by Dana Cameron
“I’ll get the truck,” he said, resigned. He let go of my fingers reluctantly. “Emma, please don’t be long.”
“I won’t.” I walked up to the bar, where Detective Bader was talking with the bartender, lingering over a plate of the oysters Florentine that Brian had liked so much.
“—then she sent him down to the pantry to find a left-handed whip. Kept him looking for hours.”
They both laughed at that, and I saw my chance.
“Good evening, Detective Bader.”
“Eh?” He turned around, and although his smile faded, it didn’t entirely disappear. There was a wary look in his eye. “Well, hello there, Ms. Fielding. How was your dinner?”
I thought it was an odd question to start with, but figured that even detectives get to have some time off too. “Very nice. Actually, it was excellent. We don’t often get meals like that.”
“I could eat like that every day, if I wanted to.” He patted his stomach proudly. “But I’ve got to watch myself, so I limit it to just once a week. Otherwise, I ask Sandra to keep her eye on the fat.”
I could tell he was dying for me to ask. “Who’s Sandra?”
“My daughter. She’s the chef here, isn’t she, Rich?”
The bartender nodded.
“Wow, I guess you would have to watch it,” I said. “I’d be the size of a house.”
“She can cook anything you want, better than anyone. All she has to do is taste it, just once. It’s amazing how she does it, and worth every penny I spent sending her to Europe when she was training. You should see what she can do with just a couple of fresh onions, a little olive oil, and—”
Apparently I’d found the one topic that kept Detective Bader talking.
“—and the best decision that Walter Voeller ever made was to hire her. You here for an occasion?” he asked. “I haven’t seen you here before.”
“No, it’s a little too rich for my blood,” I said. Detective Bader’s daughter worked for Walter Voeller? The name just had to be connected with Daniel’s family. “It’s my husband’s birthday.”
“Well, you couldn’t have done better. Though you know, if Sandy wasn’t who she was, I sure as hell wouldn’t be in here every Saturday night. Couldn’t afford it.”
I was about to ask him the questions I had, about what he wanted to show me, but thought better of it. I knew as well as anyone that it was nice to be able to get away from the thought of work for a while; I was sure as a police officer, Detective Bader had an even more difficult time. But at least, his work wasn’t actually living at home with him, even for a couple of weeks. “I just thought I’d say hello. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Again, that guarded look shadowed his face. “Sure, first thing.”
“You enjoy your dinner.”
“I’ve been looking forward to it since last week. You have a good night.”
I nodded to the bartender and hurried out the door. Brian and Bucky were waiting in the pickup, the engine running.
“See, I wasn’t too long,” I said as I slammed the door and buckled my safety belt.
“No, that’s good. Now what’s my surprise?” Brian said.
“I’ll tell you the way to go.”
I directed him to the Lawton Yacht Club and Tiki Bar. The smell of rotten apples was still present by the door, though fainter. Brian looked at me, doubt writ large on his face.
“Trust me,” was all I would say.
The look on his face when we entered the crowded bar and dining room encouraged me; then, when his puzzlement going up the stairs changed to glee when we reached the roof, I knew that I had it exactly right. The tiki torches were lit, the bar was aglow with the strings of chili-pepper Christmas lights, and Raylene met us with plastic leis in one hand—for Brian to wear in lieu of a party hat—and a pot of coffee in the other.
“What can I get you folks?”
“I’m driving,” Bucky announced, putting a package that was flat and about a foot square down next to her chair. “So I’ll just have a coffee.”
“How do you take it?”
“Black.”
“And for the birthday boy?”
“Uhhh….” He was still trying to take it all in, a gaping grin of amazement spreading across his face.
“I’ll have a mai-tai,” I said, throwing caution to the wind along with my usual request for a bourbon or a single malt.
“Me too. Wow,” Brian said as Raylene went to get the drinks. “This place…it’s….”
“I hoped you’d like it,” I said. “We haven’t found a place yet, you know, that was really…us.”
“This is good, this is close,” he agreed.
Bucky took a sip of her coffee. “This is your sort of place, Em? Really?”
“Why not? It’s an amalgam. It’s got a good menu, but doesn’t take itself seriously; it isn’t trendy or theme-y; it has a quiet place to eat and a place to get rowdy, inside and out, all of which I appreciate. It successfully combines these theoretically opposing qualities in a pleasing new fashion. I should say it suits me down to the ground.”
“Thanks for the lecture.” Bucky gave me a sour look. “I just meant I didn’t have you figured for girl drinks.”
“Ha! Shows how well you know me. Once in a while, I do something wacky. I learned that from you.”
“Gee, thanks; turn my rebellion against human hypocrisy into an excuse for umbrella drinks. In any case,” she handed the package to Brian. “Happy birthday, Bri.”
“Hey, thanks a—” He had the wrapping torn off the package before he could finish, though, and he was agape when he saw what it was. “Whoa, Bucky! How did you know?”
“I did a little nosing around.” Bucky was inordinately pleased with herself, though.
Brian held up the album for me to see. There was a disgruntled-looking young man with a mop of messy hair on the cover.
“It’s Bob Dylan, Highway 61 Revisited,” he explained. “Very hard to come by. Wow, thanks, Buck.”
“Bob Dylan? Doesn’t his voice drive you crazy? I can hardly listen to him,” I said. “And I thought you were listening to reggae at the moment?”
“Dylan is always appropriate.” Brian looked at me, pity and disapproval in his eyes. “And when you write lyrics like that, you can have whatever damn kind of voice you want.”
“Yeah, but I thought you had that one already,” I said. It was a good guess, anyway; he seemed to have every album in the world.
“That’s a reissue. This is on the Columbia label, with an alternative version of “From a Buick 6” on side one. In near mint condition. This is something special. Bucks, are you sure—?”
“I got it for you. I don’t care about vinyl, you dinosaur.”
“Oh, man, thanks.” He leaned over and gave her a hug. I was glad the drinks and the cake I’d asked Raylene for came at that moment. Once the candle was blown out, I invited her over for a piece of cake. She joined us and after a few bites—still not much of a conversationalist—I decided to ask her about the apples.
“Erik doesn’t like them,” she said.
“I know, but why does he have so many up here?”
“He drops them off the roof.”
By this time, Brian was interested too. “How come?”
Raylene finished chewing, then took a deep breath. “He gets up in the morning and drops an apple off the roof. If it hits the ground, he knows gravity is still working, and he has to go to work.” She thought about that, nodded, satisfied, and continued eating her cake.
“Oh” was all I could come up with. Bucky nodded, as though it made perfect sense to her, and then reached over to pick one of the chocolate rosettes off my slice of cake. I rapped her knuckle with my fork and she retreated.
“Is Erik around tonight? Maybe he’d like some cake too,” Brian suggested.
“He’s down the boat tonight.” Raylene finished up, nodded thanks, and left.
“Anyone understand any of that?” I asked.
&nb
sp; “What’s not to understand?” Bucky and Brian both said.
Later on that night in bed, waiting for the excitement and the sugar to wear off, I confessed to Brian. “If I’d known you wanted that record, I would have gotten it for you.” But I didn’t even know what such a thing cost. A lot, probably. “But you said you wanted to get the cell phones, and I went with that.”
“I wanted the phones. I think they’re a good idea.” He raised himself up on his elbow. “What’s this all about?”
“Bucky gave you something I didn’t even know you wanted. I gave you…household appliances.”
“You’re not jealous, are you?”
“Yes,” I said into the pillow.
“You shouldn’t be.”
“Well, why not? You guys speak the same language, she knows things about your work that I don’t know. You guys hang out and never get into fights. You catch bottles of water you don’t know she’s throwing. She gives you good birthday presents. I don’t like it. It has to stop now.” I turned my face so I could see Brian, who wasn’t smiling at my last joke.
“Yeah, we can hang out. We like each other. She’s a different person, so naturally our relationship will look different than yours with me.”
“But you look like you’re having more fun with her.”
“She is fun. We do get along. But you give me what I want every day of my life. Bucky and I don’t have a history, the way you and I do. We don’t have to be so careful with each other.”
“Oh, great. You have to be careful with me.”
“Shush, you know what I mean. Couples have to be more careful with each other, to stand up to the long haul. She doesn’t have to live with me every day. I don’t know how she thinks, like I know you or you know me. I wouldn’t trade that for a whole stack of Dylan. That’s why I wanted the phones, so we could be in touch, so I could feel like I was looking after you, so you could call me whenever you wanted. It’s the only lifeline I can give you and not look like an idiot. Besides, she’s not worried about a mortgage or keeping up two cars or renovating a house. It’s easier for her to be frivolous.”
“I know she likes you,” I grumbled. “A whole lot.”
He fluffed up his pillow and puffed up his chest. “And it’s right she should. I’m a hell of a guy.”
I smacked him.
“Well, I am! Aren’t I?”
“Yes, you are. You just don’t have to be so smug about it; I’d hate to have to tell Bucky how you eat cold leftover mashed potatoes right out of the fridge.”
Brian grinned, then turned serious again. “Who was that you were talking to, on the way out?”
“It was Detective Bader. He’s the one working on the case.”
There was even less humor in his voice now. “And what were you talking about?”
“I was just saying hi.” Brian knew there was more, so I told him. “When he called yesterday, he also asked if he could show me something. It has to do with the Chandlers.”
“So even after all you said on Friday, you’re still going to mess around with the case?”
“I thought you’d be happy. I mean, if the cops are talking to me, then that means they’ll also be keeping an eye on me, right?”
“The killer might think so too.”
“Oh, man. I can’t win, can I?”
“Arrgh! Emma, it’s not about winning. It’s about staying alive. Do you know what I wished for when I blew out my candles?”
“No, and you can’t tell me. It doesn’t come true, if you tell.”
“Well, let’s just put it this way. I’m looking forward to spending my birthday with you next year, too.”
“God, Brian. I’m doing my best. What more do you want from me?”
“Just a little common sense, that’s all.”
“Well, I’ll work on the common sense, if you work on treating me like an adult.” I flopped around onto my side, my back to Brian. He leaned over and put his chin on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I love you.”
“I love you too, babe. I’m sorry, I just can’t….”
“Shh. We’re both tired. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
But the celebration was well and truly over.
Chapter 15
MY EYES FLEW OPEN; IT WAS LIGHT BUT THE ALARM clock hadn’t gone off. I almost never beat the alarm getting out of bed. Brian wasn’t next to me anymore.
He came into the bedroom quietly, dressed except for his socks. He was looking in the bureau when he must have sensed that I was awake, for he turned around and looked at me. “Morning.”
“Hey, babe,” I said. “You’re up early.”
“Yeah, I’ve got to get in to work early today. A lot I need to get done.”
Oh God. “Look, about last night. I probably said things the wrong way—”
“I understand what you were trying to say. I understand.”
Thank God.
He pulled on his socks, not really looking at me. “I just can’t talk about it now. I’ve got to get going, okay?”
Oh no; he was still upset. “Brian, look, I just want—”
“No, Emma, it’s okay. Right? I’ve just got to get going. Bring your phone with you today, all right? I’ll have mine with me. I’ve got to run.” He pulled on his sneakers and then leaned over and kissed me. I kissed him back as hard as I could, trying to interject as much heartfelt concern, love, apology, and a plea for understanding into it as I could, but he broke it off much too quickly for me. “Look after yourself, okay?”
I grabbed his hand. “Brian, I love you.”
“I love you too. More than anything.”
He left. Brian almost never varied his routine if he could help it. I didn’t know what to make of it, but I wasn’t real happy about it.
Maybe I shouldn’t go back out there.
Too late, the logical part of me reminded myself. You’ve already told everyone you would go.
I can unsay it.
Do you really want to? Go out today, see how you feel. Decide tonight when you aren’t worried about so many other things.
Like my marriage disintegrating?
Don’t be dramatic—
I don’t think I am being dramatic; this is a big-ticket discussion Brian and I are having.
—and don’t confuse the issue. Deal with today and you can reevaluate the situation later.
That was the logical thing to do, but like most reasonable and logical things, it wasn’t easy.
When I went downstairs, I saw there was half a fresh pot of coffee waiting for me, and I seized on it with all due haste, thinking that Brian must still love me, at least a little bit. I drank a cup down, as hot as I could stand, and then immediately had another cup. I poured the rest for Bucky, who was just feeling her way down the stairs, and then put another pot on. I stuck my head into Brian’s office after knocking and saw that the crew was up. I left the cereal and bread out after I got something for myself and tried to wave a piece of toast under Bucky’s nose.
“Uhnn.” She batted at it and retreated further back into her corner, her hand over her eyes.
“You’ll be hungry later on.”
“Don’t care. Coffee.”
It was nice, having them all crowd around the table to scarf down the food, and then get the lunches made. It was nice, to have that bit of normality around us there, but it didn’t last. We were out of the house promptly.
“Okay. I give,” I told my sister in the car. “How did you find out about the album?”
“I nosed around a little.” She took another sip of coffee from her travel mug. “Had a look through Brian’s collection last time I was here, talked to a few people who knew some people.”
“Any of those people named Joel, by any chance?”
“Maybe.” She leaned back and pretended to sleep, and I kept quiet until we got to the site.
It also seemed as though the elements conspired to distract us from whatever bad memories the week before might have held for us.
A perfect morning for work; if mornings could start closer to ten or eleven, I would have been even happier. A fresh breeze off the water reassured me that the heat wouldn’t be too bad today, not enough to get in the way of work. Even though we were all back working at the side of the house, there was plenty of room, and I was convinced that the concentrated effort would bring us down to the bottom of the charred layer, and maybe down into whatever might have been there before the Chandlers had built their house. But the crime scene team was already out there ahead of us.
Stuart Feldman was loitering by our part of the site when I arrived, passing the time of day with Perry. Ted was nearby, reading a book on a folding chair before the first tour of the day started.
“Say, do you mind telling me what you’re looking for here?” Stuart said.
I gave him the rundown of what we were looking for and how we were piecing together our evidence, the documents, the stratigraphy, the artifacts, the architecture, the history. “But I suppose you remember all this.”
He nodded. “It’s pretty much the same as what we’re doing here.”
“Yeah, everything except the consequences,” I said.
“You might be surprised.” He paused. “You ever think about training in forensic bioarchaeology?”
I was taken aback. “Me? But I’m not qualified…I could never….”
“Like I said, our work is essentially similar, but you’d have to do some training, there are courses. Brush up your osteology, do some work on the safety protocols and the legal aspects; depending on your experience, I’d bet you could get certified. If you’re interested.”
I didn’t know what to say; the thought had honestly never crossed my mind.
Feldman spoke again, hastily. “Only if you’re interested. It’s not for everyone, that’s for sure. But we are always looking for more help, even on a part-time consulting basis.”
