Adelaide Upset Page 6

  “What a clever idea, I love it! You look so young, but you must have a lot of experience because I can tell you’re very talented.”

  “No thanks,” I said, waving off the paper plate she was trying to load up for me. “I stopped by my grandma’s house on the way over and she always insists on stuffing me full.” I couldn’t stop lying; bullshit stories just seemed to fall right out of my mouth.

  “Alright then, if I can’t tempt you,” she said, returning the plate. “How about I take you to meet Bill Shrader, he’ll work out someone for you to interview.”

  “Bill Shrader?”

  “The man from the festival,” she prompted.

  “The accountant?” Here I was surrounded by burley lumberjacks—surely one of them must have known Smith—and she wanted me to see the accountant?

  “It must have something to do with writing our checks, but I swear he knows everyone,” Sam assured. “The muckety-mucks like to joke that he doesn’t just know everyone, but everything, since he’s been around for so long. Either way, he can point out an experienced logger among the bunch for you to interview.”

  It was packed under the pavilion, with picnic tables stuffed together, covered in cloth and piled high with food as families gathered ‘round. Sam navigated the crowd looking for Bill while I merely tried to control my face, the emotions always battling to take over. Men bragged stories, women clucked gossip, children rushed, and everyone ate, the medley of subtle emotions seemed to crescendo inside me. Someone hit the punch line as we passed and I smiled, almost laughing along with a joke I’d never heard.

  “There he is.” Sam spotted Bill Shrader as he separated himself, moving away from the pavilion to stand in the shade of a nearby tree as he stuffed down a burger.

  I was just thinking how I’d like to get rid of Sam when someone called her name. A women rushed over, her necklace of plastic beads clacking. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you, Sam.”

  “Don’t let me stop you,” I hurried to say. “I’ll just go introduce myself to Bill.”

  “I’ll find you later,” Sam called. “We’ll exchange cards!”

  For the second time I rushed away from Sam, letting her words trail off behind me. I was eager to meet Bill, just one link closer to learning the truth.

  He was sweating again. I could see patches of wet fabric growing under his armpits as I drew near, his meager thatch of hair was slicked with it, sticking to his scalp. “Hello, Bill.”

  He chewed. He swallowed. “Do I know you?”

  “Unfortunately my name is Laide,” I said, again wishing I’d put more thought into going incognito. “Sam Phelps sent me to speak with you about an interview I want to do for the paper.”

  He sort of hunched over his food, watching me intently from under a ledge of heavy eyebrow. “Unless it’s a story on accounting I won’t be much help.” He went back to chewing.

  “Geared more for locals than tourists, it’ll be a verbal vignette, a glimpse into—” He was bored, impatient for me to go away. I didn’t blame him. “You know what,” I said, letting his impatience bleed into me. “I’m really only interested in David Smith. Yes, you know him,” I continued, noticing Bill had stopped eating, suddenly alert. “He worked at SL&S for a while, but then he suddenly left, or maybe disappeared.”

  “That was more than ten years ago,” Bill acknowledged.

  Finally, some answers. Smith had scared me into treading lightly, as if his death could be a dangerous topic, but my, or rather Bill’s, impatience had paid off.

  “If I recall, he had family. Did you talk to them yet?”

  “No,” I responded, feeling his curiosity. “I believe they’re under the impression that he ran off and left them, so I’m hesitant to stir up troubling memories. I was hoping he’d have a friend that still worked here, someone who might remember those days before he disappeared.”

  Each time I said disappeared it seemed to stir his emotions, dredging up concern; he himself was troubled by the memories. “Yes,” he said slowly, as if he were thinking. He paused to wipe the side of his mouth carefully with a crumpled napkin. “He had a friend, Marks, but anyone who worked at SL&S back then could’ve told you that, everyone knew they were close.”

  “Does Marks still work for SL&S?”

  “Sure does,” Bill answered, stuffing the disgusting napkin back into his front pocket. “How about I fetch him for you while I pick up another burger?”

  I had no desire to get near the pavilion again, let alone root around for this Marks guy. He couldn’t have suggested anything better. “Thanks,” I said gratefully. “That would be good.”

  He seemed intent on his mission as he waddled off, and sure enough, he went for the burgers first. I followed him with my eyes, watching as he lathered on the mayo, as if he weren’t close enough to a double bypass already. After that he disappeared into the crowd.

  It was a few minutes before he reappeared, walking out of the pavilion with a bear-like man. They talked together, Bill waving his hands, the other, Marks I assumed, was scowling down at him, looking disconcerted.

  I hurried over, watching them as I went. Marks growled something and stalked off before I could stop him. I ran faster, panting by the time I reached Bill. “Where’d he go?”

  Bill was agitated, but calming. “He left,” he said, waving toward the parking lot. “I told him you were curious about David, but he said he had to go and just left. Couldn’t stop him.”

  I took off, running for the parking lot without so much as a thank you or goodbye. I made it in time to see the back of an SUV fishtail in its rush to be gone, kicking up rocks as it sped away. Whoever had been driving left more than a wake of dust and pebbles, they’d left their feelings.

  Guilt.

  Fear.

  The driver was volatile, desperate. And for me to know that, to pick up emotions from so far away, it meant that they were strong. Strong like a scream is loud.

  The murdered theory was looking more likely by the minute.

  Chapter 9

  My eagerness to see Lucas was only slightly dampened by the picnic, though I couldn’t really call it a bad turn of events. Marks was my new lead, and possibly Smith’s killer, so that was something.

  I passed Divot Drive, turning into Luke’s cul-de-sac instead; the only other house on the circle was condemned and covered in ivy. His SUV was in the driveway, and soft light spilled out from the windows.

  I ran inside, calling, “Luke!”

  “Up here,” his voice rumbled down from above.

  I climbed the stairs just in time to watch Lucas empty his pockets. It was a little ritual of his; every time he came home he would set his wallet, keys, and phone on top of the chest of drawers.

  I took up perch on the edge of his bed, letting him unwind.

  “I just got back,” he said, glancing at me as he unlaced his boots. I noticed his fingers were cleaner than usual, the black smudges faded with washing. I kept staring, which I’m sure was creepy, but I’d missed him. All I wanted to do was sit on his lap and give him a kiss, but the picture was holding me back. How did I bring it up?

  “What’s the matter?”

  “What? Nothing,” I lied.

  He’d been watching me as closely as I’d been watching him. “I was hurrying to get back,” he said, his deep, quiet voice carrying across the room in a low whisper. “It must mean I missed you.”

  He said things like that, stating straight forward facts. It was the closest he got to romantic.

  “I need a shower. Care to join me?”

  And then he said stuff like that. Both comments made me shift around awkwardly, but for different reasons.

  “So you think I’m ready then, for sex?”

  “Nope,” he said, giving his head a blunt shake. “But I’m ready to see you naked.”

  “Come off it, I know you think I’m ready,” I argued. “Why else would you keep condoms in your nightstand?”

  He shrugged.

  “I w
ent through your stuff,” I said impulsively, hoping to provoke some sort of response.

  He shrugged.

  “Francesca said I should,” I rambled, trying to elicit a reaction, any reaction. “And since she also said that every man keeps a condom in his nightstand I bow to her wisdom.”

  “Francesca is good at getting you to do things you don’t want to,” he commented mildly while unpacking his duffel.

  “What’s that mean?”

  “All of your stories begin with ‘Francesca made me’ or ‘Francesca talked me into.’ But you don’t listen to anyone, with the exception of a few select friends who you go to great lengths to make happy.”

  I’d been working up to a big hissy fit and then he had to go and be all nice. Shit, I’d just have to start all over. I flopped back on the bed, emitting a sound of frustration.

  “Something tells me you’re not in the mood for a naked shower,” Lucas said, dropping an armload of dirty clothes into the hamper.

  I jerked upright, determined to cut the drama and be direct. “I’ll give you a naked shower, just as soon as you tell me about this,” I said, crossing the room for the window seat. I rummaged around, digging between boots and under blankets until I found the picture. I yanked it out with a flourish, slapping it to his chest on my way back to the bed.

  He glanced down at it briefly, not a bit surprised, but then, what did I really expect? “Does this picture make you insecure?” he asked.

  “No!” I said a bit too shrill. A pause. “Maybe,” I admitted.

  “Some men enjoy a jealous girlfriend, I never did.”

  “Are you being a dick? I swear, I can’t even tell if you are. I can’t even tell if we’re fighting.” Without emotions, I was somewhat lost.

  Lucas shrugged. “I’m not mad.”

  “I’m not either,” I confessed. “But I can’t believe you’re not even a little upset that I went through your stuff.”

  “You can go through anything you want. I thought you knew that.”

  I sighed. “So who’s the redhead?”

  He glanced down at the picture again. I studied his face, but still nothing. “An old girlfriend.”

  I swallowed, preparing to be calm and mature. “Do you still have feelings for her? Is that why you kept the picture?”

  “I feel nothing,” Lucas said. “And I certainly didn’t keep it for sentimental reasons.”

  “Then why?”

  “To remember the past, that’s all.”

  “That’s a sentimental reason,” I argued.

  “No, and that’s the point.” I didn’t understand what he was saying, and might have pressed the subject, but he suddenly bent over, dropping the picture under his desk and into the wastebasket. “There. They come for the trash on Wednesday, I hope that’s sufficient for you, but if you want it out of the house sooner I’ll take it to the curb right now.”

  “No,” I said, feeling uncharacteristically bashful and even a little flustered. “It’s fine. I’m sorry for being such a bitch about it.”

  Lucas padded across the room, tall and serious as ever. He leaned down, resting his knuckles on the edge of the bed as he kissed me. I would have let it go on, progress a bit, but he pulled back. “I held up my end of the deal,” he said. “Now it’s time for our naked shower.”

  Did I say I felt bashful? I didn’t even know the meaning of the word, but by the end of the night I would.

  * * *

  I was going to murder Missy, though when the case went to trial I’d plead self-defense. Her noxious laugh drifted across the office, a stuttered trill, the sound reminiscent of a push mower that just won’t start.

  She was sitting on the other side of the office, in the little lounge area, flirting like mad with Team. He’d been hanging around the office all day, playing his guitar at intervals, strumming softly as he mumbled to himself. Missy might have been killing me with her obvious desperation, but Tim was the real problem. He wouldn’t go away. Eight hours straight, from the start of my shift to the end of it, and he never left the office once. I kept thinking it’s only a matter of time before he has to pee... but apparently Australians have big bladders. My only other hope was food; he’d have to go off and eat sometime. That was when Missy arrived, absurdly early for her shift and carrying takeout from Dairy Queen. Grease stains had turned the bottom of her white paper bags transparent gray. I envisioned heaps of mayonnaise and almost gagged.

  “Since you’re here,” I said, grabbing my purse, ready to leave.

  Missy had turned her back to Tim so she could glare at me without him seeing. “Nonsense, my shift doesn’t start for more than an hour. I’m just here to hang out for a bit first.”

  Missy made a habit of coming to work early, but she never wanted me to linger, expecting my prompt withdraw. But now I felt her frustration, it was directed at me, as if Missy thought I was trying to thwart her somehow. I surveyed her, analyzing the eagerness versus reluctance and determined that she didn’t want to be responsible for the guests yet. Summer months were busy, a Saturday doubly so, and she wanted to chat Tim up a bit before her attention was turned toward work.

  So I dropped my purse back into the drawer, kicking it shut as I slipped back into the swivel chair, wondering how I was going to watch those two for another hour (especially as they ate Dairy Queen) and not go mad.

  When it came to charm, it seemed that Tim-whatever-his-last-name-was could give Reed Wallace a run for his money. Ben who didn’t do small talk, had stayed hours after his shift was over, swapping stories and dry jokes with the Aussie as they crushed sunflower seeds together. I had been disturbed by the sight, mostly because they kept missing the trashcan when they spit out the shells, but for other reasons too. And Stephen, who wasn’t one to shirk his duties, was reluctant to leave the office to go clean rooms. Tim had been giving him a guitar lesson, and I knew they were bonding. Bleck.

  That had been the last straw. Standing up to see Tim clearly over the top of the counter, I’d demanded, “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be at the beach or something? That’s what people do when they go on vacation. They don’t hang around shitty motel lobbies, singing whiny renditions of John Mayer.”

  “Adelaide!” Stephen had gasped, both embarrassed and shocked.

  “It’s alright, mate.” It sounded more like might than mate—it was probably Tim’s accent that drew people in. “I was doing a tour through Europe when I got a job offer I couldn’t refuse, though when I came here—”

  “I don’t care, and I’m not interested in joining your fan cult either, so just piss off.” I thought that I’d imbued that sentence with enough sting to send him running, but apparently not. He stayed. And at nine on the dot, when my shift was finally over, it was me that went running for the door.

  “Adelaide,” Missy called, stopping me in the open entryway. “It’s only five ‘til nine,” she tsked, glancing at the wall clock. “Always trying to run off early. But it’s okay, go, I’ll cover for you,” she added, playing the part of generous friend.

  Everyone knew that clock was slow. At one point Stephen had even tried to fix it, but it was bolted to the wall.

  Missy smiled at me, her cheap purple lipstick cracking as her mouth spread wide. It didn’t feel right to let her have the last word, but truthfully, I didn’t care enough to stick around. Lucas was waiting for me at home, an unlike Missy and Tim, he mattered. So without a backwards glance I stepped out of the air conditioned office and into the muggy, dark night, letting the door snap closed behind me.

  I was thinking of Lucas as I walked under the overhang toward my car, a row of dimly lit doors to guide my way. I thought about the picture, his old girlfriend, and how it’d only been a slight hiccup in our relationship. And although I didn’t like to think of it, Nancy Bristow’s reading came to mind. If not my relationship with Luke, than whose was I about to lose?

  I should have been more focused on that reading, not about the knight of swords’ identity, but the devil’s, beca
use he was right behind me.

  A breezeway separated the two units. As I passed I felt a tremor of nervous fear slip out, trailing after me. I jerked around, but the man had already emerged, dressed in black, a living shadow. He caught my arms, pulling me down the empty passageway.

  Chapter 10

  I was dragged behind the motel, a large hand pressed over my mouth and nose, keeping me quiet through the breezeway as I was forced into the dark.

  I tried to bite him, but his hold was so tight that it was all I could do to simply breathe around his salty palm. Bucking, I tried to break free, knowing I wouldn’t have to run far for help, but he was massive, both tall and thick, his frame easily engulfing mine.

  He dragged me to the storage shed where Sterling’s kept its cleaning cart, yanking me around the corner as my heels scraped along the grass. He shifted, his hold going slack as he released my face. I didn’t have time to catch my breath before his fingers were back, fumbling under my chin. I tried to jerk away, but he shoved a scrap of cloth into my mouth, wedging it roughly between my teeth as I gagged.

  With his hand clamped on my neck like a vice, he gave me one hard shove and I stumbled back, my head crashing into the rippled tin siding. A metallic clank rang out, echoing into the dark and we stood, utterly still, both of us unmoving. My breathing was harsh, animalistic to my own ears, winded prey. His emotions poured into me, overlapping with my own, but the fear we shared. He was scared, reluctant, nervous, but resigned. He was also a hairsbreadth away from guilt. Whatever was happening, whatever he planned to do or say, it was unpleasant to him, repugnant even.