Killing Me Softly (15 page)
Authors: Kathryn R. Biel
I'm saved by the bell. Not the bell, but the chirping of Fitzy's phone. He looks at it, and as he's answering, stands up to leave the room. He walks out through the laundry room and then the back door. I can picture him, walking around the driveway, kicking rocks while he listens to his news.
Standing up, I walk over to the window, and see the sight I just pictured in my head. Holy crap. What is this? The visions are coming more frequently. Whereas I used to have one every few months, it seems I've had a lot more recently. Or maybe it's just that I'm more aware of them. The more my emotions are in a state of turmoil, the more I can see things. He doesn't appear to be talking, just listening. His brow is knitted as he listens, feet scuffing through the dirt. He locates a rock and kicks it around, following it over the width of my driveway.
I go back to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of lemonade. It's a hot July day. The summer is more than half over. My windows are only half done. I wonder if I'll be able to get them done at this rate. Will I have to sell my house? I know that beggars can't be choosers, but I hope whoever buys it loves it as much as I do and appreciates all the charm this place has. I had really hoped that it would be not only a house, but a home. Maybe for the next person who lives here.
Fitzy's back inside the house. "Geez, it's hot out there. Got any more of that lemonade?"
I pour him a glass, and as I hand it to him, I find the courage to meet his eyes. "News?"
"Yeah. Just police business."
I wonder if it involves my case. Probably. Something is bothering me. Well, many things are bothering me, but this one I need to talk about. Fitzy is one of the few people I've been upfront with about the visions. "Can I ask you something?"
He's guarded again, watching me while he drinks his lemonade. He doesn't say no, so I take it as a go-ahead. "Do you ever call psychics in on cases?"
He places his glass on the counter and licks his lips. I sort of think he's doing it to mess with me. "We generally don't seek them out. They usually come to us."
"And everyone thinks they're a bunch of quacks, right?"
"Most of them are pretty granola."
"Granola?"
"They're full of fruits and nuts."
Just as I thought. "This is why I don't tell people about my ... whatever you wanna call it."
His phone vibrates on his belt, and he checks it reflexively. "I've got to go. I want you to come with me."
"As in a 'hey, I like hanging out with you' kind of way, or as in a 'you have the right to remain silent' kind of way?"
"The first." Fitzy smiles. "There's something I want to show you."
I drain my lemonade, pull my hair into a ponytail, and grab my purse. As we head down the back steps and toward his city-issue black Tahoe, I ask, "Do I have to ride in the back seat this time?"
"Only if you want to." He opens the passenger door for me.
"Even though I dreamed of it as a teenager, I hope I never see your back seat again."
"I never pictured you as the type of girl who would have gone parking."
"A, it's not 1950. No one goes parking. And B, I would have done anything you asked."
"Filing that away for future reference." Then he gives me a wink. What the hell is he doing to me?
"Don't you think that ship has sailed? This is not exactly the best timing, you know."
"Why? Is it that Max guy? What's the deal with you two anyway?"
"Nothing."
"It doesn't look like nothing to me. He's very protective of you."
"Well, it's not like this is a great time for me to start a relationship. I'll have a lot to offer in terms of conjugal visits." I look out the window. We're headed out of town. I wonder where Fitzy's taking me.
"Why do you think you're going to prison?"
"It's what everyone seems to think."
"Maybe not everyone."
Apparently we've reached our destination, because Fitzy parks the car. We're at the lake a few miles outside town. There are several police cars here. And then I see it—Jenna's car. The old white sedan is half in the water. The driver's door is open, muddy water lapping over the floorboards.
"That's Jenna's car."
"We know."
"Are you dragging the lake for her?"
"Should we?"
I shrug. "Don't know for sure but it seems like a logical plan."
"There's a problem with that statement."
"What?"
"We're talking about your sister—the word 'logical' does not apply."
"Good point."
Fitzy alights from the car. I stay in, waiting for instructions. I can't tear my eyes away from Jenna's car. Not in a premonition-feeling sort of way, but in a remorseful sort of way, I know she's dead in that lake. I mean, she has to be, and it's all my fault. I am a miserable excuse for a human being. I let my sister die. I feel the tears forming, but I don't want to start crying. I know I won't be able to stop. I try to distract myself by watching the goings on. Detective Abbott is there, apparently running the scene. She glances over at the Tahoe, glaring in my general direction. I'm trying to reconcile this woman who is so pissed off that I'm here with the one who has a school-girl crush on Officer Richards. She sends another withering glance at me. I can't say I blame her. I don't know why Fitzy brought me here. Maybe he likes to see me squirm. And not in the good kind of way.
I pull out my phone and text Max.
I'm sorry to drag u into all this. I'm with Fitzy. They found J's car. No sign of her yet.
He responds immediately.
Where?
I wonder if I'll get in trouble for divulging details of a police investigation. Well, no one told me not to.
By Snyder's Lake. The car is ½ in the water.
His next text surprises me.
Why are you with the police?
That was not what I expected.
IDK. He asked me to come with him. Call me crazy but I think he believes in me.
I believe in you.
I know you do.
Then can u believe in me? I know you have trust issues but u can trust me.
I want to.
I know I mean it. I want to believe in Max. Rationally, I know there's nothing going on between him and Tracy. Still something won't let me trust him. As I watch the police officers wander around, I, not for the first time this week, wonder how my life got here. I'm not a bad person. Not really. Okay, maybe a little. Jenna certainly brings out the worst in me. But other than that, I'm a good human being. I teach and tutor children. I'm preserving the beauty of an old home. I visit my father every day. I recycle.
My pity party is interrupted as Detective Abbott yanks the door open. "Get out."
I don't like her tone. She's rude. There's really no reason for it. I'm just sitting here, minding my own business. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
Being nice has not gotten me anywhere. Except here, of course. "What crawled up your butt and died?" I know it's not a good idea to piss off someone who has a gun. But still, this woman needs some help.
"Get. Out. Now."
"Fine. Sheesh." I undo my seatbelt, tossing my phone down as I struggle with the buckle. Once I finally free myself and get out of the car, Detective Abbott has been called away by a guy in coveralls down by the water's edge. He's got to be hot, covered up like that. I'm glad I'm not him. Of course, he's probably not going to jail, so maybe his life isn't so bad. Detective Abbott is yelling at him. Okay, maybe his life is that bad.
I wander over to near where Fitzy is standing with a bunch of the other worker bees. The gaggle of men appears to be joking around and talking about baseball, despite this being an active investigation scene. Our tax dollars at work.
I sit on one of the worn picnic benches, looking out at the water. This situation is surreal. I'm with Fitzy. I may or may not be a suspect in a crime. I'm pining after my handyman. And I will never see my sister again. The tears threaten again. Even though I hate her, I guess part of me has always held out hope that we'd get back to being sisters again. I can't believe this is how it ends.
Finally, Fitzy comes over and sits down next to me. "What's up?"
"Nothing. Just trying to figure out why you brought me out here." I'm trying to stay cool and composed.
"Honestly?"
"Um, yeah." I wonder if he's going to arrest me now. He's kicking at the rocks again. It makes me think that it might be a nervous habit. Not that he appears nervous on the outside.
"I was hoping you'd get a vision."
Rolling my eyes, I sigh. "Didn't I tell you that's not how this works?"
"I know, but it was worth a shot. I was hoping you'd see where your sister went."
What he's saying makes me sit up straight. "You mean you don't think she's in the lake?"
"No." His answer is simple and succinct.
"Do you think she's dead?"
It's his turn to shrug. "But you do."
I don't answer. How can I? This time, it's not the freaky psychic vision thing. It's the truth that's going to make me look bad.
"I'm sure the forensics team is having a field day with the evidence from my house."
"Well, you certainly weren't very smart about getting rid of the evidence." Detective Abbott has come up behind us, her sharp voice making me jump. "Maybe you should stop playing prom queen and tell us where your sister is."
I truly dislike this woman. And I know I don't have to stand for this. Standing up and brushing off my bottom, I tell the truth, even though it's not what they want to hear. "I don't know where she is. Fitzy, can you please take me home?"
My phone shows several missed texts from Max. Oops. I guess I shouldn't have left it in the car. He's awfully protective. Maybe too much so.
"You look upset. Anything wrong?"
Incredulously, I look at Fitzy, mouth agape for a moment. "Um let's see ... my sister is missing and probably dead. Detective Abbott is out to get me. I like Max but don't know what to do about it, and he's sort of getting weird and intense on me."
"Oh, is that all?"
"No, it's not."
"It isn't? What else?"
"I've lost my waitressing job, which may mean I can't finish the renovations on my house like I want. I'm not sure that I'll still have a teaching job when all is said and done. And ..."
"And?"
"And dealing with you is unsettling. When I'm with you, it feels good and comfortable, but then I feel like I'm cheating on Max, which is stupid since nothing will happen with us." Wow, what a mouthful.
He pulls into my driveway. It's dusk, and I can see the last remnants of the purple and pink sky to the west beyond my house. As he turns off the car, he leans his head back. "Seeing you again, I agree, is sort of unsettling."
This makes me turn to look at him. He's staring straight ahead, not meeting my gaze. "Why do
you
think so? It's not like I ever made a blip on your radar before."
"Sadie, I practically grew up in your house. It's not like I didn't see you. I saw you. A lot. Believe it or not, I was a dumb teenage boy who could barely get out of my own way. Plus, Brady threatened me if I ever went near you. But I saw you. You were a cool chick. Still are. I wish I had run into you under different circumstances."
"You mean when I'm not a murder suspect."
"Yeah, something like that," he laughs.
"I take it you're no longer afraid of my brother."
"Um, no. I haven't talked to him—before all this—in about fifteen years."
"You mean, about the time that Tina removed his balls and started wearing them as earrings."
"Tell me how you really feel."
"Well, you tell me. Why did you and Brady stop talking?"
He pauses for a minute. The darkness has surrounded us. The cicadas are chirping and a light breeze passes through the windows making it tolerable to sit in the car. "Because of Tina."
"You know, I would feel badly for Brady, but he's such an ass that it's sort of hard."
"He has changed. I mean, he was always sort of an ass but now ..."
"It's like ass supreme."
Fitzy laughs again. Being with him is like wearing a favorite pair of shoes that look great and fit well. I tell him, "You know, if you had a sister, he would have tapped her without thinking twice."
"I know. He was always sort of like that."
"He and Jenna are sort of alike."
"Then where'd you come from?"
"You mean, how'd I get to be the 'good' one?" I make air quotes with my fingers.
"Something like that."
"I never wanted to be the good one. It's just who I am."
"You do the right thing."
This makes me uncomfortable. "I wish that were the truth."
"Tell me when you've been bad." Oh my, the innuendo is thick.
"You mean other than when I molested you and Officer Richards?"
Fitzy bursts out laughing.
"It's not that funny. I'm never going to live it down. I mean, it's bad enough that I was having a sex dream. It's even more mortifying that I acted it out."
Fitzy's laughter fills the Tahoe. "Oh, but Sadie, it was the most awesome thing. And you had some serious moves. How is it that you're still single?"
I can't handle it. I open the door and get out of the car.
I am single. I'm going to stay single. As I walk in my dark house, all I can think of is how much I don't want to be single. I want to share my life with someone. Fat chance now. When the truth comes out, no man will touch me with a ten-foot pole. Is it too much to ask for a partner in life? I don't even want to be so bold as to ask for kids at this point. I just want someone there when I come home and when I wake up in the morning.
"Sadie? Sadie? I'm sorry. Can I come in?" Fitzy's calling to me from the back door.
"Yeah, I'm in the living room. C'mon in."
He sinks down on the couch with me. "This color is cool," he says, his large hand running over the butter-yellow microsuede. "It's not what I would have expected in here."
"When I get the windows done and paint on the wall, it's going to be amazing."
"I love that you've kept all the woodwork."
"The woodwork is one of the reasons that I love the Craftsman bungalows. Did you know that this house came in a kit from the Sears-Roebuck catalogue?"
"Is that why it's called a Craftsman?"
"No, the Craftsman movement started before that. Sears was just smart enough to produce a kit house that had all the design elements that were popular. It's cool they made them available to the masses. My house was probably built around 1920. Think about all the history here. A family lived here during Prohibition. When the stock market crashed. While FDR was president."
"You always were a history buff. I remember you kicking my ass at Trivial Pursuit."
"I am an American History teacher by day, you know. I never outgrew my inner nerd."
"I think you did. I think you grew up just fine."
"Fitzy, stop."
"Stop what?" His arm is on the back of the couch as he's reclined into the corner, his legs crossed casually in front of him. Today he's in a blue button down and navy pants. Again the shirt is open at the neck and shows a small gold cross. The gun is still on his belt, but it's not intimidating. If anything, it's sort of a turn on. My cat, who usually makes himself scarce, is curled up next to Fitzy, like they're old friends. His green eyes—Fitzy's, not my traitorous cat's—are twinkling. Oh, this could get bad. Or good. Or, crap, what the hell is going on here? And why do I have the sudden urge to climb into his lap?
"You know what you're doing. Why are you doing it?"
That slow, sexy grin spreads along his face. I extend my neck back, resting my head on the top of the couch. I can't look at him. Otherwise, I may—will—do something very bad. But most likely very good. Maybe if I put my hands over my face, I can pretend that this vessel of temptation is not sitting twelve inches from me.
Nope. That doesn't work.
"Sadie?"
Without uncovering my eyes, I grunt an answer. "Hhhrmp."
"You hungry? You wanna get a bite to eat?"
I peek at him from underneath my hand. I am actually pretty hungry.
He continues. "How about Chinese?"
That makes me think about the night Max and I got Chinese at his place. That was the first night I realized that I liked him and, whether or not I wanted to admit it, wanted something more from him. So then why am I sitting here, thinking impure thoughts about Fitzy? I'm so confused.
I stand up. I need to remove myself from this temptation. "I've got to go see my dad."
Slowly uncrossing his legs and rising, Fitzy blocks my way. "I'll come with you. I'd like to see your dad."
"You know he's in a nursing home. He's pretty much catatonic."
Fitzy shrugs. "Okay. I still want to visit."
"Fitzy, I don't want you with me."
He looks uncomfortable for a minute. "I'm afraid you don't have much choice. We're keeping tabs on you right now."
This pisses me off. "And it's your turn to babysit me? Jesus, my life has not changed. Every time I think you're about to throw me a bone, I find out you're being paid to hang out with me."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know damn well. Let me by. I'm leaving."
Fitzy stands his ground. I am so mad. He won't move and I need to get out. Now. Before I do something stupid. Stupid-er that should be. Because the next thing I know, my palms are flat on Fitzy's rock hard pecs as I'm trying to push him out of the way.
"Sadie, don't."
I shove harder. "GET OUT OF MY WAY." I'm growling at him through gritted teeth. He's not budging. And then his hands—massive hands—clasp my wrists. He's not pushing me away. He's holding my hands to his chest. Finally I meet his eyes. He licks his lips. "Sadie, please don't. I'm here because I want to be, not because I have to be. I don't have to be the one to be here. I don't have to be in the house."
"I need to go. Please." It almost comes out as a whimper. If he doesn't stop touching me, I cannot be held responsible for what I do next, but it most certainly will involve the use of his baton.
He releases me, and I storm past, grabbing my purse as I head out the door. I don't care if he follows me or stays here. I don't—shit. He's parked behind me. I can't go anywhere without him.
Why, why can't I get a break? Just once? It's like I'm doing penance for all the bad things I've done. Like all those people who have died because of my visions. And my sister. I don't want to think about her right now. My mind is a mess. Hanging my head, I'm prepared to go in and ask Fitzy to move his car. I turn around and whirl into him. How the heck did he sneak up on me? His hands are on my waist, steadying me. I'm trying to remember how to breathe.
"Sadie, let me drive you. Not because I have to, because I want to."