Mike Jastrzebski - Key Lime Blues

“I told you, Wes saved my life for Christ’s sake.”

“So that makes him like a little puppy dog or something? You have to bring him home with you and feed him?”

I was getting tired of playing the invisible man so I cleared my throat. When the women looked my way I said, “Maybe it would be better if I leave. I can come back for Destiny in the morning.”

“Shut up,” they said in unison.

“Look, it’s obvious my coming here was a mistake. All I wanted was to catch a couple hours sleep before we go see Elvis.”

“This is about a damn psychic?” Tanya cast a stormy look my way. “You’re crazier than Gail, you know that? What, do you think some psychic is going to tell you who killed your friend?”

“This isn’t about Nick. Destiny’s got herself in a jam and I’m trying to help her out.”

“Her name’s Gail,” Tanya said. “The least you can do is call her by her real name.”

“Thanks for caring Sweetie, but Wes can call me whatever he wants. I’m not ashamed of what I do.” To emphasize her point, Destiny pulled off her top, unclipped her bra, and began to towel her hair. “I’m gonna hit the little girl’s room and get some sleep,” she said, before heading off toward the back of the house. “Tanya, I’ll let you show Wes where Alvin’s room is.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” Tanya said, but the sarcasm was lost on Destiny, who continued walking out of the room.

Tanya spun around. “Did you like the show?” She folded her arms and glared, daring me to say anything. I could feel the heat building within her and I decided to play it safe.

My grandfather once told me that in a confrontational situation, the person who speaks first loses, so I stuck my hands in my pants pockets, tried to act nonchalant, and waited. It didn’t take long.

“I understand you have a job to do,” Tanya said. “I understand your friend is dead and you feel you owe your mother something. But I didn’t expect you to hook up with Gail. She’s not your type.”

“Well, in all fairness you don’t know what my type is. Maybe I’ve got a thing for big girls with big boobs.”

“They’re not real, you know.”

“Maybe it doesn’t matter to me,” I said. “Maybe I’m a shallow letch looking to get laid.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’ve watched you at the bar. I’ve seen you shake off a dozen girls while you were working. At first I thought maybe you were gay.”

“I’m not.”

“I know. You shake off the guys who hit on you too. Ever so polite to both male and female.”

I shrugged. “Nothing wrong with being polite, is there?”

“No.” Her lips quivered and for a moment I thought she was going to smile. “Gail likes a challenge. I can see why she might be attracted to you. You’re a little taller than her. She hates short guys. And you’re the strong, silent type. You’re almost good looking in a Lyle Lovett sort of way.”

“I like to think of myself as a Brad Pitt kind of guy.”

“And I’d like to think I look like Jessica Alba, but I don’t. I’m still a little fuzzy on how the two of you got together though. I watched Gail leave with Billy.”

“We’re not together. Let’s just say Billy let her down and I happened on by and picked her up.”

“You’re not going to tell me what happened, are you?”

I shook my head. “You don’t want to know.”

“Yes I do.”

“No you don’t. I’m not sure how, but I think this all ties in to Nick’s death. I’m not going to get you involved. Now, were you going to show me to the room, or should I leave?”

Her face softened and she turned. “Follow me.” Tanya led me through the living room, down the hall past a small kitchen, and stopped in front of an open door. “You sleep here. There’s only one bathroom. It’s the closed door off the kitchen. You’ll have to wait until Gail and I are through in there. Good night.”

The hall was narrow and I pushed back into the wall when she passed, very aware of the thin robe she wore. An apple scent rose from her hair, like the smell of an orchard on a spring day. On any other occasion I would have enjoyed standing there with her dressed for bed, but at the time it felt a little weird.

She paused at the end of the hall and looked back over her shoulder. “Are you trying to tell me there’s nothing going on between you and Gail?”

“Like you said, she’s not my type.” I nodded to her, turned, and walked into the bedroom.

The room was cold. The bed and the dresser and the chair in the corner were made of walnut. Dark and heavy and old, they had a masculine feel about them, as if a woman never lived there. The drapes were yellowed and the air smelled of stale tobacco and mildew.

I took a quick peek in the closet, saw it was still filled with Alvin’s clothes, and I thought it must be hard for a young woman to have to toss out all those physical memories of her father. My heart went out to Tanya.

There was a worn paperback copy of a Randy Wayne White novel laying half read, page down on the dresser, along with a pipe rack, a bottle of Old Spice, and a windup alarm clock. The clock had stopped running and not been rewound. It was a depressing reminder that the grim reaper was out there, watching and waiting.

I pulled Bob’s gun from under my shirt, set it on the dresser, and removed the cash from my pocket. Fanning the damp bills I slid them under the barrel so they could dry out. I was tired, and not very pleased with the way the day had played out.

Nick was dead, Bob was looking to kill me, Destiny was playing me for a sucker, and Tanya seemed to think I was a horn dog sniffing after her friend. To top it off I had no idea who killed Nick, and in the next couple of days I was going to have to face my mother. I’d been avoiding that situation for a couple of months now, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for the confrontation.

I stripped off my clothes and hung them, along with the towel, over the back of the chair. Under normal circumstances I would have slept in my boxers, but everything was wet. Since I didn’t have a change of clothing with me I decided to make the best of the situation. After I climbed into bed I heard the toilet flush at the other end of the house, a chatter of female voices, and the rough closing of a door. A few minutes later I drifted off to sleep.

The ghost of fifteen-year-old Celine Stewart often haunts my dreams. She should have been having pajama parties and dating and going to proms. Instead, because of a mistake on my part, she was dead.

That night I saw her sitting in a field of daisies. She was dressed in the same jeans and sweatshirt she’d been wearing on the day she’d been kidnapped. Heat lightning lit the sky and she tilted her face upward and stared at me. There was fear in her eyes, and sadness, and when I called to her she turned and vanished, and I began to cry.

I opened my eyes to sunshine, filtered through the folds of the curtains. Dust motes danced in the air and the scent of frying bacon permeated the room. I looked at my watch and was surprised to discover I had slept past ten.

Jumping out of bed, I stretched before slipping into my still damp clothing. It was uncomfortable, and I felt a foul mood descending upon me again. I reminded myself this case had gone about as bad as it could.

That was before I turned my attention to the dresser. Both the stack of twenty-five hundred dollar bills I’d set out to dry before going to bed, and Bob’s revolver, were gone.

I clenched my teeth until my jaw hurt, but it was an unsuccessful attempt to control my anger. Someone was moving around in the kitchen. I was willing to bet my missing twenty-five hundred dollars it wasn’t Destiny.