Last Call

by Libby Kirsch

  “Shh-YOW!” She tried to jerk away, but Abe was surprisingly strong. After a moment, though, the burning sensation faded, and for the first time in days, she didn’t feel the constant throb of pain pulsing in her finger.

  “See? I told you,” he said with a smile. He put the syringe down and picked up the scalpel. “I could tell this was pretty painful when you were at my house.” He chatted as if they were at a ball game, discussing how the season was going. She watched him work, fascinated that, even as he drew the blade along the lateral line of her fingertip, she felt nothing.

  “Yup, look at that,” he said as a yellowish-green liquid dripped from her fingertip onto the gauzy pad below. “That was festering inside you. Time was not your friend—this finger was only getting worse every hour you left it untreated.” He poked and prodded around all sides of the cut skin. Whatever he saw made him nod, and then he poured liquid from the small vial directly onto the wound. “The iodine will disinfect anything bad that’s still in there. Incidentally, where did you get injured?”

  “Back there, cutting lemons.”

  “Well, next time, I’d just pour some eighty-to-one-hundred-proof alcohol right over the cut. That would do a pretty good job clearing it right up.”

  She sighed. Surrounded by alcohol, and it had taken her four days just to buy rubbing alcohol at the drugstore. By then, it had been too late.

  Abe bandaged her finger with a simple wrap and then set about cleaning up his operating station. Within minutes, he was taking off his gloves and nodding at her hand in satisfaction.

  “It should feel a lot better by tomorrow,” he said, stuffing the trash back in the bag.

  “Thanks.” Janet inspected her finger with a wide smile. Abe held his glass out and they clinked before both taking a sip. After a moment of silence, Janet said, “Why were you looking for Larsa?”

  Abe blinked. He took another sip of beer before he answered. “I feel . . . I don’t know, a strange connection with her.” Janet raised her eyebrows and he continued. “Her father irrevocably changed my life ten years ago—and hers, too. Now that he’s dead, I feel the weight of the situation. I can talk about it with you and I can talk about it with my wife, but I really feel like I need to talk about it with someone else who feels that same weight.”

  “Wow.” Janet leaned back against the leather of the booth. She had felt many things in her life, but she’d usually wanted to feel them alone. She opened her mouth to say as much when a screech from the doorway of the bar brought the regular din of the crowd to silence. Abe’s head whipped around and panic swooped across his face like a sudden storm.

  “Who is—” Before she could finish her question, though, Abe stood, an uncertain, tremulous smile on his face.

  “Vanessa, what are you doing here?”

  “What am I doing here?” Vanessa stalked toward Abe and Janet like a mountain lion, her long, dark hair loose and wild around her face. “What am I do—” She broke off and huffed out three rapid breaths, blinking in rhythm with her gasps. Finally she snarled, “What are you doing here?”

  “Vanessa, you remember Janet, the owner of this establishment. Janet, I’m sure you remember my wife.” Abe scratched his head as he looked at Vanessa’s furious expression.

  “I knew it,” Vanessa whispered. By now, the crowd had returned to its normal volume, although they were still getting some furtive glances and outright stares from the tables nearby. “I just knew it, Abe Nyack. I knew you were having an affair, but I never thought you’d stoop so low as to mess around with someone like her.” She jabbed a finger toward Janet and glowered in her direction before turning a venomous eye back to her husband.

  “Hey!” Janet said, affronted by the accusation and rankled by the revulsion.

  “Vanessa, what are you talking about? I came here to find—”

  “Oh, I know exactly what you’re looking for, mister, and you know where you’re not going to find it anymore? At home. You better pack your bags if you’re shacking up with her! You’re sure as hell not welcome in my bed!”

  Abe opened his mouth, but Vanessa cut him off again, fury turning her face purplish red.

  “You know what? You almost had me convinced that you were at work last week when you were out all night, but then your secretary called and said she didn’t know how to enter the receipt from the coffee shop into the accounting system. ‘Was it business or pleasure?’ she asked, and I said, ‘The coffee shop at the hospital?’ She said, ‘No, the one downtown—the twenty-four-hour café.’ Now, are you going to try and tell me you worked on a patient at four in the morning in a café?” Her eyes cut accusingly toward Janet and then back to her husband. “I guess I don’t have to ask what kind of ‘work’ you were doing!” She hit the air quotes around the word “work” like it was a knockout punch.

  “What are you talking about?” Abe asked.

  “Are you going to make me say it?” Vanessa asked, her voice rising again to a shriek. “Were you with her Thursday night, Abe? How long has this been going on?”

  “No, no—” Janet tried to interrupt to set her straight, but it was like stepping in front of a rabid dog.

  Vanessa turned to growl at Janet. “I know exactly what you two were doing, but I am a lady, so I won’t say it out loud, you man-stealing whore.”

  Janet looked to Abe for support, but he stared at his wife, slack-jawed. He looked like a man who’d been caught, but not like a man who’d been caught cheating.

  Vanessa was gearing up to launch into falsetto when Janet yelled, “Wait just a minute! I wasn’t with your husband that night, Vanessa. My boyfriend and I were home together—at our house.”

  “Oh, sure. That’s a pretty convenient excuse!” Vanessa snapped. “What were you doing?”

  “Just about everything,” a deep voice rumbled past Janet’s ear. “And I’ll be honest: we tried a few new things that night that I won’t soon forget.” Jason’s hands smoothed over her shoulders and ran down her arms possessively. “A lady probably couldn’t handle the details, though,” he added. “A woman could.” He squeezed Janet’s shoulders and then wrapped his arms around her chest.

  Janet leaned into her amazing boyfriend and noted with satisfaction that Vanessa’s breathing didn’t slow, only now, her chest heaved with anticipation. Abe didn’t even look at Jason, just rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and stared blankly at his wife.

  The color drained from Vanessa’s face until she was as pale as their lightest beer. “I . . . I don’t . . . ,” Vanessa stuttered, her mind seemingly unable to make the transition from woman scorned to woman stunned. Abe took the momentary silence to press his hand into her back and usher her out the door. Janet heard him mumbling apologies to the crowd as they left.

  “Thanks, Jason, I—”

  “You’re not off the hook—not by a long shot. I just couldn’t stand to see that woman try to drag you down. I came in to help out because it’s busy, but we’ve got things to discuss, Janet.” He took the beer out of her hand and drained half of it before turning away and crossing to the bar. Cindy Lou gave him a wide berth as he rounded the corner.

  Janet didn’t want to think about what she’d done wrong, so she thought about Abe instead. If he hadn’t been at home with his wife and he also hadn’t been at work, where exactly was Abe on the night Ike was killed?

  Chapter Twenty

  Business stayed strong long after Vanessa and Abe left, and although Jason wasn’t talking to her, Janet was glad to have him there. With Mel manning the door and Jason, Janet, and Cindy Lou pouring drinks and clearing tables, they fell into a rhythm that barely kept them from drowning in drink orders and dirty tables.

  But as the bar emptied, Janet felt her boyfriend staring at her, disappointed, and a faint throb of guilt bubbled up the walls of her stomach. Watching Abe’s wife accuse him in such a broken way had made her appreciate all the people in her life just a little bit more—especially Jason.

  Finally, as she bused a table in
the corner and he pushed the mop broodingly past, she said, “Okay, all right? I get it. I’m sorry I was a jerk. I—I already apologized to Cindy Lou. Is that what you’ve been waiting to hear?”

  Jason didn’t say anything. The only sign that he’d heard her was that he stopped pushing the mop forward and instead worked on a stubborn splotch on the floor.

  “I was frustrated.” Janet pushed her hair away from her face and stood from the table she’d been wiping down. Although she was feeling contrition, she couldn’t help but put her hands on her hips as she said, louder than she’d intended, “I know that’s no excuse for how I treated Cindy Lou today, and I’m sorry.”

  Jason looked up. “It’s not just Cindy Lou. What about Elizabeth and the renters? You’ve been too hard on everyone lately!” She threw her hands up with a groan and opened her mouth to explain, but he cut her off. “See, you’re not even really sorry. You’re just going through the motions,” he scoffed. “Things aren’t good, Janet.”

  “What do you mean?” Janet asked. Her hands dropped from her hips and dangled by her sides.

  “They’re not good,” he repeated, “and I—I need some space.”

  Her heart stuttered once, twice, then stopped beating all together. “What do you—space?”

  “I’m sorry, I just—I have to be honest. I’m really disappointed in you.”

  Her mouth went dry, and she scooped up a glass of water from the table. It was halfway to her lips when she remembered it wasn’t hers—just a dirty glass from a random customer.

  She set the glass down hard. “Disappointed? I’ll tell you what’s disappointing. You’ve had your security system back up and running since Friday, but you haven’t told the police? You haven’t checked the other outside cameras to see whether we might know who the killer is?”

  “Janet, I’m not going to help the police when they’re so determined to trap me—”

  “You’re so busy not helping the police, you’ve become a target of their investigation, and now I’m getting wrapped up in it, too! So guess what? I’m disappointed in you!”

  Jason’s step faltered, and for a moment he looked at Janet with a kind of sad, injured stare that seemed to sink straight into her soul. Before she could take it back, apologize, beg for his forgiveness, though, he backed away.

  “I need a break.” She nodded mutely, a sudden rush of emotion bringing moisture to her eyes that she had to blink away forcefully. “I can’t help with—with this anymore, do you understand what I’m saying?”

  She looked up sharply at his wording in time to see him wince. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m going.”

  “Jason, what are you—”

  “Good night, Janet.”

  She hadn’t moved yet when his headlights swept across the room as he backed out of his parking space.

  “What the . . .” What had just happened?

  She finished clearing the last table and turned to find Mel and Cindy Lou staring uncomfortably at each other.

  “Go home,” she said, a sudden exhaustion taking over that was so complete, she could hardly stand. “I’ll see you both tomorrow. Cindy Lou—”

  “I know, boss. You don’t have to say anything.”

  Cindy Lou stepped forward and flung her arm around Janet’s shoulders. “You know I love you, boss. So does Jason.” She squeezed her shoulders. “See you tomorrow.”

  Cindy Lou and Mel walked out together and Janet finished closing up the bar, flicking away a tear when she locked the front door. She opened all the miniblinds and turned off the neon signs. Then she pressed down on the light panel, plunging the bar into darkness.

  She took a gulp of air, then another, trying to keep it together. But her knees felt weak, and alone in her bar, she sank down against the wall and finally allowed the breakdown to come.

  Sobs racked her body. Her frustration, her anger, and even her sorrow and embarrassment came in hot waves. She was a failure. She was a disappointment to her boyfriend. She was a bad boss. The list seemed endless, and she wallowed in it deeply, giving voice to all her insecurities.

  She sure as hell wasn’t going to do this again, so she might as well get it all out now, alone, when no one could see.

  When the tears slowed to a trickle, she took a shaky breath, and then another.

  “Damn it, Jason,” she said to the empty room, frowning through her tears. She hated when things didn’t make sense, and her boyfriend had her twisted in knots. The more she thought about it, the more it didn’t make sense. Why hadn’t Jason checked the other outside cameras? Why was he leaving her exposed to cops who were determined to see the worst in her—in them?

  She wiped her eyes and sat up straighter. Was it possible that Jason was the one hiding something? Had she misjudged him from the beginning? She snorted into the quiet room. Maybe her dad was wrong; maybe she wasn’t the great judge of character he thought she was.

  Under normal circumstances, she’d have driven straight home and confronted Jason, but he’d said he wanted—no, needed—space. And she was going to honor that.

  She made up the couch in the office, fumbling with the blanket, her mind racing and frozen in turns.

  She’d been alone before, and if she had to, she could handle it, of course she could. But that didn’t stop fresh tears from leaking out of her eyes.

  Curled uncomfortably on the threadbare couch, she tried to distract herself by focusing on Ike’s murder. Alone in the office, staring at the ceiling and listening to the low, steady buzz of the halogen light at the desk, she didn’t believe for a minute that Jason hadn’t found the video from the night Ike was killed; it would have been the first thing he looked for after Wex hacked him back into his own operating system. Even with the tape covering the back alley camera, other exterior cameras would have captured something about Ike’s death. So what was Jason hiding?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The next morning, Janet awoke to pounding at the office door. She had slept fitfully, tossing and turning on the uncomfortable couch. The pounding continued, and she stood unsteadily, wincing as her bare foot touched the cold concrete floor.

  “What?” she yelled—or at least tried to. The word came out like she’d run it through the dishwasher, muddled and wet. She cracked the miniblinds open and winced again as the bright sunlight hit her red, swollen eyes. Detective Finch stood on the other side of the door, flipping his key ring around like a lifeguard with a whistle. “What do you want?” she asked, refusing to open the door.

  She’d thoroughly read the subpoena the day before; they had no right to search her office, but she wasn’t going to take any chances.

  “Janet Black, you look like hell.”

  “Seriously?” she called back. “You’re seriously going to open with that line?”

  He barked out a laugh and banged on the door again.

  She wrenched it open, and the blast of heat hit her in the face like a nine-iron.

  Finch assessed her from top to bottom, with the blanket wrapped around her, one foot bare. “Have you been crying?” he asked with a deepening frown.

  “No,” Janet answered mulishly. “Goddamn air conditioner is stuck on, and the wool blanket I found in the closet is irritating my skin, but if I took it off my face, I was freezing.”

  “Is that right?” He stared past her to a pile of tissues by the couch.

  She pulled the door closer. “What do you want?”

  “I just wanted to ask, one last time, if there’s anything you’re not telling us about Ike, about Elizabeth—about anything at all.”

  “Are you for real? Your department just ransacked my house, accused my boyfriend of a felony, and basically told me I’ll lose everything no matter what. You’re not welcome here.”

  “A man is dead!” He stared at her, a sudden heat in his voice. “I don’t get the impression that you even care.”

  “Of course I care,” Janet said, wrapping the blanket tighter, despite the hot day, “but I
care more that you seem hell-bent on pinning a murder on an innocent person, instead of actually solving the crime, which means whoever’s guilty is getting a free pass!” She glared at the cop and stepped back to close the door.

  “I don’t want any surprises, Black. Do you understand?” The sunlight cast shadows on the wrinkles on his face, making him look older and more haggard than usual.

  “Yeah, well, me neither. No more Sunday subpoenas. Our lawyer’s going to . . .” Her mind, still fuzzy from sleep, couldn’t come up with any kind of credible threat, and Finch snorted when she fell silent.

  “Despite what you might think from watching TV, this case is getting colder by the minute. Chances are it will fade away, just like too many others.”

  She watched him walk across the lot to his car and felt an odd prickle of confusion. Even as O’Dell doubled down on pinning the crime on Jason, Finch seemed to suggest they were out of leads.

  Which was it?

  Before she could deep-dive into Finch’s motivations, her phone jangled in her pocket.

  Her heart leapt. Was Jason calling to talk?

  She fumbled to answer the call before it went to voicemail.

  “Oh,” she said, unable to hide her disappointment. “Hey, Dad.”

  “Jason said you need some background checks on the people involved in this murder. Give me their names and I’ll fast-track it for you. I should have the info to you later today—maybe tomorrow if I can’t get ahold of the right person.”

  “What?” Janet stared at her phone as if it were a bug.

  “Jason said there’s a lot you guys don’t know about Ike Freeman’s death—and there are a few things Jason can’t tell you. So, I’m going to bridge the gap for you. How about that? Your old man coming to the rescue. I like the sound of that, don’t you?”