Staring, almost unblinking at the road ahead, his eyes stung, unable to prevent the shifting of his thoughts from curiosity to concern. Maybe the remark about sinners served as a clue to dangle and deceive? Perhaps those previous thoughts of commonplace transgressions like speeding, or cheating a cashier, missed the mark. Squeezing the wheel, blood surging toward his fingertips, Sean contemplated the validity of a sudden new fear. Was Jenny safe?
***
On a drizzly Saturday afternoon, three days after his talk in the parking lot with Adam, Sean sat in a booth at an Italian restaurant waiting for Jenny to arrive. The moment he spotted her walking into the restaurant, smiling at him as he waved, any melancholy feelings related to the weather or his questions about Adam melted away like an ice cube on a summer sidewalk.
Clutching her folded umbrella as she approached, Jenny swayed gracefully in a knee length, fully buttoned tan raincoat that exposed black jeans and boots. Standing to greet her, he watched as she unbuttoned and removed the wet garment before sitting, her lavender cashmere sweater and navy-blue floral blouse offering a welcome contrast to the dreary gray lighting seeping through from outside.
“Happy to see you, Jenny,” he said. “You look great.”
Jenny reached out and squeezed his upper arm. “What a lovely thing for a woman to hear,” she replied. “Especially when that woman is me!”
Sean placed his hand on top of her arm, still resting on his. “I mean it,” he replied, “but I haven’t been on a date in a long time, so hopefully I won’t blow it.” They smiled and simultaneously leaned back when the waitress greeted them before asking if they’d like anything to drink.
For the next couple of hours, they filled each other in on aspects of their lives. Sean listened with interest to Jenny’s reputation in grade school as that of a brainy and nerdy girl no boy looked at twice until Mother Nature reached out, waved her magical pubescent wand, and turned her into a high school prom queen runner-up and the quarterback’s girlfriend. She attended San Diego State, partied hard, but worked hard, and graduated with a business degree. She met her ex-husband at an outdoor Vivaldi concert in Chicago, and, asshole that he turned out to be, still got credit for introducing her to fine wine, Scuba diving, and an affinity for professional boxing.
He told her about his upbringing, disinterest in school, and eventual foray into the music business where, as she already knew, he achieved success with “Looking Glass.”
“Did you ever write anything else I may know?” she asked.
A wistful smile appeared, imprinted by the resignation of longing and disappointment. “I wrote plenty of other songs, but nothing you ever heard.”
“Were you ever married?” Winking, she added, “Or were there too many groupies to deal with?”
Sean placed his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his clasped hands as his eyes narrowed in kaleidoscopic recollection. “I’ve been married twice,” he answered. Pausing to observe her brief expression of apparent surprise, he continued. “I wrote a song about my first marriage called ‘Between Forever and Goodbye.’ All you need to know about that one is in the opening two lines: ‘Feel like a stone, skipping on the water. We started strong and fast, now we’re losing all our power.’”
Jenny nodded. “That about says it all for a lot of people. Kind of like my marriage, too.”
Sean stroked his chin a couple of times, admiring the disheveled way her hair fell across her forehead. “Maybe so,” he said, “but since you referred to your ex a few minutes ago as an asshole, there’s another song I wrote that better describes what it’s like when things go south in a bad way. I know it sure does for what I went through. ‘You’re a sharp piece of metal hiding in the sand. An unforeseen slice beneath the grains. I take a step, extend my hand, just a matter of time before the pain.’”
Jenny looked away, nibbling on her upper lip. “Yep,” she said, her voice small and reflective. “Things seemed fine and dandy until that first cut.” A sad, despondent expression appeared on her face, her cheeks flattening in a muscular resignation of regret. Reaching for her glass of wine, she drank several slow, meditative sips. “So tell me, Sean,” she said, looking into his eyes with a sudden intensity, “do you think that metal we stepped on means we’ll never want to walk on the beach again?”
Sean returned her stare, riveted by the subtle green and soft brown color of her eyes. He hadn’t mentioned Merissa, and had no intention of divulging that secret anytime soon, but the unrelenting soul storm tormenting his emotions seemed much less intensified during this moment. As he looked at Jenny, hearing her voice and her story, and feeling her therapeutic sensitivity spread throughout his entire being, he realized that the previous “Do Not Disturb” sign hanging around his heart now read, “Help Wanted.”
“This is what I think,” he said, a controlled calm overtaking him. “Maybe you keep your shoes on for a while as you venture forth on that sand. At least that way, you can still enjoy the beauty of everything the beach has to offer. And then, hopefully, eventually, you might realize how much better, how much truer that walk could be, feeling the sand on your feet again.”
Jenny smiled in silence and reached for her drink, placing her left elbow on the table and dropping her chin on her open hand. She took a sip, letting the liquid linger for a while before swallowing. Sitting up, she offered a quick nod of her head. “I like that little analogy of yours, Sean.” Reaching for his hand, she gave a gentle squeeze and let it remain there. “I miss those barefoot walks on the beach.”
Sean felt his skin temperature increase and his heartbeat quicken. But as he moved his other hand on top of hers, looking at her pretty, smiling face, a sudden trepidation barged into his thoughts--spurred on, he knew, by the beach references. He visualized that day when he saw a woman with an uncanny resemblance to Merissa jogging toward him as he walked along the shore. An undeniable fact linking Merissa with Jenny frayed his nerves, a static electric realization jolting his senses--They both befriended Adam McBride.
Removing her hands from his, Jenny pulled away as her expression changed in an instant from affection, to surprise, to embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking down, “I guess I shouldn’t have said that.”
Sean shook his head free from thoughts of Adam. “No, no, I’m really happy you said it!” He smiled and nodded, staring into her eyes. “You only said what I’ve been thinking myself, Jenny.”
“But the look on your face seemed so...I don’t know...troubled. Like you weren’t happy with what I said.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to let my mind wander, especially when you had something so nice to say. But it did, and I guess it showed.”
Jenny sat in silence, pursing her lips in apparent bewilderment.
“Tell you what,” Sean said, removing his credit card, “I’ll take care of the bill, and then I’ll walk you to your car. I want to talk to you about our friend, Adam. To use your word, he’s the one I looked ‘troubled’ about.”
Jenny leaned back in surprise, a smirk of disbelief on her face. “Adam?” she said, chuckling. “Really?” Shrugging her shoulders, she giggled some more. “I never would have guessed.”
Fluffy lime green camphor trees, posing in their grooved bark swagger, lined the street they strolled upon as they clasped hands and swung their arms in slow, joyful movements.
“So, Detective Hightower,” Jenny said, her tone ominous yet playful, “are you telling me I should beware of the evil intentions of one Adam McBride?”
Sean nodded at Jenny. “Maybe I am,” he answered. “There’s just something about the guy that bugs me. It’s as if there’s something more there, something that he’s hiding. I just have a feeling he’s not as prim and proper as you think he is.”
“Okay,” Jenny said, “so we agree that Adam is a bit...odd, but I also know he’s completely harmless. I just think I offer him a chance to talk to another woman instead of the overbearing wife he has now. And the fact that we went to school to
gether probably makes it more comfortable for him.”
Without any knowledge of the background behind his suspicions, Sean understood Jenny’s skepticism about Adam’s intentions, deciding to move on and enjoy the moment. Squeezing her hand, he reveled in the mutual blossoming affection, inhaling the energetic aroma of the surrounding earthy dampness. “You’re right,” he told her. “Case closed for Detective Hightower.”
“Good, and just in time,” she said, pointing straight ahead. “There’s my car.”
In an instant, Sean’s walk slowed into an immediate old man’s shuffle, staring wide-eyed at Jenny’s black SUV and the last two letters of her license plate: “RH.”
“Something wrong?” she asked.
“Were you at Roscoe Avenue Bowl on Wednesday night?”
“Wow!” she replied, rearing her head in surprise. “I was only in the parking lot for a few minutes. I didn’t even know you were there.”
“I was in my car when I saw Adam waving at someone in a black SUV. When you pulled into the street, I caught the last two letters of your license plate and they stuck with me because they’re the same initials as my sister, Rebecca. That’s the only reason I remembered them.”
“It’s kind of stupid what happened,” she told him. “Adam came to my condo last week to set up my sound system. Zone one, zone two, zone three, it’s great. But before he did that, he insisted on showing me some magic tricks.”
“Things he learned from Stan, I guess.”
Jenny laughed. “Yep. He takes lessons from him.”
“Still doing that, huh? Stan told me about it the night of Elliot’s fundraiser.”
“Did Stan tell you that Elliot’s also part of the class? He mentioned a third guy, too. He works with Adam, so maybe you know him.”
Remembering his conversation with Stan before the fundraiser, Sean recognized Jenny’s unnamed reference to Roger as that third person. But now that he and his handcuffs resided in San Jose, Sean figured Roger was no longer learning tricks, just looking for women turning tricks.
“So what’s this got to do with you being in the parking lot?”
“Adam called me after he left and was upset because he forgot his ‘special’ deck of cards and was too far away to come back. He told me where he’d be Wednesday night and would stop by before going home. It made sense, right? I only live about ten minutes away. But I was tired and wanted to go to bed early, so I called him from the parking lot.”
Sean nodded. “Well, that explains it. I saw him get something from under the back of his car and put it in his pocket. Now I know what it was.”
“I had no choice but to leave it under his car,” she explained. “I wanted to come inside to give it to him, or have him come outside, but when I called he got all panicky because Eleanor was there, so his paranoia flag was flying high and whipping in the wind.”
Sean uttered a small laugh. “It’s funny how I went to my car during those few minutes you were there. I never would have known.”
Jenny smiled, looking prettier than ever. “Guess there’s no hiding from you, Detective Hightower.” Grabbing his hand, she looked at him, her eyes locked on his. “But maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”
Standing by her door, as the first kiss lingered under the cover of umbrellas and the encircling music of a gentle rhythmic drizzle, any worries about Adam disappeared.
Like a card from a magician’s deck.
Chapter 35
The opened cardboard box lay angled on the table, the first two slices already consumed from the aromatic pepperoni and mushroom pizza Sean ordered for the televised Lakers-Piston game. With seven straight wins to start the season, the men in purple and gold remained unbeaten and still number one in Kayleigh’s heart, despite the absence of Coby Karl.
“This is the best pizza I ever had!” she said, attempting to talk and place more in her mouth at the same time. Her elbows pushed against the sides of her body as her thin, pale, arms jutted upward from her baggy jersey, vertical irrigation pipes with hands, cradling the diminishing slice of her favorite food.
Sean smiled. “You say that every time.”
Kayleigh covered her mouth with a napkin as she zeroed in on the action. Her high expectations for the favored, unbeaten home team remained unrealized, and with one quarter in the books the tight score persisted. The Lakers broadcasters complained about the team’s lethargic play, while Detroit looked like the more disciplined and determined of the two.
“What’s wrong with the Lakers, Mr. Music?” she asked, her wispy eyebrows furrowing in concern. “They should be killing these guys! They’ve already lost two games and the Lakers haven’t lost any!”
“Six and two is still pretty good, Kayleigh.”
“Not as good as seven and zero! Could I have another piece, please?”
When the first half ended, the Pistons led fifty-three to forty-four, and a noticeably concerned Kayleigh helped clear the table while she followed Sean into the kitchen.
“I don’t want the Lakers to lose all year!” she said, a girlish defiance punctuating her voice. “That will be the best birthday present ever!”
Sean looked at her, angling his head and nodding with a slight grin. “Since your birthday’s tomorrow, why don’t we first see if they can win tonight’s game for you, okay?”
Kayleigh tightened her thin lips, almost causing them to disappear.
“You don’t really think they can go unbeaten, do you?” Sean asked.
“Yep. The Lakers are the best!”
“Well, for one thing,” he said, depositing the dirty napkin into the trashcan, “it’s never happened before.”
“So?”
“I don’t know as much about basketball as I do music, but I know that one of Michael Jordan’s teams only lost twelve games all year sometime back in the nineties, and that’s the record for fewest losses.”
Kayleigh scrunched her round, tiny face, new wrinkles surrounding her naturally half-lidded expression. “Who’s Michael Jordan?”
“Probably the best basketball player to ever play.”
“Well, I don’t think so,” she said, her head moving left to right, then left to right again. “Coby’s the best.”
Sean gazed downward, chuckling to himself
“My daddy told me he’s playing for a team in Spain now.”
“I didn’t know that, good for him.”
“Mr. Music, do you remember when you told me that Coby was sending a message to people with cancer?”
Sean turned back from the sink and smiled. “Of course I remember. By playing for the Lakers he showed everybody what can happen if you keep fighting and never give up hope.”
“Do you think he’s sending a message in Spain, too?”
Sean nodded. “I think he’s sending a message to everyone, no matter where they live.”
“Can I have some ice cream?”
“Mint chocolate chip?” he asked, flashing her a wink.
Kayleigh’s left eye widened in excitement, while her right one fluttered in its failed attempt to do the same.
“Promise?”
“Promise,” he answered. “Why don’t you go back to the couch and listen to what the announcers have to say? Then you can tell me if we need to be worried.”
Exiting the kitchen holding two dessert bowls, Sean observed Kayleigh gazing at the framed photo of Merissa and him on the small, ovular table near the front door. In her hand she held a thin, unrecognizable magazine-sized booklet.
“I thought you wanted to listen to the halftime report.”
Kayleigh shrugged her shoulders. “They talk about stuff I don’t understand.”
“Ready for your ice cream?”
Ignoring his question, she pointed toward the photo. “I forgot who that lady is in the picture with you.”
Sean inhaled and held his breath for a prolonged moment before following with an extended exhale. For these many sad, complicated and often lonely months since her murder, he often gaze
d at the photo of the two of them smiling and holding their wine glasses as they celebrated his birthday in Paso Robles. This time, however, staring in unison with Kayleigh, he realized the new reality of Jenny occupying the largest room in his thoughts. Having made plans to cook dinner for her on Friday, he made a mental note to remove the picture and place it somewhere unseen by guests.
“I already told you who she was the last time you were here,” he said. “So I’ll answer you one more time. Her name is Merissa, and she’s a friend of mine.”
“The last time I was here, did I also ask you where she lives?” Kayleigh turned toward Sean, looked down at her shoes, then back up again with a sheepish expression. “Because I don’t remember that either.”
Sean provided the same explanation as before, that Merissa moved back home to England because she missed her family.
Kayleigh stared at the photo again.
“Merissa looks really nice. I bet I woulda liked her.”
A sudden incursion of uninvited moisture prepared to penetrate past the “No Exit” sign inside his eyes as he whirled around and headed back toward the couch, each hand holding a bowl.
“C’mon,” he said, his voice subdued, “it’s ice cream time and the second half’s starting.”
Kayleigh returned to the couch and placed the booklet on the side of her lap. Sean looked over and identified Martin Boyd’s business card attached to the Boyd’s Electronics store catalogue. From the time Martin first showed him a choice of options to resolve his electrical issues, the pamphlet not only remained unopened but forgotten. Seeing it now, he realized Kayleigh must have spotted it on the round glass table by the light switch where he gathered reading material he planned to peruse...eventually. Somewhere among the clutter of a Mother Jones magazine, a Westways AAA magazine, a Sports Illustrated magazine, an envelope with copies of home insurance papers, a calendar still turned to the previous month of October, a neighborhood store discount catalog, a multi-colored lined notepad, and a plastic tray holding a couple of dealership inscribed pens, Kayleigh discovered Martin’s brochure--quite a coincidence, considering his pending appointment with him tomorrow to discuss track lighting and ceiling fan installations.
You Say Goodbye Page 23
