Tom Piccirilli - The Last Kind Words

“I don’t believe much of what I hear.”

She interviewed me without making it seem like I was being questioned. She made flat statements that filled in for interrogatives. She had a well-practiced rhythm to her cross-examination. It was subtle and she tried to up the ante by being even more indirectly flirtatious. It wasn’t an act. It was just the way she came at life, unable to separate herself from the job. Few people could. She put three fingers on my wrist, the same way Collie’s wife, Lin, had. Where Lin was almost a will-o’-the-wisp, Eve put weight and energy into the touch.

“Have you met his wife?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Grey perked up and snapped out of his lovers’ huddle. His cheeks were pink from all his kissy business with Vicky. “What’s this now?”

“He married a pen pal in prison a year ago,” I said.

“Your father never said anything.”

“My parents didn’t know. I met her this afternoon.”

“And what’s she like?” Grey asked. He appeared genuinely interested. “Or do I really need to ask?”

“Not what I expected,” I told him. She hadn’t been, but I only realized it now. All of the anger I’d felt had faded, and I replayed my conversation with Lin.

“What did you make of her?” Eve asked.

“I’m still not certain.”

Three waiters brought the dinners up, along with another round of drinks. They set a lobster in front of me still in its shell and provided a nutcracker and bib. Vicky put hers on and tore in. Eve crossed her legs and bumped my leg with her heel. It gave me more of a thrill than I would’ve thought.

Grey sipped and sat back, clinking ice cubes. “All the worst killers have their fan clubs. The ones who want to know what it’s like. Who get excited from the prospect of writing to or meeting with or, Christ, actually marrying someone who’s crossed that line.”

“I don’t believe she’s like that,” I said. My voice sounded strange to me because just a couple of hours ago I had been convinced that she was.

“Either that or they want the gratification of bringing another one into Jesus’s fold. They want to prove that nobody is beyond redemption. They weep and praise God and think they’re saints for putting time in on lost causes.”

“She’s not like that either. She said Collie was irredeemable.”

“I really hope she doesn’t start showing up for the holidays.”

“I met her once,” Eve said. “She came down to the television station, trying to prove he was innocent of the Rebecca Clarke murder.”

Vicky touched the back of Grey’s hand, as if she had to soothe him due to the nature of the conversation. Her fingers were dappled with a sheen of butter sauce. “That’s right. We let her talk on camera for a while but she made some wild accusations. She believes another killer is loose and the police aren’t investigating properly.”

Grey caught my eye and said, “Sounds like a ruse to throw off the scent at this stage of the game.” His face clouded. He slowly dug into the lobster, chewed it as if he refused to let anything ruin his night. He had a staunch capacity for pleasure.

“He admits the others, just not that one,” I said.

“It’s a new game he’s running. You don’t wait years to tell someone you’re innocent of murder.”

“He doesn’t claim to be innocent of murder. Just that one.”

His voice was beginning to thicken with alcohol. “It doesn’t matter. They’d have to retry his entire case. Who knows, maybe it’s what he was after all this time. I didn’t think he had it in him, the patience to do it this way, but it’s a nice maneuver, if that’s what he’s after. A hell of a gambit. I give him a lot of credit for holding off until the last week. Eat, Terry. You’re too thin.”

“He me looks good,” Vicky said.

“Yes, he does,” Eve agreed, and the dimples flashed again.

I ate without enjoyment and without putting the stupid bib on. Grey kept things lively and the women responded. The conversation shifted to other news topics that I hadn’t been following. Eve asked about my tan and I told her about working on a ranch. I didn’t know why. Maybe she was right and everyone wanted to tell their own story, so long as it wasn’t laced with tragedy. My life out west had been boring but not tragic. I mentioned the one time I tried to break a bronc and wound up with a concussion. They all laughed and eventually so did I. Once the table was cleared, Grey and Vicky decided to go for a stroll on the deck and listen to the band. I could hear them playing “Carolina Moon.”

“Back in a few minutes,” Grey said. He didn’t wink but it felt like he had. He thought he was doing me a favor. I turned to Eve. The window behind me vibrated. The breeze was picking up. It was about to rain again.

Her purse was carefully propped against her hip, slightly open. I suspected a digital recorder. Reporters wanted a statement one way or another, but it didn’t faze me. I was glad that she put her job first and foremost. It clarified things. I wasn’t ready for a real double date. I couldn’t imagine trying to begin a relationship and making the small talk that led to enduring times.

“I’ve been flirting with you all night,” Eve said. “You don’t seem to enjoy talking much. Or is it that you just don’t enjoy talking to me?”

“To any reporter or recording device.”

She lifted her purse, opened it, and withdrew a miniature recorder. “It’s not on. I’m eager for a story, but not to the point of deception.”

“Some journalists play a low game.”

“Yes, they do. But put it in perspective. Are they lower than the games a family of professional thieves plays?”

I went to finish off my drink and it was already empty. “Are you asking my opinion?”

Her grin eased into an expressive smile. I wondered how many stories she’d gotten out of men who never wanted to say a damn thing. “I bet if this wasn’t already turned off, you would’ve cased my house and stolen it while I was in the shower.”

“I would’ve waited until you were asleep.”

“I see. Well, if that’s the case, let me save us both some embarrassment and I’ll tell you now that I sleep in the raw.”

It made me laugh. She wasn’t flirting so much as she was trying to break through my hard shell, and I knew it. “I certainly appreciate your concern for my emotional well-being.”

There was a real affection in her expression, the frown lines smoothing, her face opening. But her fertile eyes were still trying to pin me down. “You were going to be the centerpiece of my report.”

“We’ll both survive the letdown. So will your viewers. You were bound to bore the hell out of them anyway.”

The tension between us thrashed and built and lessened like the sound waters. “People can’t understand your brother. What he’s done is too hideous. But you, they’ll sympathize with you. They’ll identify with you.”

“Why would they want to? Because I’m not so bad? Or because I’m not as bad as him? He’s going to be dead in a little more than a week. He’ll be forgotten two days after he’s in the ground. There are better stories for you to chase.”

“That’s a wonderfully honest response.”

“They’ve all been honest,” I said. “They just haven’t been what you wanted, sadly.”

She ran a hand through her hair, and the silver strands caught the light a little more brightly. She turned her face away for a moment and something in her strong profile seemed to call to me. The set of her lips or the distinct arc of her jaw.

Grey and Vicky returned. They were both flushed, their faces streaked with sweat. Grey was an amazing dancer. He’d tried to teach me over the years, but I had no rhythm. He used to say, “No woman will ever take you seriously if you can’t lead or keep up with her on the dance floor.”