Romeo Fails (7 page)

Sarah pushed the decimated pizza platter aside and reached for Dorsey’s hand, taking her by surprise. She didn’t pull away, although she knew she should in that public place. Maybe, at twenty-six, she was finally reaching that “they can all go to hell” stage, she thought. Or maybe it was because it was Sarah, whose hand was warm on hers.

“So…” said Sarah, giving her a searching look and the full effect of those amazing blue eyes.

“So…” said Dorsey, feeling a little light-headed from the beer and the contact. Not necessarily in that order.

There was a commotion behind her. Dorsey heard more than saw glasses being knocked over, cursing and a not-so-muffled shout that sounded something like, “Goddamn homos trying to take over our town…”

Pulling her hand out of Sarah’s, Dorsey whipped around in the booth in time to see Luke stroll up to the women next door and say, “Evening, ladies. Everything okay here?”

Courtney was on her feet, as were the Luccheses, who had rushed over to restrain her. Tanya was sprawled sideways in the booth trying to staunch the flow of beer from an overturned pitcher and various glasses. Dorsey couldn’t make out their mumbled replies to Luke, but, after a moment, all four of them headed off to the restroom. Courtney was still squawking, but the Lucchese sisters had her in a firm grip. She shot Dorsey an evil look over her shoulder as they disappeared down the hallway. Dorsey turned around to see how Sarah was reacting to all this. The smile on her lips and the slant of her eyebrows looked more amused than alarmed.

Luke slid into the booth next to Dorsey and said, “Maybe you should give it a rest, Dorsey.”

“
I
should give it a rest?” she responded, outraged. “What the hell did I do?”

“Come on,” he said. “I’m just trying to keep the peace here. You know they’re not ready.”

Dorsey said bitterly, “Well, when will they be ready, Luke? Exactly how long am I supposed to wait?”

“I don’t know,” he replied seriously. “But we’re making progress.”

She snorted derisively. “Progress.”

“Open your eyes, Dorsey, and think about it,” he admonished her. “It’s slow, I know, but it’s there. When your grandfather opened the hardware store, this town never thought we’d see an African American teacher and now there’s Rick.”

Rick Caldwell was the assistant principal at the high school.

Luke went on. “And when my dad got home from Vietnam, he sure never thought there’d ever be a female police officer in Romeo Falls.”

He and Dorsey exchanged wan smiles as they imagined what his father, a hell-raising marine of the old school, would have made of Mrs. Gargoyle.

“So I don’t know when they’re going to be ready, Dorse. But I believe it will be in our lifetime. Even here, in this slowpoke little town that sometimes forgets you’re one of us. But for tonight…”

His voice trailed off and he glanced over at the booth vacated by the drunken 4-Hers, then looked back at Dorsey and Sarah with a grin. “For tonight, you’re about to get your asses kicked in the parking lot of The Hamlet. So, will you please let me drive you home and we can all have a peaceful Sunday night? Please?”

Dorsey, still feeling a little belligerent, mostly thanks to the three beers she’d had, said, “If you think we’re going to ride in the back of your squad car like criminals, Luke Bergstrom, you must be out of your damn mind!”

“I’m off-duty, genius,” he said, looking at her with exasperation tinged with fondness, “in case you hadn’t noticed the plain clothes. I’ve got the minivan tonight. And I have to go pick up Penny and the kids at her mom’s in about fifteen minutes, so that’s just enough time for me to run you and Sarah home.”

Dorsey hated the idea of retreating from the battlefield, so to speak, but Sarah chimed in for the first time since Luke had rejoined them.

“Thanks, Luke,” she said smoothly. “We’d love a ride.”

* * *

The three of them had been silent during the short ride from The Hamlet to the Bigelow house. What was there to say anyhow, Dorsey thought. Alone in the dark backseat of the minivan—littered with toys, a child seat, dog hair and random Cheerios—she felt like she’d been wrenched from a really good dream back into her dreary reality. Sheet lightning flickered off in the distance, briefly illuminating the now black night sky. The thunder that followed was so long in coming, the two events seemed unconnected.

Luke stopped and Sarah got out, then leaned back in the open passenger door to say goodnight to him. She glanced in the back, raking Dorsey with her gaze. Her eyes gleamed in the darkness. No word passed between them, but Dorsey felt a shock at the impact of that gaze. She suddenly felt like she couldn’t breathe in the car. She scrambled out the side door, calling a thanks over her shoulder to Luke, saying she’d walk home from there. He drove off, his taillights winking at the corner as he turned and then pulled out of sight.

She and Sarah stood alone on the sidewalk. A street lamp at the corner cast a modest glow. No one else was around, though lights in the neighborhood houses reminded them they were not the only ones there. Sarah’s Bug was parked at the curb. Both Maggie’s car and her mother’s were parked in the driveway, indicating they were both home from quilting. Lights were on, both upstairs and down.

“I guess we could go in,” said Sarah. She sounded reluctant.

Dorsey knew how that would go. The bright lights, the small talk, the cooking smells, Mrs. Bigelow’s stupid dog yapping nonstop… She didn’t want her night with Sarah to end that way. As if they were just acquaintances. As if this feeling of electricity didn’t tingle between them.

“No,” she said solemnly, shaking her head.

Sarah seemed glad to have a reason not to go in just yet. She grabbed Dorsey’s arm and said, “Come on—I’ll walk you to the corner.”

They strolled arm in arm down the block, scudding clouds alternately revealing and obscuring the quarter moon above. The wind gently ruffled the green leaves of the trees, sprinkling them with a few fat raindrops. They stopped at the corner, out of sight of Maggie’s house. Dorsey slowly disengaged her arm, her fingertips lingering on Sarah’s for a moment.

“This is me,” she said, pointing east down the cross street, in the direction of her house.

Sarah gave her another one of those searching glances, her lips parted ever so slightly as she gazed upward at her.

“Good night, Dorsey,” she said. She reached up and gave her a swift hug, which ended with an equally swift light kiss on the cheek. With Sarah’s arms still around her neck and the feel of her soft lips still on her cheek, Dorsey looked into her eyes for a long moment. This is my best friend’s cousin, she thought with some confusion. But this is my Silver Lake Goddess. No, this is someone I don’t really know at all…

A car door slammed up the street, making her involuntarily flinch. She took two quick steps back from Sarah as she heard the engine start. Headlights flared, catching them in their beam. A pickup came slowly down the street behind them, paused at the intersection and then moved on.

Sarah looked at her with some confusion of her own, mixed with reproach, Dorsey thought.

“I—” she started.

“No, it’s fine,” Sarah said shortly, taking a step backward of her own. “I shouldn’t have done that. Sorry.”

“No, wait—” Dorsey tried again.

But Sarah was already hurrying back up the street toward the Bigelow house. She saw Sarah go up the walk, heard the front door open and close in the clear night air. She stood there alone for a few minutes in the darkness, cursing herself, cursing Romeo Falls, wishing her life were anything but what it was.

“Good night, Sarah,” she finally said out loud to nothing and nobody, feeling as if a hand were cruelly squeezing her heart. Wanting nothing more than to go grab Sarah and hold her tight, to feel her body against hers one more time. As she turned and slowly headed for home, a fine, mist-like drizzle came down, beading her head and shoulders with moisture.

Chapter Four

On Tuesday morning, Luke Bergstrom sat at his desk in the police station. Wearing latex gloves, he was examining a box wrapped in brown paper. It had been mailed to “Romeo Falls Police” in town the previous day. It wasn’t heavy. Or ticking. It was about the size of a shoebox and didn’t smell like anything except the paper it was wrapped in. The address label had been generated by a computer and looked completely generic. There was no return address. He hadn’t fingerprinted it, but there were no identifying marks visible to the naked eye. He picked up the box and shook it gently. He could feel the contents shift inside and heard them rustle lightly. He didn’t really think it was anything dangerous, but Luke was a cautious man when he had the time to be. Four years in the Marine Corps and fourteen on the force had taught him that. On the other hand, the police department did get mail and hand-delivered packages, just like everybody else. Hell, the little old ladies in this town still brought baked goods to the station for the cops. And they ate them too.

This box didn’t have cookies in it, though. It didn’t weigh enough for that. Luke had a funny feeling about it. He decided to take it out back to the small parking lot behind the station and open it there.

“Whatcha got there, Chief?” Officer Argyle had spotted him in the hallway with the box under his arm and was alert to the possibility of home-baked brownies in the building.

“Anonymous box someone sent us. I’m going to open it outside just in case it’s something messy.”

Gargoyle hitched up her belt and followed him, though she kept a safe distance as he knelt down to open it. Still wearing his gloves, he carefully removed the brown wrapping paper to reveal, as expected, a cardboard shoebox. The brand of shoes was a popular one—practically every kid in town and many of the adults were wearing that brand that year. The label identifying the size and style of the shoes had been ripped off. With his pen, Luke gently lifted the top off the box.

“What is it?” Gargoyle called.

“Come see for yourself,” Luke said, picking up the box and holding it so she could view the contents. Which were a dozen carnation heads, all spray-painted black. Except for one on top, in the middle. It was painted red.

* * *

Dorsey wiped the sweat off her forehead with the sleeve of her T-shirt and decided to call it a day. The locusts were keening so loudly she could hardly hear herself think. The Bartholomews’ deck was looking pretty good. A few more days and the job would be complete, in plenty of time before their scheduled return from Europe.

By the time she’d put her tools away, swept the deck and watered the plants, it was almost seven thirty. Maggie and Sarah were running late, which was odd. Maggie was the type who would always show up early so Dorsey wondered what was keeping them. She never drank on the job, but had brought a cooler with a six-pack of St. Pauli Girl beer in it for the “party.” She opened one now, savoring the coolness of the green glass bottle in her hands and the cold beer on her tongue as she sat down on the steps of the deck to await the arrival of her guests.

After that debacle on Sunday night, she had wondered if the picnic plan would still be on, but Maggie had assured her on the phone that it was. She sounded the same as ever—cheerful and enthused—so apparently Sarah hadn’t said anything to her. Maybe it was all for the best, Dorsey kept telling herself. Anything that involved lying to Maggie was not good. And besides—did she really think Sarah from the big city had any long-term interest in her small-town self? It was better just to view her as a new friend. A short-term friend. An acquaintance, really. Her social circle was so limited, any addition to it was to be valued.

She hadn’t seen Sarah, or Maggie for that matter, since Sunday and was looking forward to seeing both of them now. Between the hardware store and the deck, she’d been busy with work. Maggie was off for the summer (one of the perks of her teaching job) and thus was free to go do whatever with Sarah. Dorsey wondered what they’d been up to. After they’d visited all the Bigelow relatives in the tri-county area, what was there to do? And where the hell were they anyhow?

She decided to change into her swimsuit in the Bartholomews’ kitchen, which was just off the deck, and then fire up the hot tub. Whether Maggie and Sarah showed or not, she might as well enjoy the bubbles. Although just how enjoyable that would be all by her lonesome was debatable. And to think she’d splurged and bought a new bathing suit for this. Her old Speedo one-piece was fine for swimming laps at the community center pool, but she’d found herself wanting to look good for Sarah. What was the point of staying in shape if you couldn’t show off your abs once in a while? Her daily ritual of fifty push-ups and fifty sit-ups ought to earn some reward. As she shucked off her jeans to change into her green-and-black bikini top paired with black boyshort-style bottoms, she wondered what Sarah would be wearing… Then told herself to snap out of it. This wasn’t a date, she firmly told herself. Maggie was coming too. Just three friends hanging out.

She finished changing, then walked out on the deck to turn on the hot tub. She dipped a toe into the bubbles. Although the warm night air felt good on her skin, she realized she did not want to greet the other two in just her swimsuit. She pulled her jeans back on and stuck her bare feet in her unlaced work boots, in case she needed to venture out on the gravel driveway to help them unload. The sunset was spectacular off to the west, with the sun hiding behind big puffy clouds glowing pink and gold. The external lights for the house, deck and yard came on automatically as the light diminished, casting shadows amongst the large potted plants that lined the railing of the deck. The Bartholomews, who were one of the wealthier families in the area, also had a fancy automated misting system that kept the mosquitoes away. As she retrieved another “Girl Beer” (as Shaw called them) from the cooler, Dorsey heard a car pull off the highway and head up the long driveway toward the house.

“Finally!” Dorsey said out loud. It was Maggie’s sensible sedan, not the cute little Bug. They pulled around to the side of the house where the large deck formed an L to the main structure. Dorsey waved to them from the top of the steps, then went down toward the car.