Cold Summer Nights (8 page)
Read Cold Summer Nights Online
Authors: Sean Thomas Fisher,Esmeralda Morin
Chapter Eight
The office was already bustling and Nick was late. He power walked to his office, keeping his head down as he passed the cubicle farm he was, thankfully, no longer a part of. A couple of rookie agents said good morning and he nodded without slowing. The door frame to his small office grew closer and he had to resist the urge to take a quick look around. At this point, he didn’t really care if Bill saw him or not, but preferred dodging his boss’ barbs today. Bill was an ex-military guy and punctuation was everything. If someone wanted to be a real ass kisser, they came in ten minutes early every day, loud and proud.
Nick glanced at his watch and grimaced with his head still down, staring at the grey speckled carpet unfolding beneath his black dress shoes. Twelve minutes late, which, in Bill time, translated to twenty-two minutes late and counting. He turned into his office and released a pent-up breath, hurriedly setting his laptop on the desk. Now if he could just make it to the coat rack and back to the desk chair he was home free. His coat slipped off his shoulders into his hands, which swung it around and dropped it onto one of the big wooden hooks. Halfway back to the desk, he released another sigh of relief.
Home free.
“Did you have a good weekend, Nick?”
Nick flinched, his heart beating sharply out of rhythm. He knew Bill had seen him jump and probably wasn’t satisfied with it. If his boss had his way around here, he’d be in Nick’s face spitting profanities and making him drop and give him twenty. Nick made it to the desk and sat down in the high back chair on wheels, looking up to see Bill leaning in the doorway with steam rising from a Morton Realty coffee cup in his hand. His large frame cast an enormous shadow into the room.
“It was a long one,” Nick replied, trying to smile.
Bill flicked his watch out from beneath his crisp white shirtsleeve and took a good look at the timepiece. “Bet it was,” he said, lifting his eyebrows and dropping his arm. “Bet you had a lot more going on than the rest of us who had all the time in the world to come back to work today on time, because we don’t have nearly the exiting life you do, so it’s understandable that you need preferential...treatment.”
“Actually,” Nick started, clearing his throat. “My grandma died on Saturday.”
Bill’s eyebrows dipped.
“And things got a little…”
“The one in the nursing home?”
Bill asked, in a much softer tone.
Nick nodded with thin lips.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, Nick. That’s terrible news,” he said gently, dropping his eyes to his mug.
“Is it okay if I take Wednesday off for her funeral?”
Bill’s eyes popped back up.
“Absolutely.
Take tomorrow off too if you need it.”
“I think I will. Thanks.”
Bill shifted in his stance in the doorway and took a slow sip. He swallowed, staring at Nick. “It’s always hard losing a grandparent who has been around since before you were even born.”
Nick nodded, unzipping his laptop case. “It is, but I’m sure she’s a lot happier now. That place was brutal.”
Bill shook his gray crew cut. “That’s no way to go out, which is why I try to go biking as often as possible,” he said, patting his flat stomach.
Nick smiled and took out his laptop. “How’d your weekend go?” he asked, eager to change the subject.
Bill inhaled deeply and released it. “Well, mine went a little bit smoother than yours. Got the cars washed, did some grilling, my son got beat by a girl at the state wrestling tournament.”
Nick stopped punching buttons on the laptop and looked up to meet Bill’s eyes. “What?”
His boss raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Yep, finally got the cars all washed up.”
Nick squinted and shook his head.
“No, the other part…about your son.”
Bill tilted his head back. “Oh that. Evidently they let girls wrestle in high school now and lucky me, my son drew the card.”
Nick snorted. “Don’t they have…girl wrestling leagues or something?”
Bill sipped some more hot coffee and grimaced with its heat.
“Apparently not.
And now my son will probably turn into a serial killer. He didn’t take it too well.”
Nick tried not to laugh. “That is so wrong. I mean, you win, big deal you beat a girl. If you lose, you got beat by a girl.”
Bill chuckled. “Tell me about it. His mother wants to take his shoelaces.”
This time the laugh escaped Nick’s lips.
“Personally, I’m more afraid of finding a collection of soiled female panties hiding underneath his mattress than anything else. Maybe some of those female shoe catalogues with the pages all stuck together.”
Nick arched an eyebrow at him. “Okay, I should probably get some work done.”
“Which reminds me,” Bill said, pulling a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket and dropping it onto Nick’s desk.
Nick’s eyes followed the paper to its resting position next to his office phone.
“Carla’s out sick today, so I’m going to need you to show the Manning house at ten o’clock this morning,” Bill said, slamming back some more of the dark brew.
The smell of burnt toast suddenly wafted into Nick’s office from down the hall, prompting his toaster - sitting next to the milk and eggs in the fridge - to flash through his mind. He stared at the folded up piece of paper on the desk as the clock on the wall across from him ticked off each passing second. Why would anyone put a toaster in the refrigerator, asleep or not? And why was there always something wrong with every girl he ever dated. Something he couldn’t get past, like sneaking around with bartenders who looked like they should be on
The Jersey Shore
.
“Nick?”
Nick’s eyes jerked up to his boss. “Huh?”
Bill squinted at him. “You okay?”
He grabbed the paper and began unfolding it.
“Yeah.
Ten o’clock. Gotcha,” he said, staring at a picture of a nicely manicured three bedroom/two bath
Beaverdale
brown brick.
“You are free at ten, right?”
Nick glanced up to see Bill’s eyebrows high up on his forehead, awaiting Nick’s reply. “Yeah, I’m free.”
“Now, the lady you are meeting, Ms. Gardner, has already looked at the place twice so I want you to go in for the kill on this one, Nick,” he said firmly, as if he was commanding Nick to clear a burning village. “We can’t afford to waste any more time with her. I want you to sweep the leg.”
Nick tilted his head, his mouth hanging open, and stared into Bill’s dead serious eyes. “Was that a
Karate Kid
reference?”
“Nick, I need you to make this happen. Do you have any questions?”
Nick looked back to the picture of the house and shook his head. “I’m on it.”
“Good! And sorry to hear about your grandma,” he said, tapping the door frame two times and whisking his mug down the hallway.
Nick arrived twenty minutes early to give the vacant house a quick once over before Ms. Gardner showed up. He closed his car door and
took a look
around with the sunlight bouncing off his black shades. Like most of the other homes in the
Beaverdale
area, the flawless front yard gave it instant curb appeal. Brightly colored flowers were just starting to poke out of red mulch chipping that bordered the front of the house’s dark brown bricks. Tidy bushes accompanied a newly poured walkway that snaked its way through the greening grass to a set of wide steps leading to a spacious front porch. He couldn’t imagine why Carla had been having a hard time selling it.
Inside, freshly painted olive colored walls mingled with the kind of thick, dark woodwork that gives real meaning to the word
character
. He groaned, however, when he saw the kitchen and two bathrooms, which needed some serious updating. Kitchens and bathrooms were the biggest selling points for women and these outdated cupboards, countertops and appliances weren’t going to get it. He sighed, knowing he would have to play up the original hardwood flooring throughout, the working fireplace in the living room and the spacious back deck. He would also be sure to point out the plethora of beautiful crown molding running throughout the older home.
His phone began vibrating in the front pocket of his black slacks. He fished it out and didn’t recognize the number on the screen but answered it anyway, thinking it was Ms. Gardner running late. “Nick Foley.”
“Nick, it’s me,”
Rusty whispered.
“Hey, you got a new phone,” Nick said, keeping an eye out the arched window in the living room. A slight pause made him think the call had dropped. “Hello?”
“I’ve got some bad news,”
Rusty said grimly.
Nick dropped his gaze to the shiny wood floors. “Don’t tell me you signed with AT&T.”
Rusty exhaled.
“Amy is dead.”
Nick’s smile faded. “What?”
“Her sister found her inside her apartment last night. No one had heard from her in days.”
Nick glanced out the front window to see two squirrels go chasing each other across the sun splashed yard as he tried to understand why Rusty would joke around about something like this. The mailman suddenly walked past the arched window and Nick’s heart shuddered. “Dude, I’m kind of busy right now.”
“I’m not making this up, Nicky.
Scout’s honor.”
Nick’s mind began to race. The lid from the mailbox dropped shut on the other side of the arched front door that matched the two large living room windows, giving him another jolt.
“How?”
“She had a key.”
“No, I mean how did she die?”
Rusty made a clicking sound when he swallowed, like he had bad cotton mouth.
“Someone strangled her,”
he said thickly.
Nick’s eyebrows drew together just as a shiny black Volvo pulled into the driveway and parked. He watched a gray haired lady wearing a springtime yellow coat climb out and shut the car door. She immediately began looking the house over from top to bottom, making a visor out of one hand and stumbling through the front yard. Nick turned to the fireplace with the ornate mantel. “Are you serious?”
“I shit you not.”
“Someone broke into her apartment?”
“Kristin said there was no sign of forced entry.”
“Well, how is that…” He trailed off, Brad flashing through his mind.
“She thinks it was Brad. He had a key,”
Rusty said, clearing his throat.
Nick suddenly found himself wanting to tell Rusty about the toaster and the remote. Other than
Summer
, he hadn’t told anyone. He listened to Rusty’s heavy breathing and craned his neck, looking out the front window for Ms. Gardner who was now nowhere in sight.
“Nick?”
“Yeah?”
Silence swept the line
.
“
Did you kill Amy?”
Nick’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“If you did, just tell me. I swear to God I won’t go to the cops. I never liked her that much anyway and I’m sure you had a good reason.”
Nick’s face twisted. “I didn’t kill her, you idiot!”
A knock on the heavy wooden door startled him.
“Well, it was either you or Brad.”
“Rusty, it wasn’t me,” he whispered. “Listen, I’ve got a client who just showed up. I’ll call you back.”
“Nick
wait
!”
“What?” he asked impatiently.
“Tell me that you did not murder Amy Miller.”
“I just did,” Nick whispered through gritted teeth.
“I
wanna
hear you say it again!”
The knocks came again, louder this time.
“Nick, I
wanna
hear you say it again because if my best friend is a cold-blooded murderer, I think I have the right to…”
Nick hung up and slid the phone back into his pocket. He took a deep breath, straightened his sports coat and stared at the wooden door in front of him. This couldn’t be happening. Who would murder Amy?
And why?
More impatient rapping jerked him from his trance.
He turned the knob and pulled. The door swung smoothly and silently inward. “Good morning,” he said, forcing a smile while having an outer body experience. “I’m Nick Foley,” he told her, extending his sweaty hand.
“You taking a nap in here or something?” she barked, tromping past him into the living room without shaking his hand. Her heels clicked rapidly on the shiny floors as she began inspecting the place from top to bottom.
After Ms. Gardner decided she still wasn’t sure about the place - despite the fact that Nick had clearly pointed out that both the roof and furnace had been replaced just last year - he watched her get back into her glistening Volvo and leave. He waived and turned to go back inside, knowing full well that Bill was going to kill him for blowing the deal.
He pulled his phone out and called Rusty’s new number back. It rang several times and just when he was about to hang up, Rusty answered.
“
Yo
!”
Nick frowned and stopped on the shaded front porch. “Who’s this?”
“Who
dis
?”
the man snapped right back.
Nick snorted. “Who’s this?”
“Shit
homie
, this is your daddy. Now,
whatchu
need? I
ain’t
got all day.”
Nick’s eyes roamed the quaint neighborhood, feeling like whoever was on the other end could somehow see him.
“Uh, is Rusty there?”
The man paused.
“Rusty? Who the fuck is Rusty?”
he asked, causing a burst of laughter to erupt in the background.
Someone yelled,
“Hey tell that
foo
I killed Rusty!”
“You hear that?
Sounds like your boy is dead.
Shoulda
paid his damn bills!”
Laughter exploded again, followed by a car honking.
Nick squinted and scratched his head. “Okay, so Rusty isn’t around then?”
Silence took the line.
“Hell no Rusty
ain’t
around then! This here’s my damn phone!
Ain’t
you been
payin
attention, cocksucker?”
Nick rubbed his forehead. “What’s that now?” he asked, intentionally trying to get under the guy’s skin.
“Motherfucker, I said,”
the man slowly began in a much lower tone. Then the man paused, making Nick think he had hung up on him.
“Nick?”
Nick’s heart trembled when the stranger mentioned his name.
“Yeah?”
“You should really think about staying away from her.”
Goosebumps rippled across Nick’s arms and legs, spreading like measles. He looked up from his black shoes and saw another squirrel go hopping across the front yard, oblivious to his presence on the porch.
The ruckus in the background grew quiet as well.
The young flowers bordering the porch suddenly looked like aliens from another planet. Everything around him stretched into strange and foreign shapes. Even though it was a beautiful sunny day, he felt the cold arms of darkness gently embrace him. Finally he found his voice. “Stay away from
who
?”
Somebody in the background shouted out,
“
Yo
Terrell, what’re you getting his number or
somethin
?”
The group’s laughter returned in full force, cutting off when the line went dead.
Nick put a finger to his other ear. “Hello?”
An eerie stillness floated out of the phone’s receiver.
He pulled the cell away and stared at it, wiping sweat from his brow with his other hand. He called the number back but this time no one answered so he fumbled the phone back into his pocket and scanned the area, a cold shudder whisking through his body. A man across the street came out to get his mail and waved. Nick waved back and galloped down the front steps. He jumped into his Jeep Wrangler and bent over the wheel, looking back at the Manning house. His grandma glared down at him from an upstairs window, the look of anger on her face so fierce it made his pulse race. Something smashed into the Jeep’s passenger side door. His head snapped around to see someone sprinting towards him. A young kid bent over and came back up holding a tennis ball for him to see.
“Sorry,” the kid said, running back to his friends two houses over.
Nick turned back to the upstairs window to see his grandma gone and the curtains were still moving. He swallowed hard and started the Jeep, jamming it in reverse and forgetting to lock up the house.
Rusty looked even worse when he answered his door this time.
“Oh my God,” Nick moaned, scrunching his nose up and stepping inside the putrid smelling apartment.
Rusty plopped down onto the couch and kicked his dirty slippers up onto the coffee table, spacing out with hollow eyes on a rerun of
Scrubs
.
Nick stood there, studying him and the apartment. “Who the hell answered your phone earlier?”
Rusty stared straight ahead as if Nick wasn’t even there.
“Rusty!”
Rusty slowly turned his puffy face to Nick. “I told you, I don’t have a phone,” he said tonelessly.
Nick frowned. “Well then how’d you call me earlier?”
Rusty turned back to the TV.
“Gas station payphone.”
Nick searched the room for clues that weren’t there.
“Payphone?”
Rusty blew his nose into some Kleenex and dropped the wad on the floor.
Nick sighed and sat down in a recliner, instantly regretting it. He could already feel the germs latching onto his clothing and begin clawing their way towards his face. “So you were just messing with me earlier, right?
About Amy.”
Rusty languidly turned his glazed look to Nick and responded with a succession of wet sounding coughs.
Nick frowned. “Wow, okay that sounds good. Were you messing with me or not?” he asked impatiently.
Rusty wiped his nose with his hand and then wiped it on the couch. “I told you I wasn’t.”
Nick tore his gaze from Rusty. “Bullshit.”
Rusty stared blankly at the TV. “What’s
Summer’s
last name again?”
Nick wrinkled his brow. “Why?”
“Stanton?”
“Sorenson.
Why?”
Rusty continued staring at the old television. “And she’s from Rockford, right?”
Nick snorted. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Rusty pushed himself up off the couch and went into the apartment’s only bedroom.
Nick turned his attention to the Ding Dong wrappers, empty beer cans, and plates of pizza crust littering the coffee table and floor around the couch. “Man,” he wheezed, praying that whatever Rusty had
wasn’t
contagious. Although knowing his luck, it was probably already too late. He glanced down to a wad of crumpled up toilet paper under his shoe and grimaced. “Yeah, this isn’t good,” he muttered, relocating his foot.
Rusty strolled out of his bedroom in faded blue jeans and a wrinkled Shooter
Jenning’s
t-shirt with a wolf howling at the moon on it. He passed Nick and grabbed his keys off the kitchen table. “I’ll call you later,” he said, sailing out the front door without looking back.
Nick’s jaw dropped. “Where are you going?” he shouted just before the door slammed shut. He shook his head and went into the galley kitchen to wash his hands before leaving. His grandma’s eerie image invaded his thoughts as he scrubbed his hands. “What the hell is going on here?” he whispered. Just before he turned the water off, he thought he heard something out in the living room. Cautiously, he traipsed out of the kitchen, drying his hands with a paper towel. His eyes darted across the living room, expecting to find his grandma standing there with that look covering her face. But the room was empty. He glanced down the hall to Rusty’s bedroom, staring at the partially closed door for a moment. He swallowed and quickly concluded that now would be a good time to get the hell out of there.
After stopping over at his grandma’s nursing home to sign a bunch of papers and gather up what was left of her belongings, Nick stopped at McDonald’s and ate in silence inside his Jeep at a park down the road. The people enjoying the nice day, playing with their dog or children, made him jealous. Dark thoughts clouded his mind, making it impossible to enjoy anything. After lunch, he went to the funeral home to sign even more papers and burned away the rest of the afternoon with the smell of embalming fluid and fresh flowers choking his every thought. When the stoic funeral director asked if he’d like to see his grandma’s body now or wait until they had prepared her, Nick chose the latter and got the hell out of there.
The fresh air outside was a welcome relief, almost cleansing the smell of death from his clothes. His thoughts bombarded him from every angle on the drive home, taking turns poking him with sticks and smacking him upside the head with an open palm. Every time he glanced in the mirror, his grandma or Amy sneered at him from the backseat. The fact that he had to pee like a race horse didn’t help matters any, so he turned up the radio and tried to concentrate on the road as
Linkin
Park took his speakers hostage. Buildings and houses and cars passed by in a dizzying blur. If Amy really
had been murdered
, Nick knew he would be a prime suspect if they didn’t already have someone in custody. It was always an ex.
When he arrived home he sprinted into the hallway bathroom and unloaded his bloated bladder. While washing his hands, he studied the reflection staring back at him in the mirror. His eyes looked almost as dark as Rusty’s and suddenly he had the eerie feeling he wasn’t alone again. The hairs on his arms stood up with goose bumps planted at their roots while his gaze slowly drifted over to the red shower curtain next to him. He turned off the faucet and didn’t bother drying his hands on the red hand towel hanging on the wall.
Reluctantly, he reached his dripping hand out and grasped one end of the curtain, paranoia coursing through his veins. He stared at the curtain for a moment before realizing he was falling into the oldest horror movie cliché in the book. No one would be in the shower; they would be behind him when he turned around. His eyes lowered, glancing to his side. He spun around to find himself alone. “Okay, I am officially losing it,” he murmured.
The knock on the front door was so
loud,
he banged the back of his hand on the corner of the sink, hitting bone. Pain washed over him as he left the bathroom and went to the front door, rubbing his hand along the way. He groaned when he saw Rusty standing outside, and yanked the door open. “Nice cop knock!” he scowled.
“I told you I wasn’t crazy,” Rusty said, sounding congested and barging past.
“What happened?” Nick asked, scanning the front yard and shutting and locking the red door.
Rusty handed Nick a folded up sheet of paper. “
This
is what happened!”
Nick took it and hesitantly began unfolding. His eyebrows dipped when he saw the picture of
Summer
smiling back at him and the word
MISSING
in bright red letters above her blond hair. His eyes darted back to Rusty. “What the hell is this?”
“That’s what I
wanna
know,” Rusty said, dropping onto the couch with a bounce and coughing into his fist.
Nick’s eyes gravitated back to the color photo. His face wrinkled. “Summer Parker?”
“Yeah, I thought you said her last name was
Sorenson
.”
“I did.”
“That’s odd,” Rusty
said,
his forehead creasing.
“Sounds like somebody is running from something to me, Nicky.”
Nick’s legs suddenly felt like heavy bags of sand. “Like what?”
“I don’t know, Nick, divorce, kids, bank robbery, murder. Maybe she didn’t mail her movies back to Netflix. That’s your job to figure out,” he said, coughing up blood into his cupped hand.
Nick’s eyes widened. “Jesus Christ,” he gasped.
“Yeah, this isn’t good,” Rusty choked. “Bet she poisoned me.”
Nick glided into the bathroom and came back out with a box of Kleenex. “
Here.
”
Rusty yanked out four tissues in a row, his eyes watering. “I should’ve never had that beer over here the other day,” he griped, then blowing his nose with a massive honk.
“You need to get to a doctor,” Nick said, going into the kitchen.
“I’m fine,” he replied, just before another coughing attack.
“What do you want?
Some water?
Pop?”
“Beer!”
Nick whisked back into the room and handed him a cold bottle of Boulevard IPA. “Where’d you get this?” he asked, holding up the sheet of paper.
Rusty took a long drink and swallowed. “Computer at the library,” he sputtered, sounding winded.
Nick’s brow crumpled.
“Library?
What, do they have some missing persons data base or something?”
Rusty shook his head and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his coat.
“The Internet.
Mine’s been disconnected for two weeks.”
“The Internet?”
“I told you I had a bad vibe but you didn’t want to hear it,” he said, taking another lengthy swill. “Just like always.”
“How did you even find this?”
“Nick, come on, man. You forget who you’re talking to here. I was almost a cop.”
Nick lowered the paper and pursed his lips. “You worked loss prevention at Target for three months.”
“Yeah, and I was also a reporter for the paper.”
Nick cast a sideways look at him and sat down, going over the flier from top to bottom. The description matched perfectly, as did the town she claimed to be from. And there was no doubt that beautiful smile and those vibrant eyes belonged to
Summer
. Then the color drained from his face. “This happened over five years ago,” he said flatly.
Rusty cleared his throat. “I know.” He took a long drink of the beer, watching the look on Nick’s face.
Nick laughed softly. “Outside of the hair, she looks the exact same,” he said, scanning the aqua blue waters in the background.
“Yep.”
Nick slowly glanced over to him and then let eyes fall back to the evidence on display. It was ironic how a picture like this was used so often in a missing
persons
case. Such a happy snapshot capturing a sparkling moment in someone’s life…that would ultimately end up becoming such a grim reminder in the end.
He remembered
Summer
saying she had been to the Dominican Republic one time during college. Told him her parents nearly bought a two bedroom vacation condo right off a white sandy beach. Then her dad got sick with cancer. Then he died, as did the plans for the condo. Nick also recalled her saying that her mom still lived in Rockford to this day. He shook his head. “I don’t get it.”
Rusty leaned forward on the edge of the couch and pointed to the picture. “Summer
Parker
was abducted by some nut-bag while she was out jogging on a trail that went through a wooded area in Rock Cut State Park.”
“In Rockford?”
Rusty nodded and took another drink.
Nick’s face twisted. “Five years ago?”
Rusty nodded again. “They found her car in one of the trail head parking lots, but the cops never found her body. Never found her iPod or any of her clothing, nothing. She was never seen again.”
“How do they know she was kidnapped then?”
Rusty shrugged. “That’s what the cops concluded.”
Nick tried posing another question to poke a hole in the impossible staring him in the face, but was unable form a complete sentence.
“I know, Nicky. It doesn’t make any sense, but I told you there was something off with that girl,” Rusty said, leaning back with a smug look covering his unshaven face.
Nick turned to him with incredulous eyes. “Did you Photoshop this? Because if you did, that’s pretty messed up, man.”
“Nick, would you listen to yourself. Pull your head out of the sand! Your ex-girlfriend was just murdered. I didn’t Photoshop shit,” Rusty scowled with an unwavering glare.
“So what are you saying? She faked her own abduction and ran away to Des Moines, Iowa?”
“Looks like it,” he answered, tipping the bottle back.
Nick stood up and began pacing the room. “This is too crazy.”
“Hey, you’re preaching to the choir, my friend. I just caught a cold from some prank-caller over the damn phone.”
Nick stopped pacing, his eyes drawing to his friend.
“You what?”
“Listen to me, Nick. For once in your life, just…”
A knock at the door interrupted Rusty, causing them both to jump. They swapped glances and Nick shrugged his shoulders.
Rusty got up and crept over to the bay window. “Shit,” he whispered, seeing
Summer’s
red Honda Accord parked behind his Lumina in the moonlit driveway. “It’s her,” he said, stepping back from the window and pressing
himself
up against the beige painted wall. “Do you have a gun?”
Nick frowned at him. “Have you lost your mind?” he said, folding the paper up and quickly slipping it into his back pocket. “Just relax.”
Rusty went back to the couch and ran a sweaty hand through his receding hair. He adjusted his pants and shirt and waved at Nick just before he opened the door. “Hey, whatever you do, do not leave me alone with her,” he whispered.
Nick rolled his eyes and opened the door.
“Hi,”
Summer
said warmly, painting a wide smile across her face. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said, leaning past Nick to wave at Rusty.
Rusty tried to smile and held up a hand.
“No,” Nick said, dropping his eyes to a clear plastic container of chocolate chip cookies in her bony hands. “We were just hanging out.”
“Well, I thought I’d drop off some cookies for you on my way home from work.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” he said, taking the cookies and not knowing what to say next.
“Well, you need your energy,” she grinned.
“Yeah,” he said, forcing a short laugh.
Awkward silence took the space between them as he searched the cookies for something else to say. Summer’s blond hair in the pictured rattled his mind. “They look great,” he said, grimacing as soon as the corny words slipped from his lips.
“Anyway,” she started. “I should probably get…”
“You
wanna
come inside?”
Rusty immediately began trying to catch Nick’s attention by shaking his head and cutting a flat hand across his neckline.
“No, I’ll leave you two alone,” she smiled, glancing back to Rusty who froze and tried to act normal.
“Okay,” Nick said, leaning over and kissing her on the lips, which felt like cold worms.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night. Bye Rusty!” she said, poking her head inside the doorway again.
Rusty gulped. “Have a good…night,” his voice cracked as he tried on another smile that didn’t fit.
Summer laughed and turned around. “Bye,” she said to Nick, hurriedly returning to her car.
“See you tomorrow,” Nick said, slowly shutting the door and locking it.
Rusty glared at him with thin eyes. “Are you nuts?”
Nick shrugged. “What?”
“You
wanna
come in?”
he said in a high-pitched voice, mocking Nick. “Never invite her in when I’m here! That is a new rule.”
Nick snorted. “Want a cookie?” he asked, holding out the container.
Rusty recoiled like it was full of horned rattlesnakes.
Nick took the cookies into the kitchen and set them down next to the toaster.
“Are you going to tell her about Amy?” Rusty shouted from the living room.
“I don’t know.”
Rusty ran his hands through his hair and rubbed his face. “This is so messed up.”
Nick came back in the room and sat down. “Listen, there’s something I have to tell you,” he said in a serious tone.
Rusty stared at him dully. “Yeah, what’s that? You’re a gay serial killer?
Because I already called that.
Ask Dallas.”