Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

  “You can stop staring at him now,” I whispered to Connor. “He’s enjoying his date.”

  “I feel like I need to get them a room,” he said.

  “I think Mr. Cummings thinks that our dear Daphne is real.”

  “Mr. Cummings?” Connor’s eyes lit up with amusement. “Are you making that up?”

  “Lyle Cummings—it says so on his driver’s license.”

  Connor threw his head back and laughed. He leaned in and whispered in my ear. “I bet he got the shit beaten out of him as a kid with a name like that. He probably only feels safe when his friends are made of plastic.”

  “Bullying isn’t a laughing matter, Connor.”

  “Being a perv named Cummings is.”

  “Stop already. Go and help out these guests. That woman over there isn’t going to leave until you refill her drink.”

  “I think she wants to pass me her number.”

  “I bet it’s not the only one you were offered tonight. Did the Sugar Plum Fairy hand you her digits?”

  “She tried to,” Connor said, filling up a stein.

  “Ooo, if you go home with a napkin with a strange number and a pretty pink kiss, I bet Ashley will never let you out of the house again.”

  “Short leash,” he said, as he pushed the beers toward the waiting hands.

  “You said it,” I said with a smile that I didn’t feel. Connor belonged on no one’s leash—short or not.

  “Nah, it’s not like that. She trusts me.” He made the B.O. face. “Most of the time, anyway. I think my being down here at the bar is just a different situation—it seems to worry her.”

  “Which part?”

  He turned serious eyes on me. I could see he was thinking through his answer.

  “Bartender?” A man leaned forward and waved a twenty in my face.

  I didn’t really want Connor to answer and was happy for the interruption. Connor and Ashley’s relationship was none of my business. “What can I get you, sir?” And I wasn’t going to let it become my business, either.

  When Lyle was nearly finished with his drink, I moved toward Daphne’s end of the bar, where I’d positioned a bowl of lemons, a knife, and a cutting board. I pulled on a pair of food prep gloves and started slicing. With his last sip, I carefully lifted the glass by the coaster at the bottom and a finger on the rim and put it down on the workspace, where I placed it in a paper bag and placed it on the shelf all the while asking, “Shall I pour you another?”

  “No, I think I’m good. I must say, I really do like this place.” He sent his gaze toward Daphne. “My friend here,” he patted Daphne on the leg, “is such a treat. She is the perfect date.”

  I sent him a tight-lipped smile and moved on to ring up a tab that was being handed to me. I felt compassion for Lyle. We, all of us, are trying to live our best lives. It was sad, perhaps, that Lyle felt most comfortable in the company of a plastic doll. But look at us. Connor was dating a—well, let’s be honest, a bitch. Kay was in love with Terrance, but it never seemed to work out that they were reading the same page at the same time. I…I wasn’t always the girl that had played the field.

  Back in high school, I’d loved a guy named Sean like my life depended on it, but then I figured out that I’m just not the kind of girl who’s interested in second place. I’d made someone a priority, and I’d been only an option on his contact list. I’m a quick learner. I learned that I can have fun without the entanglements that are so painful. I didn’t have to worry about bruised egos or broken spirits. Not all twenty-something-year olds had their acts together, but I’d like to think that I at least knew that I could live my life and be happy without conforming to the old tropes I saw in Disney princess movies.

  I guessed Lyle and I had that in common. We were both living our truths, despite how they might be seen and perceived by the outside world. It was all good, as long as it was consensual.

  I looked over at Daphne and wondered about Chloe. Was what happened last spring break consensual? Could Lyle have known Chloe?

  14

  Connor drove Kay home, then me. He walked me all the way up to my apartment door and kissed my nose, then told me to be careful and lock up tight. We had shoved the last reveler out the door at two on the dot, turned the key, punched in the alarm code, snapped off the lights, and slugged our tired butts to Connor’s Jeep. And now, it was just after two-thirty.

  I toed off my shoes and petted Twinkles’ head before falling face first onto my bed, fully clothed. I didn’t do anything to clean up the bar after the crowds finally left. I knew I’d be there all day tomorrow, because Dante would be there, sprucing up the wall. Of course, Kay planned to be at the bar tomorrow, too. She wanted to see Dante in action. It would be nice if that all worked out the way I hoped it would: a dog on the wall, some good advertising juju to pay Dante back for his talent, and Kay figuring out that Dante wasn’t the guy for her, because she belonged with Terrance.

  Tomorrow? What was I thinking? That was today, in just a few hours. It was Sunday already. I was supposed to go let Dante in at nine. Usually, I was off Sundays and Mondays. Now that Hooch was gone, I’d just keep the bar closed those days. I needed to hire some staff. I couldn’t keep draining Kay’s and Connor’s energy. They were so good to me.

  I reached down to tug off my shirt when my phone rang. I picked it up with trepidation. There were no good phone calls that came in at almost three in the morning. My mind raced to thoughts of my dad. He was a fire chief. He was always in danger. And one of the biggest dangers for firemen was a heart attack stemming from all of the toxic chemicals they came into contact with on the job. I was terrified as I swiped my finger across the display. “Hello?”

  “This is Shield Protection, Miss Reid?”

  It was the bar’s alarm company. “Yes?”

  “We have activity at Hooch’s. Are you inside the establishment?”

  “I’m at home. Did someone break in?”

  “Ma’am, there is no alarm that sounded from the entry systems. There is activity in the interior that set off the motion sensors. We turned on the remote listening, and it sounds as if someone might be in medical distress.”

  “Wait. Inside Hooch’s? But the door didn’t alarm?” Still dressed, I was reaching for my shoes.

  “Our systems indicate that the door alarm was set at 2:09 a.m. No doors or windows have been accessed. At 2:39, exactly a half hour after the code was entered, the motion sensor signaled, and we listened in.”

  “That’s so strange.”

  “How would you like to proceed?” the man asked.

  “Could you ask the police to go and investigate? Tell them I’ll meet them behind Nicky’s Restaurant in the alley behind the bar and give them a key.” I was fully awake now with the phone sandwiched between my chin and shoulder as I tied my shoes. “And maybe have an ambulance staged nearby just in case someone is in there and needs help?”

  “Yes, ma’am, we’ll contact the first responders.”

  I grabbed my keys, headed out the door, and jogged toward my car. This was so weird. Could we have missed someone in the bathroom? Could someone have had too much to drink and fallen asleep under one of the booth tables? We had just kind of gathered and left. If I had been there doing cleanup, I would have mopped all the floors and seen if someone was crumpled in a shadow. Shit. What have I done?

  I was the first one to head down the alley, but a cop car was just behind me. They turned off their blue lights as they approached. I didn’t recognize this guy; he was an older generation cop with a soft stomach that muffined over the top of his tool belt, balding head, sleepy eyes. Backup was right behind him. Peter.

  Peter tapped on my window, and I rolled it down. “Hey there.”

  “Hey, yourself. I heard the address over the radio and thought I’d do backup. Communications said they believed there might be an injured party, but the situation was unclear. An ambulance is staging at the cross street. Can you fill us in?”

  I repeate
d the phone conversation I’d had with the alarm company. And then I told them that I had a theory that someone had been missed–maybe passed out in a corner somewhere and woken up sick.

  “Obviously, we didn’t see anyone when we locked up. I left the chores for today because I was beat. There were so many people here tonight that it was hard to keep track of everyone.”

  If I’d left someone in there, and they weren’t well, would they sue me? Was this a violation of some kind? Entrapment? No, that was something else. Maybe kidnapping–false imprisonment? We had double lock bolts–you could only get them open with a key. The windows were locked, too, and Hooch had put some kind of film over them that made them unbreakable. In an emergency, we’d have to peel the film off before breaking the window. Was this going to get me into bigger trouble with the ABC? And most importantly, was the person okay?

  I handed my keys to Peter, who handed them to the old guy. “You wait here with your window up and your door locked,” Peter said. “Beep your horn if you need help.”

  So of course, as soon as they stacked up by the door, I jumped out to join them.

  “BJ, get back in your car,” Peter said.

  I raised an eyebrow.

  He sighed.

  Old guy turned the key and pulled open the door.

  Gun in hand, Peter rounded in. I waited for a split second to make sure no one fired on him, then I followed the old guy in.

  I quickly tapped the code in to turn off the silent alarm.

  We were creeping through the kitchen. Peter was using his flashlight on soft—just enough illumination to walk without tripping, still too little to draw attention to us. From cop novels, I knew he wanted to get his eyes on the unknown subject–the unsub–before the unsub got his eyes on Peter.

  Kitchen, clear.

  Office, clear.

  Back of the bar, clear.

  Definite moaning sounds. “Hey,” I whispered in Peter’s ear. “That doesn’t sound like pain.”

  Peter turned toward me with “no shit?” painted across his face. We bent our knees and crouch-walked behind the bar, Peter training his light at the ground. All three of us lined up behind the counter. All three of us raised up to standing. Peter flashed his light forward. All three of us dove back down and stifled laughter into our elbows.

  It was Lyle Cummings living up to his family name with Daphne. He was so into it, he had no idea that he’d been spotted.

  Peter leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Your call. Do I tell him to freeze or do I let him finish?”

  “I’d let him finish. He’ll be much more mellow a capture.”

  We sat on the floor twiddling our thumbs listening to Lyle’s last few moments of pleasure. It was kind of a weird setup. Live perv porn isn’t really my thing. If it was Peter’s, he wasn’t saying anything to me about it. There was no wayward hand reaching out to cop a feel. That thought made me duck my head and snicker–okay, the whole scene had me snickering.

  Peter leaned in until his lips were right by my ear. “How’d he get in here?” His words tickled.

  “My guess is that he wanted to spend some time with Daphne,” I whispered back. “He’s been here at the bar sitting next to her for the last two nights. I think he might be Daphne’s owner, but when I asked, he said he saw her on social media.” I waited a beat. “Surely this won’t go on much longer. The alarm company started recording at 2:39. It’s 3:10.”

  “You have to give it to the man, he has stamina,” Peter said.

  I wrinkled my nose. “Anyway, I think he might have hidden in the office or something and come out after we left. I bet he has no idea that he was locked in and there was no way out.”

  “I bet he has no idea that there are two cops here waiting to drag his ass to jail.”

  And with that, Lyle Cummings reached a crescendo and a finale.

  The three of us rose to our feet. I flicked on the overhead light. Lyle was lying on his back his pants around his knees his trouser snake coiled and sleeping. His face was red and glistening with sweat. Daphne’s tummy was glistening with—ew!

  The old guy was the closest to the end, so he pulled the short straw and rounded the corner of the bar, handcuffs out. “Okay son, put your mouse back in the house and put your hands behind your back.”

  Lyle’s face grew even redder. He rose to his feet, tucked himself back together, and turned around for a pat down.

  “What happens now?” I asked.

  “We charge him. Book him. He makes a phone call and someone comes to bail him out.”

  “But I have to press charges, right?”

  “You don’t want us to take him into custody?”

  I was conflicted, to tell the truth. Mary had planted some bad seeds in my brain. I had been working those thoughts and working those thoughts, and I could not, for the life of me, come up with a scenario that made any sense at all. Not one that included Lyle. I didn’t know that this mannequin had any direct correlation to Lyle other than what I had seen play out in front of me for the last couple of days. Lyle didn’t necessarily have anything to do with the park. It could very well be that Lyle was truthful and had seen Daphne on social media, it lit his Bic, and he’d come down and acted on his personal sexual interests. I worked on my own personal sexual interests all the time.

  I didn’t love this scenario or the position it put me in; I’d much rather be in my bed, mouth open, drooling on my pillow as I dreamed sweet dreams. But did the weirdness of this whole situation warrant Lyle having to pay all that money for legal help? And since he was caught in the act by two police officers and would surely be found guilty, did it warrant having his name on a sexual predator list for the rest of his life? It was a life-changing, life-destroying decision.

  “Can you just get all of his information? I need to talk to Dick before I make a decision.” If I gave the glass to Dick and he said that the fingerprints didn’t match up, I’d just let things go and tell Lyle never to come to my bar again. If they were the fingerprints, then maybe the threat of jail would help Lyle tell us the story behind Daphne.

  “If that’s what you want to do,” Peter said.

  “Yeah, that’s what I want to do.” I nodded and hoped to God I’d just made the right decision.

  15

  Sunday morning and I was feeling like I’d been run over by a garbage truck. I didn’t get home until four. Peter had followed me in his cruiser to make sure I got there safe. He walked me to my door, because he was worried that there might be lurkers somewhere that would put me in danger. Then he insisted he needed to check under my bed to see if there were any monsters. After he declared an all-clear, I got to wrestle around with his monster, after which I passed right out.

  The alarm sounding at eight was torture.

  TORTURE!

  When did I start feeling this old? I dragged my sorry ass into the shower, into some clothes, into my car. Twinkles tinkled on the stop sign somewhere in all of that. I fed him, I’m pretty sure. But I left him at home, lest he get into Dante’s paints.

  When I got to the bar, I found the coffee pot was already on and there was an egg McMuffin in a bag on the counter. A note read, Out back with Georgi, Kay. God, I loved her.

  I poured a cup of coffee and drank it down. Poured another as I looked at the note and felt guilty that I was taking advantage of our friendship. It was proving to be too much for me to work the bar, and here Connor and Kay were working two jobs. In between bites of my breakfast sandwich, I made a Help Wanted sign and posted it in the window.

  Dante rapped at the front door and I went to open it for him. When he came into the bar, he did a double take, and then his face filled with concern. “Are you okay? You look…”

  “Like shit. I’m aware.” I pushed my hair out of my face. “I’m trying to revive myself with some coffee. Can I pour you a cup?”

  “No, thank you. It makes me shaky. I need steady hands, or the end product will look like a kindergartener did it.”

  I nodded and
shuffled back to my stool.

  “If it’s okay, my car’s out front and I need to unload.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Make yourself at home.”

  Dante spread a tarp out, brought in his paints and brushes, and got himself settled.

  The protein and caffeine both kicked in about the same time. I was starting to feel human. I guessed I should go out back and let Kay know Dante was here. And she was probably going to get a kick out of the perv story. On second thought, maybe she wouldn’t. This might just upset her and make her feel like I was unsafe. I thought back to the way she hugged me after the whole Mary/Chloe event.

  I opened the back door. Georgie came running over.

  “If you see Kay,” Georgie began, “run!”

  “Why’s that?” Dante asked.

  I spun around; I hadn’t heard him following me out.

  “We’re playing freeze tag, and she’s it,” Georgie explained.

  Kay came bounding around the corner, holding her side. She hadn’t run track since tenth grade, when she’d torn her ACL and ended up needing knee surgery to fix it. I didn’t envy her chasing after Georgie right now, either.

  “Run!” Georgie yelled. “She’s gonna get you.”

  “Not if I get her first.” Dante smiled warmly at Kay. “Hi.”

  “Hi yourself,” Kay said.

  I couldn’t tell if she was blushing, or just red as a tomato from her game.

  “Man, he’s fast.” She bent over and held on to her knees, huffing and puffing.

  “Nah, you’re just out of shape.” I chuckled.

  “Are you calling me a fatass?”

  “Nope. But I am saying that even Nicky could outrun you right now.”

  The game over, Georgie headed back to his dad’s restaurant to put the flowers in the vases for tonight’s guests. Dante, Kay, and I settled in. I cleaned up behind the bar and washed the dishes. The front would have to wait until after Dante was finished—maybe even until tomorrow, when Dante said the mural would be dry enough to coat it with a protective sealant.