by J. L. Salter
“You think she can win?” The detective’s voice was low on the bass scale.
Beth didn’t want to appear to be eavesdropping so she didn’t turn toward them.
“Depends on two things. How much money she has for pay-offs and whether the campaign gets dirty.” His drawl pitched higher than most locals.
“She won’t find much dirt on Joe Fitch.” It was the baritone speaking.
Why was Beth even listening? She didn’t care about the state senate.
The drawling patrolman said, “Maybe not. But I bet Fitch could find a lot on her... if he opened his eyes.”
Corporal James apparently couldn’t resist adding his two cents, so he made a wide route back from the bulletin board. “I hear Durocher has tons of money in her war chest from rich ancestors that settled in Nashville and Memphis and along a goodly stretch of the Mississippi River.”
At James’ voice, Beth turned to face all three of them. Abruptly, their conversation ended. Once she’d finally eyeballed them, she was officially prying. Sheesh.
James cleared his throat as he sat on the groaning chair. “Friday night. Six o’clock. At the Armory. You have to pre-register with the desk sergeant.” He pointed toward Travis.
“And you say I can beat-up some guy?”
James nodded slowly.
Beth smiled for the first time in seventy-two hours.
Chapter Five
Beth returned to her 1989 Dodge Shadow. Over six years ago, it was a college graduation gift from her dad, who’d already stopped driving by then. The coupe was cherry at that point, only about thirty-three thousand miles. Currently, it had over ninety thousand.
Before she started the economical four-cylinder engine, Beth checked her phone. No missed calls, but there was a text message from Connie Bryan, who was bringing lunch to Beth’s house. It was nearly noon already and had just started raining, heavily.
Beth didn’t want to go back home, but she had the day off. What do you do on a rainy day when you didn’t expect to be off? If it happened to Connie, the afternoon would likely involve a pedicure and miscellaneous mall shopping. But assistant office managers at car dealerships made a lot more money than Gal Fridays at a tiny CPA office. Connie also got to drive demos around town.
Connie showed up around 12:30 in a current year luxury sedan. Beth couldn’t identify the model but knew it was top-of-the-line and loaded. Connie usually drove a demo for about a month before swapping, unless it was sold in the meantime.
The meal Connie brought was not lavish—subs and diet sodas—but quite a step up from what Beth would have eaten alone.
“Thanks for bringing lunch, but you didn’t have to.” Beth sat at the kitchen table.
“I didn’t figure you ought to be here alone.”
“Wasn’t really here. Just got back from the police station. You wouldn’t believe the Keystone Cops atmosphere around that place.” Beth examined her sub and removed some pickles. “How’d you know I wasn’t at work today?”
Connie had just taken a bite, so she chewed quickly. “Phoned your office this morning.”
“What did Steve say?”
“Not much. Just that you were home on personal business. I said I was your friend Connie, but he didn’t seem to remember me.”
“Everybody remembers you, Connie.” Beth gestured toward Connie’s attractive figure. “Um, ‘specially since you’ve lost that weight and toned up.”
Connie smiled. “Everybody except your boss.”
“Well, he’s not much of a people person. He’s all about figures, but just the kind on ledger sheets.”
“He’s not gay, is he?”
“Nah, he’s married with a kid or two.”
“Whatever. He sure strikes me as odd though. Whenever I’ve visited, he just stares at me.”
“Another admirer...”
“No, not a good sexy ogle. More like a sinister glare.”
“I think, basically, Steve is bored nearly to the point of expiration. All he does is stare at the computer screen or ledgers on paper. Then he drives home three blocks. Comes back the next morning. Doesn’t go anywhere else or do anything else, as best I can determine. Plus, his wife nags him. I’ve overheard her on the phone.”
“You listened?”
“No, I could hear it at my desk.”
“Hmm. Well, anyway... why’d he let you off today?”
“Well, he didn’t actually explain, but I don’t think he’s especially sympathetic. More likely he didn’t want to be distracted by an employee’s possible emotions.” Beth took a slurp of her drink. “And I’ve had plenty today.”
Connie seemed to understand. She’d had a car stolen at gunpoint in Memphis years ago. It was a long time before she utilized a parking garage again. “Have you told your parents about the break-in?”
Beth shook her head sideways. “They don’t handle stress too well.” She suddenly remembered. “You’ll never guess who called me, out of the blue.” Beth tossed the lunch litter and joined her friend on the couch.
“A magazine subscription company?”
“No... Shane!”
“Your Shane? The biker?”
Beth nodded. “I saw his message late Saturday night. And he actually phoned me Sunday night.”
“Is this good or bad?”
“Not sure. Depends on his reason, I guess. I mean, why would Shane suddenly contact me?”
“He’s still in California?” Connie pointed with a nicely manicured hand, but she was actually indicating south, rather then due west.
“He’s got the same area code. Nearly three years since I’ve heard from him.” Well, that wasn’t completely true, but Beth didn’t have the energy needed to explain.
“So, now... two contacts in two days?”
Beth nodded.
Connie looked into Beth’s eyes. “This break-up wasn’t just because you had to move here and help out with Robert. You’ve never completely explained this, but what else caused your split with Shane?”
Beth had to think for a moment. “His jealousy, for one thing. You know a little bit of jealousy tells you that your man’s protective. But when he’s ready to rip heads off because he thinks some other guy’s checking you out, that’s a bit extreme.”
“Aren’t you exaggerating?”
“A little.” Beth grinned. “Shane might just break their necks.”
“But everything else was okay?” Connie winked. “You know...”
Beth blushed slightly. “Yeah, that was fine. Just fine.”
“Sooo... What else was in the mix?”
“Well, I also got sick and tired of the dope-smoking buddies hanging around Shane’s place, leaving some of their dumpster trash, and drinking the beer I’d paid for.”
“I’m confused. You lived with Shane? I thought he’d moved in with you.”
Beth sighed and went to the front windows to open the curtains. Before the break-in, she would have done so first thing in the morning. “We were a couple for about four-and-a-half years. For about eighteen months, he lived where I was renting. Then he got a real good deal on a house from his favorite cousin Stan, who got transferred to somewhere in Texas.”
“Then you moved in with Shane.”
Beth nodded and returned to the couch. “So what does he want from me now?”
“You say you didn’t keep any of his stuff?”
“No...” Beth started shaking her head but stopped. “I made a big deal about leaving every single thing that was his. As far as I know, all I kept was that bookcase over there.” She pointed. “Shane got it from those dumpster divers especially for me. That’s mine.”
Shane had bought or traded for many interesting items from his trash-foraging acquaintances, the team of Mutt and Ricks. “Every week, those guys would get high and then scavenge in dumpsters—Long Beach, Carson, and North Hollywood, according to Shane.”
“Why’d they collect garbage?”
“Not the garbage itself, but what’s mixed in
with it. You wouldn’t believe the stuff people toss in dumpsters. Mutt had a good eye for valuables. They needed a place to sort through the potential goodies.”
“You sound like you miss those good ole days of dumpster junk sorting.” Connie jabbed her.
“No, I hated it. But mostly I hated Ricks. He was a creep. And that yucky, smoky stink.”
“Well, you never have to worry about that dumpster creep any more. He’s thousands of miles away.”
“Yeah... and so is Shane.”
Connie took her time with the phrasing, so it must have seemed quite significant to her. “I think you’ve been waiting this whole time for Shane to beg you to go back home to California.”
“No.” Beth shook her head sadly. “At first when Shane tried to touch base, I thought I couldn’t interact because I was just too exhausted and too drained, emotionally, to deal with anything besides Robert. And my folks. But Shane never even accepted that moving was something I had to do. It’s like he thought it was just a whim or something. My whole life went upside-down and he minimized it like I was using an excuse to get out of town. I knew, then, it was over between us. If he didn’t have any more understanding than that...” She tried to keep the lump in her throat from swelling. “And besides, this is home now. Long Beach is just a dim memory. I’ll never go back and nothing that ever happened there—including Shane Holder—will have any effect on my life... present or future.”
Connie peered intently into Beth’s face. “My momma used to say, ‘Never say never’.”
Beth wiped a bent knuckle below her eyelids. “Look, if you’re trying—again—to set me up with some guy, just forget about it. I wasn’t interested then and I’m not interested now. Men just aren’t worth the investment.”
Connie patted her friend’s knee. “I realize, now, that it was bad timing before... while you were helping Robert practically day and night. But, Beth, it’s been nearly a year...”
“And everybody said it was supposed to become easier.”
“No sister could’ve done more than you did, Beth. And it’s not your fault he developed Lou Gehrig’s. Things like that just happen. No guilt involved. Robert wouldn’t want you still grieving like this.”
“I know... I know. And I don’t think it’s guilt, anyhow. It’s just that I lost everything to come here and take care of Robert... and then I lost him too.”
“Do you think part of your grief is about Shane?”
Beth shook her head. “No, that’s not grief. Well, mostly not. I’m still angry at how our whole relationship just unraveled in a twenty minute fight, and I drove off the next morning. I’m furious at Shane for how he reacted and I hate myself for how I handled all of it.”
“You two must have been so much in love.”
“Yeah. Then everything’s flushed down the toilet because I had family obligations I couldn’t turn away from.”
“With as much as you’d both put into that relationship, don’t you think anything could be salvaged?”
“Shane never tried to patch things up.”
“I thought you said he’d written some notes and called a few times.”
“He just called to inquire about my car or to ask if I’d mistakenly packed something of his that he was looking for. Made me want to scream!”
“Beth, I’m no camp counselor, but don’t you think that’s a typical guy trying to start a conversation, so he can work his way around to apologizing?”
She turned and stared into Connie’s eyes. “I don’t know. But if that’s what I can expect from a typical guy when I’m up to my eyeballs in family crisis, then fuhgeddaboudit. No more men for me. Never again.”
Connie went to the fridge for bottled water. Didn’t ask first... she never did. Standing briefly at the sink, Connie gazed out the small window into the back yard. Then she returned to the living room and sat again. “I’ve been thinking about your break-in, Beth. This limpy creep—he only searched your closet, filing cabinet, and bookcase. Right?”
Beth nodded.
“Did you keep any of Shane’s books?”
“Don’t believe so. He didn’t have many books anyway.”
“Wonder why the perp tossed that book case?” Connie moved closer and scanned some of the titles, tilting her head to see the ones still on their sides on the floor and nearby table.
Beth hadn’t yet put them back on the shelves. There had been plenty of time to do so, but she couldn’t bring herself to touch them. She shivered slightly. “Don’t know. Doesn’t make sense. Criminals don’t burglarize your house for a book.”
“Might depend on the book.” Connie continued to survey the titles. “What do you have in here?”
It was an eclectic mixture of romances in hardcover and paperback, a few anthologies of condensed books, plus a Bible in NIV. Scattered issues of National Geographic, a couple of old text books from college... mostly related to her accounting classes. There were a few novels by a California writer they’d both collected.
“Can you tell if there’s any missing?”
Beth moved closer and peered until her eyes nearly crossed. But she still didn’t touch any. “Can’t say. After I get them back in place I’ll know, because that whole case was chock full and two shelves even had books laying on top.”
Connie obviously wanted her to do it right then, but clearly realized it would have to be on Beth’s own time. “You mind if I look in your closet?”
“Nothing in there but too many shoes. Half my clothes don’t fit anymore, but I keep thinking I’ll come back to that weight.”
Beth had been a trim one hundred and ten pounds, which fit quite well on her five-foot-four frame, until she began handling primary care of her brother. After nearly two years of dealing with Robert and their parents, Beth had dropped below one hundred pounds. Since the funeral, she’d finally begun regaining that lost weight. Unfortunately, she hadn’t stopped and presently carried nearly one-twenty.
Connie shrugged. “So it’s okay if I look.” It was a statement, not a question.
Beth didn’t care—her nosy friend had poked around in there before. “Careful of the dust bunnies and spider webs.”
“Yikes. Forgot about the spiders.” Connie put her water bottle on the dresser. “You should spray.”
Beth ignored that advice along with most of Connie’s other suggestions. Beth enjoyed the friendship but didn’t need a nanny. What she needed was Shane—king of the spider-killers.
“While I’m poking around in here, why don’t you start putting the books back? I’m real curious if any went missing... or if Mister Hoody stole something else instead.”
Beth realized if she didn’t deal with the books now—while a friend was nearby—it might be a long time before she could bring herself to touch them. Though she still didn’t understand why she was so reluctant, so fearful. Was it merely because those were things the intruder had handled?
“You got a flashlight?” Connie interrupted Beth’s thoughts. “Too dark in here with the light burned out.”
“Yeah, I know. I ought to put a new bulb in.” Beth beat her friend to the advice.
“Ow!”
Beth wondered if her friend had collided with several medium-sized boxes of her collectibles. “Don’t you break my birds!”
“Forget your birds. It’s my head that’s busted.”
Beth’s closet also held shoeboxes with letters and cards, a few extra pillows, a gym bag, make-up case, and her wheeled carry-on luggage which had briefly interested the robber. She left Connie to her exploration and returned to the living room to deal with the books.
About twenty minutes later, in the middle of her bookcase effort, Beth sat cross-legged on the floor and almost started crying again. Checking her door locks hourly was not normal. Along with everything else related to the break-in, the police dealings, and cleaning up the scattered books, Beth realized that she’d feel at least doubly better with Shane’s strong arms around her. Even if only for a few moments. Shane r
epresented safety and security which Beth hadn’t felt since... too long ago. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it. A lot.
Brushing dust from her hands and forearms, Connie re-entered the living area and obviously understood Beth was struggling. She tried to comfort her friend—likely remembering how she’d felt in downtown Memphis after two armed men stole her vehicle and purse. She knelt on the floor and hugged Beth. Both cried quietly.
When Beth’s tears finally dried, she slowly scooted again to the bookcase and finished putting the books back.
“You sure that’s the way they all went?” Connie pointed with her empty water bottle as she rose.
“Well, not the exact order, but generally. I’m not OCD, but I pretty much kept them grouped logically.”
“That brick always been in there?” Connie tapped it with a sharp, deep red fingernail.
“Yeah. It was a bookend until my collection expanded, but I kept it because I once used it to conk one of Shane’s acquaintances on the noggin.” It was an interesting story—featuring Ricks the dumpster diver—but that tale would have to wait on another occasion.
“Sooner or later, most every man needs a brick-smack to the noggin.” Connie smiled.
“Well, I’ve never told Shane... so let’s keep it that way.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want him behind bars for killing a meth-head.”
“Okay.” Connie nodded and changed the subject. “So this middle shelf was packed a little loose like this?”
“Uh, no, actually.” Beth looked more closely. “There wasn’t room to squeeze a piece of cardboard in between any of them. Every shelf was jammed.”
“So how come I can wiggle my fingers between these?” The space was nearly an inch.
“Let me see.” Beth tried it with her fingers. “That’s weird. Never had that much play before.” She squinted. “So a book is missing.” Beth looked around her feet. “Maybe one slid under the couch or something.”
They searched, but both came up empty.
“Any way you can determine which particular book is gone?” Connie stared as though she expected the spines at roll-call to reveal the name of their missing comrade.
