Something Old, Something Dead

by Misty Simon

  Turned out I didn’t have to mow down any trees under my tiny engine because I was right at the head of the driveway that led to that lovely light. Phew! Looked like at least one thing was going my way today.

  And another thing was going my way, too. I pulled up to the house and knocked on the door after leaving the warmth of the car interior for the frigid outside. When I asked for directions in my nicest voice, I found out I was standing on Lauren’s porch, the woman I’d been looking for. Yay! Who says I don’t have a keen sense of direction?

  Now if she’d only let me in out of the subzero temperatures. But it looked like my luck had run out.

  “What do you want?” she asked from the confines of her cozy house where I could see a fire blazing in the living room fireplace and feel the heat creeping out to slightly warm my legs and face.

  “I had a few questions for you and was wondering if I could come in.”

  “If you only have a few questions then you can ask them here on the porch.” She crossed her arms over her bony chest, and I wondered how she’d managed to be a groupie with that surly attitude. Maybe it was me, but when Martha told me this woman was the band’s biggest groupie, I’d had a slightly different image in mind.

  “It’s a little cold out here.” Damn lilt at the end of a sentence made it sound like a question. I tried for my best smile, but my cheeks were nearly frozen.

  “Then I guess you better start asking quick, so you can get back into your little car and go.” The crossed arms hadn’t budged, and neither had she.

  All right, apparently I was going to do this out in the cold after all. I tried to find that little draft of warm air again, but Lauren stepped into the slice of the open door and wouldn’t even let me have that. This was not going to be pleasant.

  “I’m still waiting,” she said, a scowl on her face.

  I searched her face, looking to see if there were any ravages of grief, but found her hair perfectly done and her makeup applied with a deft hand. She didn’t look like she’d been crying buckets over the death of her husband. Yeah, I had finally put one and one together and got two after Rhiannon told me the woman’s name. “Um, well, I was trying to get hold of you to find out if you knew anything else about the death of your husband.” I couldn’t bring myself to say murder. And that little explanation had completely lacked any finesse whatsoever. Great going, Ivy.

  Lauren’s eyebrows drew down until they almost touched between her eye-shadowed eyes—blue and teal shadow, not quite the color I would have chosen, but then, who was I, without any makeup at all? “I already talked to the police and have absolutely nothing else to say on the matter. Who are you, anyway?”

  I had been afraid of that question. Damn. What was I supposed to say? I’m the nosiest neighbor you’ll ever meet? I want my life back and have sunk to prying into other people’s pain to get it back? I said none of those things. Instead, I lied. “I’m helping with the investigation and just have a few more questions to clear up a few things.” I smiled, hoping it would help.

  It didn’t.

  “I think you should leave. I don’t have anything else to say, as I’ve already said, and no desire to help find out who killed my ex-husband. He was a shit to begin with, and now he’s been a shit in the end, too.” She moved her hand up the door. “You need to go.”

  Crap. “Any chance you could give me directions back to town?” Might as well salvage one thing.

  “No.” She smirked. “You found your way out here, you can find your way back. I highly doubt any wolves are out tonight, no matter how big of a snack you might make.” With that, she slammed the door in my face and I heard the distinct click of the lock. Nice. Locked out and insulted, both in the space of a breath.

  I huddled in my jacket outside the door, hoping for a brief second she’d open back up, laugh, and tell me she was just joking and would I like to come in and use her phone while she wrote out directions on the fastest way back to town. None of that happened either.

  Tromping back to my car, I tried my cell phone again. When I flipped it open I had one missed call. I pressed the OK button and saw it was from Ben. My heart had one second to throb in my chest before the phone blanked itself out, powering down. Dead battery. Crap.

  Five minutes later, I actually found a road I knew and ended up back in town in only two miles. It’s a sad day when you realize you’ve wasted half a tank of gas to go three miles.

  I sighed as more snow began to fall. Pulling up into my driveway, I looked at the dark house for a couple of minutes and tried to find the determination I’d had when I set out from Bella’s earlier. I dug deep, deeper than I had in months, to find some solace that I wasn’t a complete idiot, even if my life was complete idiocy.

  My house was locked up tight, thank goodness, since I never knew who would be over trying to steal my toilet paper or stalking me in my kitchen. My street was quiet in the snowfall. It really was beautiful to watch the individual flakes fall and stick to the ground. It sent a peace through me I’d been missing since Ben and I had broken up, or whatever we’d done. I didn’t even know, at this point. What I did know, though, was that I did find that little pocket of determination while standing out on my porch watching the white flecks swirl toward the ground. I wasn’t going to give up. And even if this didn’t work out with Ben, I was going to go on with my life.

  I might not enjoy things as much, and I didn’t know if I’d be able to look at dirt again without crying, but I didn’t need this aggravation in my life. I didn’t need for Ben to be so blind he couldn’t even see I was hurting. He said he loved me but then didn’t listen to my very valid concerns over having iced tea poured on me and women chasing him. I didn’t need his condescension when I tried to discuss our relationship.

  I didn’t need my heart, either, as it almost popped out of my mouth when a shadow loomed out of the corner of the porch and tried to attack me.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I freaked out. All the tension of the last few days, all the bad feelings I had toward Ben and Horace and even Martha for putting me in this position, came tumbling out and took form in a punch like nothing I’d ever thrown before. I heard an umph and immediately recognized the sound. From the time I’d elbowed him in the eye and the time I’d pinched him in the ribs for being stupid. It was Ben. I thought I should have taken some satisfaction in hurting him, but instead I was wondering what he was doing there and babbling out an apology.

  “I’m sorry, so sorry. I didn’t know it was you; I thought someone was trying to attack me. I never would have hit you like that if I had known it was you. Are you okay?”

  Then I thumped him on the arm as the moon peeked out from behind a cloud, silvering his face and hair. He held his eye gingerly with one hand, and after my second punch, he also cradled his bicep.

  “Can you please stop hitting me?” His words were a little slurred.

  “Have you been drinking?” I asked, even though I could smell the alcohol wafting out of his mouth now that he’d spoken. “Why on earth have you been drinking?”

  We’d gone out drinking a couple of times at the Rusty Pelican, but I’d never seen him actually intoxicated. Not like this weaving and bobbing thing he was doing. Although I guess it could have been from the fact he was recovering from two pretty high-powered punches, if I did say so myself.

  “I’m drinking because you left me.”

  I scoffed, making a rude noise in the back of my throat.

  “It’s true. I’m miserable without you.” He blinked his good eye at me. “I’m all icky inside.”

  I stifled a laugh. Not terribly appropriate at this time, but please, miserable without me? Icky? He didn’t seem to be having such a hard time of it when he was surrounded by adoring women sitting across from me at the diner. I told him so.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I am miserable.” To prove it to me, he put a hangdog expression on his face and let his bicep go to grab my hand. He missed the first time, but th
e second time I took pity on him and put my hand where he was reaching.

  What can I say? I’m a sucker for him. And if he was drunk enough to use the word “icky,” I might actually be able to get him to talk about this whole situation. “How long had you been drinking before you came over here to lurk on my porch?”

  “Wasn’t lurking.” He hiccupped. “Here for you. Gotta have you back. No one else.” He hiccupped again and fell back against my not-so-sturdy railing.

  It was at that point I decided to give him some slack and at least let him into the house. God knows if I didn’t I might find him frozen out on my brittle grass the next morning. Plus, I needed to get my phone on the charger.

  I put aside the mystery of Horace’s near miss as I led Ben into my darkened living room. I flipped on some lights, and he blinked as if he hadn’t seen brightness in a while. “How much did you have to drink?” I called back to him as I went into the kitchen to start some coffee. If we were going to have any kind of normal conversation, he’d need sobering up.

  My only answer was a moan. All righty, then. The coffee began its fragrant dripping a few seconds later, and I found some peanut butter to put on a handful of saltines. It couldn’t hurt for him to have something in his stomach besides liquid. I also put two aspirins on the side of the plate and poured a glass of water.

  With all my offerings lined up on a tray, I went back into the living room, ready to berate him for his stupidity, then quickly forgive him so that at least one aspect of my life could get back on an even keel.

  I didn’t get the chance, though. He was passed out on my couch, sawing logs like a master lumberjack and sprawled out with one foot on the floor. His other foot was flung over the back of the couch and his arms were spread out to his sides. He did not look comfortable, but I checked myself before encouraging him to go sleep in my room. I was still angry with him and didn’t want to go out of my way to make him more comfortable when he’d been an ass for several days now.

  So I left him on the couch, but I did put an afghan on him before sitting down on my plush chair to watch him sleep. I passed the time by stuffing my mouth with peanut butter crackers and drinking coffee.

  When the snoring reached a crescendo, I sat back and relaxed into the chair. He wasn’t going anywhere until the morning. I wasn’t, either, since I had no other leads and the time with Lauren had been for absolutely nothing. I sank my head against the back of the chair and closed my eyes. Maybe I’d get a little shuteye while he did. It couldn’t hurt to let my mind work on this whole mess while I rested.

  ****

  I was right in the middle of a fantabulous dream in which Ben was touching all the right places and I was sucking the cream out of an éclair (don’t ask) when James Brown screamed out of my phone. Poor James. I’d kept him on after hearing about his death, and was no longer poring over the instruction manual to figure out how to get something else for my ringtone.

  Even so, the scream thing still made me jump in my chair. Apparently, Ben was completely dead to the world, sleeping off whatever it was he’d had to drink, because he didn’t even stir. I brushed his hair off his forehead and ran my fingertips down his cheek. With him asleep, he’d never know I’d touched him without an apology fresh off his lips for his behavior.

  I grabbed up the phone before it could holler again and ducked into my bedroom. Flipping open the phone, I looked at the display and sighed.

  “What can I do for you, Martha?” I loved the woman, but I felt guilty for not having anything else to offer her regarding Horace, or how to get him out of her house.

  “I wanted you to know I think I’ve figured out what’s going on with Ben.”

  That perked me right up. “What?”

  “Have you seen him lately?”

  I debated letting her know he was sleeping on my couch, then figured it didn’t really matter. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know we’d been together before. “Yes, he’s sleeping off a pretty good drunk now. Why?”

  “I was over at Thelma’s house earlier and think I may have stumbled across a conversation I wasn’t supposed to hear.”

  “How?” If I kept this up I’d manage to ask all the reporter’s questions. I only needed who and where, but she’d already given me those.

  “Well, I had to ask Thelma about some mail stuff for when your father and I finally leave on our honeymoon, and Betsy and Cora were over in the kitchen. Thelma tried to keep me out in the hallway, but she left to go get a Hold Mail form, and I snuck over to the closed door. I caught the tail end of what was being said, and I think I know the rest.”

  “Well, spill it, spill it. You’re killing me with the suspense, and we do not need another death around here right now.”

  She chuckled, which was good, but still wasn’t talking the talk I wanted to hear. “Come on!” I rarely used exclamation points in speech, but this one was completely necessary.

  “Okay, okay. It has to do with a conspiracy and a mother’s fear. Actually, several mothers’ fears.”

  I was getting more confused, instead of more enlightened. “You’re talking in riddles, Martha. Please, help me understand what the heck you are talking about.”

  “Oh, Ivy.” She chuckled. All right, chuckling was okay, but this panic I was feeling in my chest was not.

  “Please.” I whined, I admit it.

  “Oh, all right, but you’re going to laugh when you hear this, actually. And really, you could use it to your advantage if you are as smart as your dad always says you are.”

  “My dad says I’m smart?” Oops, that was not the important part, but it was pretty cool to hear.

  “Your dad thinks the world of you, but we were talking about Ben, right?”

  “Yes, yes, we were.” I whispered this for some reason. Like I thought Ben could hear me in his dead-drunk sleep. “Okay, so spill. What’s going on?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Ben’s eyes finally blinked open after I’d been toying with him for about two minutes. Okay, two minutes wasn’t very long, but it felt like an eternity when trying to wake someone up.

  “Ivy?”

  Well, at least he got my name right. But that wasn’t a very nice thought when I was in a very nice place, and ready to forgive him. “Hi.”

  “Are we talking again?” He tangled his hand in my hair and looked down at me from the couch.

  “Isn’t that what you came here to do?” I rose from my knees and made him scoot over on the couch. My body hurt from crouching on the floor where I’d been trying to tickle his feet. No, I hadn’t undressed him and tried to have my wicked way with him while he was sleeping. Although that was a fine idea for another time. Hmmm.

  He ran his fingers through my hair again and opened his mouth, probably to say something. But I beat him to it. “You know, before we talk, why don’t you go get yourself some mouthwash, and I’ll get some more crackers and peanut butter for you?” I rose from the couch and smiled at him over my shoulder. “I didn’t even use your toothbrush to clean the toilet yet, so it’s still there in the holder.”

  He breathed into his hand and winced. “Yeah, okay, I’ll be right back. You have any aspirin, while you’re at it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  We met back in the living room after a few minutes. I had another tray and three Tylenol with a huge glass of water along with the crackers.

  I smoothed my hands over my hips and sat down on the couch, hoping he’d sit next to me instead of choosing the chair across from me. It was after midnight by this time, and a little snuggling wouldn’t kill me after we got the talking out of the way. In fact, a little snuggling as the temperatures continued to drop outside sounded like just the thing. We’d get to it as soon as we straightened out a few things regarding how this whole relationship worked and the appropriate behavior for him when approached by a woman who was obviously not me.

  He did choose the seat right next to me. Actually he sat so close he was nearly on top of me, but that was okay. Better t
han sitting all the way across the room. I drew a deep breath, then watched Ben’s slightly blurry eyes glue onto my heaving bosom. Maybe I had been wrong all along. Then again he hadn’t exactly been innocent in this whole thing, either. I needed to keep that in mind.

  “What happened tonight?” I wanted to get the conversational ball rolling. I was no good at plunging in when there was a way to ease.

  “What happened?” He laughed, but it wasn’t his normal jovial laugh.

  I frowned at him. “Yes, what happened tonight?”

  “What hasn’t happened?” He dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders shaking as he laughed again. This one was even worse than the last. I wanted to put my arms around him, give him a hug, and tell him it would be all right. I refrained because I didn’t even really know what was wrong.

  “I don’t know, that’s why I asked.” This conversation was going nowhere.

  His head shot up and he looked me dead in the eyes. “My life fell apart today. I can’t work with you pissed at me. I can’t think with all the silence. So I decided to go get drunk and relive the day you accidentally put your hand in my lap, but I ended up with another hand in my lap. Some woman came over to the table and started feeling me up, another was chewing on my ear, and a third plied me with drinks.” My heart stopped. “It was awful.” And resumed beating.

  “I couldn’t get them off me,” he continued, and the old ticker beat even faster. “I shook them off, I tried reasoning with them, I even ignored them, but nothing worked. It was like they were possessed with the marital bug. I had four proposals and one blatant invitation when a woman threw six condoms on the table in front of me.” He dropped his head again.