Behind her, the outer door slammed, and Pearl’s heavy steps clicked through the office. “What are you doing here?”
The question would have sounded harsher if not for the fact that her mouth was apparently still numb from the dentist, turning all her R’s into W’s. Still, her words had the desired effect on Lacy who snapped to attention and slammed the inner office door, not wanting Pearl to see the horror she had just witnessed.
“Call the police,” Lacy said through lips that felt as numb as Pearl’s must be.
“I will if Mr. McNeil tells me to.” She marched to the inner door and prepared to open it. Lacy tried to block her way, but it was a futile attempt. Pearl was much taller, heavier, and larger boned. And she was angry. She grasped Lacy’s wrist and yanked her out of the way.
“No, Pearl, please don’t open that door,” Lacy pled. This time she grabbed Pearl’s wrist and tugged, bracing her feet against the floor to try and pull the larger woman back.
Pearl shook her off like a wet dog shaking off water droplets and opened the door. For a moment, Lacy felt sorry for her as a look of horror and immense sadness swept over her face. Then the pity was replaced by panic as Pearl turned to her, trembling with rage.
“What did you do?” she said. “What did you do to Eddie?”
“I…I didn’t…” Lacy faltered, too shocked and muddled to think up a reply. However, when Pearl advanced on her, arms outstretched, Lacy’s brain somehow snapped back to attention. Run, it told her, and she did. Not waiting to see what Pearl intended to do, she turned and began sprinting toward the door and freedom.
Pearl didn’t keep her intentions a secret, though. “I’m going to kill you,” she screamed, her voice as primal and terrifying as the sound of her heels clacking on the tile floor.
Fleetingly Lacy wondered over the fact that she was wearing sneakers and still somehow almost as slow as a woman wearing heels, but as soon as they reached the outer doors, something miraculous happened. Lacy’s adrenaline kicked in, and it was as if she turned into FloJo as she sprinted down the steps in a graceful glide, her gait no longer hitched or slow. This is why people run for pleasure, she thought as she sailed along the sidewalk, her feet barely touching the pavement.
Behind her, Pearl was getting farther away, but that did nothing to temper her rage. She was still hurling insults and epithets. If Lacy weren’t so thoroughly frightened, she might have laughed when Pearl yelled, “I’m going to snatch you bald, you little leprechaun,” especially because the last two words came out “wittle wepwechaun.” It was like being chased by a larger, female Elmer Fudd.
Ahead, Lacy caught sight of a black form, and she ran toward it as the beacon of hope it was. Tosh, standing on the sidewalk a hundred feet away in full clerical drag, stopped short and looked at her in alarm, and then he started jogging toward her. He reached her, grabbing her and holding her close when she buried her face in his chest.
“Lacy, what’s wrong?” he asked, skimming his hands along her back and arms to check for broken limbs.
“She’s trying to kill me,” Lacy said, the sound muffled by his cassock.
“Who?” Tosh asked, and then looked up to see Pearl bearing down on them. “Whoa,” he added, moving Lacy protectively behind him. Pearl barreled into him, so hard that he stumbled back, knocking Lacy to the ground. She sat there, stunned, as Pearl collapsed onto Tosh and began to weep.
Panting, wheezing, and seeing spots, Lacy pulled out her phone and called the police.
Chapter 10
Lacy’s hand trembled when she knocked on the door. After she was finished, she clasped her hands behind her back and pasted on a smile.
Jason opened the door with a smile of his own, though he still looked tired and worn. He leaned against the doorframe, his arm stretched up so that his hand curled over the top as his smile slowly faded.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.
Lacy’s eyes fluttered, trying in vain to clear away the sudden rush of tears. “Nothing.” She eased by him, not waiting for an invitation to come inside, and went to the kitchen, depositing her grocery bags on his counter.
“No, really,” Jason said, reaching out to lightly grasp her bicep. “What’s wrong with you?”
His gentle touch was almost enough to break through her carefully contained emotions, so she shook him off. “Nothing. Did you sleep all day?” How else had he missed the news that there had been a murder?
“I woke an hour ago,” he said, sounding wary now. “Are we arguing? Sometimes I lose track.” He moved beside her and began helping unload groceries.
She shook her head. Clearing her throat, she tried to say it as casually as she could. “Ed McNeil was killed this morning. I found him.” Her voice hitched as the mental image returned and she cleared her throat again.
Jason reached for the can of chicken broth she was holding, gently uncurling her fingers and setting it on the counter. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “What?” he said, stooping slightly to look in her eyes.
“I don’t want to say it again,” she whispered. Nervously, she licked her lips and blinked back more tears.
His thumbs smoothed over her shoulders, relaxing her so that she eased her stiff posture. “Then what happened?”
She omitted the part about Pearl chasing her down the street, and began instead with what happened when the police arrived. “Detective Brenner came,” she said. It was the first time she had seen the man since she wrote her scathing article. She had expected open hostility and been surprised instead by his professionalism. “He didn’t talk to me, just got to work taking statements and all that stuff you guys do. They,” she paused and licked her lips. “They tested my hands for powder residue to rule me out as a suspect.”
His hands tightened on her shoulders, but he didn’t reply, knowing it had only been standard procedure.
“They didn’t find any,” she added, and that made him laugh.
“Of course they didn’t,” Jason said, giving her a little shake and a reassuring smile. She returned his smile and the silence stretched. “You had a very bad day,” he said at last. Not waiting for her to reply, he slipped his arms around her and pulled her close, hugging her. Lacy responded by snaking her arms around his waist and nestling closer, enjoying the moment. They had never just hugged before; it was an intimate gesture devoid of the usual tension that always seemed to hum between them.
“I’m supposed to be cheering you up,” she said, closing her eyes and breathing his scent.
“Believe me when I tell you this cheers me up,” he said. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Lacy smiled. Inevitably, the tension returned. They seemed to feel it at the same time as their arms tightened on each other. There was always that moment of indecision; were they going to give in to it or fight it?
“Hungry?” Lacy asked, indicating a subject change.
“Okay,” Jason said, his tone resigned as he let her go.
She moved away from him with a mixture of relief and disappointment. He sat at the table and watched while she worked, standing again to tie her apron after she shook it from her bag.
“You’re the only woman I know who wears an apron,” he said. He sat again, resting his chin in his hand.
Her first reaction was always to wonder what other women he was referring to, but she stopped herself from asking, not wanting to appear jealous. “I’m messy,” she explained, her tone bordering on defensive.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” he added with whatever it was he infused in his tone that made her stomach clench. On her back, she could feel the heat of his gaze, but she didn’t turn around. Unlike with Tosh, Lacy could never be completely at ease with Jason. They couldn’t banter and not have it mean anything. She couldn’t turn around and see a look in his eyes and not want to act on it. She had to be careful because she wasn’t sure if she could trust him. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t sure if she could trust herself.
&
nbsp; Though they had never talked about the fine line that they walked, she knew Jason was as aware of it as she was. When he sighed, she wondered why. What did he want from her? What she told Tosh was true—she was still healing from her last relationship. But when she was with Jason, there was something more that held her back, some lingering insecurity from their past. Even though she was twenty six, there was still a little part of her that whispered, Holy Cow! You’re in Jason Cantor’s house and cooking him supper. The Jason Cantor!
“What’s the smile for?” he asked.
“How can you tell I’m smiling when you can only see the back of my head?” she asked.
“Because I’m a cop and we’re trained to notice these things. Also, I see your reflection in the toaster.”
She shrugged, turning to give him what she hoped was an enigmatic smile. In reality, she would never admit she was smiling at the memory of every slumber party she had ever attended. Without exception, Jason’s name had always come up at some point. They had gone to school together since kindergarten. He wasn’t one of those kids who went through an awkward period and then became beautiful and popular. From elementary school on, he had been the “it” guy, the one all the girls giggled over and dreamed about. And now she, Lacy Steele--the girl who had rolled her eyes and hushed her friends from their silly daydreams, the chubby girl everyone had called “Annie” after an unfortunately short haircut—was standing in his kitchen cooking him supper. Could life get any more surreal?
“Let me help you,” he said, standing to reach over her head when she strained for a high bowl. His chest brushed her back, warm and solid, and Lacy held her breath, fighting her ever-present panic, and finding it wasn’t as hard as it used to be. Either she was adjusting to the idea of being near a man again, or she was adjusting to Jason. She wasn’t sure which was more terrifying.
“Tell me something,” she said.
“What?” he asked, resting his hip against the counter beside her as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“Something. Anything. Talk to me.” Talk me down off the ledge; reassure me that what we have going on here is just friendship.
“What happened after you found the body? I got the feeling you edited something.”
She looked up at him, her nose wrinkled at his perceptiveness, and he smiled smugly. “I ran for my life,” she said.
He sat up straighter then, his arms dropping to his sides. “Why? Was the killer still there? You didn’t mention…geez, Lacy,” he smoothed a hand through his hair, tousling it. “It’s like I can’t leave you alone for a minute without you getting in some…ouch.” He looked down, frowning, as she poked him in the side with a wooden spoon.
“No, the killer wasn’t there. That would have been an important part of the story. His secretary came and chased me down the street.”
He blinked at her, replaying the words in his head, and then he resumed his position with one hip against the counter again. “You know, a few weeks ago, I might have thought you were kidding. Now I know better. Why did she chase you down the street?”
“I don’t know. At first I thought it was because she thought I did it, but on closer examination, I just think she’s psycho.” She told him the whole story of Pearl and her numb mouth, pausing a couple of times when he laughed.
“She actually called you a red-headed terror?” he said.
Lacy nodded. “Only it sounded more like, ‘wed-headed tewwow.’” She poked him again. “Don’t laugh. She did it in front of Detective Brenner and Tosh. It was very embarrassing. The woman hates me.”
Jason’s smile fled. “What was he doing there?”
“He’s in charge of the investigation, I presume,” Lacy hedged, returning to her salad prep.
“You know that’s not who I mean,” Jason said.
“He was just there,” Lacy said, remembering her palpable relief when Tosh had caught and held her.
“He always is, isn’t he?” Jason asked, his tone resentful. “And yet you made out with his brother.”
“I did not,” Lacy said, her temper flaring.
Jason smiled. “I knew if I asked you flat out you wouldn’t tell me if you had. I’m going to try that technique on a suspect sometime.” He reached around her, popping a piece of cheese. “So what is going on with you and the brother? You looked pretty cozy on that roof.”
“We’re friends,” she said.
“Like you and I are friends?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Like you and the pastor are friends?”
“We’re all friends,” she snapped, flustered by his insinuating tone.
“It would be interesting to know your definition of friendship as it applies to each of us,” he said. “Care to fill me in?”
“Supper’s ready,” she announced.
“Of course it is.” He reached above her again, this time for the plates. Instead of setting two places across from each other, he set them kitty-corner so they were sitting next to each other. Lacy glanced at the arrangement, remembering that Jason didn’t like to eat alone. That thought led her to the image of him as a little boy. Had he eaten his meals alone then while his parents fought? He caught her looking at him and she smiled with all the sudden rush of warmth she was feeling. His smile was tentative in return, almost wary as he tried to figure out her sudden burst of emotion.
They filled their plates, carried them to the table, and sat. This time Lacy wasn’t surprised when Jason rested his left hand on her knee, feeding himself with his right. How had she so quickly acclimated to his habit of touching her? She remembered her first meal here when he had told her that he was a touchy-feely person and she was going to have to get used to it. At the time, she had thought that an impossible feat. But now here she was, just a few weeks later, and she didn’t even feel awkward with his thumb trailing little circles around her kneecap. She felt many other things, but awkwardness wasn’t one of them.
They ate in silence. Jason appeared lost in thought—though he did compliment her food—and Lacy was lost in sensation, enjoying his absent perusal of her leg. Maybe that was why she had so quickly warmed up to his touch, because it felt so doggone good.
“You’re being unfair,” he said after a few minutes of silence.
“Why am I unfair?”
“Because you want me to talk to you about what happened yesterday, but you’ve never told me why you’re here, why you left New York.”
He had a point, and she knew it, but that didn’t mean she relished admitting her humiliating history. She tried to say it as matter-of-factly as possible. “I was engaged. He dumped me for Riley. We worked together and I found it impossible to stay, so I came here.” Ran away, was a more apt description, but she figured he would read between the lines. He nodded and the silence stretched once again as they finished eating.
“It didn’t start until after my brother died,” Jason said at last. His voice was soft, and his eyes never left his plate.
Though she could barely hear him, she didn’t ask him to speak up or repeat himself because she knew exactly what he was talking about.
“It’s pretty common, I guess, for families to melt down after the death of a child,” he continued. Resting his fork on the side of his plate, he sat back, dropping his hand from her knee. Lacy set down her fork, too, and pushed her plate aside, giving him her full attention.
“What happened after your brother died?”
“My parents started drinking. At first they did it together, getting drunk on the weekends after I went to sleep. They thought I didn’t know, but I did. I guess they felt like it was okay because they were doing it together. Maybe they thought it was helping them heal, but it wasn’t.
“After a few months, the drinking got worse and they began to turn on each other. The recriminations were awful, the blame they tried to lay on each other when it was no one’s fault. It was a downward spiral that quickly got out of control. The yelling progressed to physical fighting. I know McNeil made it sound like there was constan
t abuse, but it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t one of those situations where my dad was beating on me and my mom; they beat on each other. It was mutual.”
As if that makes it any better, Lacy thought. “And where were you during all this?”
“I was here,” he said, sounding old and weary. “Trying to make sure they didn’t kill each other. When I was little, I would cry and beg for them to stop. As I got older, I tried to physically insert myself between them. When I couldn’t, I called the police. They were the only ones who could help, the only ones who could restore order, the only ones my parents would listen to.”
Lacy reached out and clasped his hand. He squeezed hers tightly in return, staring at their fused fingers. “What about the part where they hit you?”
“My mom never hit me. My dad did a few times, but never on purpose. He was just so out of his head wasted that he had no idea who I was. He would have decked Mother Theresa if she’d gotten in his way. He was always sorry; they both were. Eventually it was that sorrow that made them sober up. They both got help and dried out, but the damage was done. Neither of them were what you’d call topnotch employees during that time, and they were starting to get reputations on the local bar scene. They decided to move away and make a new start of things. They’re doing pretty well now.”
“But you don’t see them,” Lacy said. She moved closer and added her other hand to the mix, devouring his hand with both of hers in an attempt to offer solace.
“It’s…hard,” he said. “The memories from that time are still fresh. A lot was said and done, and a lot wasn’t said and done. I basically parented myself. It was chaotic. The house was a sty. I never invited people over.” He gave a mirthless chuckle. “People thought it was because my parents were so strict I wasn’t allowed to have parties. What a joke. I could have done drugs in front of them and they wouldn’t have noticed.”
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