Authors: Meg Gardiner
Jericho Point (26 page)
I wanted protection.
I cringed my way out of bed and padded into the bathroom to brush my teeth. Seeing myself in the mirror no longer horrified me. I was black and purple ripening to green, with a cut through my eyebrow and a busted lower lip. I was hideous, but I was used to it now.
Jesse looked at my reflection. ‘‘I can drive you to your dentist’s appointment.’’
‘‘That’s okay. I need to give driving a try.’’
I grimaced in the mirror. Five chipped teeth, including the top front. I looked like a hillbilly. I put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing in next to him at the sink. His skin was cool, and under my hand his collarbone was prominent. I realized again that he was too thin.
Thin, and tired, and unnaturally composed. He was here, supporting me, virtually carrying me. But he wasn’t all here. His turbulence was gone, and I didn’t know where, or why, or if it would return. Its absence left me ill at ease.
He was knotting his tie when Lilia Rodriguez knocked on the door. Monday mornings agreed with her. She was fresh cheeked, wearing a cheap brown suit, and the cowlick was asserting itself. I was still dressed in one of Jesse’s Blazers Swimming T-shirts and pajama bottoms.
‘‘Good news,’’ she said. ‘‘The assault charge is going away, Evan.’’
‘‘About time,’’ Jesse said.
‘‘In light of what’s happened, especially with your brother, it’s—’’
‘‘What about my brother?’’ he said.
‘‘Exculpation.’’ She caught herself. ‘‘I assumed he’d told you.’’
He hadn’t spoken to his family since the wedding. The cold war was on.
‘‘P.J.’s in the clear over the murder?’’ he said.
‘‘The crime lab found evidence that’s taking us in another direction.’’
‘‘What was it?’’
‘‘That I won’t say.’’
They must have recovered evidence from the scene, or from Brittany Gaines’s body, belonging to the killer. Fibers, hairs, DNA—and it didn’t match P.J.’s.
I said, ‘‘Have you put out a warrant on Murphy?’’
‘‘All kinds. But none for murder yet.’’
Jesse and I exchanged a glance. Either they had insufficient evidence to get the warrant, or they didn’t think it was Murphy.
‘‘What about Sinsa?’’ I said.
‘‘Cynthia Jimson? Nothing.’’
‘‘Have you checked out what I told you?’’
‘‘There’s no evidence to tie her to the murder. Nothing to tie her to the stolen checks, or to the fake Evan Delaney bank account, or to the ID theft.’’
‘‘Lily, she’s involved.’’
‘‘Granted, she knew Brittany Gaines. But we can only draw a business connection. She was producing Brittany’s demo. Not a thing connects her to Toby.
Nada
.’’
Nada
.’’
‘‘That’s it? You have nothing else?’’
‘‘She caught the bouquet.’’
Jesse and I both stared.
‘‘At the wedding. Oh, and there is one weird tidbit going around. Not about Cynthia but the car she drives, the BMW four-by-four. And this is wicked weird. Somebody put dead ravens on the engine block.’’
She described it. I wondered whether Shaun Kutner had put them there, or the Mings. Or Sinsa herself.
Lily patted my arm. ‘‘I have to go. I really just wanted to check in and see that you’re doing okay.’’
‘‘I’m splendid. Stick a tiara on my head and call me Miss Universe.’’
Nobody laughed.
‘‘Any leads on Toby and Murphy?’’ I said.
‘‘There’s a statewide BOLO.’’ Be on the lookout. ‘‘They’ll turn up.’’
‘‘On my doorstep, I’m afraid.’’
‘‘You have my card. Call me anytime.’’
We said good-bye and I watched her go, thinking,
Anytime?
When Murphy came through my bedroom window, a business card would be worth jack. My skin felt the memory of him. Tongue, sweat, meat.
Anytime?
When Murphy came through my bedroom window, a business card would be worth jack. My skin felt the memory of him. Tongue, sweat, meat.
Jesse put a hand on my back. Wholly without volition, I shrank from his touch.
‘‘Sorry, didn’t mean to hit a sore spot,’’ he said.
‘‘Not your fault.’’ I ran my hands up and down my arms. ‘‘I’m going to take a bath.’’
‘‘Need a hand?’’
‘‘No.’’ I needed to hurry. I needed to get clean.
Bending over to turn on the faucet proved too painful just then. But I was having to bathe rather than shower, because I was supposed to keep the tape around my ribs dry. I squatted down next to the tub and tried to stretch, but my balance was shaky.
Jesse angled into the bathroom. ‘‘Let me.’’
I sat on the edge of the tub. The bathroom was barely big enough for the two of us, and he had to lean around the sink to reach the taps. He checked the temperature and watched the tub fill. I huddled on my perch.
‘‘Want me to help you get the shirt off?’’
I shook my head.
His gaze lay lightly on me. ‘‘I know you’re a modest Catholic girl. But, sugar, I’ve been making you scream for a while now.’’
I had to make the effort. I scooted toward him. And he was right; I needed help. I managed to get one sleeve off, but couldn’t raise my injured arm high enough to do the other side. Even though this was a big shirt, one of his, plenty loose across the chest.
He teased the neck of the shirt over my head and eased it down my arm. Every brush of his hands against me was like hitting a nerve. I kept shying from him.
He bunched the shirt on his lap. ‘‘If it’s this painful, you should see an orthopedist.’’
‘‘That’s not it.’’
He turned off the water.
‘‘I feel disgusting,’’ I said.
His voice was quiet. ‘‘Why?’’
The water dripped. The way water had dripped from my face into the mud puddle while Merlin held me by the hair, while Murphy lay on my back. I yanked the shirt from Jesse’s lap and fought my way back into it. I had to be covered. I had to be dry.
He looked bewildered. ‘‘What’s wrong?’’
‘‘Murphy.’’
I hadn’t told him, hadn’t told anybody, but he saw it on my face. He went ungodly still.
‘‘Evan.’’
The water was dripping. ‘‘Turn that off. Please. I can’t stand it.’’
‘‘What did he do to you?’’
I looked away. He tightened the faucet.
‘‘Did he touch you?’’
He put his hand to my cheek and turned my head back. I stared at his chest.
‘‘Yes,’’ I said.
His hand stayed steady on my cheek. I kept my eyes on his shirt. And I told him. The hand like a catcher’s mitt. The drumsticks. The ripped panties. Murphy.
I waited for him to smash something, or to back out of the bathroom in revulsion. At length I looked at his face. I saw pain, as though he had taken a physical blow. And anger that he pushed away. Compassion came into his eyes.
‘‘Whatever you need,’’ he said. ‘‘Whatever you want me to do.’’
Finally, for a moment, I felt safe. Not safe from everything lurking outside my front door, but safe with him. I pulled him close and laid my head across his lap. He put a hand on my back. I let go.
How long I stayed there I don’t know. Finally I said, ‘‘You’re going to be late for work.’’
‘‘It’s okay. Do you want to get back in bed?’’
‘‘I want to take this bath.’’
He added hot water and held my arm while I got in the tub.
‘‘If you don’t want me to touch someplace, shout,’’ he said.
He wet a washcloth and stroked it across my back. He smoothed the soap along my arms and legs, taking care not to dampen the tape. I held my damaged arm against my side. When he was done, he clasped my hand and helped me out of the tub. I felt better.
He wrapped me in a towel, and asked if I needed help getting dressed. I told him I could manage it. I dried off and put on some sweats. I went out to the living room and found him with Brian. Jesse was holding a semiautomatic pistol in his hand, loading the clip into the butt of the gun.
They paused, looking like schoolkids caught smoking in the boys’ room. Outside, Luke was playing with his fingerboard, practicing skateboard skills on a three-inch version of the real thing. He was covered with red chicken pox spots, but his fever had broken and he looked perkier. I walked over to Jesse and Brian.
‘‘Great,’’ I said.
Brian jammed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. ‘‘It’s mine. I have a permit. I’m merely lending it to Jesse until he gets through the background check and—’’
‘‘Excellent,’’ I said. ‘‘Do you have more ammunition?’’
They exchanged a glance.
‘‘This box,’’ Brian said.
‘‘That’s only twenty rounds,’’ I said. ‘‘Jess, can you pick up some more? At lunchtime?’’
‘‘I guess,’’ he said.
‘‘You’re leaving it with me today, right?’’
‘‘Okay.’’
He cleared the chamber, clicked the safety, and set it down on the table. I rested my hand on it. It felt solid, and warm where Jesse had held it. I would have taken it straight up to the firing range and spent the day practicing head shots, if not for the fact that I didn’t want to step outside the door.
They swapped looks again, and Jesse held out a hand to me.
‘‘Call me. For anything,’’ he said. ‘‘I’m fifteen minutes away.’’ He looked outside, and a wistful expression came over him. He called to Luke. ‘‘Hey, polka-dot dude. Have to tell you good-bye.’’
Brian walked him to his car. When he returned, I had the sense that they’d been discussing things. Such as me. Brian stared surreptitiously, as though I had grown a third, beady eye. With a gunsight attached.
‘‘If there’s any way I could stay, I would,’’ he said.
‘‘I know.’’
He refilled my coffee cup. I warmed my hands on the mug.
‘‘How long does Marc think he’ll be in town?’’ I said.
‘‘Few days at least. He hasn’t been by?’’
With Jesse staying here? Ha. I shrugged and drank my coffee.
Brian leaned against the kitchen counter. ‘‘You want to tell me what’s going on?’’
‘‘Nothing.’’
‘‘Sis. Dupree’s a cool customer, but he’s blatantly crazy for you.’’
I felt miserable all over again. ‘‘Marc saved my life.’’
‘‘Marc’s a hell of a guy. And he’s not after gratitude,’’ he said. ‘‘And the way you were flirting with him the other night at the motel, you let him think he’s going to get what he is after.’’
I ducked his gaze, looking outside at Luke. He had earphones on and was listening to a tiny audio player.
I waved at him. ‘‘Hey, where’d you get that?’’
‘‘Jesse gave it to me.’’
I recognized it. It had Hendrix, Clapton, Creedence— Jesse was starting Luke’s indoctrination.
‘‘Turn it up,’’ I said.
Brian pulled out a chair and sat down at the table next to me. ‘‘I have to hit the road in ten minutes. We don’t have time for evasive maneuvers. So I’m going to fire this at you, head-on.’’
I pulled my knees up. ‘‘Watch out. Let me activate my cloaking device.’’
‘‘Why don’t you marry Jesse?’’ he said.
‘‘Oh, brother.’’
‘‘Do you love the guy?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘So what’s stopping you from getting hitched?’’
‘‘When did you become my yenta?’’
‘‘I have nine minutes left.’’
‘‘He drives you bonkers half the time,’’ I said.
‘‘I’d take that as a glass-half-full scenario, if I were you.’’
I slumped back in my seat.
‘‘Let’s cut to the chase. Are you waiting for him to get his legs back?’’ he said.
‘‘No.’’ I looked at my hands. ‘‘That’s not going to happen.’’
‘‘Then are you afraid of what it would be like to be married to him?’’
‘‘His disability isn’t an issue.’’
He weighed that, nodding. ‘‘Shall I tell you what I think?’’
‘‘As if I could stop you.’’
He pulled his chair closer to mine. ‘‘I think you’re allergic to permanence.’’
My eyebrows jumped up toward my hair. It hurt. ‘‘What?’’
‘‘Look at how you’ve structured your life. You do freelance work. You live alone. You hop from job to job.’’
‘‘You think I’m some kind of emotional gypsy?’’
‘‘Blame our itinerant childhood, or Mom and Dad getting divorced. And me as well.’’
‘‘I don’t like your nine-minute love diagnostic.’’
‘‘My point is, you always plan an escape route, so that at any time you can blow. Eject, eject, eject.’’
‘‘That’s ridiculous.’’
‘‘Really? You picked the one man you’ll always be able to outrun.’’
I stood up. ‘‘You’re a son of a bitch.’’
‘‘And when you turn around, who do you line up with?’’
‘‘I’m not listening to you anymore.’’ I walked into the kitchen.
‘‘A pilot who goes out of sight at Mach two.’’
I leaned on the counter and let my head drop. Brian came over to me.
‘‘I may be a son of a bitch. But I’m a smart one.’’
He put his arm around my shoulder. ‘‘Things are crazy enough right now. You don’t need more excitement in your life. You need to cool things down.’’
I tried to resist his hug, but gave in, putting my head against him.
‘‘But I can’t cool things down as long as Avalon’s still around.’’ I laughed without humor. ‘‘Don’t you get it? I’m being pursued by a wedding band.’’
At three I stepped outside to go to my dentist’s appointment. The garden was still. Sun was gentling on the hibiscus. Playground noise roiled from the school up the street. It emphasized Luke’s absence. And beneath it I seemed to hear whispers—the voices of Merlin and Murphy, slinking around the side of my house in the dark, saying,
She’s pulling something sly
.
She’s pulling something sly
.
I set the burglar alarm and struggled with my house keys. With my left arm in a sling, I had to lock the door single-handed. The garden gate swung open, and I jumped, adrenaline slamming my heart. The keys fell from my hands. I picked them up and stabbed them at the lock, frantically trying to open the door.
The police officer who was guarding the house came through the gate. He was carrying a spectacular flower arrangement.
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