Let Sleeping Dogs Die, page 23
I flopped back onto the sofa and enjoyed a couple of minutes of feeling superior until my cell phone chirped. I pulled it out of my pants pocket praying it wasn’t some emergency that required my attention.
“Hello?”
“Hey, babe. I have to cancel our dinner plans,” Scott said.
“Work?” I guessed.
“I’m afraid so. Irene needs to meet with me to get an update on the Frank Johnson case.”
Irene again. That woman was swiftly becoming the bane of my existence. Why did she have to meet with Scott now? I asked him as much.
“I don’t know. She’s busy being the mayor and running for some state office or something. Anyway, the only time she has is over dinner.”
“Of course it is.” All right, my tone might have been a bit sarcastic.
“Skye, it’s only business.”
“No, it’s not only business. I can’t believe you can’t see it. The woman has made it obvious she’s interested in you. She even tracked you to your apartment when we—well, you know—had a date. I think she wants a lot more than an update.”
“You’re wrong, Skye. You’re reading something into it. Besides, this isn’t a one-way street. Even if you don’t trust her motives, you can trust me.”
“Whatever. I’ll talk to you later.” I flipped my cell phone closed, ending the conversation. Of course, Scott was right that I could trust him. But still, I was pissed off at how incredibly stupid men could be when it came to women. Well, some women.
“You look fit to be tied,” Lily said.
“What?” I jerked around to see Lily standing on the bottom step of the stairs. “I guess I am. I swear, men can be so freaking stupid.”
“Honey,” Lily said holding up a hand. “You’re preaching to the choir. Did Chase leave?”
“Yes, he ran off to finish up your apartment.”
“Skye, I totally misjudged him and the situation. Holy Goddess, I’m so embarrassed.”
“You shouldn’t be. For one thing, I thought he was flirting with you, too. And for another,” I lowered my voice, “he’s got a crush on Bobbi Jo.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful!”
“I know,” I said. “That’s why he’s been making excuses to come over here all the time.”
“How did you find that out?” Lily asked.
“Just a little conversation and it spilled right out of him.” I wasn’t about to tell her that he had figured out what was going on with her. “But, listen, I am so proud of you! You took matters into your own hands and set healthy boundaries for your relationship with him.”
“But I was wrong. He never wanted a relationship with me. He thought I was talking about the work he’s doing on my apartment.”
“That isn’t the point, Lily.” I took her hands in mine and pulled her down to sit on the sofa. “You saw a situation and took control. You told him exactly what you could and could not deal with. It doesn’t matter that it was a different situation. You crossed a bridge. The next time a man wants a relationship you aren’t ready for, you’ll be able to say no.”
“Really? I did that?” Lily asked.
“Yes, you did that.”
“Good.” Lily straightened her shoulders. “I feel good about doing that. And I’m so relieved Chase never figured out what I really thought he wanted from me. Goddess, that would have been embarrassing.”
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” I assured her. Well, nothing she knew about, anyway. “I’ve got to run out to pick up some contact sheets and transparencies from the shoot.”
“Of course,” Lily said. “Goddess, I feel so much better about this whole thing with Chase. Isn’t it wonderful he has a crush on Bobbi Jo? If you ask me, it’s exactly what she needs. I just hope Chase isn’t too impatient with her. I mean, she’s about to give birth, and all her attention will be on the baby for a while.”
“I had a little conversation with him about it. I think he’ll be fine,” I said. I gathered my bag and sweater, kissed Lily good-bye, and scooted out the door. I really did have to pick up the contact sheets and transparencies, and I thought it was better I get away from Lily. Less chance of me saying something that would make her question her judgment of the situation. I was halfway to the processor’s when my cell phone chirped again. I pulled the phone from my pocket thinking it was probably Scott making more excuses.
“What?”
“Skye? It’s Connie.”
Evidently my patience had been completely used up by the situation with Lily, Chase, and Bobbi Jo, because I kind of snapped at her.
“Where are you?”
“Actually, I’m in a plane somewhere over the Midwest, and I should arrive in Portland in a few hours.”
I wanted to tell her it was about freaking time she returned to reality. But maybe that was because I’d had a little too much reality myself. I heard something in the background about champagne. Must be nice.
“Are you flying first class?” I asked, trying to keep the envy out of my voice.
“Better than that, Skye. But listen, I’ll be there soon. I wanted to let you know that and I wanted to ask if Bobbi Jo had her baby yet.”
Oh, nice that she actually remembered a friend was about to go into labor. Perhaps this was an indication she’d ditched the Rastafarian dude and had come to her senses. I could only hope.
“No baby yet, but it could be any minute,” I said.
“That’s great. I really want to be there for the delivery.”
Funny, at this point, I wasn’t sure I even wanted to be there for the delivery. Then I heard some muffled giggling, a couple of sounds that had to be sighs, and a sound I interpreted as the clinking of glassware.
“So, I’m almost there. If she goes into labor, leave a message on my cell, and I’ll pick it up as soon as we land,” Connie said.
“We?” I asked.
“Me and Ty, of course. You didn’t think I’d leave my husband behind, did you?”
I heard another muffled giggle, and the line went dead. Great. Connie was bringing her beach bum husband home. I didn’t want to think about it. In fact, I didn’t want to think about anything. I especially didn’t want to think about Scott seeing Irene for dinner. I needed something fun to do that would take my mind off everything. Somehow looking at contact sheets and transparencies didn’t sound like a lot of fun.
I considered taking Mom to the coast, but I knew Bobbi Jo would have a fit if she knew I might be over an hour away in case she went into labor. Still, I hadn’t really spent any one-on-one time with my mother, and after my last conversation with Sheridan, I wondered if the problem with my relationship with Mom was based on my perceptions. It was something I wanted to look at, and the best way would be to spend some time with her without any other interactions. I turned the car around and headed back to Bobbi Jo’s. Mom was in the living room winding a skein of yarn into a ball.
“Morning, Skye.”
“Hi, Mom. I was just thinking that we haven’t had any time alone. How about we go shopping and have lunch today?”
Mom practically glowed with pleasure. Which made me feel a little guilty about how little time I’d spent with her.
“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” she said. “I’ll go change clothes.”
I couldn’t imagine why she needed to change clothes. She had on an emerald green velour jog suit, and I figured she was just going to change to another color. I looked down at my own clothes. Jeans and a sweater and sneakers. Good enough. Portland wasn’t the kind of city where you needed to dress up to shop. I walked to the kitchen where Lily was kneading dough for bread.
“Lily, I’m taking Mom shopping and to lunch. We should be back before dinner.”
“All right,” Lily said. “I’m making a meat loaf, potatoes, and a salad to go with this bread. And you know you’re welcome to join us.”
“Thanks. I think I will.” I might as well, since Scott had cancelled our dinner date in order to see Irene. That still annoyed me, but I pushed it out of my mind, determined to have fun with my mother.
“I need to stop by the processor’s and pick up some contact sheets and transparencies first,” I said as we got into the Escape.
“Oh, good. I can see some of your photography,” Mom said.
“You want to see my work?”
“Of course, I do. You were always a talented photographer. I remember all the photos you sent me of Sheridan. They were beautiful, and you really captured her personality in them.”
I’d never known she thought I was talented. I didn’t know if she’d never mentioned it, or if I’d simply assumed she didn’t think I was talented. But it made me feel good to hear her say it. When I got the contact sheets and transparencies, we sat in the truck for half an hour while Mom looked at all the pictures. She complimented each of them and pointed out her favorites. I felt like a kindergartner who was proud of her finger painting.
After Mom had made a fuss over my photography, we headed to the Hawthorne District. She wanted to pick up some more yarn from the Stitch Witch. After that, we wandered around the streets, popping into whatever little shops caught our eye. Mom decided she wanted to try sushi, so we stopped at a small Asian restaurant for lunch. I ordered a combination plate with chow mein and broccoli beef and received enough food for four people.
“So this is sushi.” Mom sniffed at the little rounds on her plate. She picked one up and took a bite, then made a face. She chewed a couple of times, then swallowed.
“You don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it,” I said.
“I know. But I want to try it.” She picked up another round and took another bite. Her expression was about the same, but she chewed and swallowed, then picked up her teacup. It was obvious she didn’t care for the sushi, and I wondered how much she was going to force herself to eat. She picked up a third little round, held it for a moment, then shook her head and put it back on her plate.
“I can’t eat another bite of this stuff. It’s horrible.”
“You can share mine. I have plenty.” I signaled the waiter and requested another plate. “I’m not surprised you didn’t like it. You hardly ever eat fish.”
“I know, but the older I get, the more I like to try different stuff. Silly, probably.”
“No, it’s not silly,” I said. “I think it’s important to do different things. It keeps you young.”
We talked over the rest of our lunch, then went out to see more shops. The Baghdad Theater was showing one of her favorite movies, so we bought tickets and went inside. The Baghdad plays movies that have been out for a while. They also serve pizza and beer and the seats have tables between the rows.
“I’ll have a beer,” Mom said when we got to the concession stand. Her eyes twinkled when she looked at me. “Like you said, trying different things keeps you young.”
“In that case, I’ll have a beer, too.” We laughed like girlfriends, and it felt really good. Kind of like we were when I was a teenager.
The theater was mostly empty, and we whispered to each other about the movie while we drank our beer. After the movie, we stopped in a few more shops, then drove back to Bobbi Jo’s. It was one of the most pleasant times I’d had with my mother in years.
“I had a really good time today, Mom. We should do this more often.”
“I’m all for that,” she agreed. “You know, Skye, I’ve always thought our relationship changed somehow when you grew up.”
“I know. I’ve thought that, too.”
“I think it was probably my fault.”
“No, Mom, it wasn’t your fault.”
“When you became an adult, I just didn’t know how to deal with it. I guess I wanted to keep you my little girl forever.”
“Oh, I understand. I’m going through some of that with Sheridan right now.”
“Well, don’t do it. Let her grow up, because she’s going to grow up anyway. You’ll enjoy having her as a friend.” She patted my hand. “Trust me on that.”
Lily was finishing up dinner when we arrived, and Bobbi Jo was fussing around the living room. She rearranged a few flowers in a vase, fluffed up a cushion on the sofa, and ran a finger across a book, then looked at it to check for dust.
Mom leaned over to me and whispered, “She’s nesting. A sure sign she’ll have the baby soon.”
“Did you have fun?” Bobbi Jo asked.
Mom launched into a recital of everything we’d done that day. She seemed really happy, and it made me happy. Somehow we’d turned a corner in our relationship, and it felt good. Lily called us to dinner, and we all sat down and enjoyed her delicious food, chattering away about everything and nothing. It was one of those wonderful evenings where nothing special really happened, but just being with the people you loved made it special.
Unfortunately, I needed to go over the contact sheets and transparencies, and mark the ones I thought Connie should look at.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
I laid the envelope of contact sheets on my light table, set my bag on the floor, and headed for the kitchen. What I really wanted was a glass of wine, but I had work to do so I started a pot of coffee and rummaged in the fridge for a snack. Then I realized I was still full from dinner. Wanting a snack was just emotional eating. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
My cell phone rang, and I pulled it out. Bobbi Jo. She’d been in an extremely good mood when I left her place. She hadn’t shown any signs of being in labor. I needed to get this work done. Besides, if she was in labor, she’d text me the two-two-two-nine emergency code. I dropped the phone into my pocket and went to my light board.
I pulled the contact sheets and transparencies out of the envelope and went back to the kitchen to pour myself a cup of coffee. I laid the contact sheets out, telling myself that after I chose some shots for Connie to look at, I could console myself with a glass of wine and some mindless television. Then I remembered the grip-and-grin shots I’d taken of Scott and Irene. Scott had mentioned that the chief needed the shots tomorrow.
I was still a bit annoyed with Scott, so I wasn’t really looking forward to looking at the shots. Still, it was a job. And there was the possibility of also selling the shot to some of the local newspapers. I spread the contact sheets out and sorted through them until I found the one of Scott and Irene, then I picked up my loupe and angled the lamp for the best light. A lot of commercial photographers had started using electronic contact sheets, but I still preferred seeing the actual black-and-white photos first, then I would review them on the computer. I routinely requested sheets with sixteen shots per page. They were a little more expensive, but I thought it was well worth the price for the quality. Most of the shots on the sheet were totally unusable, which was normal. I placed the loupe over each shot, then circled with an orange grease pencil the ones I thought might be suitable for the chief’s newsletter and for selling to the local newspapers.
I had a shot of Scott alone before Irene had crawled all over him. It was a good shot, but I knew what the paper would probably want would be the standard grip-and-grin shot of Scott and Irene. I plowed through the contact sheets until I came to those shots. Some were blurry; some cut off part of Scott or part of Irene.
I finally had five I thought were usable. I scribbled the numbers on a sticky note and opened my laptop. After I hooked my camera to the laptop with the USB connector, I drank the rest of the coffee while the laptop booted up and brought up the photo program. I punched in the photo numbers I wanted to view and waited for them to appear. The first one was a little too blurry, so I pressed the delete key. The next one was good. Scott held the frame in his left hand and his right reached out for Irene’s hand. But it wasn’t a true grip-and-grin because their hands were barely touching. I scrolled to the next shot. That was it. Everything was in focus. Scott was smiling, and it looked almost genuine. Irene didn’t have anything in her teeth, no unfortunate rolls of fat were apparent. Well, you can’t have everything. Their hands were firmly clasped, hers almost engulfing his, and Scott didn’t have dainty hands.
Wait a minute.
I enlarged the photograph and looked at it closely. How could I have not seen that before? Irene’s hand was at least as big as Scott’s. That explained everything.
Scott had been telling me Irene couldn’t be the killer because a man had strangled Frank. But they’d only assumed it was a man because of the size of the hands. Irene’s hands were easily large enough. How had Scott not noticed that?
Of course he hadn’t noticed. He was too busy noticing her heaving bosom and her long legs. I could hardly wait to tell him how wrong he was about her. Not that I was going to forgive him. Well, not right away. I punched the speed dial number on my cell phone and listened to his phone ring. I almost giggled with the anticipation of explaining exactly how wrong he was about Irene.
The phone rang and rang, then I got his voice mail. I wasn’t about to deny myself the pleasure of at least hearing his voice when I told him. It was a few minutes after nine. They had to be finished with dinner and Scott was probably at home watching some kind of sports. Refusing to answer my call because of our last conversation.
That pissed me off. Now even a phone call wasn’t enough. I wanted to see his face when I told him how wrong he was. I grabbed my bag and keys and headed for the door. Wait. I needed my proof. I went back and picked up my laptop. Probably I could just take the camera and USB cord, but I wasn’t sure his computer had an image program. It might have nothing but baseball scores and pictures of big blond women with huge hands. Murdering hands.
I lugged the laptop down to the garage and drove to Scott’s apartment building. I pressed the buzzer for his apartment and waited. Nothing. I pressed again. Still nothing. It really pissed me off that he was avoiding me because of an argument. What did this foretell for our relationship? Nothing good. I mean, communication is the cornerstone of a good relationship. If he was going to sulk every time I disagreed with him—well, I didn’t really want to think about that. I pulled the key to his apartment building out and pushed it into the lock.
