Ultraviolet (33 page)

“Why did you call?” I asked.

“It was dark over there. I couldn’t see anything and it felt wrong.”

“Gut instinct?” I said shakily.

“You sure something didn’t happen?”

“I’m fine.” Running a hand through my hair, I turned away from the door toward the living room and Dwayne’s faded gray sofa. I stumbled to it. Dwayne followed, sitting down next to me. He was in shorts. His right leg wrapped, elasticized, strapped. His left leg lay against mine. I tore my gaze from his thigh and wondered if I was having some kind of strange attack, an intense desire I couldn’t control. Reaction to fear. Panic. A primal need to assure ourselves that we’re alive. I wanted sex. I wanted sex with Dwayne. It felt like a drug rushing through my system, roaring in my ears, heating my blood.

He was staring at me, concerned and perplexed. I pressed trembling fingers to my lips, begging my body for control. I mean…goddammn it! I couldn’t do this. Not now…not in this way.

“It’s date rape,” I finally said, surprised by the normalcy of my voice. “Something like GHB or Rohypnol. This guy, who could have any girl he wants, prefers to drug them.”

Dwayne made a sound low in his throat. Something animal that only increased my pulsing need. I wanted to grab Dwayne and writhe around with him. Like I had no brain. Like a sex addict with zero control.

With an effort I pulled my thoughts from him. I thought of icebergs. Frozen wastelands and frostbite. Crashing arctic waves and frigid temperatures. It helped. Enough that I could concentrate on my narrative.

“He gave me an opened beer.”

“Lendenhal?”

“Yes. That’s the first time that happened. Every other time I’ve popped the beer’s top myself. But they were all there. The disciples. It’s like they knew what he was up to. Like a big fraternity.”

“No one tried to stop him?”

I shook my head, pulling myself together, thinking about the situation. “He’s not the only one who uses Roofies, or whatever. The first time I was there, I saw him give a packet to Judd. Glory was mad at Judd for ruining her clothes, and she wasn’t in the mood, so Judd went to Keegan for help. Keegan handed him the packet.”

“Did you drink any of the beer?”

“Pretended to. Keegan grabbed it back from me when you called.” I explained how he thought Dwayne was my father, then added, “Oh, and Dawn’s not pregnant. She was. She miscarried. She’s not happy about it, but her parents are.”

“She told her parents?”

“She wanted the baby. It was Keegan’s and she wants him.”

Dwayne’s jaw was stiff with suppressed fury. I thought of all the things Larrabee had said earlier. All the things I didn’t know about him. What I did know was he possessed a strong sense of justice. “I want this bastard’s balls in a wringer,” he muttered tightly.

“Me, too.”

“We can call the police on them. Next Friday.”

I nodded. It was time for the police. “Keegan said he didn’t want to wait another week. He wants me to call him.”

“You have his number?”

“He gave it to me.” I glanced out the window to the dark night. I thought about Keegan. Yes, it was time for the police, but I felt an irrational need—very unlike me—to see this through. “You know…if I saw him again…I think I could get one of those doctored beers.”

“No.” Dwayne was positive on that score.

“Keegan Lendenhal’s practically a god. He’ll slip out of the noose, I just know it. His parents, the team, the whole town…they won’t be able to pin this on him without proof.”

“The guy drugged and raped Dawn Wilson.”

“And she’ll never press charges. We’ve got to catch him, Dwayne.”

He got to his feet as if compelled, shaking his head. Perversely, the more he fought me, the more I was sure this was the way to bring Keegan Lendenhal down.

“Dwayne, it’s personal.”

“Bullshit! You know better. That’s what makes you right for this job, Jane. You’re never irrational about the danger. This guy drugs girls and has sex with them. His buddies help him. He’ll try it on you. And, Jane…he could succeed.”

I had a vision of myself, out cold, being deliberately stripped of my clothes, Keegan Lendenhal climbing atop me.

All my muscles seemed to contract together. I couldn’t think about Keegan Lendenhal anymore. “There’s something else,” I said. “Not the teenagers. Just something else that Larrabee said.”

“What?”

“He said you—introduced him—to his wife?”

Dwayne didn’t want to switch subjects. He looked like he was going to brush me aside. But he stopped himself, maybe realizing that I was the one who needed the change. “That’s true,” he admitted. “The marriage lasted four months. He still blames me.”

I stared at him and then I started laughing. And then hic-cupping. And then laughing some more. The tension went out of Dwayne’s muscles as he watched me collapse into a sort of welcome hysteria.

“What is it with you two?” I asked him.

Dwayne shrugged.

“He also told me you were accused of murder.”

“I was.” Dwayne seemed about to say something more, then shook his head. “That bastard. I thought he knew how to keep his mouth shut.”

“What happened?”

“It’s old, old history. But right now? We need to concentrate on what to do about Lendenhal.”

“How old a history?”

Dwayne ran a hand through his hair, fighting frustration. “High school.”

“
That
long ago?” I said in surprise.

“A girl I knew went missing. This gung-ho homicide detective tried to charge a bunch of us with murder, but there was no evidence. After high school, I thought about law enforcement, but it wasn’t going to happen. The girl was never found, and that detective was sure I was responsible. He wouldn’t let it go, and it followed me around for a long while. Nobody wanted to trust me. So I changed my mind. End of story.”

“And the homicide detective?”

“I don’t know. Probably still stewing about it. It’s long over.”

There was a lot left unsaid, as ever with Dwayne. But the switch of subject made me feel more like myself, had shifted the focus off me and helped pushed Keegan Lendenhal’s sick behavior aside for the moment.

“Wow,” I said. “My life’s really boring.”

I could tell he wanted to close the door on this once and for all.
No way, buddy,
I thought, but I was willing to let him off the hook for the moment. After all, he’d restored my equilibrium—at least as far as Keegan Lendenhal was concerned. I was going to have to stick with images of icebergs and glaciers for a while on that other, sexual thing.

“That answer your questions?” Dwayne asked.

“I’ve just got one more.”

He gave me a long, hard look.

“What are smithereens?”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T
he problem with unresolved issues is they keep you awake all night. From midnight to 7:00 a.m. I tossed and turned and generally disturbed Binkster’s sleep, as she was stretched out beside me, her muzzle softly snoring right at my face, one front paw holding my restless body at bay.

Reluctantly dragging myself from my bed, I felt crabby and out of sorts. Lack of sleep’ll do that to you. Stumbling into the kitchen, I examined the remains of my grocery shopping. I still had some coffee, but I didn’t feel like making any. Glancing outside to my backyard, I registered the gray day.

But there was no rain.

I threw on my sweats and Nikes and tried to talk Binkster into joining me. She flipped over and ignored me, kicking her back legs a couple of times as she settled in again, just in case I missed the point. I decided she wasn’t starving and she could let herself out her dog door if she needed to, so I locked up the house, tucked my key in the zippered pocket of my sweatpants, then jogged to the Coffee Nook.

In the light of day, my anxiety over Keegan Lendenhal retreated. In fact, as I jogged onward, it gave way to a healthy anger. Who the hell did he think he was? His actions were
criminal.
Yes, I could call the police on him, and I intended to, but I really wanted to be the one to bring him down. I wasn’t quite sure how to do it yet. I needed a foolproof plan. But I’d give myself a week to figure it out, and Dwayne was just going to have to accept that fact.

It was Friday and the Nook was busy. Spying Chuck talking loudly with another older man—who looked as pained as I felt—I zigged the other direction. Julie saw me and handed me an empty paper cup without comment. I filled it up with black coffee and circled to the other side of the bar. Billy Leonard wasn’t at his usual stool, but then I was later than normal.

Jenny said, “You look like you need breakfast.”

“I do?” I was hunkered down in my spot, leaning forward over my coffee, blowing across the top.

“How about a sesame bagel with cream cheese?”

“Put it on my coffee card,” I said. Coffee Nook has prepaid cards that are set up for ten drinks, but other items can be substituted in coffee’s place. The great thing about the cards is, once you’ve been stamped ten times, you get a free cup.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jenny asked, slicing the bagel in half and slamming it in the toaster.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re sprawled across the counter.”

It was true. My arms were spread out in front of me. I looked like I was going to lay my head down on the laminate and pass out. It sounded like a pretty good idea, too. Well, okay, maybe I was feeling some reaction from last night’s events. Or maybe it was an overall malaise brought on by everything going on in my life.

“My landlord’s selling my cottage,” I informed her. “He’s already got an offer. And he’s having a garage sale tomorrow. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“How much was the offer for?”

“I don’t know.”

Julie looked up from the espresso machine. “Can you make an offer, too?”

“He hasn’t accepted the first offer yet. Or at least he hadn’t the last I talked to him. He said for me to get on it, if I were going to do it. But it’s just not possible.”

“What about that boss of yours?” Jenny suggested, handing me my bagel with an individual packet of cream cheese. “The cute one who owns the cabana. Have him buy it for you.”

“Yeah, right.” Dwayne was a last resort.

“Your cottage is on the canal?” Julie asked.

“West Bay,” I corrected, giving her my address. “At least for the moment.”

They commiserated with me while they went about their business making lattés, mochas and Nook-a-chinos, frozen coffee drinks that required a blender-type device that’s loud enough to split eardrums. I was heading out the door for my run back, one eye on the low, threatening clouds, when Chuck sidled up to me. “That fellow you work for? Dwayne Durbin? Think he’d do something for me?”

No.

“What do you need?” I asked reluctantly. I try so very hard not to engage Chuck. I never want to meet his eye, never want to give him the slightest indication that I might be interested in speaking with him, because I’m not. Though he’s been around the Nook for years, it’s just recently that he seems to be everywhere. I don’t know what’s changed but I don’t like it.

“I need a background check on a guy my daughter’s marrying. Wanna make sure he’s not after her money, y’know?”

I didn’t have a business card on me, so I gave Chuck Dwayne’s home landline, which is basically his office number. I left as Chuck was placing the call and was scarcely out of the Nook’s parking lot when my cell phone buzzed. Pulling it out of my pocket, I guessed that it was Dwayne.

“Who’s this Chuck character?” he greeted me.

“How should I know?” I responded, just to be ornery.

“He said you gave him my number.”

Oh. I picked up my pace, knowing the two-and-a-half-mile trip was going to feel a whole lot longer on the return. “He’s a guy who comes into the Nook.”

“You’re jogging. Call me when you get back. We’ve got things to talk about.”

Yeah, yeah.

“And smithereens are extremely small smithers.” He clicked off.

I smiled in spite of myself.

All the way back I felt the stretch in my muscles and when I let myself inside the cottage I headed straight for the shower, asking myself, as I often did, if exercise can truly be good for you.

On my way, I popped my head inside my bedroom. Dark, marble eyes looked at me from a tangle of covers and a tail wagged. No other movement. “Get out of bed!” I ordered the dog, but she was still there when I got out of the shower and changed into clean jeans and an oversized, ribbed black sweater.

If I didn’t know The Binkster I might have thought there was something wrong with her, but she’s a slug by nature. I said, “Breakfast,” and headed to her bowl. Instantly I heard a thunk as she landed on the floor, and the click of her toenails as she hurried after me. When I turned to her bowl, dog food bag in hand, she was standing beside it like a sentry, one paw lifted just in case this was going to be one of those times I threw Kiblets across the floor for her to chase. I’m not the only one who should suffer through exercise.

This morning I just poured the crunchies into the bowl and she stuck her head in before I was finished, so the little brown nuggets bounced off her ears and onto the floor. Not a problem. She doesn’t miss a single one.

I worked on my hair, brushing it down to my shoulders, then added some makeup, pleased with the result. I dug through some of my desk drawers till I found some more business cards, something Dwayne had ordered for me, just to look official. I didn’t care that I hadn’t had one for Chuck, but Dr. Daniel Wu might need some proof of who I was. He’d said he would be at the Eastmoreland clinic all day today, so I was determined to see him as soon as possible. Then I was going to call Sean and see if he could shed some light on that conversation with his father that took place the morning of Gigi’s wedding day.

Melinda deigned to return my call as I was driving across the Sellwood Bridge to the east side of the Willamette. “Hi,” I greeted her.

“What are you doing?” she demanded before I could say anything else. “Yes, I met Roland at CMC. Yes, it’s how we met. I am so tired of having to explain it to everyone!”