Adelaide Upset (21 page)

Trapped inside his own
bathroom Marks went wild. He was loud, the noise matching his anger
and shock. Then with the banging, his fists crashing against the
door, thuds and kicks that made the wood reverberate beneath my
spine. I was braced there, using the hallway wall as leverage to
keep him from escaping. But he was determined, his violence
increasing, the door quaking under the onslaught as he gave up
using his fists and feet and instead rammed the flimsy thing,
throwing his whole weight into the task.

The door jumped open and
shut, just an inch, but the next time it was two. I had to hurry.
With my back still pressed flat against the door, I let myself
slide down, sinking to the floor. The next time the door clicked
shut I wedged my flip-flop into the gap underneath of it, holding
it there until it caught, keeping the door in place.

“Ed Marks,” I called, finally feeling as
though I could relax.

What a mistake.

Hearing my voice only
urged him to continue with renewed vigor. He was really pissed. He
didn’t know who I was, to him just a trespasser, and he would
gladly strangle the life from me.

My flip-flop squealed as it was dragged
along under the door, and Marks gained a few inches.

“
I have a gun,” I said,
trying to sound firm. I flashed the Taser past the open crack,
knowing he’d caught a glimpse when we both started to worry. The
banging stopped and from inside the small bathroom he was dead
quiet.

“Remember me?” I asked. “The girl whose
fingers you tried to flatten. It doesn’t feel good, does it? Being
helpless.”

His anger drained out, replaced with
uncertainty.

“
I have it on good
authority that you didn’t murder David Smith,” I continued. “So
after this discussion is over I’m going to walk away. But if you’re
tempted to stop me then let me warn you, if something happens to
me, even something that appears accidental or self-inflicted, I’ve
made sure yours is the first name on the list of
suspects.”

He didn’t like that. “What do you want,” he
growled, growing impatient.

“I want to know why you and Smith argued
before his disappearance.”

“Who’ve you been talking to?” he
demanded.

“Why? So you can smash more fingers? I don’t
think so,” I said, the impatience we shared goading me on. “Answer
the question.”

“He wanted to leave,” Marks answered, the
words issuing forth slow like syrup. “Tried to stop him. Gave him
an earful about abandonin’ his family, but he wouldn’t listen.”

He was lying, but I didn’t have time to
haggle for the truth. More than anything I wanted to finish up and
leave.

“So you two argued. Was that the last time
you saw him or his family?”

“Nah,” he said. “I help his wife once
after...” He spiked upset, something setting off a trigger. Oh how
I would have loved to read his mind just then. “I helped her move
Smith’s stuff out.”

“So you could look for the tape,” I
guessed.

I could feel him jerk
through the door, slapped with surprise, disconcerted and
wary.
“What I want to know is why a man would tape his own wrongdoing,” I
said, trying to draw him out. “It seems a bit incriminating and
counterproductive, don’t you think?”

He was bewildered by that. Not about the
tape, but what was on it. He didn’t know its contents.

One last thing I needed to know. “You didn’t
kill Smith, but you know who did.”

He was silent, but his
emotions said it all. Roiling as they were, an array of anger and
grief. But there was no surprise or bewilderment in response to my
charge.

He did know.

I didn’t speak again,
letting his emotions keep him company. Letting them distract him as
I tiptoed down the hall, quietly opening the front door to slip
outside. I ran the whole way to my car. My feet were stinging,
probably bleeding, tiny bits of gravel pounded deep into each
sole.

Reaching my car, I climbed
inside and sped off. But my hands didn’t stop shaking until I was
halfway home. I was satisfied though, thinking things had gone
better than expected. I had warned Marks that if he tried to harm
me, he wouldn’t get off scot-free. That had been my primary purpose
in going there, but he’d answered my questions too. Not with words,
but in a far more honest way, with his feelings. But despite that,
I still knew so little. And I wasn’t getting anywhere, just
treading water, no closer to finding out what had happened to
Smith. I hated not knowing, or worse, knowing someone was
responsible, but not who. Maybe it was time to turn things over to
the big guns, let someone else sort through this mess.

I should probably tip off the police.

Smith was still a soppy
mess when I got home, though he’d relocated from the bathroom to
the kitchen. I told him what’d happened with Marks, not needing to
embellish or withhold any details from my narrative. He was
relieved, but frustrated.

“
It’s your own fault,” I
called, while returning the stun gun and pepper spray back to the
washing machine. I’d have to find a better hiding spot soon. “You
shouldn’t have tried to stop me,” I chided, without an ounce of
pity. “Stick around. I’m going to Luke’s, but tomorrow morning
we’ll get you back in working order.”

He didn’t like that, his
peevish attitude seeping in.

“
I have a life you know,
and it doesn’t always include catering to my live-in ghost. So I
think I’ll go spend the evening with my
boyfriend
, making out, etc.
etc.”

I swear I could feel his frown.

“Do try and flip a switch while I’m gone,” I
called over my shoulder as I stepped out the door. “Don’t just laze
about.”

Outside the heat washed
over me, smothering and damp. My feet rebelled against the trip
from yard to yard, finding the grass jabby and abrasive. I hadn’t
bothered to bandage them or even change out of my sweaty getup. I
just wanted to be at Luke’s. First I would take a long cool shower,
after which I would borrow one of his shirts, using it as a
makeshift nightgown. I went through the whole night, planning it
out bit by bit.

But none of those things
were destined to happen. I knew it the second I stepped through
Luke’s backdoor, waltzing right into the kitchen as if I owned the
place. The problem: I wasn’t the only woman inside feeling entitled
to be there.

The first thing I saw was
her bum. The offensive creature was bent over, rooting inside the
open fridge. Her legs were long and lean, bare up to where a skimpy
robe skimmed just under her ass crack.

“Luke!” she shouted, oblivious to my
presence. “You don’t have anything to eat!”

Luke
, I wanted to echo,
there is a whore in your
kitchen
. Instead I said nothing,
feeling her out. But there wasn’t much to feel. People aren’t
always emotional; more often than not they go on
autopilot.

I had to move, to say
something. The longer I stood there, the creepier I felt. As
if
I
was
the one that didn’t belong. But what the hell was I supposed to
say?

She didn’t give me a
chance to think of something, righting herself as she shut the
refrigerator door. I glimpsed a wad of red hair, all artfully
tucked at the nape of her neck, before she spun around and saw
me.

We were, together,
shocked. She recovered first, eyes evening out as she went from
gaping to gazing, measuring me up. In her I stirred an anticipated
challenge and struggle—which meant she thought of me as her
competition. There was no question as to what the rivalry would be
about. We both wanted access to Luke’s... shower.

The man of the hour
arrived and pulling a shirt on over his head, he didn’t sense the
tension right away. His eyes focused on me first, cut to the other
woman, and dragged back.

“
I take it this is
Elaine?” I asked, masking my voice to be level and even. “I guess
your conversation didn’t go over well.”

That got her angry, but
her paltry feelings were nothing to mine. “I’m glad that Luke’s
been busy talking about me,” she said, her voice sultry and low. It
was a lie, she wasn’t glad. “But he failed to mention you,” she
added, tipping her head innocently off to the side.

I thought I would have to
duke it out alone, unable to picture Lucas picking his way through
the cold war that was our girl fight. But he surprised me, coming
to stand at my side, where he wrapped an arm around my waist, his
hand gripping my hip.

“
Get dressed,” he said to
Elaine. “I’m taking you to a hotel.”

She stared at him, surprised and hurt. I
would feel the same if he ever talked to me like that, voice cold,
jaw tight. Lucas was mad.

Elaine looked away, the
bottom of her robe flapping as she swept out of the kitchen. I
might have won the battle, but as far as she was concerned, I
hadn’t won the war.

I didn’t move until she
was out of earshot. Then I spun around, turning to ask, “Lucas,
what’s going on?”

“She showed up,” he said, chafing the back
of his neck.

I watched his biceps flex from the gesture,
waiting for more of an answer. He didn’t say anything so I
prompted, “In her bathrobe?”

He blew out a frustrated breath, looking me
square in the eye. “No, Adelaide,” he said sharply. “She put that
on hoping to stay over.”

I swallowed thickly, a
lump in my throat. “And if I hadn’t showed up, what then? Would you
have let her?”

He started to say
something, but I was distracted by the emotions that flowed in from
the hallway. Jerking, I turned to glare at Elaine. I thought it
would make her happy, observing the two of us quibble, but she was
horrified. Her head turned back and forth, watching us, troubled,
disconcerted and distressed.

I was at a loss to
understand her, so we stood, the three of us, silent and staring.
Then Lucas did something he never did before. He grabbed me and
kissed me, audience and all. On the few occasions that we went out
in public, we weren’t openly affectionate, a little hand holding,
that was all. But this kiss was long and slow, sealing me up for
later.

“
We’ll finish when I get
back,” Lucas said, his meaning abstract. Did he mean the kiss or
our discussion?

Elaine’s fierce anger and
determination pulled at my awareness. She was framed in the
hallway, her filmy summer dress slinking lightly around her, the
thin fabric molding to her curves. She had one small piece of
luggage resting beside her, handle in hand. “I’m ready when you
are,” she said, brushing the sway of long hair over one shoulder.
She’d taken it down, making her look all the more soft and
feminine.

Lucas walked toward her,
prepared to move past, but she stopped him, her hand on his
forearm. She left it there, slowly sliding her fingers down his
skin as she turned to look back at me. “I can see that my being
here makes you feel threatened,” she said, a verbal punch. “But I
only want to help Lucas, and if you really care about him, then you
won’t stand in my way.”

“
Why are you so concerned
with the situation?” I asked. “Lucas isn’t nearly as worried as you
are.”

“
That’s exactly why he
needs my help.” She turned her back, heading for the front door, my
boyfriend following after.

I was missing something,
and she made sure I was aware of it. It was glaringly obvious that
she knew Lucas better, his history entwined with hers.

I stood there for a while, vacillating.
Finally I decided I didn’t want to use Luke’s shower. I didn’t want
to wait for him either, not while he was playing taxi with his ex.
I walked out the backdoor and headed for home.

“
You’re in luck,” I said
to Smith, who hadn’t moved an inch. “I have time to help you
because Luke’s taking his ex-girlfriend to a hotel.” And then,
inexplicably, and totally out of character, I burst into tears.
Usually I saved them for myself.

Hunching over, I slumped
onto the tabletop, face in hand. Out of the corner of my watery
eyes, I saw the patch of milky mist come to hover at my
side.

“I wish you were solid,” I wept, hating
myself even as I whined. “Then you would qualify as a shoulder to
cry on.”

He wafted closer, pressing
into me as he expanded, stretching out and filling in. He became
solid just in time. I was so tired, so drained from it all. I
buried my face into his flannel shirt, finding it neither soft nor
warm, but comforting nevertheless.

“
She’s got red hair,” I
cried, “so she should have an iffy skin tone, freckles, rosacea,
something!” I sniffed. “But she’s perfect, like the prettier
version of me. And she fits Lucas better too. They both have those
low, sexy voices, all mysterious and stuff.” I wiped my nose. “Do
you think he likes me because I’m an imitation of her?”

His answer was no. I could
feel it, could feel his flat palm rubbing circles on my back. It
should have creeped me out, and at one time would have, but for
some reason didn’t. I could tell him anything, because he already
knew all of my secrets. He knew me better than anyone, even my best
friend. I could never tell Francesca about Lucas and Elaine, she
would never believe that they weren’t sleeping together. I could
hear the ‘I told you so’ already. And Lucas, the man I had feelings
for, was utterly drawn to, even him I couldn’t confide in. In a
way, the space between us was an ocean. But Smith, Smith was a
rock. A dead rock, but my rock even so. When I needed him most, he
was always there.