Thugs and Kisses (3 page)

I found myself speechless, not a natural state for me. I continued to squeeze my arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Occasionally, a woman would come into the restroom, glance our way, and keep going toward the stall area. In due time, Johnette stopped crying, blew her nose, and straightened her shoulders.

“You go ahead, Odelia,” she told me, taking one of my hands and giving it a little squeeze. “You go on out there and keep that nice man company. I’ll be along very shortly.”

“You sure?” I asked skeptically.

She nodded. “I’m just going to freshen up before going out myself.”

Still not convinced she should be left alone, I did as she asked and started to leave the bathroom, only to be stopped by bony fingers clutching my arm.

“Please don’t tell anyone about this, Odelia. I don’t want anyone’s pity.”

Assuring her of my discretion, I said, “I’m sure you and Victor can work this out. You’ve been together a long time.”

“Yes, we have.” Johnette contorted her thin lips into a forced smile. “I’m sure it’ll be all right in time. Lots of men have a mid-life crisis and return to the nest once it’s out of their system.” She looked to me to validate the statement.

“So I’ve heard,” I responded automatically, all the while thinking that if Greg ever cheated on me, he’d be going from paraplegic to quadriplegic in no time flat.

Back again in the main ballroom, I made my way to our table to find Dev and Victor deep in sports talk. The Moraleses were going to join us at our table, Dev informed me. I smiled tightly at the alleged cheater as I took the seat Dev offered. A much younger woman, huh? The cheating would have been bad enough, but as a middle-aged woman, I took it somewhat personally that he might be straying with a newer and shinier model.

I was telling the men that Johnette would be along shortly when movement caught my eye. Approaching our table was Donny Oliver. Grrr.

“Hey, Vic, great to see you,” Donny boomed as he made his way to Victor’s side. The two men shook hands. With Donny was another former football player whose face was familiar but remained nameless to me. Victor shook his hand, too.

Then Donny saw me.

“What?” He looked at me in exaggerated surprise. “This can’t be Odelia—Odelia Grey?”

In high school, Donny Oliver had been a commanding sight. Ruggedly handsome with wavy brown hair, a dimpled chin, and deep-set, dark eyes, he stood just over six feet tall with a trim, hard body and wide shoulders. He didn’t look all that different now, except that his dark hair was laced with gray at the temples, and his face was marked with slight lines around his eyes and mouth. A boozy smell emanated from him. Yep, just like in high school.

Memories as rancid as week-old tuna invaded my brain, and anger gurgled inside me. I felt ready to blow, like a shaken soft drink.
Let it go, Odelia,
I cautioned myself.
Control. Control. Control. You can do it.

“Hello, Donny,” I said through teeth clenched hard enough to worry me about cracking a crown.

Donny looked at me with amusement, then opened his arms wide. “Ah, come on, Odelia. Give your old friend a hug.”

I glanced at Victor, who was looking embarrassed, then at Dev, who was looking both puzzled and concerned. I searched my brain for something glib and funny to say, something that would ease my tension and put Donny in his place.

“Eat shit and die, Donny.” The comment may not have been original, but it was heartfelt.

He laughed. So did the guy with him. They were the only two amused. On my other side, I felt Dev start to rise.

“Is Tommy Bledsoe with you tonight?” Donny asked, looking around. He turned to the guy with him. “How about it, Steve? Wouldn’t that be perfect? Odelia, Bledsoe, and this damn Sea Hunt shit, together again. Now
that
would be a reunion.” They both laughed.

I said nothing. Dev stood up, but Donny took no notice.

“Come on, Odelia,” Donny said, still with his arms spread. “Give me some of that heavyweight lovin’ like you used to.”

“Leave her alone, Donny.”

It was a woman’s voice. I turned to see Sally Kipman standing near the table with her hands on her hips, looking rather formidable. Johnette stood behind her, doing a great imitation of a frightened rabbit. I could have sworn I even saw her long, bony nose twitch. Geez, could this get any worse?

I continued my quest for the very elusive self-control. My jaw, still clenched, was starting to ache. What I really wanted to do was to push Donny’s head into one of the nearby fish tanks until it became one of the bubbling tank ornaments alongside the toy pirate ship. Without much effort, I could picture little multi-colored fish swimming in and out of his nose. Entertaining this thought, I could feel control within my grasp.

Donny started to say something to Sally when another voice chimed in. “Yes, leave the lady alone.” This command came from Dev as he moved to stand by my chair in front of Donny.

“Who the hell are you?” Donny asked Dev. I was pleased to see Donny flinch at Dev’s size. My jaw relaxed a tad at the sight.

“Detective Devin Frye of the Newport Beach police. And this lady’s date.”

“Let’s get out of here, Donny,” his buddy said, putting a hand on his arm. Suddenly, I remembered his name—Steve Davis.

Donny looked down at me, then up at Dev, seeming to make up his mind about something. He turned to Victor. “Come on, Vic, let’s go get a beer.”

Victor looked at the people gathered around the table, including his wife. “Sorry, Donny, have to pass.”

Donny looked surprised at Victor’s insubordination.

“Leave it alone, Donny,” Steve said, trying to steer him away from the table.

After glancing once more at me, then at Dev, Donny Oliver strode away. In seconds, he was shaking hands and slapping backs in another crowd of people.

“Some people just never grow up,” Johnette said. She moved to Victor’s side. Her husband slipped a protective arm around her waist.

Dev sat back down in his chair and looked at me. “Okay,
now
are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

I didn’t look at him when I answered. “Maybe someday.”

“Sally’s going to join us,” chirped Johnette, trying to move the mood of the table along to happier thoughts.

Oh boy.
Although, I reminded myself quickly, Sally did just come to my assistance with Donny.

“Hello, Odelia,” Sally said as she took a chair across from me and Dev. “Nice to see you again.” Her voice was clear but clipped.

In high school, Sally Kipman and I got on each other’s nerves on a daily basis. Thinking back, I can’t remember why. Maybe it was because our personalities mixed like oil and water. Or maybe it was because we were too much alike.

Sally Kipman transferred to our school after her mother and father divorced and her mother relocated the two of them to Southern California from New Jersey. Sally wasn’t happy to be in California and was even less happy to find herself from a broken home, a status that was still fairly new in the early ’70s.

Until Sally came on the scene in our sophomore year, I was one of the only kids in school whose parents were divorced. While I retreated into boxes of cookies, Sally took a different approach in expressing her emotions. She was surly and belligerent to everyone, including teachers, and quick to start a fight. She quickly embraced youthful rebelliousness and her right to freedom of speech, no matter what was said or who got hurt by her machine-gun tongue. Like Johnette and me, Sally was a loner. At first, we invited her to have lunch with us. But she responded to our invitations with such verbal abuse that we finally stopped asking.

For reasons unknown, Sally’s hackles would rise whenever she saw me. And, I must admit, the feeling was mutual. In our junior year, she told everyone I was fat because I was pregnant. I retaliated by telling everyone Sally was a lesbian. Shortly after that, following two weeks of detention and an order from Mrs. Zolnekoff, the school principal, we called an uneasy truce and made it to graduation without assaulting each other.

I looked across the table at Sally Kipman. Like Donny, she still looked very much as she had thirty years ago. Maybe mean people don’t age; maybe all their natural vileness acts like embalming fluid. It seemed like a plausible explanation to me.

As in high school, Sally’s body was tall, slim, and athletic. Her hair was dark blond and cropped short in a becoming tousled cut. She wore no makeup that I could see, and never did that I could remember. She was tan and fit and very attractive in a no-frills way. She no longer had an air of pent-up anger, but she still definitely had one of no-nonsense. Seeing me looking at her, she flashed me a non-hostile lukewarm smile, and I returned it. It looked like the truce would hold.

With Donny staying on the other side of the room, no doubt avoiding Dev like he was my personal junkyard dog, the reunion turned out to be much better than I had expected—meaning I actually had fun once my jaw unlocked. During a lovely dinner, the people around the table caught up on each other’s lives and passed around photos of children and grandchildren. I was the only one at the table who didn’t have either. Even Sally Kipman had a grown son and one young grandson. I showed off a photo of Seamus, my ill-tempered, antisocial, champagne-colored cat.

During dessert, the DJ started playing dance music, and Dev coaxed me onto the floor.

“I’m glad to see you’re finally having a good time,” he said while we danced to a slow tune. Dev Frye is way over six feet tall, and I top out at five foot one. He had to almost bend in half to whisper in my ear.

“Yes,” I answered, “I am. Thanks for coming with me.”

“You’re welcome. Thank you for asking.” He smiled down at me and pulled me closer to him. My nose hit somewhere in the middle of his chest. Suddenly, I was overcome with guilt.

I have always known that Dev Frye likes me a lot, and the feeling is mutual. I also know that he would be actively pursuing me if not for Greg Stevens. And, if not for my love for Greg, I would be encouraging this mountain of a man in his pursuit. When I called Dev about escorting me tonight, I had made it clear that it was a friendship date, and that he would be filling in for an ill Greg. Dev had said no problem, but questions peppered my mind. Was I leading this kind, decent man on with my selfish need to prove something to someone? To who? To Donny Oliver? If that was true, I wasn’t playing fair with Dev’s feelings.

And Greg—therein lay the bulk of my guilt. Greg was at home right now suffering with a head cold and thinking I was with Zee. He had no idea that I had changed my mind and asked Dev instead. I know that if he knew I was dancing in the arms of Devin Frye, he would be upset. Although Greg likes Dev, he’s not in the dark about Dev’s feelings for me. In fact, it was Greg who first brought them to my attention shortly after we met the man. And Dev is always there, ready to lend a hand or look out for me whenever I manage to get myself into a jam. Or stumble upon a body. Which are really one and the same since I never seem to be in a jam that doesn’t involve a dead body in the mix.

Simply put, Dev, Greg, and I are engaged in an emotional yet polite ménage à trois.

Thanks to me, Greg and I are not engaged, though he has asked and even has a gorgeous ring waiting for when I’m ready. We were engaged for a whole day just over a year ago, but I gave the ring back until I could sort out some personal issues.

I giggled. Dev looked down. I shrugged, not wanting to share my secret. I had decided that on Thanksgiving, just over four weeks away, I would ask Greg to marry me. I would let him know that I’m ready to accept his ring, to be his wife, to formally begin our life together. No one knew of my decision yet, not even Zee.

I shook myself out of my girlish daydreams. Here I was, forty-eight years old, dancing with one man among cheesy, fake sea creatures and make-believe waves while being dreamy-eyed about another. He loves me, he loves me not. All I need is a bunch of daisies to pluck, petal by petal. But I really don’t need the daisies; I know without a doubt that Greg Stevens loves me.

By the way, I’m blaming this thirty-year regression on crepe- paper fumes. That’s all there is to it.

Another slow song started, and Dev showed no sign of loosening his grip. We continued swaying and gently moving to the music. I closed my eyes and lost myself in thoughts of a white gown and altar flowers … Greg sitting in his wheelchair, dressed to kill in a tux … Zee in a gawd-awful taffeta bridesmaid’s dress … people screaming …

What? People screaming? At my wedding?

My eyes popped open, returning me to a room of blue and green chaos.

Dev stopped dancing and stood stock-still, as if sniffing the air for the direction of the trouble. More screams. Dev and I turned to face the doorway just as the crowd parted and a man staggered in, his shirt-front soaked with blood. Dev made a dash in his direction just as he collapsed to the floor.

It was Donny Oliver.

A sausage, plump, white, and uncooked, was being wiggled in my face. It reminded me of the smoked chicken and apple kind I’m so fond of, except that this one had a fingernail attached. Or was the nail something disgusting left behind by the factory? Either way, I was trying to grab at it with my teeth, like bobbing for apples but without bending over or getting my hair wet. I had almost succeeded when a bell sounded, then stopped. I tried to snag the sausage again. Once more, I heard the short ring of a bell.

On the third ring, I realized that the sound was coming from the phone on my nightstand. I made a half-hearted grab for it, but the caller had either hung up or disappeared into my voice mail. I settled back under the covers and closed my eyes, thinking that if I could only catch the sausage, it would go great with some scrambled eggs.

The phone rang again. This time, I answered on the second ring, but no one said hello back. All I heard was someone breathing. I said hello again, then it hit me. The elusive sausage was a dream. Or rather my subconscious retelling of the night before, when Dev Frye had poked his thick, round index finger in my face and told me to mind my own business. But in my sleepiness, the why and about what still escaped me. I said hello once more into the phone. The caller hung up without saying a word. There was no caller ID on my bedroom phone, so the call would remain a mystery for now. Frankly, I was too exhausted to care.

It was nippy in my bedroom, so I burrowed back under the covers. This time I didn’t think about breakfast, but about why Dev would shake a stern finger at me. Not that he needed a reason to tell me to mind my own beeswax—he did that on a regular basis.

I yawned loudly. Seamus hopped up on the bed and rubbed his furry head against my chin. I gathered him up and squeezed him like a teddy bear until he meowed for mercy. Cats are wonderful things on cold mornings.

A glance at the clock on the nightstand told me it was just past nine o’clock. Usually I’m up much earlier than this on a Sunday morning. And usually I wake up next to Greg. Why wasn’t I next to Greg?

Oh my gawd!

The reunion.

The screaming.

Donny Oliver.

Dev’s admonition to stay out of it.

The events of the night before came crashing into my consciousness like a head-on collision. I sat straight up in bed and covered my face with my hands in horror. Donny Oliver was dead. Someone had shot him in the chest—someone at the reunion.

The phone rang again. This time I grabbed it quickly and said hello. It was Zee.

“Did you call here a minute ago?” I asked her.

“No, I didn’t,” she told me. “I figured after last night you’d be sleeping in, especially after what happened.”

“What happened?”

A deep sigh came from Zee’s end. I could almost see her standing there with a hand on one bulky hip. “Did you forget about the murder, Odelia? Or were you hoping no one would notice?”

Yep, dollars to donuts, Zee had one hand on a hip while she spoke to me.

There was a click, and another voice chimed in. “Hey, Aunt Odie.” It was Jacob, Zee’s teenage son. “Did you really see the guy get whacked?”

“Jacob Ezra Washington!” Zee snapped at him. “You get ready for church. Right now!”

“But Mom,” Jacob whined, “I’m not a kid anymore. I want to know what happened.”

I heard more commotion and muffled voices from the Washington end.

“You’re not too old to obey your mother, Jacob.” It was Seth, Zee’s husband. His deep, authoritative voice came through the phone loud and clear, even though he wasn’t speaking to me. “Besides, I want to talk to your Aunt Odie a minute.”

Uh-oh. I thought about hanging up but knew they’d only call back. Donny Oliver had been killed at the reunion last night, and I had been there. It must’ve been all over the news this morning, both on TV and in the papers. Seth was going to lecture me, just as Dev Frye had.

“Odelia, what the hell is going on?” When I said nothing, Seth continued his rant. “Why is it you can’t do anything without attracting killers and dead bodies? You’re a corpse magnet.”

“Zee,” I said, hoping she was still on the other line. Usually she came to my defense when her husband became overprotective of me. “You can jump in anytime.”

“Sorry, Odelia, but I’m with Seth on this one.”

Zee and Seth Washington are closer to me than my blood family. And, like real family, they could be royal pains in my big fat behind.

“Come on, Seth,” I said. “A corpse magnet? Is that really a fair comment?”

“Well, let’s examine the facts.” Seth was an attorney, and it showed. “The security guy. The woman in the ravine.”

“Don’t forget the dead guy in the pool, Dad.” It was Jacob again. He’d probably picked up another extension.

“What did I tell you, Jacob?” asked Zee.

“Don’t make me come up there, son,” chimed in Seth. “If I do, you’ll be washing the cars instead of driving one over to your friend’s later on.”

We all heard a phone being put down. I was thankful Hannah, their daughter, was at school at Stanford, or I’m sure it would have been four against one, putting me at a more definite disadvantage.

“Odelia,” Seth said from his end, “do you need a lawyer?” Seth always thought of that angle first. “Zee told me that you and this Donny guy had history together, some bad blood.”

“What?” I yelled. At my tone, Seamus scooted off the bed and ran for cover. “No, I don’t need a lawyer. I didn’t do anything to Donny Oliver.” I was getting more awake by the second, and more uppity. “This one I didn’t kill.”

Silence fell over the conversation like a funeral shroud. No doubt, we were all thinking back over a year ago when I did kill someone.

Seth was the first to speak. Now his voice was gentle. “I’m not saying you did, Odelia. I’m just asking if you need some guidance with the questioning and all.”

“No, Seth, but thanks. Dev Frye was there. We were all questioned last night.”

“Isn’t that out of Frye’s jurisdiction?” Seth asked. “Did you call him?”

I hesitated, sensing I might be stepping into a minefield with the truth. “No, I didn’t call him. He was with me at the reunion. Greg was home sick.”

There was a collective pause on the other end of the phone. I could almost see Seth and Zee mouthing comments and raising eyebrows at each other.

“Does Greg know you invited Detective Frye?” Zee asked.

Boom!
The first mine exploded.

“I’m guessing by your silence,” Zee continued, “that your answer is no.”

“Damn it, Odelia,” added Seth.

“Dev was just my escort, nothing more.”

“Nothing more?” repeated Zee. “Odelia, shame on you. You know better. Detective Frye has a huge crush on you. It’s only because of his decency and respect for Greg that he isn’t openly courting you, and you know it.”

“He knew it wasn’t a real date and he was okay with it. We’re just friends. It’s not a big deal.”

Seth cleared his throat. Another
uh-oh
crossed my mind. “If it was no big deal, then why didn’t you tell Greg?”

Boom!
Another mine went off, this time set off not by Seth’s question but by my own understanding that he was right. If taking Dev with me to the reunion wasn’t a big deal, I would have told Greg about it.

Seth didn’t let up. “What kind of game are you playing, Odelia? I thought you wanted to marry Greg.”

“I do.” My voice was small when I answered.

I do.
Would I ever be able to say those words to Greg? To anyone? Forget legendary male commitment phobia—my own inability to commit was sharp enough to put an eye out.

“I do,” I said again with conviction.

“Funny way you have of showing it,” Zee said.

“Shit or get off the pot, Odelia,” Seth added.

“Seth!” scolded his wife.

“I mean it, Zee.” He paused. “Odelia, girl, you know I love you, so I’ll say it straight. Greg Stevens is a great guy. He deserves to be treated better. You are not being fair to him or to Dev Frye.”

On my end of the phone, I was starting to tear up. What Seth was saying was true, but I had already decided to marry Greg. I just hadn’t told anyone. But if that was true, why had I taken Dev to the reunion? Was it just to prove to everyone I could get a date? Was it to prove something to Donny Oliver? Donny, who was now dead.

The conversation was getting out of control. I didn’t want to think about how I had screwed up. Better to get back to the dead body, the one I didn’t kill.

“Dev said he was only shot once,” I said into the phone. “Donny Oliver, I mean, not Dev. Once in the chest.”

There was silence on the other end. Either the Washingtons were mulling over this information or they were rolling their eyes at each other about my quick change of subject. I’d bet the scrambled eggs and sausage in my dream it was the latter.

I was about to bridge the silence with another tidbit of police information when my call waiting sounded. I told Seth and Zee to hold on and clicked over with the flash button to answer the other call. As soon as I had, I wished I hadn’t.

“It’s me,” said a flat voice.

I hesitated just long enough to take a deep breath. The Washingtons were the least of my worries.

“Good morning, Greg,” I said with forced cheerfulness.

Silence. Another mine exploded, this one silent but more deadly than the others.

“How are you feeling, sweetie?” I asked, praying he hadn’t read or heard the news.

“The question is, Odelia, how are
you
feeling?” He wheezed and sniffed. “Especially after last night. Seems your reunion was a real killer.”

Ouch.

“Why don’t I get dressed and come on over, Greg?” I continued with the forced cheery tone. “I’ll stop and pick up some fresh bagels on the way.”

“No need. I’m in front of your place right now.” His voice was still flat, and I knew it wasn’t just because of his cold. And it wasn’t lost on me that not once had he called me his usual
sweetheart
. Not a good sign.

“Why don’t you just come in? You have a key.”

There was pregnant pause. Not a first-trimester pause but a full-blown eight-and-a-half-month hesitation.

“We need to talk, Odelia.”

No good conversation ever starts with the words
we need to talk
, especially when that statement comes from a significant other.

As soon as Greg hung up, I clicked the call waiting back to Zee and Seth and told them that Greg was here and I’d call them later in the day.

Zee told me she’d be praying for us.

Seth advised me not to blow it.