Wolfe, She Cried

by Addison, Bliss

  “Nippy weather, isn’t it?”

  She sat back. “A little.” Truthfully, she felt cold to the core.

  He took a seat opposite her and depressed the record button on the tape player sitting on the table between them. “How are you?”

  She stared into his eyes as he studied her. Not an overt study, but certainly practiced, one she came to recognize. “Fine.”

  “Sleeping all right?”

  Nightmares plagued what sleep she managed. “Fine.”

  “Any anxiety?”

  A few minor attacks, but nothing to complain about. She shook her head and looked around at the pine-paneled walls, the bookshelves and his desk where a banker’s lamp cast a greenish glow on the polished top. “None.”

  “Still keeping a journal?”

  “Yes.” On Thursdays.

  “Is it helping?”

  “Tremendously.” Not. “I have a date with Simon tomorrow night.” The words rushed out of her mouth.

  “How do you feel about that?”

  “I don’t know. Happy, I guess. Scared, mostly. I’m afraid I’ll blurt out everything and what his reaction will be.” She folded her hands in her lap.

  “We talked about this.”

  “I know.”

  “You can’t keep it from him forever. Secrets have a way of coming out.”

  What would Simon think of her when he learned she drew her gun on her lover in a crowded restaurant before his wife and two little daughters? She couldn’t believe that Simon, or anyone else would think her sane for reacting like she had to the discovery that the man she dated was a married man. “I had murder in my heart that day.”

  “But you didn’t follow through.”

  “No.” Only because of his children’s cries and the terrified looks on their faces.

  “Are you afraid when Simon sees you’re human and make mistakes like the rest of us, he’ll think less of you?”

  How could Gaston call what she’d done a mistake? “Simon has me on a pedestal. It’ll hurt him when he finds out what I did and that’ll hurt me.” She fingered a button on her blazer. “I don’t want to hurt anyone ever again.” I don’t want to hurt anymore, either.

  “Wouldn’t he understand?”

  “Perhaps. Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time he knows.” She ran a shaky hand through her hair. “It scares me, though. What if he thinks I’m a terrible person and wants nothing more to do with me? I need his friendship. I need to know he’s there for me.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes…no.” She looked at him. “I thought going home would make it easier to forget—”

  “Forget?” Remembering Gaston’s phrasing, she shook her head. “Accept the consequences of my actions and forgive myself.”

  He smiled. “Hasn’t it?”

  “In some ways. Simon’s a complication I didn’t anticipate. My feelings for him haven’t changed. I still love him, and it terrifies me.”

  “Why?”

  “What if we get together and something happens between us and I flip out again?”

  “You’re not that person now.”

  She wondered about that sometimes. “No. I’m stronger now.” And still unworthy of anyone’s respect.

  He crossed his legs. “How’s work?”

  “Good.” She sighed. “I’m taking it slow like you suggested and only working twenty hours a week, doing paperwork when I’m not rounding up stray cows for a local farmer.”

  “Getting mundane?”

  She folded her legs at the ankles. “We had a murder in Honeydale.”

  “Really?” He adjusted his oval-framed glasses.

  “The victim was castrated, then shot. There was a similar killing in Sibbett last weekend. You may have read it in the paper.”

  He shook his head.

  “Simon thinks the killer might be a scorned lover.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I always trusted his instincts. That hasn’t changed.” She cocked her head. “Though it could be a homosexual or residual anger from a dominating mother.”

  “Interesting observation.”

  She thought so, too. “There’s no connection between the victims other than they were both married and ran around on their spouses. We know it’s the same killer. Bullets from the victims confirmed that.”

  “We?”

  “I’m working the case with Simon.” She looked at him through lowered lashes. “I didn’t ask to be involved. He assigned me.”

  “How are you with that?”

  “A little scared.”

  “It’s natural to feel some apprehension.”

  She studied the floor. “Sometimes I feel I’m not ready to do field work yet.”

  “You have to learn to trust yourself again. Everything else will fall in place.”

  “I know.” She wished for as much faith in herself. “I have to admit, though, it is exciting to work a case again. We don’t have much to go on—a partial boot print, a candy wrapper and a sight-impaired witness who saw someone drag something into his field. We have DNA and a bullet, but no suspect and no gun.” She reached over, plucked a mint from the dish, unwrapped it slowly and put the wafer in her mouth.

  “How’s the not smoking going?”

  “Sometimes it feels like I haven’t stopped at all.”

  “Be patient. That, too, takes time.”

  She swung her leg back and forth and stopped when his eyes followed the movement. “Someone came into my cottage, stole money from my purse and rifled through the dresser drawers in my bedroom.”

  He brought himself forward in the chair, his curiosity seemingly piqued. “Someone? You didn’t catch the intruder?”

  “No. Simon wanted to investigate, but I didn’t want him to.”

  “Why not?”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t want to make a big deal about it.” She felt Gaston had seen through the lie.

  “Anyone else would.”

  “I can do without the attention. Besides, it was probably a one-time thing, most likely kids looking for a cheap thrill.” Why did she insist on protecting Brad’s wife? She checked her watch and inhaled deeply, scolding herself for how easily the lies came. “Gaston, do I need to see you anymore?”

  “Are these visits becoming a financial burden?”

  “No, my dad is paying for everything. He’s been great and very supportive. But I’m fine now, aren’t I?”

  He stood, walked to his desk and flipped the pages of his calendar. “Why don’t we keep the appointments scheduled for November and take it from there?”

  She masked her displeasure with a smile. “Whatever you say.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sitting on the sofa in her living room, Evie picked up her pen and wrote: Journal Entry – Evie Madison – Thursday

  Geez Louise. Gaston wants to continue with the therapy, oh, excuse me, gab fests. It upsets me, partly because I only have two more to go then the terms of my freedom will be fulfilled, but mostly because I don’t feel the need to go anymore. Not that I felt the need or wanted to go in the first place. I only attended because they forced me to. I agreed to continue. Like he gave me any choice. I wish I could have been assertive and demanded future visits were unnecessary.

  Snowbirds dance from branch to branch on the towering limbs of the pine trees outside, their beady eyes scanning for human presence before they scrounge the pieces of bread I threw on the ground for them. I see them well in the light of the security lamps attached to the eaves. Usually, they aren’t on. Simon must have turned them when he left the other night.

  Quick as a blink, one swooped, snatched the food and flew off to the safety of the tree to eat its treasure. Others followed. The crumbs are gone.

  Gaston worries me. Wasn’t I always careful what I said, how I sat and forcing a twinkle in my eyes? Does he think I’m crazy or on the verge of a nervous breakdown, oh, excuse me again, a manic depressive episode? Maybe he sees I’m not one hundred percent, yet. If so, he
must be really good at what he does. Though if he were, he’d see how much better I am and almost my old self. If he knew me before, he’d know that.

  Simon is responsible for the change in me. What Gaston tried to do for me, Simon accomplished. His love is like the North Star, constant, unchanging, guiding. I look forward to tomorrows now. When tomorrow comes, I look back on yesterday and smile. Something I haven’t been able to do in a long, long while. I think back to the time when I left the island for Concord and wonder whether the want to experience life had been my only reason for leaving. Maybe I looked for someone better than Simon, though why I would puzzles me. Maybe on a subliminal level, I did. My mother often told me not to give all my love to one man. She also said Simon wasn’t good enough for me. Why? Because of his mixed heritage? Maybe subconsciously I thought that, too. No, that can’t be true. His heritage is one of the things which draws me to him and what I love about him. He’s not ashamed of what he is or where he came from. If anything, he’s proud of it. I admire his courage.

  When I’m with him, those familiar feelings return, the feeling of knowing I’m alive, the fear that something will happen to him, the fear of being left behind and the fear of leaving him behind. Imagining my life without him, terrifies me. The thought of loving someone as much as I do Simon frightens me, too, but not a fright that makes me want to cower in a dark corner, but the kind that tells me how fortunate I am, how lucky I am to be given a second chance.

  Simon thinks I’m beautiful. I’m not, not really, but he is. He’s beautiful in soul and so very, very handsome. I love everything about him, his smell, his touch, his kindness, his generosity…the list could go on. I especially like his humanness and his ability to keep the peace. What other man in his position would allow Tallulah to get away with what she does? Not that he couldn’t lay down the law with her if need be.

  I don’t want to look inside me anymore, or to think long, sad thoughts. I want to live.

  Six months ago, I would never have believed in my wildest imagination I’d make it here, here to this place where my smile comes freely and easily, where my heart dances with delight for the little things in life. Now that I am here, I never want to leave. I haven’t had a nightmare in days. Darkness doesn’t scare me like it did before. I wake to it in the morning and close my eyes to it at bedtime. In those hours in between, my heart still throbs like a wound sometimes, but I replay my thoughts and sure enough, they’d drifted to six months ago. A short while ago, I would have fallen into that mine pit of self-pity, but I don’t allow myself to do that now. Simon’s love for me and my love for him bubbles inside me, making me know I am where I should be, where I was destined to be. It lulls me onto a hallowed dais, to a place where a peaceful sleep will capture me in a soothing embrace.

  I am loved.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Staci fought for a comfortable position on the saggy mattress and shivered beneath the thin covers. Damn old mattress. Damn cold. Fuck! She should be grateful she wasn’t locked up and no longer trapped. In her mind she could still hear her chant, “I will never let you get out again. Never. Never. Never.” The words thumped inside her skull. It was a wonder she managed to sleep at all with that bitch droning on like that. Who did she think she was? Her keeper? The woman should be thankful. Without her, her life would be a catastrophe. She kept her calm and cleaned up her messes. Why couldn’t she appreciate that?

  Throwing back the blankets, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and peered around her small bedroom. A bed, a dresser, a table, a lamp, a clock, probably the best of Goodwill. Her roommate was a lot of things, but a decorator wasn’t one of them. She wanted another place to live and had applied for dozens of jobs. No one would hire her. What was she doing wrong? Granted, she had no references or a social insurance number. It was as though she’d just been born. In a way that was true, but that shouldn’t stop employers from hiring her. She needed a job. Money would let her do the things she wanted to do. Her roommate would help her out. Before that, though, she’d face an inquisition: What do you need the money for? Why do you want to leave? Aren’t you happy here? Of course, the bitch would put up a fuss and not want her to leave. Why would she? She had built-in maid service. She remembered the time she went to a bar on the waterfront and her roommate found out. How she did, was still a mystery. After that, she’d been more careful. The woman shouldn’t expect her to stay cooped up day and night.

  Staci thrived on excitement and attention. Without that, she might just as well shrivel up and die. No way she’d let that happen. Her couch-potato-don’t-bite-the-hand-that-feeds-you days were over. She sprinted to the closet and jerked clothes from hangars.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Police matters were slow. Evie had filed everything that needed filing, dusted furniture, emptied waste paper baskets and straightened books, refilled paper clip holders and restocked pens and pencils. She flicked her cuff and checked her watch: 11:00. Would this day never end?

  Simon was off God knew where and Aubrey was on patrol. If this were any other precinct, she’d be on patrol with him, chasing bad guys, running license plates and making arrests.

  She ran her hand across the polished desktop and sighed.

  Tallulah looked at her over her glasses. “Why don’t you go for coffee? I can handle things here.”

  Evie jumped at the chance. “Are you sure?” She was already on her feet.

  “Sure, I’m sure.”

  “I’ve got a two-way if you need me.” She raised the radio in the air for Tallulah to see.

  Outside in the crisp air, she donned leather gloves, zipped her bomber jacket and strode down St. Andrew Street. Snow birds perched on the lifeless branches of Maple trees scattered in different directions on her approach, their cries and the flap of wings hanging in the air. Cars and trucks traveled the street, but she had the sidewalk to herself. The smell of exhaust fumes mingled with the scent of sea salt from the Atlantic filled the air. She just needed a few moments alone in a wide open space and it didn’t get any more open than this. She glanced up and marveled at the unblemished sky. Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

  “Eve,” a voice said from behind her.

  God, no. This wasn’t what she had in mind to break up the monotony of a dull day. She stopped, pasted a smile and turned. “Mom.”

  Felicia Madison, wearing a full length mink coat and high-heeled boots walked toward her, using the sidewalk as a model’s runway. Sunglasses covered her eyes and every blond hair on her head was meticulously held in place in a tight chignon.

  “Shouldn’t you be at work?” Evie asked.

  “I had some business at the bank. I hoped to run into you.”

  There was such a thing as a telephone, but Evie suspected what her mother had to say required a face to face, which meant tears. Evie’s tears. She’d grown to despise Felicia’s for-her-own-good little talks.

  “You could have come to the station.” Evie wanted so much to capture Felicia’s expression on film. Imagine Felicia Madison setting her leather-clad feet in a police station.

  “Why don’t we go for coffee?”

  Evie glanced at her watch. “I really should get back. Tallulah’s alone.” Please, God, someone beep her. Please, God, someone need a cop.

  Felicia pursed her lips. “Honestly, Eve, I don’t know why you insist on being a police officer. It’s so …” she grimaced, “menial.”

  Her own mother didn’t understand her. No matter what she did, Felicia thought she could have done better. What choices she made, could have been better, wiser choices.

  “Coffee sounds good.” Evie followed along beside her mother, a woman who she was no more alike than a cousin two times removed. Long ago she realized she would never have her mother’s approval, yet she yearned for it. Why was that?

  Without conversation, they walked to the corner and entered Rosa’s Café. Customers stopped in mid-conversation and stared at them. Felicia noticed. She looked at Evie’s uniform. “Brown is n
ot your color.”

  “I know, Mom, and they’re not staring at me.”

  Immediately, her hand went to her hair. “They’re staring at me? Why?”

  Evie shrugged. “Maybe it’s because you look like you stepped off the front page of a fashion magazine.”

  She shook her head. “No. It’s definitely that disgusting color. You really should ask your boss to change your uniforms to a color becoming to you. Blue, for instance.”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  Taking charge, Felicia led her to a booth at a window where a Christmas candelabra burned brightly. She whipped off her calfskin gloves, brushed off the seat and sat. She looked around, plucked napkins from the dispenser and wiped the table. “This is cozy.”

  Recognizing the sarcasm, Evie said with a smile, “I think so, too.” Sometimes she wondered if they were biologically related at all. They shared nothing in common. Other than a slight physical resemblance, they had different interests, different likes and dislikes and couldn’t be farther apart in their opinions and tastes.

  She looked Evie over. “How have you been?”

  “Fine.” Evie became wary. Felicia never asked a question without an agenda. She vowed not to let herself be intimidated or fall into one of Felicia’s traps. “I heard you’re working this murder case with Simon.”

  Evie nodded, not surprised she knew. News traveled fast in Honeydale.

  “Is that wise?”

  There it was. The reason behind the question. Despite her promise to herself, her legs shook. “Why?”

  Felicia looked at Rosa behind the counter, serving customers. “What do you have to do to get service in here?”

  Evie caught Rosa’s attention. “Two coffees, please, Rosa, when you get a moment.”

  “You shouldn’t have to ask why working a case isn’t wise, Evie, when you know very well why it isn’t.”

  “I’m fine, Mom, and it’s not as though it’s dangerous. I’m merely a sounding board for Simon. Someone for him to discuss the case with.” Evie looked her mother in the eyes and read her true concern. “Or are you worried I might be a danger to someone?”