Joe Carpino, also known as The Carp, opened his bar when avocado green was all the rage, burnt orange counter tops seemed like a good idea, and fake wood paneling was somehow more attractive than real wood paneling. But he featured live music and had cheap — albeit watered down — booze.
Roxy waited for us outside the bar, where smokers huddled in circles and people drifted in and out of the building. Each time the door opened a wave of music and a roar of chatter spilled out onto the sidewalk, where Roxy paced, chewing a wad of gum as if her life depended on it. She kept smoothing her hands down the black ruffled skirt and her large hair bow was a little cockeyed.
“Jeez, Rose, what took you so long?” She didn’t even glance in Dane’s direction.
“Dane,” I said, “this is Roxy.”
He seemed stunned, but he recovered quickly. “Hello, Roxy, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Yeah,” she said, smacking her gum. She grabbed me by the shoulders, her mouth tilted down at the corners. “I am so sorry. I mean, I had no idea this would happen.”
“Okay Rox, just calm down and tell me.”
“I came to The Carp tonight because TurkeyJerk was playing.” She glanced at Dane and angled her head toward my ear. “And I didn’t want to drag you along because of you know who. But I wanted to meet Spork, the drummer.”
“Okay…”
“But then I saw you know who,” she said in a low voice, “and he went ballistic. He was all ‘Where’s Rose? I know she was with someone. Some guy answered her phone the other night. Who was he?’ And I was all, ‘What the hell does it matter to you? She dumped your lame ass.’ And then Spork was all ‘Hey man, don’t talk to Spaz that way.’ I’m really sorry.”
I guessed Kevin — let’s face it, I was never going to call him Spaz — was upset because BJ answered my phone. Why the hell had he answered my phone? And what else had he done while he was waiting with Henry in my apartment?
Roxy squeezed my shoulder and I filed BJ away for now. “Okay, that doesn’t sound too bad.”
“Here’s the bad part. Kevin is all ‘I’m going over to Rose’s right now’ and Spork is all ‘Don’t let that bitch get you worked up’ and I’m all ‘Don’t you call my friend a bitch’ then Kevin is all ‘Yeah, don’t talk about Rose that way’ and then Kevin punched Spork.”
I looked up at the night sky and sighed. This was my life. I couldn’t believe this was my life.
“Is everything all right?” Dane asked.
I turned and looked at him. He was so handsome. And normal. “It’s fine. There’s a guy inside that I broke up with. We barely even dated. But he’s harmless. I think I just need to go talk to him. I’ll be firm, make him understand it’s over.”
“I’ll go with,” Roxy said.
“Rose,” Dane said. “I’ve dealt with men like him. You shouldn’t confront him, you should get a restraining order.”
I scrubbed my hands over my face. Before I could make a decision, the door opened and Kevin stormed out, followed by Spork, who had spiked blond hair, a dog collar around his neck, and toilet paper shoved up his nose.
Kevin’s chest heaved and he pointed at Dane. “Is this the guy who was in your apartment the other night?”
“Let’s go, Rose.” Dane slipped his arm around my shoulders.
“Don’t touch her,” Kevin said. “I will kick your ass, man.” Spork made a move to hold him back.
Roxy swung her head around, making her curls bounce. “Control him, Spork.”
I’d had enough of the adolescent drama for one night. Actually, I’d had enough drama to last me a freaking lifetime. I stepped away from Dane.
“Shut. Up.” I clapped my hands with each word, like an elementary school teacher. “I have had it. Kevin, you and I went out for exactly three weeks. Get over it. Don’t call. Don’t text. Don’t come see me. Do you understand?”
“You and I have something special,” he said, sounding like a little boy. “I wrote a song for you.”
“I don’t want to hear it. I don’t love you. And changing your name to Spaz was a stupid idea.”
He looked so hurt I almost relented.
“Baby.” He reached out to me, but I stepped back and bumped into Dane.
“I mean it, Kevin. I want you to leave me alone.” I turned my attention to Roxy. “Rox, why don’t we follow you home?”
She cast a glance at Spork. Did I mention he had toilet paper in his nostrils? And his name was Spork? That’s not a name, it’s barely even a utensil.
“Come on,” I said. I placed my hand on her back as I guided her to the side parking lot.
Dane didn’t say much as we followed Roxy home, or when he dropped me off to pick up my car at the cigar bar. He was the most normal man I had dated in years — not that this was a date — and he must think I was crazy. Bar fights with people named Spaz and Spork. My best friend was a punked out Shirley Temple. I would think I was crazy.
After he parked the car, Dane turned toward me and brushed a finger down my cheek. “I’ll follow you home, Rose.” He stepped out and walked around the car, opening the door for me.
When we reached the parking lot of my apartment, Dane insisted on coming inside. “I want to make sure you don’t have any more unexpected visitors.”
I felt a little self-conscious about Dane seeing my shabby apartment. With my orange futon, small bistro table, and secondhand dresser, it wasn’t much to look at.
I shut the door with my back. “See? Safe as houses.”
But Dane wasn’t looking at my apartment, he was looking at me. “I had a very interesting time tonight, Rose.”
“That’s one word to describe it, I guess.”
“Things are never dull around you, that’s for sure. Axton’s lucky to have you as a friend.” He leaned forward and kissed me. Softly. His lips teased and nibbled. He rested his hands on my shoulders and pulled me close as the kiss deepened. When his tongue stroked mine, my fingers found their way into his short hair. After several pleasant minutes he slowly pulled away. “I should probably go.”
Feeling a little dizzy, I nodded. “Yeah.”
“You want to meet at the police station tomorrow or do you want me to pick you up?” His thumb brushed the side of my neck.
“I’ll meet you after I get off work.”
His forehead wrinkled. I was quickly learning this was a sign that he wasn’t pleased. “We should go first thing in the morning. You’ve already waited too long as it is.”
I stepped out of his hold, a little stung by his comment. “I did what I thought was right, Dane.”
He sighed. “I know, I didn’t mean to criticize. I’ll see you after you get off of work.” He kissed my forehead and left.
As soon as Dane was out the door, I blocked it with my dresser. It was a flimsy piece of pressboard crap, but it made me feel marginally safer. I actually got some sleep that night.
The next morning I looked out my window to make sure there were no strange cars in the lot before I left my apartment. I peeked out entrance door before venturing outside. I was becoming terrified of my own shadow and I hated it.
It was foggy and cold and as I jogged with my keys in my hand, I noticed glass on the ground, but my brain didn’t register what it was. But once I reached the front of my car, I realized the glass used to be my passenger side window. Small shards littered the interior of the car. I spun around, looking for the guilty party, but I was completely alone.
My shoulders slumped. What else could go wrong, for God’s sake? I kicked at the broken glass, then stomped back to my apartment and locked the door. I called Ma’s and Ray answered. He told me not to worry about coming in, just call the police. Which I did. And they were as helpful as they had been when I reported Axton’s disappearance. They took a report over the phone, told me to take pictures and call my insurance company. Since my car was barely worth a couple thousand dollars and I only had liability, I didn’t bother.
Using my bathroom trash can and a small broom, I cleaned up all the glass I could manage and got to the diner a couple of minutes before six. Because I no longer had a passenger window, my hair looked as if I had been caught in a cyclone. Ma and Roxy were sympathetic to my latest drama and Jorge duct taped a plastic trash bag to my door until I could afford to get it fixed.
But I didn’t have time to whine because Saturdays were so busy. Ray put pumpkin pancakes on the menu and I won’t say they sold like hotcakes, but…well.
I checked my phone at closing. I had a text message from Sheila Graystone. She was actually waiting for me by the dumpsters behind the diner.
When I poked my head out the door, I saw her sitting behind the wheel of her running SUV. She waved me over and rolled down her window. “Rose,” she whispered.
“Hey, Sheila. Did you get the numb—”
“Shhh, get in.” She jerked her head to the passenger seat.
The fog had dissipated, but it was still a gray chilly afternoon, and the rotten smell of garbage carried on the wind. I was happy to hop inside.
“Sorry Rose, I can’t be seen talking to you,” she said as she ducked down in her seat.
“There’s no one else here.” I was surprised she hadn’t shown up in a fedora and trench coat.
Sheila shoved a piece of notebook paper in my hand. “I had to wait until Pack went to bed last night to look at his phone.”
There were four numbers on the list. “These are incoming numbers you don’t recognize?”
She nodded. “That last number called nine times. And the calls ranged from two to five minutes each.”
I folded the note and stuck it in my purse. “Thanks. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
“I feel like such a coward going behind his back like this.” She rubbed her finger across her forehead. “I should be calling those numbers myself. But I really don’t think it’s another woman.”
“You still think this is about Axton?”
“Packard knows more than he’s telling. I asked him what he told the police and he got so angry. In ten years of marriage, he’s never screamed at me. Raised his voice, yes. But when I asked about Axton, he went nuts.”
I put my hand on her shoulder, not knowing how to comfort her. “Thanks, Sheila. I really appreciate it.”
Before I met Dane at the police station, I ran home to change clothes. I pulled my hair out of its ponytail, giving it a quick brush, then threw on a navy sweater, jeans, and a pair of brown leather boots I’d bought last July.
Dane was already there when I pulled into a parking spot in front of the building. He leaned against the brick wall next to the entrance and it was the first time I’d seen him without a suit. He wore faded jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and tennis shoes. He smiled as he watched me walk toward him. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself.” We looked at each other for a moment. His gaze drifted to my lips but moved past me to the passenger door of my car. He walked over to it, and reaching out, flicked the plastic bag. “What happened?”
“Vandalism.”
“Is this related to everything else?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
He moved back to my side. “You’re going to get this fixed soon, right?”
“Yeah.”
“If it’s a matter of money—”
“It isn’t. I’ll get it fixed soon.” I gave him a bright smile.
He nodded. “Okay, let’s go make that report.” He took me by the hand led me into the building. As we walked through the twisting corridors, I felt like a rat in a maze.
We finally stopped at a small cubicle in the back corner with gray padded walls and a gunmetal gray desk. Andre Thomas, his uniform crisp and starched, took down my story about Henry and BJ and I threw in my vandalized car for good measure.
“How did you say they got in?” he asked, for what seemed like the millionth time.
I sighed. Loudly. “I told you, I don’t know. They were already in my apartment when I got home.”
Officer Thomas had café au lait skin and was handsome in a drill sergeant kind of way. His light hazel eyes stared at me through rectangular glasses. “You’d been to a couple of bars? How much did you have to drink?”
I threw my hands in the air and glared at him. We’d been at this for over an hour. “I didn’t have anything to drink and I’m not on trial. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I’m just curious why you didn’t report this sooner, Miss Strickland. Seems odd to me. If two men broke into my house, I’d have called the police immediately.”
“I told you, I didn’t think the police could help me and BJ was pretty specific about not messing with him.”
He drummed his fingers on the desk. “So why are you reporting it now?”
Dane leaned forward. “What’s the problem, Andre? She’s telling you what happened.”
The officer scrutinized me with laser-like intensity. “I’m just trying to get an accurate picture of what occurred.”
I stood up. “Here’s an accurate picture for you. My friend, Axton Graystone, is missing.” I pointed at him. “I report that and you police people have done nothing about it. I report two men broke into my apartment and they seem to know my every move. I report someone vandalizes my car, but there’s nothing you can do about that, either. And now you’re treating me like the criminal?”
“Sounds like trouble follows you around, Miss Strickland. Now, sit down, and we’ll go over this again.” He nodded at the chair I’d vacated.
I shifted my gaze to Dane. “I told you this was a mistake.” I grabbed my purse, haphazardly finding my way out of the labyrinth, wishing I’d left a trail of breadcrumbs to make it easier.
When I made it outside, I closed my eyes, tilted my face to dark clouds overhead. I took a deep cleansing breath. Sitting in that gray box being interrogated like a career criminal left me a little shaky. Dane came out a minute later. He placed his hand on the small of my back. “Hey,” he said, “I know he’s a hard ass, but he was just doing his job.”
I opened my eyes and faced him. “I don’t have much faith in the police anymore, Dane.” I gestured toward the building. “This was pointless.” I pulled my keys out of my purse and headed toward my car.
“Where are you going? We need to go back in there and finish up.”
“I’m going to find Axton.”