Hunter's Moon.htm (5 page)

I walked back to the wet bar. I could see in the mirror behind the bar the moment when she noticed my gun. A flicker of fear disappeared in quiet resolve.

I picked up my beer, then turned to face her. "Were you followed, or was that little scene an accident?" Self-preservation and professional pride made me ask. I hadn't noticed a tail and she'd already proven she couldn't lie worth shit.

"I don't think I was followed." Worry edged her voice and thick fog rose from her. "I tried to be careful. I know her car, unless she rented one like I did." She began to pace in small circles. "This was a stupid idea! Stupid, stupid, stupid! I should have known that I couldn't have even a few moments of peace. Are you sure that you can't kill me right now?" Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, voice thick with frustration.

A burst of bitter laughter escaped me. "Here? After that scene? You've got to be kidding."

She looked chagrined, as she should. Low-key was a distant memory. All I could hope for at this point was polite embarrassed silence from the gossip pages. I was just glad that I have a good enough relationship with Max that he didn't call the cops. One particular homicide detective has it in for me. He'd loved to run me in, even on a "disturbing the peace" charge.

Time to change the subject. "I had the bar send up Morgan and Diet. Help yourself. You look like you could use one."

She looked from me to the bar and back again, brightening. "That was nice of you." She smelled surprised, a shock of scent but warm. Warmth?

"Don't look so shocked," I said in reproach. "I can be nice."

She flushed again. I seemed to have that effect on her.

"I mean… " she stammered. "In your profession… " She stopped, biting her lip as if she didn't know how to finish the sentence without insulting me.

I let it go. Not important enough to make an issue. I ended the silence with, "Don't worry about it. Grab a drink and sit down."

She moved a little too quickly to the bar. She mixed a Morgan and Diet in one of the beer steins. It was a pretty large glass for a mixed drink. She sat down on the couch but couldn't get comfortable. She restlessly shifted in her seat, body rigid. She wouldn't look at me.

"Why death?" I asked as I turned and walked farther into the room. I faced her and then sank into the overstuffed leather recliner.

She didn't appear surprised by the quick questioning. "Mind if I get comfortable? This will take a while."

I waved my hand at the empty couch and took a long d*aw of beer.

She pulled off the wig and flipped her hair several times to get the sweat out. It gleamed softly in the light. She gave her scalp a quick scratching. I hid a sympathetic smile in my beer. I know how wigs itch.

Then she unbuttoned and removed the top part of the pantsuit. Underneath was a white silk shell. The chiming sound was from a small silver charm bracelet with tiny bells and little bunny rabbits. I suppressed a chuckle and let my eyes keep roving. Small circles of sweat were beginning to form under her arms. The cool air hit her bare skin and raised goosebumps. My eyes automatically rose. Yes, she felt the cold there too. She stretched and arched her back, outlining the hardened nipples against the thin silk. Definitely enticing. She ended the stretch abruptly and stared at me in shock as if she'd heard what I was thinking. Her scent was embarrassed but a little turned-on. The musk was a very nice touch.

The air blower stopped just then and I could hear her heart beat in the sudden silence. I didn't turn my gaze. She did.

When she sat down, she slumped slightly as if to hide her figure. She looked as though carved in stone. Drink in one hand, legs tight together and crossed at the ankle. Gaze anywhere but at me. My psych professor in college would have said that she had "closed" body language. I'd say more like "slammed shut."

I shook my head and smiled. "Would you please mellow? I won't bite." I paused, allowing myself another good look. "Unless you want me to, of course."

She glanced at me and saw the hungry look in my eyes. I heard her heart rate increase and could smell heavier musk with overtones of hot and sour soup brush my nose. She flushed again and looked away. Yep, definitely interested, but timid. Fine with me. If she didn't turn out to be an absolute basket case, we could have fun. But I didn't want to make her a wreck. "You wanted to talk. So talk."

She looked at me then. I leaned back into the sofa and put one arm across the back. See, completely relaxed. Just two friends chatting. Except one was a hired killer and the other a multi-millionairess. I sipped the beer. "Well? Why death, Susan?"

"My name's not Susan."

"You're not Susan Quentin?" My hand tightened on my stein but I kept my voice calm. "That's who the papers called you."

"They got my name wrong," she replied angrily. "It's not Susan. It's Suzi"

I took a deep breath, shrugged and allowed myself to relax again. "Same difference."

Burned coffee filled the air, thick and pungent. I was a little surprised at the intensity. "No. It's not the same at all."

She hesitated a moment. "My parents named me Suzi. It was supposed to be cute. Suzi Quentin. Suzi-Q. I've spent most of my life being called SuziQ. Makes me sound like some fluffy-headed cheerleader. I hate it."

Her voice vibrated with that hatred. I could smell it too—jalapeno pepper, strong and hot, had joined the burning coffee. There were some other emotions roiling underneath. Too many smells. I couldn't concentrate. I fought for control.

I took a deep whiff of the beer in my hands before I took a drink. Hops. Barley. Alcohol. The emotions faded in the sharp smells. Good. I swallowed deeply. "So what should I call you?"

"Anything but that." She hesitated. "Actually, nobody's ever asked me before what I wanted to be called. I don't know."

"What's your middle name?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Lynette. Why?"

I looked her over head to toe then nodded. "You look like a 'Lynette'. How about that?"

She repeated the name to herself several times. Then she shook her head. "Nah. I've never liked it. Just call me Sue."

I nodded in approval. "Sue it is." I stood and walked to the bar to get another beer. She took a swig of her own drink.

"So, Sue, you still haven't answered my question. Why death?"

She hesitated not as though she didn't know but like she wanted to collect her thoughts. Trying to give an honest answer. Finally, she looked at me very intently. "Have you ever been used?"

I smiled at that. "I spend every night being used. I'm in a… service industry."

She shook her head. "Not like that. You have a job. You get paid for your time. I mean really used. Forced to do something you don't want because of duty or obligation or even guilt. With no payment and no thanks?"

My brows raised. "No, using that definition— never."

Her face hardened and she held her glass tight in both hands. "Well, I have. I've spent my entire life being used."

"Why would you want to do that?" I was honestly curious.

She laughed. It was sharp, like broken glass. "I didn't want to. I was born with no backbone. I can't say no. People ask me to do things and I can't think of a polite way to refuse. Or the person sets it up so that I can't refuse without hurting someone. My family is famous for that."

I shrugged. "Tell them to go to hell."

"You don't understand." She sat deeper into the sofa.

I didn't. I mean, why would a person do something just so they wouldn't hurt someone? "So explain it to me."

She thought for a moment and then nodded. "Okay, an example. Years ago, I worked at a fast food place. Just part-time while I was getting on my feet." She looked up and I nodded. "I started at the bottom. You know, cleaning the floor, making fries, that stuff. The boss found out that I could do books and keep money straight, so he started to ask for little favors: 'Could you help me with next week's schedule? I can't get it right', or 'Would you mind dropping off the deposit on your way home? I can trust you.' It made me feel important at first and I was flattered that I'd be asked to help with important stuff but then it became part of my assigned duties. Pretty soon, I was doing all the managerial stuff and he was taking off more and more time. Just not showing up. So I would have to open the store and count the cash and make sure everything was closed properly… "

I held up a hand to stop her. "Why did you have to?"

She swallowed another large mouthful of her drink and tried to answer. Another wash of emotions— burnt coffee, burnt water, anger and bitterness and the heavy fog of sorrow all mixed together. It almost took my breath away. I took another whiff of beer.

"Because although he was a jerk it wasn't the fault of other employees whose hours would be screwed up without a schedule, or the customers who expected the business to be open even when he didn't show up. I felt an obligation to them, if not to him."

"But every time you did that, you saved his butt from being fired. He deserved to be canned if he wasn't doing his job."

She sighed, like my words were old news. "But then I would feel guilty because it also wasn't his wife's fault. She was confined to a wheelchair and depended on his salary. Who else would give the jerk a job?"

I chuckled. "You weren't born without a backbone, sweetheart. You were born with an overdose of guilt. But that's nothing to die for. You can fix that."

She jumped at the endearment, then plowed on shakily. "If that was the only problem it wouldn't be so bad. I eventually quit, which was my way of solving the problem without confrontation. I don't like confrontation. It's why I say I've got no backbone. Which leads me back to my family. More specifically, my mother." She paused and stared at me, like I was going to walk out on the conversation. Fat chance. It was just getting interesting.

I raised my eyebrows, encouraging her to proceed.

"I'm the adult care-giver for my mother."

I've known a few of them. Tough life. Watching your parent become a child again, less and less able to provide for themselves. It explained the comment from her sister about leaving "her" alone. "That's a rough job. Is she terminal?"

Another dose of burned coffee. "Some day she will be," she said matter-of-factly and then her eyes narrowed with fury. Thick coffee boiled on the breeze. "But not now. Right now, I'm the adult care giver for a perfectly healthy manipulator."

My surprise must have showed because she smiled bitterly and continued. "Oh, she's good. She's very good. The rest of the family believes that she needs full time care. You only see the truth when you live with her every day. The problem is, I can't get anyone else to believe it. And I can't get rid of her. She possesses my every waking moment. Demands my every waking moment."

She finished her drink in a three-gulp wash and stalked to the bar for another.

"She moved in with me two years ago. Back then I truly believed she was failing fast, just like everyone else. She looked like death. She had lost a lot of weight and was having trouble remembering things. Of course, I'm the youngest with no husband or children so it was decided that Mom would come to live with me. My input wasn't sought. It was DECIDED." Her voice seethed with bitterness. "Everything has always been decided for me." She paused. "But you probably don't want to hear me whine." She took a long draw on the new drink. She was going to get toasted if she didn't slow down. But maybe that was the point.

I took the opening anyway. "I want to hear anything you want to say. Whine or not." She looked at me with surprise. Like even for money I wouldn't want to hear it. Actually, since I had given back half the retainer, I was operating solely on curiosity.

The drinks were starting to take effect. She sat down on the couch and swung her legs up, kicking off her shoes in the process. She grabbed a pillow from the other end and stuffed it behind her back. She had to turn her head to look at me. I felt like a psychiatrist sitting in the chair while she reclined on the couch.

She was silent for a little while before speaking again. She was thinking. Working out where to start. "When Mom moved in with me, I was like everyone else in the family. I believed that she was going senile. The first thing that happened was that she failed her eye test and lost her driver's license. Everybody felt sorry for her. Sorry for the loss of freedom; of independence. We all took turns driving her around to doctor's appointments and the grocery store and other places."

I nodded. Not having a car is a bitch.

"Then, one by one, the rest of the family started getting too busy. I still felt sorry for her and I really did have more time than anyone else. So I guess it sort of made warped sense when they decided for her to move in with me. She just showed up on my doorstep one day; my sister dropped her off. They sold her house and she had nowhere else to be. See what I mean about setting up situations?" She looked to me for agreement.

"Pretty sneaky trick."

"Oh, twice as sneaky as you think. But not on my sister's part; on my mother's. I found out later that Mom had known full well what was happening. She told them that she'd discussed it with me. But she didn't. I had my own life. I had a nice job and a comfortable apartment. I even had a longstanding relationship." She looked sad for a moment. "But they're all gone now. God, I miss it."

"Miss what?"

"My life! She got me fired, and then had me evicted. She even alienated my boyfriend." I could smell it again— the seared caramel that coffee makes when it scorches, muffled under the rising foggy smell of sorrow. Tears came to her eyes and she took another swill.

Oh God, I hoped I wasn't in for a crying jag.

"I- don't make friends easily. Relationships are even harder. I knew when she drove Robert away from me that she'd never let me have another. She set it up so slick." She glanced at me to see if I was uncomfortable having her talk about a former lover.

It didn't bother me and I said so: "I'm not bothered by much. There's not a lot you can surprise or embarrass me with. Talk away." She blushed and looked away again, then she shifted uncomfortably on the couch and switched subjects. "When she moved in it started innocently enough. I let her have my bedroom. It was only a one bedroom so I took the couch. I figured that she would only be there for a few weeks until she found a new place. But she had no intention of leaving. My neighbors hated her. She made so many complaints against everyone that eventually I got evicted."