“Sure,” I said
Brooks and I looked on as Elliott took a flying leap into a pit filled with plastic balls. The toddler next to Elliott was entertaining himself by picking up the balls, licking them, and throwing them over his shoulder.
Brooks looked horrified. “That pit can’t be remotely sanitary.”
“Management claims it is, but I don’t believe them. Which is why Elliott is going straight into the bathtub when we get home.”
Forty-five minutes later, we walked toward the exit. Elliott claimed he was too tired to walk, so Brooks was carrying him.
“You were right, Daisy. I don’t even notice the smell anymore.”
“This has been a very good day,” Elliott said.
“It’s been a great day,” Brooks said.
It has been a wonderful day.
*
“Let’s get you into the tub,” I said to Elliott when we got home.
I ran the water and grabbed a towel from the linen closet. Once the bathtub was full, Elliott stripped down and jumped in, splashing the front of my shirt.
“Easy there,” I said. I washed his hair and rinsed out the shampoo. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Brooks in the doorway.
“I thought I’d go pick up some wine to have with dinner,” he said. “And maybe dessert.”
I’d made a pan of lasagna before we went to the park, and all I had to do was bake it.
Elliott stood up. “I have pizza to eat for dinner!” He plunked himself back down in the tub, splashing me once again.
“Careful, buddy. You’re soaking me.”
“Sorry, Mama.”
I turned my attention back to Brooks. “Wine is essential after a visit to Chuck E. Cheese’s. They should really give you a bottle on your way out.”
“Pinot noir, coming right up. Any special requests for dessert?”
“Chocwate,” Elliott yelled, splashing and soaking me a third time.
“I give up,” I said.
Brooks laughed. “I can see right through that shirt.”
By the time Brooks returned, I’d changed into a dry shirt, put the lasagna in the oven, and convinced Elliott to get into his pajamas even though it was only four thirty in the afternoon.
“There’s no reason to get dressed again if we’re not going back out,” I said. “And since you skipped your nap, you’ll be going to bed early tonight.”
It might have seemed boring to some, but nothing made me happier than the thought of hanging out on a Saturday night with Brooks and Elliott.
Brooks poured the wine and after I took a drink, I retrieved my laptop from the kitchen counter. “I want to show you something.” After opening Excel, I clicked on my debt-reduction spreadsheet and pointed to a number. “Look at the total. It’s gotten lower.” I smiled. “When I get to zero, that means I’ve paid off every cent Scott ran up on those credit cards. Then I can start putting the money I used to pay every month toward a down payment on a house.”
Brooks looked at the beginning total and whistled. “That’s incredible. I am seriously impressed.”
“It’s going to take me a long time to save up enough, but maybe I can rent a house in the meantime. Elliott would at least have a yard to play in.”
The oven timer went off, and I got up to check on the lasagna. Brooks followed me into the kitchen.
“I really don’t like your ex-husband,” Brooks said.
“I’m not his biggest fan, either.”
I opened the oven and peered inside. Ten more minutes to let the cheese brown and the lasagna would be perfect. I set the timer and turned around. Brooks had a serious expression on his face.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I look at you and Elliott and wonder how in the world a man could just walk away from his wife. From his child. How can someone do that, plus leave so much carnage in his wake? I can’t wrap my brain around it. I’ve tried and I can’t do it.”
“That’s what addiction does to a person,” I said. “I believe Scott loved me until the end. There may be a part of him that still loves me. I know he never stopped loving Elliott. But he loves meth more. No matter how much he doesn’t want to, he just does.”
“If he stopped using, would you take him back?” Brooks asked suddenly. “If he showed up here again some night, clean this time, and said he wanted another chance, that he wanted to put his family back together, would you?”
His voice sounded intense. Angry, even. But his troubled expression showed a vulnerable side of Brooks that I hadn’t seen until now.
“No.” I put my arms around him and pulled him close. “He betrayed me in the worst possible way. He’s used up all his chances and he doesn’t get any more. He hurt me too much for that to ever be a possibility.”
Brooks took my face in his hands and kissed me. There was something about the kiss that felt possessive, as if he was trying to assert himself as the only man who had the right to kiss me now.
I wasn’t wrong, because later that night, after Brooks and I had made love and were lying entwined in each other’s arms, he said, “I don’t ever want him to think he can walk in here and have you again,” and I didn’t need to ask him who he was talking about.
CHAPTER 45
BROOKS
I was sitting at my desk typing up a story when Jack Quick called my cell phone. “One of my patrol officers just pulled over Dale Reber for speeding. They’re bringing him in.”
I sat up straight in my chair. “How long can you detain him?”
“Hopefully long enough for him to answer our questions. I’ll call you when we’re done.”
“Thanks.”
*
Jack called me two hours later and asked me to meet him for lunch at the diner.
“Tell me you have good news,” I said when he sat down on the stool next to me.
He exhaled and rubbed his temples. “We hammered him pretty hard, but he wouldn’t talk. After about an hour of him not saying anything, he informed us that the questioning was over and left the station.”
“He can do that?”
Jack nodded. “Technically he can.”
“I can’t shake the thought that he had something to do with Pauline Thorpe’s murder.”
“He very well may have. But until someone talks or we catch a lucky break, there’s no way to prove it. Unless we have evidence linking him to the crime, we can’t arrest him and we have no grounds to hold him.” Jack opened his menu. “To hell with my cholesterol. I need something fried.”
“Daisy wants justice, but she wants closure, too.”
“The victim’s family always does,” he said.
We gave our orders to the waitress—a burger and onion rings for Jack and a club sandwich for me.
“How’s that going, by the way?” Jack asked.
“What? Me and Daisy?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s going well. I’m glad I came back.”
“See? You asked me once how I could stand it here. It all comes down to a woman, McClain. They’ll make you do crazy shit.”
“You’re a man of true wisdom, Jack.”
He laughed. “Tell that to my wife.”
*
That night, I arrived at Daisy’s with dinner from a local barbecue restaurant. I’d sent a quick text to let her know Dale had been found and was being questioned, but she rarely had time to talk during her workday, so I hadn’t been able to share the outcome. She looked so hopeful when she opened the door.
I kissed her and then shook my head. “He wouldn’t talk,” I said.
“At all?”
“No.”
“So that’s it?” Daisy asked as I followed her into the kitchen and leaned against the counter as she plated the ribs and dished up coleslaw and baked beans. “They just let him go?”
“They had to.”
I grabbed two beers from the fridge, uncapped one and handed it to her. She took a drink and set down the bottle on the counter.
“Jack said somebody’ll talk eventually,” I said.
Daisy sighed. “I hope so. I just… I want to put this whole thing behind me.”
I put my arms around her and she pressed her face to my chest. She’d had time to shower before I arrived. Her hair was wet and combed back and she was wearing her usual uniform of pajama pants and a T-shirt, long-sleeved now that it had gotten colder. She smelled incredible, like the light floral scent of the body wash she always kept a bottle of in the shower. When Daisy looked like this it was as if she was sending out a signal that she was ready for bed, and I loved taking her to bed.
“Do you know that I find you incredibly desirable right now?”
She looked up at me and smiled. “Oh?”
“Yes.” I bent down to kiss her and I was still kissing her when Elliott charged into the kitchen.
“Bwooks! You is kissin’ my mom.” He dissolved into laughter like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.
“Hey, buddy. Where’d you come from?”
“I was gettin’ my books. I got some new ones.”
“As soon as your mom and I finish eating, I’ll read them, okay?”
“Okay.”
Elliott always wanted me to read to him on the nights I stayed over. Daisy was quick to point out that it wasn’t my responsibility. “Please don’t feel like you have to,” she’d said.
“No, I want to. He seems to really like it. He looks at me like I’m a superhero or something.”
“That’s because to him, you are,” Daisy said.
She carried our plates to the table and we sat down.
“Do you want a rib, Elliott?” I asked.
“Do I wike those, Mama?”
“I don’t think you’ve ever tried one.”
Elliott sat down in his chair while Daisy went to the cupboard and retrieved a small plate.
“Here,” I said handing Elliott a small rib. “Try this.”
It took less than two bites for Elliott’s cheek to become smeared with barbecue sauce. He wiped his cheek with his hand instead of the napkin Daisy had given him, and before either of us could intervene, he somehow transferred the sauce to his hair.
“I’m waving the white flag,” Daisy said, laughing and taking a bite of her own rib. “I’ll clean him up when he’s done.”
“I wike these, but they are messy,” Elliott said.
“You ready for your books?” I asked when we were done eating.
“He’s very excited for you to read,” Daisy said. “We went to the bookstore yesterday and he picked out some new Christmas books.”
“Speaking of which, what do you want for Christmas, Elliott?”
“So many fings!” Elliott said. “I will have my mom wite it all down for you wike she did for Santa.”
“I want you to give it to me the next time I come over, okay?”
“Okay.”
Daisy was watching us with a smile on her face.
I caught her eye. “What about you? What do you want for Christmas?”
“It hardly seems fair to ask for more when I’m looking at everything I’ve ever wanted.”
CHAPTER 46
SCOTT
Scott was sitting on the couch watching TV when Dale walked up behind him and pressed something hard against the back of his head.
That’s the barrel of a gun.
“When did you call the motherfucking police?” Dale demanded. “When!”
Thank God I’m high. He’s probably going to kill me.
“I didn’t call the police,” Scott replied calmly, although his heart was pounding out an erratic, staccato rhythm. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do,” Dale said.
When Brandon walked into the room, Scott started to produce copious amounts of sweat. Droplets of fear gathered and multiplied rapidly at his hairline, his upper lip, the back of his neck. Brandon was ruthless as hell when it came to dealing with anyone who drew attention to his operation. He pulled up a chair in front of the couch so that he was facing Scott. One nod from Brandon and Scott was almost certain he would cease to exist in this world.
Dale removed the gun from the back of Scott’s head and came around to the other side of the couch, pulling up a chair beside Brandon and pointing the gun at Scott’s face.
“Well then,” Dale said, and Scott hated the tone he used, knew he was just trying to appear important in front of Brandon, “you mind telling me why the cops wanted to question me about the death of Pauline Thorpe?” He kicked the frame of the couch, jarring Scott. Tim, another guy who rented a room from Dale and who was sitting right next to Scott on the couch, didn’t even flinch. Nothing was interesting or alarming enough to pull his attention away from the porn on the television screen.
“I don’t know why they questioned you,” Scott said, which was the truth.
Dale’s paranoia had reached epic levels. He insisted he was being followed whenever he drove somewhere and that DEA agents were surrounding the house at night and using infrared telescopes to spy on him. His latest claim was that the birds flying overhead had tiny cameras attached to their legs. Dale said if they wanted to continue living in his house they had to follow all sorts of bizarre rules, such as leaving the shades drawn at all times and never answering the door. Occasionally he would demand they turn off all the lights and speak in whispers.
“This Pauline Thorpe person was related to your ex-wife. Is that correct?” Brandon asked.
“Yes,” Scott said.
Brandon turned to Dale. “And now the police are interested in you?” He shook his head as if he was dealing with a bunch of idiots. Brandon looked at Dale and cocked his head toward Scott. Shoot him, the gesture said.
“Wait,” Scott said in a desperate, panicked voice.
He might have lost everything. He might have suffered episodes of severe, crippling depression when he thought about what he’d become. But he hadn’t lost his will to live.
Not yet.
And a man whose death was imminent would betray just about anyone in order to survive, including the ex-wife he still loved. “Daisy probably gave your name to the police,” he said. Or maybe it was the reporter who’d given Dale’s name to the police. The thought of Daisy with another man filled Scott with a white-hot rage, but right now he had bigger things to worry about.
“Why would this woman give your name to the police, Reber?” Brandon asked, leaning back in his chair.
“Because she knows he lives here,” Dale said, pointing toward Scott with the gun. “They can’t pin anything on him so they’ve moved on to me.”
“Then you need to make sure she stops talking,” Brandon said mildly.
Scott could breathe a little easier now that the focus had shifted from him to Daisy. Had he not been able to talk his way out of this, he was certain Dale would have followed Brandon’s directive with little hesitation, if only to show his loyalty.
But it would have left Dale with a hole in his operation that he wouldn’t have been able to plug very easily. Unlike Dale, whose appearance was frightening and memorable, Scott was still able to blend in. He retained just enough of his good looks and people skills to put customers at ease.
Dale loved to brag about Brandon’s connection to the Mexican drug cartel, but all Scott cared about was that the cartel’s meth was superior in quality to most of the crap that was sold down at the Desert Tap. He was the one who’d insisted they give away small quantities of meth for free in order to hook the customers and bring them back for more. It didn’t take long for Scott to acquire a stable of regular—and eager—buyers. They followed his rules. They paid in full. Scott told them to keep their mouths shut, and if they didn’t he told them to find another connection. They never talked. Scott was reliable and the meth he sold them was just too good.
Scott moved a lot of drugs for Brandon and shouldered a large portion of the risk. He was the one who sold to customers who might turn out to be undercover cops. He often carried
enough drugs on his person or in his vehicle to qualify for a Possession with Intent to Deliver charge, which was a felony in the state of California. He was responsible for moving the meth quickly, and if Scott couldn’t account for every cent due to Brandon, it was his ass on the line, not Dale’s.
In return, Scott never had to come down unless he wanted to.
And he never wanted to.
Brandon left the room and Dale followed him like an obedient puppy. Scott exhaled, and slowly his body relaxed. The pungent scent of his sweat lingered on his skin.
When Dale came back inside, he mixed a large shot for Scott and for himself, and they tied off and slammed it.
They watched some porn.
Neither of them mentioned what had happened.
Neither of them mentioned the gun.
They were still getting high and watching porn twelve hours later.
Meth was the only thing that could make Scott forget about the danger he’d been in.
The utter hopelessness that was his life.
Meth was the only thing that kept him from feeling much of anything at all.
CHAPTER 47
BROOKS
I drove to Daisy’s apartment in the late afternoon on Christmas Eve. Daisy didn’t have to work and I’d met my deadline, so I’d taken off early. When I arrived, she and Elliott were in the kitchen listening to Christmas carols and baking cookies. Neat rows of frosted snowmen were lined up on waxed paper on the kitchen counter.
“We is making snowmans, Bwooks,” Elliott said. “Do you want one?”
“I think you want one,” Daisy said.
“I do!” Elliott said.
“How’s it going?” I asked, bending down to kiss her.
“Other than the complete annihilation of my kitchen, it’s going great. Someone didn’t want to take a nap. He’s very excited about Santa.”
“I didn’t want to take a nap,” Elliott said, pointing to himself and smearing frosting on his shirt.
“Dad asked if we could meet him at the restaurant at six.”
“Sure,” Daisy said. “I’m sure I can have this disaster area cleaned up by then.”