Ridley Pearson - Chain of Evidence

“It feels awkward to me, your helping.”

“You asked me to look into it for you.”

Did he want to be in debt to her? It felt as if that were where they were heading, and it didn’t feel good.

She said, “You’re worried about me. How sweet.”

He couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or straight with him, and he wondered when it was that he had lost track of such nuances. People get so close that they grow apart , he thought, wondering if every relationship was doomed before it began and feeling an ache deep within him.

Joe Dart headed home to spend the rest of his Halloween alone. He channel-surfed, finding nothing but stupid sitcoms with everyone in costume, and black-and-white monster movies with sinister sound tracks.

Two beers later, he conjured up the nerve to call Abby Lang. She answered on the third ring, and he asked if she was busy, and she said not terribly and asked what he had in mind. “Have you ever been a costume judge?” he asked her.

Together, they drove in and around Trinity College searching out the best costume. Dart was the designated driver. Abby sampled from a thermos of scorpions, her mood becoming lighter with each passing mile. An hour into it, she slid over next to him so that they were like two teenagers cruising Main. When either of them spotted an award-winning costume, Abby would hop out of the car and snap a Polaroid, using Dart’s crime scene camera. She then stood the photos on the dash, lined up like mug shots, until she accidentally bumped the defrost switch and sent them flying.

They rated a phosphorescent glow-in-the-dark skeleton highly; a monster with green hair and an enormous wart-encrusted nose won a place in their top five, as did a giant turtle. But the blue ribbon went to a group of seven students, each dressed as a spear of green asparagus, the lot of them bound together around the middle with a blue sash as if contained in a rubber band. Deciding that seven walking spears of asparagus could not be topped, the two headed to Abby’s downtown loft, so that Dart could partake of the scorpions.

The loft was near the train tracks in a no-man’s-land across the Bulkeley Bridge, an area of town unfamiliar to him. It was a second-story loft, accessed by a clunky old freight elevator that smelled of sawdust and burning electrical motors, and gave Dart the impression of entering an abandoned building. But on the other side of the steel door to the apartment was a world all Abby’s. She had sanded the wood plank floors back to blond, and had hung seven white and green silk parachutes as her ceiling with the fixtures on the other side of the fabric so that the vast open space glowed in a soft, flattering light. White Sheetrock walls defined the kitchen, to the right, and a bath, some partitioned bedrooms, an office, and closet to the left. Directly ahead, a pot-bellied wood stove served as the focal point of lawn furniture with green striped cushions, including two chaise lounges and a quirky chess set that she used as a side table.

“Do you play?” he asked her as he built a fire at her request.

“Is that a come-on?” she answered.

“Chess.”

“Yes. And bridge and tennis and softball. And volleyball if it’s a sand court. I can’t play indoors anymore.”

“Where are the kids?”

“I dumped them off with a friend,” she answered. Then she added, “For the night.” And Dart felt her answer clear down to his toes.

“That’s where I’m lucky,” she continued. “Being a one-person division, I can pretty much make my own hours.”

He heard her mixing the drinks. He felt that he had somehow invited himself to stay with her, and that wasn’t his intention- or was it? he wondered. The bottom line was that he felt awkward, stretched out on a chaise lounge beneath a parachute, a fire crackling in front of him and a woman, four or five years older than he, mixing drinks in a kitchen half a block away.

“You’re going to love this batch,” she announced.

She had pulled off her sweater and unbuttoned the top two buttons of her shirt. She had kicked off her shoes so that he could see her toes wiggle nervously as she took the chaise lounge next to him and placed a tray bearing a pitcher of scorpions and their two filled cocktail glasses. The paper napkins had Gary Larson cartoons on them, and the swizzle sticks read: Cactus Pete’s Casino, Jackpot, Nevada. Dart felt outgunned.

She jumped up and put on a CD-south-of-the-border guitar instrumentals. He sipped the drink-mixed to kill-and felt himself relax.

“That was nice what you did for Lewellan,” she said, her eyes on the fire. “Arranging with the mother to allow the girl the rabbits. A homicide dick with a heart-now there’s a concept.”

He felt his face flush hot. “It just seemed to make sense, that’s all.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I’m not going to rat on you. I think it’s sweet.”

Trying to steer the topic away from himself, he said, “She’s so … young? I don’t know how you do it.”

“Innocent?” she asked.

“That’s what I wanted to say, yes. But she isn’t, is she?”

“No. Not thanks to Gerry Law.”

“I couldn’t do your job.”

“We each find our calling.”

He wanted to ask her how she had ended up in sex crimes and sex offenses, and then he realized that he didn’t want to know. He admired her. He felt a little intimidated. Could he date a lieutenant? “Packs a punch,” he said of the drink.

“You can handle it,” she replied, drinking down a liberal amount and wiggling her toes again.

The music took over, punctuated by sparks from the fire. She topped off his drink. He was well on his way to drunk. “The turtle was pretty good,” she said, recalling the costumes.

“Um,” Dart answered. “But the asparagus was genius.”

“Yeah. Incredible. You went kind of weird after our night in the crib,” she said honestly, the booze getting to her. “Was that so bad?” She added, “I thought it was fun.”

He looked over at her, but she kept her attention on the fire, letting him look. He finally admitted, “I enjoyed it. I guess I felt awkward. I don’t know.”

“You’ve been treating me like I don’t exist.”

“I felt like I forced you into that.”

“Into kissing you?” she asked. “Are you kidding?” She enjoyed some more of the drink. “Into taking my clothes off, maybe.” She laughed. “It certainly was an interesting first date.” She rocked her head and looked directly at him. Her eyes were smiling. Glassy. Her lips were a deep red and moist from the drink, and if their chaise lounges had been closer together he would have tried to kiss her. “What are you thinking?” she asked slyly.

“Nervous,” he confessed.

“Good.”

“Why is that good?” he questioned.

“I have my reasons.” Abby got up and moved the table with the drinks and pushed her chaise lounge closer to his. She teased, “If this bothers you, keep it to yourself. I’m feeling particularly good at the moment, and I can be dangerous when I feel this good.”

“I like danger,” he answered, reaching out for her hand and taking hers. “Is this all right?” he asked.

“This is perfect,” she answered, holding a knowing smile on her face. Dart felt suddenly at risk, under her spell- her control, he feared-and it made him uneasy.

“You’re not going to freak out, are you?” she asked.

You know me already, he thought.

She explained, “I like your company. Especially tonight. I make no claim to ownership. I ask nothing more of you than to relax and enjoy yourself. We’re both adults. We’re allowed this now and then.” She squeezed his hand in hers as a signal. “Okay with you?”