Лори Касс - Wrong Side Of The Paw

“That hill is so steep I can barely walk up it.”

“I’ve told you a million times to stop exaggerating. Honest, it’ll be easy on these things.”

“Trust,” I mused, climbing onto the bike. “So hard to win, so easy to lose.”

“Have I ever steered you wrong?”

“Not yet,” I said darkly. “But there’s always a first time.”

“Not today.” He climbed astride his bike and put a foot on one of the pedals. “So are you coming or—hey!”

I whirled past him. “Last one to the corner pays for the next breakfast,” I called over my shoulder.

“Cheater!” he yelled, but I didn’t consider it cheating; I thought of it more as evening the odds. After all, he was bigger, stronger, and fitter than I was. Any physical race that we started at the same time would be won by Ash unless the contest was evened up a little.

We reached the corner, me winning by the slightest hair, and we headed up the hill.

“This isn’t so bad,” I panted when we were halfway up.

“Told you,” he said, not out of breath at all.

“I hate it—when you—do that,” I managed to get out.

“Do what?”

I shook my head, not wanting to expend any unnecessary breath on talking. There would be time to abuse him when we got to the cemetery and I got my wind back.

But by the time we reached the cemetery, we’d begun talking about the college courses he was taking that semester and then we stopped at Alonzo Tillotson’s headstone, the place I’d first met Eddie, for a view of Janay Lake and beyond to Lake Michigan.

“Nice,” Ash said, leaning on his handlebars.

“Sure is.”

We stood there, side by side, drinking in the scene. The sun had just pulled itself up over the horizon and was bathing the waters with the bright golden-red of morning. It could have been a romantic scene, maybe even should have been, but it . . . just wasn’t. I didn’t feel a spark of anything resembling passion for the man standing next to me. Didn’t feel any sense of overwhelming love. Didn’t feel anything except a sense of friendly companionship and the well-being that came from exercise.

Then, without a warning, Ash leaped onto his bike and sped off. “First one to the trailhead gets to pick the next breakfast place!” he called over his shoulder.

“Cheater!” I shouted, fumbling for my pedals.

“Takes one to know one!”

And so, laughing, we raced into the day, but I was coming to think that our days as a couple were numbered.

• • •

A few hours later, I picked up my cell phone and called Leese.

“Hey,” I said. “Are you okay? How’s your sister?”

“It’s a long story.” She gusted out a sigh. “And I don’t think there’s a short version.”

None of that sounded good. “When I told you I was a good listener, I meant it, so if you want to talk, just say the word. I can stop by tonight even.”

“Do you mean it?” Her voice cracked.

“Of course. Even if you don’t cook anything.”

She managed a laugh. “You give the worst hints of anyone I’ve ever met. How do you feel about jambalaya?”

“I’ll bring salad,” I said promptly, and pulled into her driveway at six o’ clock straight up. I grabbed the container of salad bar salad I’d assembled in the grocery store’s deli section, knocked on her back door, and went in.

“There’s nothing worse than a guest who’s on time.” Leese glowered at me as I came up the steps.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m a friend with refrigerator privileges and not a guest, isn’t it?” I smiled at her brightly.

“What are you talking about?”

I opened the door of her fridge, put in the salad stuff, grabbed a pitcher of what I assumed was water, and shut the door. “Like this, see?” I held up the pitcher. “Having friends with refrigerator privileges means it’s okay that they take stuff out of the fridge without asking because you know they’re considerate enough not to take the last diet soda.”

“Gotcha.” She nodded. “I’m sorry for being so crabby. It’s just . . .” She shifted her gaze, looking away from me but not at anything in particular, unless the blank wall held some special meaning for her.

“We’ll talk later,” I said. “After we eat, if that’s okay with you.”

“Very okay. I’d love to talk about something normal.”

Normal, of course, was a moving target, but after she’d shown me around her house and I’d expressed jealousy over the handmade quilt she’d put up as a wall hanging in her office (“My grandmother’s work,” she’d said proudly), we’d sat down to eat and were discussing our all-time favorite movies when we heard car doors shut. Three of them.

Leese half stood to look out the window, then dropped back into her chair. “I am so sorry,” she said heavily. “I had no idea they’d stop without calling.”

“Who is it?” I asked.

The back door banged open. “Leese!” a high-pitched woman’s voice called as multiple sets of feet tromped up the stairs. “We need you to talk some sense into your sister.”

“My stepmother,” Leese said, sighing. “Carmen. And Brad and Mia. Carmen’s . . . okay, just a little . . . intense.”

Interested, I got to my feet as the trio made it to the top of the stairs. Carmen, brassy-haired and exceedingly thin, was holding the young woman I’d seen at the sheriff’s office by the arm. Behind them trailed Brad, who, in spite of being a big, bearded guy, looked a lot like his stepsister. He also looked as if he’d rather be anywhere rather than where he was.

“Hello,” I said pleasantly and introduced myself.

Carmen’s gaze raked over me and went to latch itself on to Leese. “I can’t believe you invited a stranger over for dinner on a night when your family needed you.”

“Oh, Momma, leave her alone.” Brad Lacombe stuck out his hand. “I’m Brad. Nice to meet you.”

“Minnie?” The waiflike Mia stared at me. “You were the one with Leese last week when . . . when . . .” Large tears started to drip down her face.

“That’s right.” I turned my chair toward her. “Do you want to sit?”

“We’re interrupting your dinner,” Mia murmured. “We should leave.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Leese handed her a napkin. “Dry your face and all of you sit down. I made jambalaya and there’s enough to feed half an army.”

In short order, she’d spooned out healthy servings of the rice-based dish and set the mounded bowls in front of us. I used my refrigerator privileges to add a few Leese-owned ingredients to make the salad stretch to five, and our hostess forbade discussion of anything serious until the food was gone.

Mia did more playing with her food than eating, so it took some time, but the five of us were drinking decaf coffee and digging into small bowls of ice cream as the sun started to slide down below the tree line.

“Okay,” Leese pronounced as she watched a final spoonful go down Mia’s throat. “Now.”

The three of them all started talking at once and Leese held up her hands to silence them. “Let me summarize,” she said. “Minnie came over to hear about the last twenty-four hours and I hadn’t even begun when you three showed up.”

At this, Mia looked at her lap, Brad grinned, and Carmen, between sips of her coffee, said, “Family doesn’t need to call ahead.”

Leese shot me a glance—which I interpreted as, See what I ended up with in the family lottery? —and didn’t reply to her stepmother’s comment. “Here’s what I know,” she said. “Mia, you went to the sheriff’s office yesterday and confessed to killing Dad. No, let me finish, Carmen. I want Minnie to hear the order in which this all happened.”