Once Upon A Killing (A Gass County Novel Book 2) Page 14

  “Too much information,” the voice gave a cough on the other side. “I’ll see you in the AM for breakfast at the pub. Seven hundred, Melanie. Good night.”

  He hung up abruptly making the phone beep endlessly, and for a while she listened to the repetitive sound before she stretched her arm across the empty space between the tub and the sink and let the phone rest a top of the porcelain sink, and she once more closed her eyes and imagined what tomorrow might hold. What did Brody want? How would breakfast taste? And how well would the clothes fit Rick?

  “It will be a long night,” she smiled and sunk deeper into the bubbles.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  That couldn’t have been what I think it was? Brody told himself slowing the white and shiny cruiser to a full stop before turning it around on the narrow road leading out from town toward the many farms and their wide fields filled with grass and roaming cattle. Better patrol everything, he always told himself, you never know what you might see, and sure enough, here he was, late Friday night driving along a deserted road outside of town when the pale skin of a bare foot sticking up from the ditch had caught his attention.

  The head beams from the cruiser confirmed his assumption as he placed it in park, shut off the ignition, and grabbed a flashlight from the passenger seat. The gravel of the country road crushed slowly underneath the soles of his shoes as his steps moved him along the ditch until the light in his hand caught the bare foot. A slender foot, surely belonging to a woman, he thought, and a sudden fire of panic rose within his chest. This was a small town, and except for last year’s kidnapping incident, this town was so low on the crime map it didn’t exist. But here he was, not knowing if he was dealing with someone alive, someone dead, or maybe… just a limb. He gulped loudly and let his flashlight illuminate the entire length of the leg until he was met by two squinting eyes and the flash of a wide smile.

  “Hey, Brody…”

  His lungs gave release, and his hand tugged at his hat, nodding in response.

  “How are you doin’ tonight, Christine?”

  “Juuuust great. I was just going to walk home because Mary took my keys and, you know what Brody, it’s faaaaaaaaaaar,” her voice dragged the sound until the air inside her lungs had emptied, then she smiled again and shut her eyes. “I figured I’d just lie down and take a little snoozer. How are you doing, Brody? Bro-ho-de-hee,” she giggled, her body slanting head down in the ditch. She was slurring enough to make him think she’d been to visit a Scottish whiskey factory, but he doubted it. Around this neighborhood beer was the ideal drink, unless a famous mojito slipped down from Rick, at the pub.

  “How much did you have to drink tonight?”

  “Um,” she mumbled and tried to find some fingers on her hand before she started counting. “Maybe one, or two… Mary told me she’d drive me home, and that Wayne had told her I needed to let loose more. I thought I’d show him I’m not as boring as I might seem.”

  “Aha, well first of all, you’re not boring, Christine. I’m not sure who made you think that? Secondly, you seem quite exhausted from one, maybe two, drinks, and what possessed you to walk home? You do remember you live outside of town, right?” This situation was quite peculiar for Christine. She rarely drank, worked a lot, and seldom did anything as drastic as this stunt.

  “Oh my God, you talk a lot, Officer. Wanna handcuff me and have some fun?” she laughed and tried to hold up both of her arms steady, without success. “That outfit does things to my panties…”

  “Alright, Christine, no touching allowed. I’m gonna stop you right there. First of all, you might regret all of this by morning, and secondly, I’m not sure Wayne would be too fond of this conversation.” He hooked the flashlight on to his belt and moved slowly down the ditch to grab ahold of her upper arms, hoping she wouldn’t slide out of his grip like a slippery octopus when he tried to get her up.

  “Wayne, Wayne, Wayne, pain, schmain. We’ll invite him, Brody, “she held up a pointing finger making her point. “And we’ll have a threesome. I haven’t done that yet, and it’s on my bucket list, among other things like…” her voice went from a slur to an incoherent mumble and she closed her eyes and let go of a long breath, smelling of the mint he’d expected was smashed thick in that Mojito.

  “Come on, Christine, I’m gonna help you up from the ditch before you catch a cold in these clothes,” he said, trying to pull some of the skirt fabric down to her knees to cover some lingerie playing peek-a-boo from underneath her clothes. Pretty, he thought, but cursed himself for even giving his mind a chance for such nonsense. This was not his girl. She belonged to his best friend. Time to back off and think of something completely opposite, like the safety laws for handguns in public places. It seemed to work, the heated feeling growing in his pants went ice-cold in a nano-second. “Come on, you’re gonna catch a cold or someone else, someone maybe wrong, picks you up instead of me tonight.”

  “And you’re just Mr. Right, aren’t you Officer?” she giggled again and dragged her fingers down the tie of his uniform. “Why are you single, Brody? You’re hot,” her mouth wouldn’t give him a break tonight as he dragged her into standing position, before she sunk against his chest and held tight to that tie of his searching for some type of balance. “And you smell of that clean soap I sniff walking by aisle thirteen at Harold’s.”

  He hooked one strong arm around her back and secured her to his side. “Let’s get to my cruiser, okay. We’re almost there, only a few more steps, Christine. You hear me?” Her eyes had closed again and his mind cursed Rick down at the pub for not refusing her another drink.

  “Ouch!” she shouted in pain, and grabbed on to his shirt with both hands. “I forgot I hurt my leg and that’s why I had to rest and ended up landing in the ditch.”

  “Hop on your one good leg, only two more steps, and I’ll have a look at it for you.” The back door of the cruiser opened and as she slid in across the plastic material of the seat, she found herself more exhausted than she had anticipated. She also found the seat to be extremely comfortable, similar to one of the beds in the suites she’d visited in New York. Maybe even those at a five-star resort. Brody’s voice robbed her of her daydream and catapulted her back into reality.

  “You’ve got a swollen ankle the size of a hippo’s, Christine. Almost turning blue. How did this happen?” She enjoyed the touch of his coarse hand over her leg. The pain wasn’t as bad as when she’d leaned on it. “And now when I think of it, where are your shoes?”

  She perked herself up on her elbows, and with unsteady eyes she watched the brim of his hat come up to watch her. Man, if that face could just stop moving, her mind made a note not to drink so much again.

  “Mary lent me one of her high-heeled shoes but the heel slipped in the gravel when I tried to walk home, and I felt the pain then. That’s my tender leg, you know.”

  He stopped stroking her lower leg, and placed his hand on the seat. “Yeah, I heard you took an unpleasant tumble down the ladder at the bakery not too long ago. Well, it’s not broken since you can obviously move it, but badly sprained.”

  “Crutches again then, great. It seems like whenever I’m around Mary I hurt myself,” she said exasperated, and stretched out fully in the back seat, her feet hanging off the plastic fabric and out the open door.

  “What do you mean, Christine? Was Mary at the bakery that day you took that tumble?” Brody’s tone turned smooth, and she noticed the change in him. It wasn’t her friend Brody talking anymore. It was Officer B. Jensen.

  “Yeaaaah,” her voice droned on, and her hands rubbed her tired eyes. “She was supposed to help me with things at the bakery before I promised to spend some time with her, you know, doing girl stuff that Wayne isn’t that great at.”

  “Aha,” he sounded quite intrigued. “So, except for the bakery fall and today’s drinking, when else have things happened when you’ve been around Mary?”

  “Um, I don’t know, Brody. I’m kind of tired, but Mary told me not t
o hurry home. She had things under control and wanted to make dinner. Anyway,” she exhausted a deep sigh. “I found her going through my bag I’d brought over for the stay one evening, but she said she was looking for money and we had a long talk about that. You know, teenagers, beer money,” she snorted a laugh. “I think she’s just trying to be overly helpful, because she wants to fit in to our lives.”

  “What do you mean, precisely? Helpful in what way?”

  “I think it was maybe two weeks after my fall at the bakery that she tried to help me down the stairs with my crutches, but somehow got them tangled together, and I was a bit high on pain meds, so I trampled over them and went head first down the stairs. Good thing I was able to catch the railing before I hit my head. She was really, really upset about that. She cried and thought she’d killed me.”

  “Thanks, Christine,” Brody abruptly ended the conversation. “I’m going to put your feet back on the seat and close the door here for you since it’s getting cold. I’m taking you home.

  “Thank you, sir.” Before the door closed she looked up and met Brody’s eyes in the night. “Brody?” she asked.

  “Yes, Christine?”

  “Do you think I’m crazy?”

  “What?” he looked confused and leaned down slightly to see her better.

  “Is it true that everyone who went through something dreadful goes crazy?”

  “Um, I’m not sure what you’re trying to tell me here, but to answer your question… no, that’s not true at all. Why do you ask? Are you talking about Mary?” his voice hit a low note.

  “No, someone else. Never mind me, I’m drunk and don’t know what I’m saying. Please, just take me home.” She mumbled and closed her eyes.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “You sleep tight, alright? I’ll call you in the morning and if you don’t respond, I’ll be right over here. Do you hear me, Christine?” It was like talking to the dead, he thought, having placed Christine in her bed. This was something Wayne should have done, not him, but since he was the officer on duty, and had driven her home in her drunken state, he had had no other choice but to make sure she was safely in bed before he left.

  “Do you hear me, Christine? Tomorrow I’ll call you, okay?”

  “Stay the night, Brody. You can warm me up.”

  “On that note, have a pleasant night.”

  When he turned to leave her hand grabbed his wrist and made him stop in his tracks.

  “What is it, Christine?”

  “Wayne…”

  “Yes, what is it with Wayne?”

  “His doctor died, and Lacie, or maybe it was Lucy, died.”

  “You’re mumbling, Christine, I can barely hear you.” He bent over trying to better hear what she was saying.

  “He slept with other girls when we were dating… I’m a little mad at him.”

  He had no response to that. Even though it stung to hear, it didn’t surprise him, so he didn’t know what to say. Should he tell her he had anticipated it, or maybe he should have warned her before they started dating? He wasn’t sure if there was anything at all worth mentioning. What was done was done. Nothing could make it undone.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, like a minister delivering the deepest of condolences.

  Her hand had fallen away from his wrist and with that her breathing deepened. He quietly walked down the stairs leading to the front door shaking his head in disgust, not disbelief, at his friend’s actions. He knew they were common. He’d always just hoped they’d stop. Apparently they hadn’t and who knew if they ever would.

  Since no other calls had come in that evening, he made the decision he knew wasn’t the wisest but one he couldn’t avoid. A few miles down the interstate the light of his cruiser turned from meeting vehicles to brighten open fields of grass, then slowly onto the short street leading up to the cul-de-sac, and the parking spot of a blue pick-up truck.

  “Yeah, I’m coming, hold on,” a voice from inside could be heard moving from upstairs down the staircase, to the front door before it opened up.

  “Brody, is everything okay?”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  “Drove all the way out here for that now, did you?” His hands fell from holding the door open to settle on his hips.

  “Do you know who I picked up tonight, along the interstate with bare feet, drunk off her ass?”

  “Who? Wait, if this is one of your random stories I’m not interested. I’ve got other things on my mind.”

  “Christine.”

  “What?”

  “Christine.”

  “Wait, are you telling me you just picked up Christine bare foot and drunk next to the interstate?”

  “Affirmative. That bare foot of hers was sticking up from the ditch and nearly gave me a heart-attack when my flood lights hit it. Wasn’t sure if it was dead or alive. Luckily she was unharmed.”

  “Oh my God! Where is she now? Is she okay?”

  “At home. In her bed. Sleeping.”

  “You took her home and put her to bed?”

  “Sure did.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “She didn’t seem too keen on talking to you, and before I left she told me you’d slept with other women while you guys were dating. How dumb is that?”

  “Why do you always butt in? Get your own damn love life and get involve out of mine.”

  “Hey, I’ve known you for most of my life and for the love of God, you’re almost forty. Stop messing around and choose, and if you don’t want to choose then don’t get involved with someone. Shouldn’t it be that easy?”

  “Says the one, the wise, the relationship expert.”

  “Hey, don’t mock me. I may not be dating but I sure as hell know the main rule: sleep with one woman at a time. Anyway, I need to get going, just wanted to let you know she is safe and sound in her bed and that she probably doesn’t want to talk to you in the morning.”

  “I already knew that.”

  “Bet you did.”

  “Shut it, Brody.”

  Wayne watched the cruiser drive away on the street, away from the quiet cul-de-sac lined with Victorian houses, ending with the yellow one he called home. The clock on the hallway wall showed almost eleven, yet he was contemplating hopping in the car for a late drive. Instead he raked his hair and turned off the lights before returning up the wooden stairs. As soon as he hit the top floor he cursed himself loudly, turned on his feet, and took the staircase down in three leaping steps, grabbed his jacket and was out the door before the clock hit three minutes past eleven.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The night was dark, dense fog around the car, and as he watched the whiteness of the atmosphere lick the ditches of the road the thought of Christine, lying barefoot and alone in the ditch made his entire being tremble. He was glad no one else but Brody had noticed her, as truckers and random strangers drove through the town and stopped for a bite to eat, never to be seen again.

  The thick fog spread across the open fields as he drove in the night, glad to know his way not needing to read road signs or look for turnouts. A few turns from the highway and his blue truck rolled into park next to hers on the gravel lot outside her garage, and within a few steps he found himself banging on the front door.

  “Christine, are you in there?”

  “God, do you think I’m deaf? The head beams on your truck woke me up when my bedroom lit up like the next space ship was arriving,” her voice said heatedly through the door.

  “Oh, so you’re right on the other side of the door, again.” The fact that she had already moved downstairs to the door made him smile a little. She had a habit of doing that, and it made him feel a little less rejected. At least she hadn’t slammed it shut, run up the stairs, and buried herself under bedcovers refusing to answer the door.

  “Maybe,” she mumbled, and he felt as though her breath was almost coming through the keyhole of the door.

  “I’m sorry
, Christine, I really am.”

  “You’re always sorry for stuff. You do things and then you’re sorry for them, and it seems like they keep repeating themselves. Haven’t we been in this situation before? I’m done with hearing how sorry you are.”

  “What else do you want me to say then? That I’m not sorry?”

  “Well, are you? I mean, how can you be really sorry but still be with other women while you’re seeing me?”

  “I didn’t know we were ‘seeing’ each other at the time. We had just had that one kiss in the bakery, I took you out for coffee, and then you blew me off in New York.”

  A laugh ridiculing his words could be heard from inside.

  “Don’t you even try to turn this around and blame it on me. So, you mean that just because I didn’t put out you had to sleep with others?”

  “Not exactly. I just meant, well, you’re the first girl to not sleep with me even after a few dates. And when you blew me off on our trip, in the hotel room, I just figured, well maybe you weren’t that interested after all. “

  His feet moved across the stone pavement outside the door and the night engulfed the silence between them.

  “While I went home after each little date with you, getting more and more interested, and feeling special, I really wasn’t anything special after all. Now knowing you moved to the next girl in your phone book makes me feel… used.”

  “That’s not how it was at all. You shouldn’t feel that way.”

  “Don’t tell me how I should feel! It’s just the way it is and I’m done being the ‘sometime girl’ in your life. Please leave or I’ll give Brody a call.”

  “Yeah, well, Brody was the one who told me to come over.”

  “Oh, great, you couldn’t even figure that out yourself. Now that just shows something.”

  “Hey, no need to be nasty, okay. I’m here to apologize, and tell you that you are very special to me.”

  A low voice came from the other side of the door. “I don’t know Wayne. I wasn’t prepared to be in a relationship where I’m not the one and only in someone’s eyes. If you don’t like me enough to be that, well, then we need to stop here before it goes any further.”