shook. Danny brought him a beer and a bag of peanuts while Clare looked down at her drink.

  “This is Clare,” Danny said. “She’s brand new in town.”

  Ben was very good-looking, with thick wavy hair that was nearly black, a long, slender build, dark eyes under thick lashes, and features just off kilter enough to be interesting. He turned to her with a smile. “Welcome to Money Creek.”

  Clare met his eyes and looked for that spark of interest that meant she’d have to handle him in some way—either ward him off or reel him in. She didn’t see any. “Thanks. This is my first time in Abe’s. Are you a regular?”

  He looked amused. “I’m pretty lightweight with the drinking, but I stop by often so Danny doesn’t worry about me.”

  Danny pointed at Ben while he addressed Clare. “He’s a heartbreaker. Consider yourself warned.”

  Clare drank her Pabst and watched as they exchanged a little news before Danny moved down the bar again. Ben picked up his beer for the first time and drank a small amount. Definitely not a guzzler. She took a sip of her own beer and left her shot of bourbon untouched. She was tired and her spirits were starting to slump. The speed she’d taken that morning had worn off. But she was interested in talking to Ben. She wanted to see if he was going to try to break her heart. She told him she’d moved to town to work at Nelson & Nelson.

  “You’re the one Elizabeth’s throwing a party for,” Ben said, not at all amazed, though Clare certainly was. Who all was coming to this party?

  “I wish she wasn’t doing that. It makes me self-conscious.”

  “It’s a good thing, really. If you’re new here people are going to notice you. It’s better to have a jump on getting to know them. Besides, the Nelsons throw a good party.”

  She smiled. “I’ve heard.”

  “Here’s a tip, though. Don’t let Danny know you’re working for the Nelsons. His uncle is the man that died in that slurry lagoon. He’s not a big fan right now.”

  The town was even smaller than she thought. Everyone knew or was related to everyone else. It made her uncomfortable saying anything to anyone, afraid it would get back to the wrong person. She picked up her bourbon and sipped. “Danny will find out eventually. Seems like there are no secrets in this town.” She thought of what Henry had threatened. Would her drug use remain a secret?

  He tipped his beer toward her. “It sure feels that way sometimes.”

  “Do you know the Nelsons well?”

  He opened his bag of beer nuts and offered them to her. She took a handful. “Anyone connected with the law knows the Nelsons. They’re the premier law firm around here, and they make it their business to know everyone. They’re good people.”

  Clare nodded agreement because it certainly seemed to be true. “What do you do that’s connected to the law? Are you a lawyer as well?”

  “Hell, no,” he laughed. “If I had to defend some of the scumbags I help arrest I’d kill myself.”

  “You’re a cop?”

  “Yeah. I’m a detective with the Illinois State Police.”

  “You’re the second state cop I’ve heard mentioned. Do you know a woman named Freya?”

  Ben laughed. “I know her very well. She’s my partner.” Of course, she was.

  “I don’t understand. I thought there was a sheriff’s department in Timson County. Do you work with them?” She sipped her bourbon.

  “I’m actually stationed out of Bloomington where the ISP has a post. We’re here as part of a task force on drug activity in the area.”

  This wasn’t good at all. Clare had officially become part of the drug activity in the area. Did they know about Henry? Was he under surveillance?”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Chicago.”

  “The city has every kind of drug imaginable, while here we’re mainly after meth and Oxycontin suppliers. They operate over hundreds of miles of rural land. It’s not easy pinpointing any dealers of significance. They have retreats so far hidden down tiny rural roads that we h
ave no way of finding them.”

  “Sounds like it’s hard to be successful at what you do,” she said, hoping it was true.

  He shrugged. “We regularly take down small meth operations, the kind that often blow themselves up and do the job for us. But let’s not talk about work. That’s all cops do and it’s refreshing to hear from someone else.” He was turned fully toward her, but she could tell he was a gentleman, the kind that wouldn’t make a move unless he clearly got a signal from her. Did she want to send one? Her heart wasn’t in it. Besides, a relationship with a cop would be among the stupider things she could do, and she could do plenty of stupid things. She drank the rest of her bourbon and reached for her jacket.

  “Sorry I can’t chat longer. It’s a school night.”

  “Understood. I’ll see you tomorrow at the Nelsons’. It was nice to meet you, Clare.”

  She shook his hand and headed toward the door, waving to Danny as she passed. The blast of cold air that greeted her outdoors was a balm. She’d found herself getting overheated inside from the closeness of bodies, an overactive furnace, and the reality of now knowing a cop on a drug task force. Of all the things. She got home and took a look at her stash. She’d have to quit when it ran out. Continuing to buy was too dangerous now that her name and face were known to the state coppers. And that was what she meant to do anyway, wasn’t it?

  Chapter Eight

  Clare stared at her closet, trying to select something for the Nelsons’ party. Her work clothes were too stiff and her casual clothes were too casual. More tavern wear than party wear. She went into her sweater drawer and found a wrinkled blue knit tunic. She steamed it while taking a shower and then paired it with the expensive jeans she’d bought cheap at a consignment shop. She pulled on her Frye boots, put earrings and a necklace on, and looked in the mirror. Not bad. She applied a little eye makeup, a hint of blush, and a touch of perfume. It would have to do.

  The party started in half an hour. She wasn’t sure what the etiquette was in Money Creek—did one arrive on time or fashionably late? Was there a different rule when the party was being thrown in her honor? It seemed a lot of fuss and focused entirely too much attention on her. Her tastes ran from dark tavern to dark apartment. A cheery home, nice people, normal family, generosity—the Nelsons disturbed her equilibrium. Her bombastic mother and silent father taught her to keep her head low. She knew the Nelsons had a son, and she imagined them as parents—engaged, curious, protective. Her eyes stung.