Chapter 2

Life, Rich Hebringer decided, was a lot like drowning in a swimming pool filled with shit. It stunk, it was hard to swim through, and most of the time, just when you thought you might break the surface, you were sucked right back down to the bottom of the festering, reeking pool.

As he reflected on the theory, he grabbed the trash bag from the can behind the registration desk and headed to the back door of the bed and breakfast where he was oh-so-fortunate enough to be employed as the night desk clerk.

The frilly, pink, rose-patterned curtain on the window of the door lifted and brushed his face as he tugged on the knob.

Goddamit.

He hated all this frou-frou bullshit. Hated the giddy, love-struck couples who stayed here. Tonight, only three of the six rooms upstairs were occupied. One couple had gushed to Rich that they were on their honeymoon. Another couple, a few years older than the honeymooners, were obviously having an affair. They’d had that flushed look, that naughty sparkle in their eyes, and had covertly glanced around the entire time Rich was checking them in. The other couple was two dudes. The gay thing kind of gave him the willies, but what the hell. To each his own, right?

He despised everyone who stayed here—flamers, heteros, whatever the fuck. He despised the way most of them, immediately after checking in, fled to their rooms, so anxious to start banging each other, they couldn’t hang around long enough to say, “So, how are things for you, Rich? You happy? You like being stuck here like some kind of piss-ant dick munch who didn’t complete high school, let alone acquire a college degree? Oh, really? You have a college degree? And you’re working here?”

Rich shook his head and stepped out onto the path at the back of the B and B. The ‘path’ was actually a sidewalk, but when it wound through delicately landscaped lawns, and was lined with lilies—all sorts of lilies in pinks, oranges, purples, every color of the fucking rainbow, and every type in God’s creation—you couldn’t really call it a ‘sidewalk.’ Even though it was October, the owner, Lily Highland, made sure her precious lilies were in abundance by replacing them with fake lilies when the blooming season was over.

Kind of ironic the place was infested with a flower that was a sign of purity, when it was a hotbed for illicit affairs. Funny, really. Not funny as in ha ha, stand-up comic funny, but there were so few things in life Rich found amusing these days, he’d take whatever he could get.

He juggled the bag of trash in one hand as he dug for a cigarette with the other. He paused midway down the path and touched the lighter to the tip of the cigarette. Inhaling deeply, he drew the smoke into his lungs and let it curl out of his mouth into the night sky.

It was against the rules to smoke on the grounds—even on the fucking grounds—of Highland Lily Bed and Breakfast. How fucking controlling and pretentious was that? It was fucking nature, man. Animals ate, shit, and copulated on these precious grounds, but a guy couldn’t have a smoke to release a little tension? Well, fuck her and her rules. He’d had a rough day, a sucky night, and he needed some goddamned nicotine. After all, he was in a pool of shit, man. What harm was a little smoke going to do?

He headed to the dumpster, mentally expanding his shit-pool hypothesis. He had never considered himself much of a philosopher, but he thought this new analogy had a lot of merit.

In this pool were a herd of vicious, deadly, ravenous crocodiles. One wrong move, one stroke of really bad luck, and one of those beasts would yank you down into the mire and devour you. You’d be gone, nothing but a fading memory to the other poor souls struggling in the same muck. Thing was, you wouldn’t really mind when this happened. Might actually welcome the blessed jaws of death. At least then, you would be free from the endless dream-sucking feces.

This new—and somewhat negative, though insightful theory—was a result of Rich’s failed job interview. He’d been working the front desk of this lame-ass bed and breakfast in this go-nowhere shit town for two years. Today, he’d had a job interview with an accounting firm, thinking he could finally put his degree in business management to use. But, they’d told him at the end of the interview that he wasn’t right for the job. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? How much more right could he be? Intelligent, good-looking, personable—oh yeah, and a fucking degree in business management.

He tossed the bag into the dumpster, glancing around the shit-pool. All was peaceful. The guests were humping their asses off in the rooms upstairs, and not a creature stirred. The moon shone down through the branches of trees that were just beginning to lose their leaves. Off to the left was the prissy-ass garden with its wrought iron benches and trickling fountains and year-round blooming plants.

Funny how it didn’t look like a shit-pool. That’s what made it even more dangerous. Here you were thinking life was all happy and wonderful and things were finally going to work out like you hoped. Then, something in the shit-pool reaches up to suck you down once more.

As he took a last drag off the cigarette, he sensed a movement to his left. He turned and, coming toward him from the garden, was a man dressed all in black. In his hand, he held a gun. Rich wasn’t familiar with firearms, didn’t know what the fuck kind of gun it was, but he knew all he needed to. The gun was big, it was deadly, and it was pointed straight at his chest.

Oh fuck, he thought, nearly gagging on the lungful of smoke trapped in his throat. The butt trembled in his fingers and he dropped it, leaving it smoldering on Lily Highland’s beloved grass. He probably would have wet himself if everything in him hadn’t locked up the instant he saw the pistol.

At that moment, staring into the gleaming barrel of the gun, he had an epiphany.

Turns out the crocodiles are worse than the shit.

****

I was picturing a soothing bath, fluffy robe, hot chocolate, and baseball when I pulled into my driveway and climbed out of my car. All I needed was an evening to decompress, alone, without interference from the outside world.

“Marilyn! Marilyn!”

It was Linus, my eighty-two-year-old neighbor. He called me Marilyn instead of Monroe because he got a kick out of it.

I sighed, debating whether to ignore him as I saw my fantasy of warm chocolate and solitude slipping away.

Humanity won out over indulgence. I smiled brightly and waved at the old man, heading toward him.

Linus Tompkins was one of three neighbors in my cul-de-sac. Each of the four houses sat twenty feet apart. Far enough that we didn’t feel like we were rubbing against one another but close enough to prevent total privacy.

Linus had been my neighbor for nearly five years and in that time, we’d formed an odd friendship. I would run errands for him—doctor’s appointments, grocery store trips, etc, and in turn, he entertained me with stories of the outlaw, Jesse James. Linus was a relative, a descendant, although I wasn’t sure of the exact relation. Once in a while, Linus would give me a piece of James’ gang memorabilia.

I joined him on the faded cedar porch swing, catching a whiff of Old Spice and Mentholatum. Tufts of gray hair were all that remained on his freckled head. He wore tan pants with blue suspenders, a plaid shirt, and a ratty blue cardigan sweater.

“How was your day?” he asked.

“It was good.”

“You don’t do that well.”

“Do what?”

“Fib.” He chuckled and patted my knee with his wrinkled hand. “You’re troubled about something. Anything I can do?”

“No, thanks. Everything’s fine.”

His faded blue eyes stared at me shrewdly, but he didn’t say anything. For a while, we sat and gently rocked in silence. Across the street, Don Chathum was pulling his roller trash can to the curb. He raised his hand in greeting, and we both waved back. A cool wind gusted over the porch, and I pulled my coat more tightly over my sweater.

“Life’s not so simple anymore,” Linus finally said.

“Not so much,” I agreed.

“Back in my day, things were far from perfect, but you can be certain they were a sight better than now.”

“I’m sure they were.” I settled back, preparing to be on the receiving end of one of Linus’s lengthy ruminations.

“Shows like I Love Lucy and Gunsmoke are a thing of the past. Now you gotta have a bunch of naked people and filthy language to get a hit TV show.” He looked out over the yard, but I guessed he was actually looking back fifty years. “I know you just think I’m an old fool and things weren’t as perfect as they were portrayed on TV, but they were, in general, much better than now.” He shook his head. “You know what kids are doing these days? Kids. Teenagers—fourteen, fifteen years old? They’re taking naked pictures with their cell phones. Pulling crazy stunts, even killing themselves live on the Internet. You seen this stuff?”

“Yeah. It’s crazy.”

Apparently satisfied with my allegiance to his cause, he went on, “The public sees way too much of what goes on these days. The media puts everything into visuals. Just like the wars, and all this police brutality caught on tape. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying it’s right when that happens. The police shouldn’t be doing it, but does the public really need to see it when they do? Can’t it just be given to the proper authorities and handled there? There’s enough of a breakdown in respect for the law as it is. Don’t need to give people more reason.” He sighed, a drawn out, rattling sound. “Yep. Things sure have changed. I long for the days when everybody wasn’t hooked up to some kind of electronic doohickie. It’d be nice if someone went to show you a picture of their kid and pulled out a billfold instead of a blasted cell phone.”

I smiled indulgently, gritting my teeth on the inside. Normally, I didn’t mind listening to him for hours. But tonight, I was cold and feeling antisocial. I wanted to wallow in self-pity all by my lonesome.

I stared out over the neighborhood, my eyes straying to the graveyard next to my house. Shadows were starting to blanket the evening, casting the tombstones in a shroud of darkness.

“I sense you’re not really with me this evening, Miss Marilyn.”

My gaze turned back to Linus. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. Just a little tired.”

“You better get rested up. You’ve got a long evenin’ ahead of you.”

“Why’s that?”

He nodded toward my house. “You have a visitor, and she seems in a bad way.”

Josie. I didn’t ask why he was just now mentioning it. I figured it had just now occurred to him. Linus’s memory wasn’t always in top form. Plus, he wasn’t Josie’s biggest fan.

I blew out a breath and stood. “Thanks, Linus. I’d better go check on her.”

“Can I ask you something, missy?”

“Sure,” I said wearily.

He peered up at me with his wise old-man eyes. “Who checks on you?”

A lump rose in my throat, but I forced it away and smiled down at him. “You check on me, Linus. That’s who.”

He smiled back, sadly, and nodded. I stepped off the porch, shot him a parting wave, and headed home.

Rather than joy at my friend’s arrival, my heart was filled with dread. Selfishly, I was disappointed at missing out on the ‘wallow-in-misery’ evening I had planned. On the other hand, I was relieved that Josie had lived to see another day. Each time she vanished, usually without warning, I would wonder if I’d ever see her again. Between the drugs and the asshole boyfriend, I just didn’t know.

I took off my coat and hung it on the rack inside the foyer. Even if Linus hadn’t told me of Josie’s arrival, I’d have known immediately. The smell of cigarette smoke assailed me and I nearly tripped over a ratty pair of Timberland boots. Those same boots had left a puddle in my entryway. I took a towel from the kitchen and dropped it on the hardwood floor to absorb the water.

I heard the television and moved into the living room. Josie lay on the sofa, my burgundy micro fiber throw resting half on, half off her sleeping form. A bottle of Blue Moon beer sat on the coffee table next to her splayed hand. One of my Tupperware cereal bowls, full of cigarette butts, rested next to the beer. It wasn’t that I didn’t have ashtrays, it was just that Josie couldn’t be bothered to dig one out and had used the first thing she’d found. I was just grateful she’d used something other than the floor.

“Josie?” I shook her shoulder, some of my irritation ebbing when I felt how tiny and fragile her bones were beneath my fingers. She didn’t stir. I could let her sleep, but I needed her awake so I could check her out. See how far gone she was. Was she high or in the coming down stages? She knew she couldn’t stay here and do drugs, but if she needed me or was ready to get off of them, my home was open to her.

“Josie,” I said more loudly. She didn’t open her eyes, but her thin fingers shot out and gripped the front of my sweater.

“I won’t leave you,” she murmured, her voice sounding raw and panicked. “I promise, Katie, I won’t leave you. I won’t leave you…”

I flinched as a long-ago memory washed over me. Katie. Poor, sweet Katie.

Poor, sweet, murdered Katie.

It had happened when we were twelve. Josie, Katie, and I were best friends. Josie and Katie were at a sleepover at my house, in a tent in my back yard. Sometime during the night, Katie disappeared. Hours later, her body was found. They never caught the guy who killed her, and the tragedy of that night had stayed with us all these years. Especially with Josie.

I took hold of both Josie’s wrists and shook her some more. “Josie, it’s me, Roe. Come on, hon, wake up.”

Her eyes snapped open, and she rose to a sitting position, her gaze taking in everything in the room before settling on me. Recognition dawned, although she still looked confused. “Roe?”

I searched her pupils to see how dilated they were. Not bad. Maybe she was coming off it.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Katie?”

So, she wasn’t quite with me yet.

“No, honey, it’s me, Roe. Katie’s gone.”

Confusion gave way to sorrow, and tears streamed down her cheeks. “I shouldn’t have left her.”

I pried her fingers from my sweater and put my arms around her, settling next to her on the couch. “You didn’t leave her, sweetie. It’s not your fault. You were just a kid. We all were.”

She cried softly for a few moments, then stopped, pulling away from me.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She nodded in a quick, jerky movement. “I will be. I just need to…” She ran a trembling hand through her limp, unwashed hair. “Just need to get my head straight, you know?”

Yes, I knew. I’d been through it enough times, I should. I just wondered how many times would be enough. If Josie would ever quit the drugs for good.

I looked at her, seeing a cut on her lip that was trying to heal. A bruise shadowed her right cheekbone. Anger washed over me, but the anger was toward her almost as much as it was toward Matt.

Why did she keep going back to him? What was it about her that made her think she deserved to get the shit beat out of her?

Thinking of Matt reminded me of the detectives. I needed to tell Josie they wanted to talk to her, but she was in no shape to deal with that right now. Maybe in the morning would be better.

What she needed now was a hot meal and a shower. Her stained AC/DC T-shirt and tattered jeans looked like she’d been wearing them for days. I could smell stale sweat, along with the odors of booze and garbage, like the stench that rose from the gutters of Bourbon Street.

Standing, I took her by the hands and pulled her to her feet. “Go take a shower. I’ll fix you something to eat.”

She nodded like an obedient child and headed unsteadily down the hallway.

****

By the time Josie finished showering, I had a pot of potato soup with chunks of ham simmering on the stove. I made it from canned potatoes, because raw ones would take too long to cook, and Josie needed something in her stomach quickly. Not the healthiest of meals, but it was substantial.

Josie came into the kitchen wearing a pair of my navy blue sweats. The clothes hung loosely on her frame. I wasn’t particularly large, but Josie was skeletal. Even before the drugs, she’d been tiny, but now she looked as though a puff of wind would blow her away. Her pixie-ish, waif-like appearance brought out protective instincts in most people. Except for Matt. For him, it seemed to bring out the desire to inflict pain.

Her wispy, pale blonde hair was clean now, but she still looked street-worn. Dark shadows rimmed her eyes, and her pallid cheeks were sunken in. The signs of her beating stood out like blips on a radar screen.

What had happened to make her choose this life? She’d had a good childhood, great parents, a loving sister. Her mother had died a few years ago, and now it was just her dad and sister.

“Have you called your dad?” I asked as I poured glasses of tea for us.

She shook her head.

“I’m sure he’s worried about you. You should call him.”

“Right. So he can lecture me about Matt?” She took a seat at my black lacquer dining table and sipped the tea.

“He just wants what’s best for you.”

“He has no idea what’s best for me. Can we drop it?”

I sighed. “Yeah. Sorry.”

As far as I knew, she never contacted her family anymore. When she came into town, she stayed with me. Although he loved his daughter, there was a great deal of tension between her father and her. He wouldn’t accept that she was a drug addict. He thought she just liked to party too much. Neither of her parents had dealt well with her grief after Katie died, figuring if they ignored it, it would go away. Instead, Josie went away, into the drugs.

I slid a plate of sliced tomatoes in front of her, and she curled her nose.

“Eat a few of these, you need the nutrients.” I sounded like my mother. I cringed. “The soup will be ready in a minute.”

“Fine.” She sighed and picked up the fork.

She’d finished two of the tomatoes by the time the soup was ready. I dished up a bowl for each of us, taking a seat across from her. We ate in silence and, after finishing more than half the bowl, Josie leaned back and linked her hands over her non-existent stomach.

“I’m about to pop,” she groaned.

It was more than I’d expected her to eat, and I nodded approvingly. She waited until I finished eating before lighting a cigarette. Standing, I rummaged through the cupboards until I found an ashtray, then slid it in front of her.

“So, how are things going with you?” she asked, sounding more like my long-time best friend and confidante.

An unexpected rush of tears came to my throat, and I had a sudden, overwhelming desire to unburden myself, to tell her about Adam’s engagement and his lying to me about the promotion.

I opened my mouth to tell her and looked into her bruised, haunted eyes. Her skin was so pale, so thin, I could almost see her skeleton beneath the surface.

“Fine,” I said. “Everything’s fine.”

She frowned, maybe noting something in my tone. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” I forced a smile. Everything was not fine, but it could wait. She was a little too fragile right now to take on my problems, too. “I’m sure. Everything’s great.”

After I washed the dishes, we watched some television—sitcoms, not baseball as I was the only one of the two of us who liked it—for a few hours, before Josie’s yawning made me realize that, even after her nap, she needed sleep.

I made up the guest bed for her. Once she was under the covers, I sat on the edge of the bed.

“You remember Snowball?” Josie asked.

I did. Snowball was a Pekingese Josie owned when we were kids. Toward the end of our sixth grade year, the dog became ill. The vet said someone had to stay with her, awake, all night, or she could die.

“I didn’t want to stay with her,” Josie went on. “Jerry Vanderpool had asked me to the dance.” She looked up at me, her bloodshot eyes defensive. “I’d had a crush on him forever. It was the end-of-the-year dance. We were going off to different junior highs. Our last time to be…” she let the words trail off and shrugged.

“It’s okay,” I said soothingly. “Katie wanted to sit with Snowball. She loved animals.”

“Yeah, but Snowball was my dog. My responsibility.” Josie scooted up until she was sitting, leaning her back against the headboard. She fumbled around in the nightstand drawer and extracted a pack of cigarettes. As she lit one, I went back into the kitchen for the ash tray and returned, placing it on the nightstand beside her.

We sat in silence, both lost in the memories. Josie rested her head back on the headboard and blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. Drops of moisture glinted in the corners of her eyes, but the tears didn’t fall.

“You remember when we went over there the next morning?”

“Yeah.” I smiled at the memory. Katie, although exhausted, had an elated glow about her. Snowball’s fine, she’d said, her voice brimming with excitement. I took care of her all night and she’s fine now, look.

The tiny dog had bounded up to Josie, yelping and wagging her tail.

I know what I want to do, Katie had exclaimed. I want to be a veterinarian when I grow up. I want to save animals.

She’d talked about nothing else from that day until mid-summer. She’d stopped talking about it then because that was when she’d been murdered.

Josie put out her cigarette and slid down, laying her head on the pillow. Her eyes closed, and a small sigh escaped her lips.

“Should have been me,” Josie mumbled. “Katie would have done good. I’m just a nothing. A waste of air.”

“That’s not true,” I whispered, tucking the covers around her.

But she’d already gone to sleep, one hand resting beneath a wan cheek.

I hadn’t mentioned that the cops wanted to talk to her. I knew I should, that I’d have to eventually, but not now. For now, she just needed to feel safe.