Ultraviolet (13 page)

“I need background,” I told her. “Something more than ‘I dropped by Roland’s to deliver a gift, which I then hit him with’.”

“I didn’t kill him. I told that detective that, but he just sat there and waited, hoping I’d suddenly throw myself across the table and confess, I guess.”

“Why did you hit him?”

“I told you. We had a fight.” Her drink was delivered along with my beer. “Thanks, hon,” she said, then twirled the stem of her glass between her fingers, the silvery, lavender liquid sloshing up the sides. It looked like it was going to centrifugally launch itself into a purple wave, but she managed to keep it from going airborne. She picked up the glass and gulped gratefully, eyes closing.

I liked her better with her eyes shut. Much more restful.

“What was the fight about?”

“I don’t know. Yes, I do.” She opened her eyes again. “Do I have to tell you this?”

“You don’t have to do anything. Except possibly go directly to jail without passing Go.”

“Roland…and I…have a complicated history. We’re better when we’re not married.”

I kind of thought that might be true of Violet and all her ex-husbands, but I kept it to myself.

“But we can’t leave each other alone. This isn’t the first time we connected since we’ve been divorced.”

“What exactly do you mean by connected?”

“You know what I mean.” She gave me a sidelong look.

“You were having an affair.”

“It was more than that. Jesus, Jane. You make everything sound so tawdry.”

“Was he married when you first met?”

“See what I mean? You have to go right there, don’t you? No. He wasn’t married. Except mentally, you could say. In that, he’s always married to someone. He really never knows how to let go,” she said with a trace of bitterness.

“Okay…” I said.

“Are you going to sit there and be all judgmental? Because honestly, I’m just so over that.”

“Then, give me something to go on.”

She scooted her chair closer and hunched over her drink. This near, I could see the faint cracking of her skin beneath her makeup, but she was still remarkably youthful looking.

“Roland was already divorced from Renee, Gigi and Sean’s mother, when we hooked up, but it wasn’t like he really was, if you know what I mean. Roland and Renee did all kinds of things together. They just didn’t live together. They had a piece of paper that said they were through with each other, but they weren’t.”

“Meaning?”

“They’d been living apart for ages. But they were still in each other’s lives.”

“Like Roland and Melinda.”

“Except they’re not divorced.” She sighed. “It’s just what Roland does. You know, he and I didn’t actually jump into divorce when we split up. It was only after Melinda pushed him that the deed was finally done. I should have waited as it turned out. Those clinics paid off and they were a gold mine.
C’est la vie
.” She laughed and waved a hand.

“You met Roland in Los Angeles?” I knew some of her background.

“Yes. I was twice divorced by the time Roland and I hooked up. He’d been divorced from Renee for a while.”

I nodded, recalling what I knew of Violet’s history already. She’d gotten married at nineteen the first time, had done some modeling and film work, mostly as an extra, married and divorced a second time, worked as an escort and met Roland on one of those “dates.”

“I don’t know why Roland married me,” she said suddenly, as if the idea had just struck her.

Looking at her now, I had a pretty good idea. She had to have been a knockout when she was younger. She still was. “How old were you when you got married?” She gave me a long look. “How old were Gigi and Sean?”

“Gigi was twelve, I think. So Sean would have been fifteen. Roland and I were married seven years.”

“Really.” I was surprised she’d made it that long with any of them.

“I almost believed I was going to get that housewife thing down with Roland. We lived in L.A. the first couple of years, but then Roland wanted to launch his own clinics, so we moved to Portland. He had a name for himself. People knew he was a plastic surgeon from Beverly Hills. That was the best reference he had. The location. The land of everlasting youth and beauty.

“It was weird being near my family again,” Violet admitted. “Though I didn’t contact them. Except my mother, a couple of times, but you know all that.”

I nodded. “Gigi and Sean moved with you?”

“They begged to come with us. I wasn’t so keen on it, but they were Roland’s kids. You don’t know Renee. She’s whacked.”

“How so?”

“Totally into plastic surgery. A junkie. You know how women who do too much eye surgery start looking like Siamese cats? That’s Renee. She kept after Roland for more surgery. He tried to put the kibosh on it. Finally did. Wouldn’t help her. She got somebody else to do it and now she looks like a scary feline. That’s really what broke up their marriage, her obsession. They stayed friendly, but it was never the same.”

She tossed back the remains of her drink as the waiter came over for our order. Violet ordered a blackened salmon salad and I ordered the ten-dollar avocado cheeseburger. She’d said she was paying and I was starving. “How do you keep so slim?” she marveled.

“I jog to the Nook. I have to make quick exits from process serving on a regular basis, so I sprint, too. I have a fast metabolism. I come from good genes.”

“Wait till you get to be my age. I have to diet and work out like hell to look this good.”

“I don’t know your age,” I said.

She smiled. “I was thirty-eight when Roland and I got married. We’ve been divorced two, almost three years. You do the math.”

Thirty-eight, plus seven years of marriage, plus three years of divorce. Forty-eight. I said, “You’re like a medical mystery.”

She smiled. “Thanks.” She gazed at the fire. “You know it’s funny. Gigi and Sean always blamed me for Roland and Renee’s divorce, but that was such a crock. I guess kids just want to blame someone. Makes more sense than their parents just couldn’t stand living with each other.”

“I didn’t get the feeling Gigi was close to her mother.”

“Oh, she’s not. She just likes to play both ends against the middle.” Violet shrugged. “Neither one of them could really ever abide me. I never really cared because I thought they were both spoiled and shallow. Gigi…Lord, what a piece of work. Twelve when I met her, twenty-one going on thirteen now. She’s hardly matured one iota. And Sean…he’s really twenty-four? Twenty-five? What did you think of him?”

“Well, I thought he was using.”

“He is. At least, he’s smoking dope. Maybe more. Probably more. Roland was upset with him. Cocaine took away Roland’s practice and it drove him crazy that Sean didn’t learn by example. What a dope, so to speak.” She smiled faintly. “Although it sure turned out well in the end for Roland, didn’t it? He was a great plastic surgeon, but he was even better in business. Who knew?”

Our food arrived and conversation ended, more on my side than hers. I love a good hamburger and Foster’s on the Lake does it right. I wondered if Jeff Foster was on the premises but thought it might be too early for him. He keeps a watch over the dinner hour and beyond.

Violet picked at her salad, her eye on me and my hamburger. I hoped she wasn’t going to ask me to share, though if she did, I wasn’t sure I could refuse her.

She said, “So, are you and Dwayne an item now?”

CHAPTER SIX

S
he damn near made me choke. I had to chew really carefully and hold in a cough while tears filled my eyes from the effort. My success rate was only so-so. I started hacking like I would toss up a lung. Other patrons turned to look at me with concerned eyes. I swear to God, if one of them came at me eager for a Heimlich maneuver, I would kick, flail and throw myself to the floor to scare them away. I might even be able to fake rolling my eyes up. But that would send them scrambling to call 911 on their cell phones and I didn’t think I could take that kind of scene.

I managed to discreetly cough a few more times into my napkin and chug water like it would save my soul. Our waiter glanced over, looking scandalized by my disruptive behavior. I had a feeling he wouldn’t serve me another beer if I asked.

Throughout, Violet just waited.

I said in a squeaky voice, as if I’d just sucked helium, “I’m okay.”

“It didn’t look serious,” she said.

Easy for her to say. Perversely, now I wished I’d thrown myself around in my chair, clawing at my throat.

“I know you didn’t like it when I started to get with Dwayne.” She lifted one shoulder in a feminine “I just can’t help myself sometimes” gesture. “You could have told me he was spoken for.”

“He’s not,” I squeaked.

“Don’t bullshit me, Jane. If we’re going to work together…if you expect me to lay all my cards on the table…” Another shoulder lift. “Come on.”

“Give me a minute.” It was all I could do to get the words out. I drank some more water, nibbled off a tiny bite of the remains of my burger, sucked down the dregs of my beer and waited about thirty seconds. In a more normal voice, I said, “I’m not with Dwayne.”

“But you’re interested in him.”

“I don’t know where you’re getting this.”

“When it comes to male/female relationships, I’m an expert. You’re in my rice bowl on this. You’ve got something going on inside you about Dwayne. You think he’s yours. Maybe not as a lover, yet. And maybe you’ve convinced yourself you can just be friends. But it’s radiating off you. I ignored the signals at first but you’re flashing them in neon.”

“I’m not in your rice bowl.”

“Yeah, you are. What’s so hard about admitting your feelings for Dwayne? We’re not in junior high here.”

“Dwayne’s my boss.”

“Partner,” she corrected.

“Boss,” I repeated. “He owns Durbin Investigations. I’m not even licensed completely yet.”

“He treats you like a partner.”

“I’m just saying, I work with him. We’re friends. I’m not going to screw that up with sex.”

“Oh, please,” Violet said.

“What about you and Roland? Why were you at his place the morning of the wedding? I know, I know. You dropped by with a gift.” Inspiration struck, one of those clear zingers from out of the blue you just know is true. “You didn’t just stop in. You spent the night with him.”

She didn’t answer, and that was an answer in itself.

“Does Melinda know?” I asked. “Did she know then?”

She waved a hand. “They all suspected. How many times do I have to say it? Roland and Melinda weren’t together. It’s not like I swooped in and stole him away!”

“What were you and he fighting about?”

“Oh, you know.” She flapped a hand at me, clearly uncomfortable reliving it. “The usual stuff. You know…what are we doing? Is this going anywhere? Do you love me?” She sighed. “I am so tired of that same scene. I’ve played it out so many times, I should get a lifetime achievement award.”

Our waiter finally returned with the check. He asked me if I was all right and I said I was fine. Violet handed him her credit card, but after he left she didn’t pick up the thread of her narrative.

It was hardly a revelation that she and Roland were seeing each other. With Violet, sex seems to always be the crux of the matter. The signs had been there. The passion she’d displayed in hitting Roland with the tray. The way she referred to him as her favorite ex-husband. The way she’d dismissed my Rol-Ex nickname. I mean, come on, that’s funny.

“Roland’s gone,” Violet said into the silence that had developed, as if she were still coming to terms with the news. “I’ve been asking myself, ‘what now?’ What’s next? How many chances do you get? It wasn’t perfect between us, but it was good.”

I hadn’t credited her with really caring about him, I realized, which was maybe unfair.

“I called him. Looked him up to say hello.” Her smile was ironic. “I’d been asking myself where I could meet men. It gets harder as you get older.”

“It’s always hard,” I said.

“Yeah, well, you’ve got yours.”

We left the restaurant in silence. I did remember my roast beef and Havarti sandwich from Dottie’s as Violet dropped me at my car, which made me happy. I drove home lost in thought. Contrary to Violet’s conviction, I did not
have
Dwayne.

As I headed up Iron Mountain Boulevard I nearly missed recognizing the pod of hooded teenage girls walking along the designated pathway. I wouldn’t have at all, except two of them were hoodless in the rain. Dawn and a girl with longer hair who looked a lot like her. The sister.

There were several other girls in the group whom I thought I remembered from the evening before, though the cinched hoods worked like a disguise. Most of the girls were engaged in animated conversations, but Dawn and the sister walked along silently.

I drove past them, thinking hard. At the turnaround circle where Iron Mountain divides and sends you either to Lakeview Boulevard or Upper Drive, I circled all the way around to head back the way I’d come. This circle is one of those bright ideas from some transportation expert who crows about its incredible design. But it never quite works the way it’s supposed to. Nobody signals, nobody stops, nobody knows what the rules are. We all look at each other like hungry dogs, each waiting for the other to make a move. Every time I make it around the circle without incident, I count it as a win.

I drove past the girls again. It was going to take them a while to reach a road or turnoff point, so I zigzagged through the winding streets and screeched to a halt at Dwayne’s from the back way. I ran inside. Dwayne was splayed on the couch—his injured leg stretched in front of him. The cowboy hat was off and his blondish brown hair was tousled. Binkster lay beside him and her head popped up when she saw me enter.

“I need Binkster. Quick,” I said, ignoring my own reaction to Dwayne’s unconscious sexuality.

Binky leapt to her feet and wagged her tail upon hearing her name. But she didn’t jump down from the couch.

“Come on. Come on,” I said urgently to her. Reluctantly, giving Dwayne a longing look, she thunked down and toddled over to me. I swooped her up.