by Jan Coffey
“I’m betting you can manage both…and the bed.”
“Then how can we lose,” he said, scooping her up in his arms again and laying her on the table.
Chapter 28
Before the chief of police could say a word, Brian felt that cold, sick feeling settle into the pit of his stomach. It was early Wednesday morning, and for two days he had failed to find even a single bit of news of Jason. As far as anyone knew, the younger man had never left Stonybrook. And yet, he seemed to have vanished off the face of the planet.
The last place he’d been seen was here at the Grille.
The restaurant was not open yet. Only the kitchen staff were working, and Brian could hear them as he took Chief Weir and the uniformed officer to his office behind the bar.
He was glad the police had come here. He couldn’t deal with hearing news of Jason in their apartment. Brian needed to be surrounded by his work. This place had been his escape so often in the past. The Grille was the only thing that had kept him sane during these difficult days.
All the picture frames with Jason’s photos sat in a pile against a wall. He hadn’t been able to deal with his face looking at him.
The chief started in immediately. “Late last night, Jason’s car was found in the lake. He was inside.”
Brian closed his eyes as the grief overtook him.
“We suspect that the car and the body have been submerged in the water for maybe two days or so. Of course, after the autopsy we’ll have more definite answers.”
“What happened?” Brian managed to get out. “Did he drive off the road?”
Rich’s voice was gentle. “We suspect it’s a homicide. The car was found in the water near the town boat launch. There are lacerations on the back of the head. Our initial guess is that some type of blunt force injury might have been the cause of death.”
“And not from an accident in the car.”
“No.”
Brian’s head sank in his hands. He continued to rub the aching pain in his forehead as Rich went on to explain what was in the works right now. They were expecting him to come to the hospital and make a positive identification before the autopsy.
“Do you have any idea what time he left here on Sunday night or where he was headed?”
All the strength was draining out of Brian, and he was feeling sick to his stomach. He tried to draw a deep breath, but he only did so with difficulty. He had no doubt that as Jason’s lover he could be the prime suspect. He pushed himself to his feet and went to the small safe he kept on the floor behind the door. The uniformed officer’s eyes watched his every movement.
He opened the safe and took out the envelope of pictures. He handed them to Rich and sank into his chair again.
“Jason was looking for whoever it is that’s sending these…these pictures to me. I got them in the mail at the end of last week.”
The police chief took out the photos and leafed through them. His face creased into a frown.
“These pictures were sent to you? Not to Jason.”
“That’s correct.”
“Was he being blackmailed, Brian?”
“No.” He smiled bitterly. “They came the same way Marilyn sent them the first time. Just the pictures, with her best wishes. That bitch was sick. She was pissed off because I had sided with Ted before her divorce. She wanted to make me suffer. To see Jason and me break up.”
“But you didn’t break up.”
“No. I took him back.” He shook his head and forced back his tears.
“Can I take these?”
Brian nodded. “Chief, I don’t know who this asshole is or why he’s sending them. But Jason was convinced that he’d figured it out.”
“But you’re sure Marilyn was the one who sent you these pictures before?”
“Yes.”
“What was your reaction when you saw them?”
“I was ready to kill the bitch, and Jason along with her.”
“Did you?”
Brian looked up at the police chief. “No. Somebody else took care of that before me.”
~~~~
Stephanie pushed the pack of cigarettes away on the table. “I was going to call you back, but I didn’t have your number.”
Bob motored his wheelchair in through the back door. He noticed immediately how relaxed his wife looked. She was sitting in her bathrobe at the kitchen table, a steaming cup of coffee in front of her.
“Yes. Much better. I’m grateful for the way you stepped in like that.” Pause. “Nonetheless, I don’t think I could have managed, myself.” Longer pause. “I know. I think so, too.”
Bob slid the back door shut. Whatever the person on the phone said, it brought a momentary glimmer of a smile to her lips.
“Thank you. Perhaps…perhaps we should.” Pause. “All right. How long are you staying?”
He moved his chair to the table.
“That would be fine. I could do it next week.” Pause. “No, these things are never easy, but you’re right…and I’ll try.” Pause. “Yes. Next week. I’ll talk to you then. Goodbye.”
Bob watched Stephanie hang up the phone and sit thinking for a moment.
“I hope you don’t mind me putting the air on,” she said to him. “It’s supposed to be god-awful hot today.”
Bob shrugged. “Wh-who was on the ph-phone?”
“Léa. She called again to make sure I was okay. We’re going out for coffee some time next week.”
Bob didn’t know what to say. He’d been hesitant even to mention that the Hardy woman had called the day before. So much of Stephanie’s anger had been directed toward Léa during the trial. He couldn’t understand this change.
“Léa Hardy was the only one in this town who had either the guts or the compassion to come and help me on Monday. Even that kid you’ve been paying to look after me—what’s his name?”
Bob didn’t know she had guessed. “T.J.”
“Even he wouldn’t help me.” Stephanie turned away. “I have to learn to let go of some things. There is a great deal I need to rethink. Léa has suffered, too. In that alone, we have much in common.”
~~~~
“Heather and I will be just fine by ourselves. We have Max here, too, to protect us. Mick, you can’t take the day off.”
“As a matter of fact, I can. I made a couple of phone calls, and everything is all set.” He tucked a pair of work gloves into the back pocket of his jeans. “I’m actually itching to get going on a little honest labor. I’m starting on those porch steps this morning.”
As he reached inside one of the kitchen drawers for the key to his tool shed, Léa moved behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“And here, I thought you’d be exhausted,” she whispered. “I was sure I did a good job keeping you up, last night.
Mick caught Léa’s arm and brought her around. He pushed her back against the counter, his body pressing intimately against hers.
“A good job keeping me up? Yes.” He kissed her long and deep. His hands roamed over the curve of her firm bottom. “Exhausted? I don’t think so. It just seems I can’t get enough of you.”
She obviously felt it, too. “Your daughter went up to change into a T-shirt and shorts. She’ll be back down here any minute.”
“Then we need to negotiate right now about work breaks. I demand a ten o’clock break with the boss.”
“Really. With the boss?”
“That’s right. That’s nonnegotiable.”
“Okay. And where will we be taking that break?”
“I don’t care. We could start trying out the closets upstairs.”
She slid out of his arms at the sound of Heather whistling as she came down the stairs. Mick noticed that his daughter had picked up a habit of singing or calling Max or drumming her hands on the walls before coming into a room. That girl was getting pretty clever about giving them time to pull themselves together.
“I’m ready,” the teenager announced, strolling into the kitchen.
“And what have you two been up to, just standing around?”
Léa’s blush was always a dead giveaway.
He grinned. “Enough yakking. Time to get to work.”
They stopped briefly in the backyard as Mick got his tool belt from his truck.
“Oh, shoot. I forgot the key,” Léa said, running back inside the house. After the Dusty incident, he’d sent over one of his guys yesterday to install new locks on Léa’s doors.
Slinging the tool belt around his hips, Mick unlocked the shed and took out a long level and a couple of saws.
“Good job sending her to bed early, Dad.” Heather said slyly, as soon as Léa was inside. “She not only looks well rested, but about the happiest I’ve seen her.”
Mick couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He’d tried reasonably hard to be discreet last night. Léa had slipped out of his bed and into her room about five this morning. The only sleep either of them had last night was after that.
As Léa came out the back door and down the steps, the image of her sprawled naked in his bed flashed in Mick’s mind. She had the most beautiful body and the most erotic mouth. And he loved that little sound she made in back of her throat when she was ready to climax. He didn’t even mind it when she looked at him as if he was some kind of miracle.
“Uh, excuse me.” Léa smiled and tugged on his hand, leading him toward her back door. “It’s not break time yet. Let’s go.”
“That obvious, huh?”
“As someone said to me recently, it’s tattooed on your forehead.”
“What’s tattooed on his forehead?” Heather asked.
“His eagerness to fix my front steps,” Léa said, going up to the backdoor of her house ahead of them.
She stopped abruptly.
“Wait. Heather, stay back.”
Mick heard the sharp change in Léa’s tone and went around his daughter and up the steps in two strides. She hadn’t put the key in the door yet, but it was already open.
“Heather, go and call the police.”
“Dad, don’t let Léa go in,” the teenager warned before running back toward their house.
The golden retriever took that moment to race up the steps and through the door before Mick could grab his collar. Taking his hammer out of his belt, Mick followed the dog in. The second door, beyond the mudroom, was open too. Inside the kitchen, he stared in stunned disbelief at the mess. Bright red paint was dripping down the walls. There were large dents in the plaster. Deep gouges had been cut into the cabinets.
Max was sniffing a yellow puddle on the floor, but without getting that close Mick could tell it was urine.
“But I haven’t done anything to him. Why is he doing this?”
He turned around at the sound of Léa’s wavering voice. She was frozen in the doorway. Shock was etched on her face, and he pulled her into his arms.
“This all has to do with Marilyn. They’ll find him, my love. I promise you, they’ll find him.”
~~~~
“We don’t have the manpower, Reverend Webster,” Tom Whiting explained. “We can’t just sit at the mill, waiting for him to show up. Besides, there have been sightings of Dusty out at the lake. The chief is asking for the cooperation of everyone to let us look in the cabins out there. He may be hiding in one of them.”
“I’ll be glad to help in any way I can, Tom.”
Chris stepped back from the open window of his bedroom. The Help Wanted section of the newspaper was spread next to his computer. He picked up the letter and the envelope from the printer. He folded the page and stuffed it in.
It was not too cool getting fired from two jobs in the same day. And cutting grass didn’t pay shit. He tucked the newspaper and the envelope under his arm and headed out.
But at least he knew who was to blame.
~~~~
Dusty reeled forward and kicked viciously at the green swivel chair. The thing tumbled the length of the trailer, coming to rest against the cot.
They’d been in here. Messing with his stuff. He stared at the printed note in his hand, but the words were running together. The sheet had been taped to his door.
Fucking cops.
He slammed the door before picking up the bottle of vodka from the floor. He looked around as he drank deeply. What were they doing coming in here? So what if he paid a visit to the Hardy bitch. What did they care?
Fuck ‘em.
He’d seen the squad cars watching the mill property when he got back from the lake yesterday morning. No big deal. He’d gone back out to the lake and returned today. The fucking assholes were finally gone.
“Hot,” he muttered, shedding his ragged jacket.
He took another drink, finishing the bottle.
But, they’d be back.
With jerky movements, he lurched around, piling things into a bag. Wooden carvings. A dirty rag. A frying pan. An empty vodka bottle. His jacket.
His knives were nowhere in sight. The cops must have taken them.
“Fucking assholes.”
The room was spinning, and he leaned against the counter.
“Merl,” he muttered, stumbling across the trailer.
He stopped dead, trying to focus. The plastic bag fell to the floor at his feet.
The pictures were gone. Every one of them. “Not Merl…no…”
Dusty yanked his knife from its sheath. With a roar, he attacked the wall, stabbing at it and carving away chunks of paneling. He was tiring fast, and as he jabbed at the place where the pictures had been, the blade snapped off an inch from the hilt, cutting his cheek as it flew past his shoulder.
He leaned on the counter. He was so tired. Drops of blood fell from his face. He thought of Marilyn and closed his eyes.
She was dead. His Merl was dead, stabbed and burned in that stinking house by the river. Dead.
Dusty heard a metallic click from the trailer door and turned in time to see the flames racing toward him across the gasoline that covered the floor.
He charged the door, but the curtain of smoke and flame swallowed him up before he reached it.
Chapter 29
Other shoppers in the building supply store veered out of Léa’s way as she raced down each isle with Mick on her heels.
“I am not going to let him do this to me.” She piled gallons of paint into the cart. “He is not driving me out of this town.”
“That’s the spirit. I think I’ll push this thing.” He said, maneuvering the cart to catch the brushes and rollers as she swept them off the shelf.
“Rich Weir said there are only so many places he can hide. They should find him and drag him out. They should smoke his sorry, cowardly ass out of the hole he’s hiding in and arrest him.” She pulled a gallon of industrial strength cleaning solution off the shelf.
“I agree. But I believe Rich is doing his best, this time.” He caught the huge bag of sponges and a pair of floor mops she flung toward the cart. “With Jason Shanahan’s body turning up today, and Dusty seen up by the lake recently, I’d say that the chief has got a lot more than just us nipping at his heels to produce him.”
Léa stopped abruptly and turned to him.
“God, I am such a jerk.” She kicked the cart once and then walked into his embrace. “Here I am, upset about repainting a couple of walls, and poor Brian Hughes is trying to deal with losing someone he loved.”
Mick held her in his arms. “I’d say you have every right to be upset. You’ve put up with more than your share of harassment.” Léa pushed out of his arms as a couple of men coming down the aisle said hello to Mick.
“Sorry,” she whispered, falling in beside him. “Guys and hardware stores. I hope I didn’t ruin your reputation draping myself all over you.”
“You can drape yourself all over me, anytime and anywhere.” He kissed her. “And incidentally, my stock will only go up being seen with a knockout like you.”
“You know exactly how to make me forget my troubles. You are the most sensitive person in this worl
d, Mick.”
“Uh, well…that’s the first time I’ve ever heard that,” he said with a laugh. “But I’m going to quote you when I’m pressuring you for an answer.”
As she started helping Mick unload everything at the register, she couldn’t brush off the moment of hope that swept through her. Spending her life with Mick was a happily-ever-after ending that she wouldn’t have imagined possible. He offered the balancing weight of passion, happiness, and love that she’d lacked on fortune’s scale. He offered her a future.
Mick also had the ability to wipe away her worries, to make life livable. This morning, after talking to the chief and the officers who had come to see Dusty’s latest handiwork, Mick had taken Léa on a home improvement shopping spree.
As Léa signed the credit card slip, she wondered if maybe she hadn’t gotten carried away a little with her purchases.
“This should be enough stuff to clean and paint every house in the neighborhood,” he commented as they loaded the supplies into his truck.
“Well, I do this long enough—or often enough—maybe I’ll pick up scraping and painting as a profession.”
“I am always looking to hire painters, especially sexy ones who have hazel eyes and tons of stitches on their forehead and who like to check out appliances around the house.”
In a minute they were in the truck and on the road.
“With that kind of job description, Stone Builders might find every woman in three counties getting hazel-colored contact lenses and banging their heads with two-by-fours.”
“Well, they’ll be out of luck. That position has already been filled by the sexiest woman alive, and I have my eyes on her right now.”
His smile hit her somewhere deep in her chest. She undid her seatbelt and slid across the seat.
“You always say the nicest things.” Laying her head against his shoulder, Léa slipped her fingers under his shirt and caressed the warm skin of his chest.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Should I pull off to the side of the road?”
“No. It’s still daylight.” She kissed his neck. “We might get arrested for what I want to do to you.”
