by Zoe Burke
He inhaled an exaggerated sniff. “No, you smell like someone who lives with a man who adores you.”
“Hmm. What does that smell like, exactly? Coconut? Lemon? Scotch?”
Mickey stopped and took me in his arms. “Passion fruit.”
“Does that even have a scent?”
He kissed me. “Oh, yes, indeed. It has an intoxicating aroma, and I’m surprised that men don’t follow you everywhere, sniffing.”
I rolled my eyes. “Mickey, you don’t know crap about botany or fruits or trees or any of it. You’re making this up.”
He smiled. “Maybe, maybe not. Look it up. Either way, I know that I’d like to smell you for the rest of my life.”
“For that, I am eternally grateful.”
***
This is what I learned in the car going back to the station, and later on that day.
Claudia was going to recover. She was suffering from exposure, but her vitals were good.
Phillip told the police that Claudia was his daughter, but not Nancy’s. He had an affair years back, and talked his wife into taking the baby when his mistress said she was going to put her up for adoption. Ever since, Nancy has had it out for Claudia.
“But he said he didn’t realize how much,” added Monroe.
Phillip was holding back information all along in a misguided effort to help Claudia. He found out that she was planning on picking up the gun at the airport because she actually told him.
“Why didn’t he tell the police?”
“Fathers think they can protect their daughters. He called on Scranton instead, fixing it for him to land at PDX at about the same time as the drop.” Monroe was driving the speed limit, with no lights and no sirens, which was a welcome relief.
Scranton didn’t get the backpack, because I got it. He figured I did, which was why he was stalking us.
More misguided efforts.
Nancy was trying to prove that Claudia was psychotic. She had been pretty good at convincing Claudia of the same thing, setting up situations that made Claudia feel crazy, like moving furniture around in the house, and making phone calls but insisting they weren’t made. Stuff like that.
Wesley was the one who helped Claudia see the light. Turns out he was a caring boyfriend. He didn’t hit her, ever. Nancy made that up.
Nancy not only resented Claudia because of Phillip’s affair, she didn’t want Claudia to have access to the trust fund that Phillip set up for her, managed by Scranton. She didn’t want Claudia to have anything.
Not even a mother.
Those pills I found? Nancy told Claudia in the suite that she had to start taking them. They weren’t a real prescription. Greta got them for Nancy and faked the label. Claudia refused the pills and got into it heavy with her mother, so heavy that Phillip was alarmed. He was starting doubt Nancy’s insistence that Claudia was crazy. So he got her out of the suite and took her to the movies, to try to calm her down and get her away from Nancy for a while.
Phillip, by the way, never did anything sick to his daughter. He was simply a clueless, absent father who was severely delusional in his estimation of his own sex appeal.
Greta wasn’t dead, but she was as good as dead. Once her broken bones and fractured skull healed, she’d spend the rest of her crummy life in jail.
Oh yeah, Nancy and Greta? When Nancy heard about the Uptown Billiards Club and Greta and the gun—from little ole big-mouth me—she went there to track down Greta, who just happened to be grabbing some merchandise from the cellar when Nancy got there. Nancy wanted a getaway plan, in case her scheme to portray Claudia as a nutcase was revealed. She promised Greta a ride out of town. Greta had a burner phone. That’s how Nancy got in touch with her before heading to the airport.
As for Claudia, was she going to kill her mother? Or, even worse, did she feel so crazy that she was considering suicide?
I didn’t know, but I wanted to find out.
Monroe and Dawson thanked Mickey, Luis, and me for our help. As we were leaving the station, Monroe stopped me.
“Annabelle.”
“Yes?”
“Nice work. You ever think about joining the force?”
I smiled. “What, and leave these two hunkadorises for the likes of you? No way. Besides, I hate guns.”
He gave me a nod and turned away.
“Monroe.”
“Yeah?” He turned back.
“Watch out for those Cheese Doodles.”
Reflexively, he touched his lip, but it was clean.
***
Mom and I went to see Claudia the next morning. She was sitting up in bed and looking the best I had seen her. She even smiled at us.
“Hi.”
Mom took her hand. “Claudia, how are you feeling?”
“Better. Much better.”
I took her other hand. “We know everything now, about your mother.”
“I’ll be all right. Wesley will take care of me. I’ll be all right.” She was repeating it, like she needed to convince herself.
“Claudia, maybe you’ve already told the police, but why did you want that gun?”
“I was so scared, of my mother, of myself. I told myself that I needed it for protection. But when I realized I didn’t have it, I didn’t want it anymore. It was the craziest thing I had ever done, and it was the final thing that convinced me my mother was screwing with my head.”
“So, why did you take me out to Blue Lake, pointing that gun at me? You still might be charged with kidnapping, you know.” I didn’t know this, but it sounded reasonable.
“I’m sorry about that. I wanted to make my mother confess what she was up to, if in fact, she was doing everything that I thought she was doing. I wanted you to be a witness. And I really did think I might shoot her, which is why I picked Blue Lake Park, but I also thought that if I did, I’d want you to either arrest me or stop me.”
I frowned. “Arrest you? Claudia, I’m not a cop. I’m not even a detective. You could have just asked me to go with you.”
She shook her head. “Mom wouldn’t have gone along with it unless I acted mental, which is what she wanted you and everyone else to think.”
“So, now it seems that Nancy shot Loren Scranton?”
“Yeah. When you ran, Mother got the gun away from me. She shot Scranton, then she shoved me under that paddle boat, since I was a witness. She told me Scranton would die and so would I, and she’d fix it so that Dad would get blamed, it being his gun. I couldn’t get out. I tried digging under the boat, but the ground was too hard. I wore myself out until I passed out.”
“How did Nancy lift the paddle boat, to shove you under? The thing must weigh a hundred pounds!”
Claudia’s eyes teared up. “It was tilted, with one edge on a boulder. She made me crawl under it, and then she rocked the boat little by little until it slammed down on the ground. She’s stronger than you think.”
Rich strong, I thought.
Mom reached over and grabbed a tissue for Claudia and handed it to her. “Lucky you were positioned in the right place, or it could have done some real damage.”
Claudia blew her nose. “Yeah. I’m going to be in the hospital for a couple of days, the doctor said. They want to run more tests, said I was probably still recovering from being attacked in the garden.”
“It did seem like they released you from the other hospital awfully soon after waking up from that coma.” Mom fluffed up her pillows.
“Mother insisted.”
I traded looks with Mom. I guessed she was thinking the same thing I was. What a fucking psycho freakass sicko shitwad mother. Or words to that effect.
I unclenched my jaw. “Just one more question, and then we’ll leave you alone. How did you get your father’s gun?”
“Mother had it. She brought it from Seattle. I found it at the hotel suite.”
“I think your father might be around more than usual, to look out for you,” Mom said.
“Maybe. He wasn’t sure if I was crazy or not.” She paused. “He’s gone most of the time.”
I squeezed her hand. “He doesn’t know much about being a father, I’m afraid. Look, stay away from guns, okay? And go back to school. I think the law will go easy on you. Now you know you’re not crazy. Just ended up with a bad mother.”
She thanked us for coming, and we left.
Outside of the hospital I stopped and hugged Mom. “I love you.”
She hugged me back. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Bea, of course you do.”
Chapter Thirty-eight
Luis caught a plane back to Las Vegas that afternoon. We were sorry to see him leave, but we knew he had been away from his beloved pregnant Ruby a lot longer than he had expected. Mickey paid for his plane ticket (first class, of course, even though it was a short flight) and told him he had opened a savings account in “Baby Maldonado’s” name in New York, in appreciation for his help.
Luis gave him a man hug. “Mi hermano, gracias. Siempre.”
Luis hugged me, too. “Amiga, you are all right?”
I kissed his cheek. “I am mucho all right, Luis.”
Mom planted a kiss on his cheek. “Come back and see us, with Ruby and the baby. Or we’ll see you in New York, soon, I hope!”
“I will look forward to that, Sylvia. And, Annabelle,” he turned to me. “I still like your mother.” He winked.
Dad shook his hand and hugged him. “Good to have you part of the family.”
Luis choked up a little on that one.
As we walked Luis out to the curb where the cab was waiting, Sal and Drew were sweeping their porch and hanging pumpkin lights, I figured in anticipation of Thanksgiving, still three weeks away. They waved energetically. “Luis! Come back!”
Luis waved and got in the cab.
As it drove away, Sal yelled to us, “Drinks later?”
Mom answered. “Six. Our house. Bring cheeses!”
And back inside we went.
***
Mickey and I were lying on top of the bed fully clothed, thinking we were going to nap, but unable to. A jumble of thoughts raced around my head. I had two issues to discuss with him, and I wasn’t sure where to start.
But I did.
“Guns.”
“Huh?”
“Guns, Mickey. You know they make me uncomfortable. I read about people shooting other people by accident all the time. I guess I’m afraid I could do the same thing if I had a gun.”
“We don’t have to talk about this now. But you already have one. If you don’t want to carry it, you don’t have to.”
I propped myself up on an elbow and looked at him. “Chopstick, pool cue, book, purse, strong like ox, and fleet of foot. Those are my current weapons of choice.”
“You forgot dental floss, your preferred binding material.” His eyes twinkled.
“Don’t make fun of me, Mickey, I mean it.”
“I’m not. I’m in awe of your resourcefulness.” He propped himself up on an elbow, too, so that we were facing each other. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met, and I don’t mean muscles, though you’ve got them. I mean will. I mean temperament. I mean guts.”
“Even though my knees buckle and I pee in my pants?”
He fell onto his back and snorted. “I’ve seen seasoned cops lose it in far worse ways than that.”
“That’s a relief. So, anyway, back to the gun. My gun.”
“It’s not an issue, like I said. It can stay in the closet.”
“Nope.”
He peered at me with his best Mickey Paxton squint. “Nope?”
“I’m going to learn how to use it. I don’t want to be afraid of it, and if I’m going to do anything other than dumpster dive, there may very well be situations confronted by Asta Investigations where I’ll need it. You and Luis might not be there every time I’m in danger. I’m good at putting up a fight, and I’m good at thinking on my feet, but I’m not going run away from that gun. Not if I want to get my detective’s license someday. Not if we’re really going to be equal partners.”
Mickey beamed. “You amaze me. Come here.” He reached for me.
“Not yet.” I sat up. “Back to dumpster diving, I haven’t done that yet. Will it be my job and not yours or Luis’?”
He looked amused. “We’ll dive together, how about that? Your talents still have much to reveal, methinks, but perhaps you were a little hasty when you put that ‘DDS’ on your business card.”
“Oh, I’m probably good at it, don’t worry.”
He chuckled and reached for me again, but I shook my head. “So, what about the other thing?”
“What other thing?”
“That other thing we said we were going to do.” I bit my lip.
His mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “Oh, you mean get married?”
I nodded.
“What about it?”
“Was that a real proposal?”
“Was that a real ‘yes’?”
“I asked you first.”
He pulled me down on top of him and kissed me hard. “It was the realest thing I’ve ever asked, anyone.”
“Okay, then. Yes, for real.” I grinned.
We kissed again, then curled up on the bed. We were soon fast asleep.
***
Wine and cheese with Mom and Dad and Sal and Drew was jolly and lighthearted. We examined possible tablecloths for the bakery, and curtain fabric, and we tasted a new bread recipe from a warm loaf they had just pulled out of the oven and sliced before coming over. I was nestled close to Mickey on the couch, thinking about how we would get along in thirty years, hoping our marriage would bear some resemblance to my parents’.
I picked up the catalog of handguns that was still on the coffee table and waved it at Sal and Drew. “So, tell me, you guys, why do you have a gun?”
Sal took it from me. “Honestly, we got it when that wacko father was sending homophobic nasty letters, accusing Drew of corrupting his son and threatening to set him on fire.”
“Holy shit, you left that part out of the story before.”
“None of us needed to hear any more drama that night, Sylvia sweetheart. Anyway, we’ve never used it, but we know how. So, are you and Jeff going to get one?”
Before Mom could answer, Dad piped up. “No. It was a fleeting curiosity. Not for us.”
“If you change your mind, Dad, Mickey can advise you.”
Both of my parents jerked like they had spasms fire up their backs. “Muffinhead?”
“I’m going to learn how to shoot. I want to get my license to be a detective. If you decide to get a gun, you’ll get no judgment from me.”
Sal rolled the catalog and stuck it in his jacket pocket. “Brava! Let’s drink to that!”
I squeezed Mickey’s hand and exhaled deeply.
Mom pointed her finger at Mickey. “That gun in the closet in New York, the Nanette, or whatever it’s called, will Annabelle be okay…?”
Mickey cut her off. “No worries, Sylvia. I won’t let her anywhere near it by herself until she’s a veritable Annie Oakley.”
She sat back. “I told you, honey, he’s a goddamn keeper.”
“I learn so much from you, Mom.” We raised our glasses to each other.
“I’m astonished. Simply astonished.” Dad cracked the second bottle of wine and poured it. When Mickey stood, his glass in hand, I thought he was going to make the announcement, but instead he thanked them all for their hospitality and wished for calmer days ahead. We all sipped.
Then I sat up like a shot. “It’s Tuesday!”
“Yes, darling,” Mom said, “it happens each week.”
&nb
sp; “‘Rawhide’ is on at The Rowdy Yeats! Let’s go!”
After explaining this to Sal and Drew, we put on coats and got ready to pile into two cars. Mickey stopped us. “I’d like to ride with Jeff. Sylvia, okay if you and Annabelle ride with Sal and Drew?”
Mom looked puzzled, but said sure.
I traded a knowing glance with Mickey, my heart pounding like the Mumford & Sons’ bass drum.
***
Perry, forgiving guy that he was, welcomed us as we sat at the bar. A young Clint Eastwood was on the screen behind the bar, with subtitles revealing the dialogue. We ordered drinks, and I got up to play some pool. I love “Rawhide,” but I felt the need to move around a bit and feel, well, rowdy, in a good way.
Mom got up to play with me. I racked up the balls and offered her the break. She positioned the cue ball and blasted it into the triangle of stripes and solids. One of each fell in.
“You’re solids, that’s what fell first. Thanks for the freebie!” I took a sip of my bourbon.
Then, honest to God, I sank all of the stripes. I had never played a better game of pool in my life, even better than when I finished off the table at the Uptown Billiards Club. I was making shots that made no sense. It was like I was channeling the goddess of pool, making every great shot that had ever been made on a pool table ever. I was batting a hundred.
My family and friends had stopped watching the screen and were watching me. It was exhilarating.
When I sent the eight ball careening into the far corner pocket, they gave me some whoops and a round of applause.
Mickey stood up and held up his glass. “That’s my fiancée!”
Mom dropped her pool cue and it clattered on the floor. “No shit?! You two are getting married?”
Sal and Drew cheered while Dad took me in his arms. “Mickey asked for my blessing on the way over. He’s a gem, Bea, and he knows you are, too.”
I couldn’t help it. I let it all go, sobbing into my father’s chest, so happy and exhausted and full of love that Dad practically had to hold me up. Mom came to me and pulled me to her, telling me that she loved me and that Mickey was the fucking greatest man I could ever marry.
Then I was in Mickey’s arms, feeling like I was being passed around like a precious child, only when I looked into his eyes, those eyes that are deeper than an Ingmar Bergman movie, I didn’t feel like a child. I felt like a wife, a partner, and an equal.
