I screamed as someone grabbed me from behind.
The light in the Wine Jug was nonexistent. Okay, you could see, but barely. I always did better after my eyes had a chance to adjust, but Ginger and Wendy tackled me before that happened.
Ginger giggled. “What are you so skittish about?” she shouted over the band, Oro Ignited, which was playing on the small stage in the corner of the bar.
Wendy dragged me to their table and poured me a glass of a local white Zinfandel. The golden hills of California were fast becoming a mecca for small wineries that couldn’t afford the high real estate prices in Napa and Sonoma counties. It seemed that every day a new tasting room was popping up, and we were the happy beneficiaries.
The wine was a bit too sweet for my taste, but it was cold, and I wasn’t in a complaining mood.
“I found a bloody shoe in Jason’s trash.”
Ginger frowned. “Was it an old shoe or what? What do you mean bloody?”
“It was a man’s shoe. New shoe. Expensive. It looked like there were drops of blood on it. I told Jason about it, and when he went to check it out, it was gone.”
Wendy refilled her wine glass. “Who cares about an old shoe? What happened with Jason? Did he pop the question or what?”
I shook my head, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
Ginger reached for my hand. “It’s going to happen, honey. Be patient.”
I nodded, trying to hide the disappointment that was surging in my body. I swallowed hard, and before tears could come, I decided to change the subject back to safe territory. “The whole shoe thing is pretty weird, huh? I can’t believe Jason didn’t find it. I have to go look again myself,” I said over the music. Suddenly, the band took a break and I found myself still yelling, “Will you come with me?”
My face flushed as all eyes turned toward me. I smiled at the neighboring tables and then sipped my Zinfandel.
The crowd got noisy again, and Wendy leaned in. “You mean go back to Jason’s and poke around his trash? No way!”
Ginger flashed me look that I interpreted as she’d go with me later when we dropped off Wendy. I nodded at her, and she winked at me conspiratorially.
Wendy was too delicate to go digging in someone’s trash. Even if that someone was my intended, or soon-to-be intended.
“Come on, you’re good at digging,” I teased her.
“Gold digging maybe.” She smiled and batted her false eyelashes at me.
“Or digging for gossip,” Ginger added. “She’s great at that.”
“A girl has got to have special talents in life,” Wendy said.
I grabbed a couple of peanuts from the bowl in the center of the table and a strange sensation tingled through me.
What if Jason was in danger?
Ben, the lead singer of Oro Ignited and friend to everyone in town, sauntered over to us. “Evening, ladies. Evening, Frannie.” He flashed me a strange, shy look that I couldn’t interpret, then turned his attention to Ginger. “I heard your jewelry designs are the hottest fad in town.” He took an empty chair from nearby, spun it around, and seated himself at our table with his arms and chest resting on the back of the chair.
Ginger grinned as wide as the Cheshire cat. “Who, pray tell, told you that?”
“My Aunt Jeannie was at the sale today. She brought a flashy pendant, and now my mother is scheming to steal it . . . I mean, borrow it from her.”
While Ginger made small talk with Ben, Wendy leaned over to me. “So, what’s up? Why do you think Jason didn’t propose tonight?”
Her question poked at a sensitive part of my heart, and I suddenly felt hollowed out. I would have much preferred to dwell on the mystery of the bloody shoe than the mystery of the missed proposal.
I’d been so sure. All signs pointed to go, and yet . . .
I shrugged and felt my eyes start to fill.
Wendy grabbed my hand. “Oh, honey! Come on.” She pulled me to my feet and led me to the ladies’ room. Under the fluorescent lights, I looked like the wreck of the Hesperus.
“No wonder he didn’t propose! Look at me!” I yelped.
Wendy laughed and smoothed down my hair. “You be quiet. You look fine.”
While Ginger had always been my closest girlfriend and had nursed me through my shares of broken hearts, Wendy was a more recent addition in my life. Being that she was married to my brother and we worked together on a daily basis at The Nugget, I was finally starting to feel like I could confide in her.
I collapsed onto the chaise in the ladies’ room and sighed. “I’m not giving up. I’m still sure he’s the one, but he’s under a lot of pressure is all. I think next week, after he gets the promotion . . .”
Wendy ran some tap water and wet a paper towel. She quirked a brow at me as she pressed the towel to the back of my neck. “You can have anyone in town, darling. I don’t want you to settle.”
I frowned. “I’m not settling! I love Jason.”
She nodded. “Of course you do. What about Ben? Have you noticed the way he looks at you?”
I felt a surge of defensiveness. “I love Jason. He’s the one.”
She dabbed delicately at her lips. “Right. Ben and I were talking earlier. He and I made a deal.”
“What about?” I studied Wendy’s reflection in the mirror, wondering what was coming next. Ben had been best friends with my first husband, but they’d parted ways more or less about the time of our divorce.
“He wants me to use my power of influence with Dale Myers to get his band back on the main stage for Living History Day.”
I snorted. “What power of influence?”
Wendy laughed. “Well, I am in charge of all the costumes. Don’t you think the threat of having everyone dance around naked is substantial?”
We giggled. The kind of infectious, delirious laughter bubbling through us after a stressful day was enough for us to slump together and wipe the tears dry.
Taking advantage of her good mood, I said, “Come with me to have a look in Jason’s garbage can.”
Wendy scrunched up her nose. “I told you. I’m not digging through someone's garbage.”
“You don’t have to dig through his garbage. I just want to see if the shoe is there.” She looked unconvinced, but I laced an arm through hers and pulled her out of the ladies’ room. “What are sisters-in-law for anyway?”
“Not this!” she protested, but she didn’t untangle her arm from mine.
“I won’t tell,” I urged.
She snickered. “Your brother would die if he knew I was digging through someone’s trash.”
“I know, I know. You’re a gold digger, not a trash digger,” I teased.
She pinched my arm. “Shut it, sister.”
I laughed, but she only pinched harder until I said, “Ouch! Okay, okay, I take it back, humorless.”
Back at our table, the entire band had joined Ginger for cocktails. She was flirting outrageously with all of them, sitting on someone’s lap while another guy rubbed her feet. I knew I’d never be able to convince her to leave with us. Instead, I wiggled my fingers at her in farewell. She made a phone receiver out of her hand and gestured that she’d call me later.
Wendy and I exited the Wine Jug, the cool night air a reprieve from the stifling atmosphere of the bar. We walked down the streets of Golden arm in arm, Wendy chatting about the costumes she was finalizing.
Even though I tried to focus on her chatter, my mind was on the bloody shoe. When we turned the corner to Jason’s block, a chill crept up my spine. What exactly was I going to do with the shoe if I found it?
We entered the alley, and a cat hissed at us, then ran off.
A black cat no less.
Wendy screeched, “Bad luck!”
I poked her in the ribs. “Don’t worry about that. It’s the neighbor’s cat.” I said it to calm her down, but the truth was I was superstitious too.
The alley was curiously clean. There were no drops of blood like before. It was as if someone had scrubbed the concrete clean.
I flipped open the lid of the black garbage can.
There was no shoe. There wasn’t anything, not even garbage.
“How weird! It was here,” I said to Wendy.
“Where?” she asked.
“The place is spotless. Garbage pickup isn’t until Monday,” I said.
“Somebody must have picked it up,” she answered.
I looked through the other bins quickly. The recycling and compost bins were half-full and seemed the same as before. “It doesn’t make any sense. Does it?”
“No,” she said. “It doesn't make sense that you would drag me out here to look at an empty trash can.”
I poked her shoulder for her to be quiet, but she was just getting started.
“It’s like the time you hauled me over to the Dress Stop to rummage through the sales bins when the sale was already over. Do you remember? Or the time—”
I pulled out my phone and quickly dialed Jason, glaring at Wendy and shushing her as I left a voicemail for Jason.
“He didn’t answer,” I said. “I’m going to go up and see if he’s okay.”
Wendy flashed me a look of concern. “Why wouldn’t he be okay?”
“I don’t know. I’m sure he’s okay. That’s not what I meant. I guess I’m just freaked out.”
She shrugged. “I know you were hoping for a proposal, sweetheart, but sometimes the men, they keep us waiting. Give him some space. Do you know how long it took your brother to propose?”
I wasn’t about to get into this conversation with Wendy again, so I said, “Speaking of which, George is probably back from the mine and wondering where you are.”
“Right. I’d better go.” Wendy wrapped her arms around me and gave me a squeeze. “Walk me to Pine?”
Pine Street was only a short way down the street, and from there we’d head in different directions. We walked in silence, then said goodbye at the intersection. I knew she’d asked me to walk her this way so that she could ensure I’d head home instead of going back to Jason’s.
I watched her leave, and when she rounded the next corner, I doubled back toward Jason’s apartment. It wasn’t worth discussing with Wendy. She didn’t understand that I needed to see him again.
I rounded the corner and sat on the steps of his apartment house and called his cell again.
No answer.
He was probably working, and it would be pushy of me to intrude. After all, I’d already called him twice. Still, the matter of the garbage being whisked away was bothering me. What if something had happened to him?
No, I was being ridiculous.
I fidgeted on the stairs, not knowing whether to go up or not. I imagined Jason surprising me at the top of the stairs with a ring. Although he had been rather standoffish tonight, could it be he had a black velvet box hidden somewhere in his apartment and was waiting for the right time to ask me?
He was probably waiting for his promotion. Maybe he’d surprise me with the news of the promotion and then pop the question. Yes, that’s probably how it’d go down. Jason would make reservations at the local chophouse for Friday night. That seemed fancy enough. It wasn’t New York City fine dining, but at least they had white tablecloths.
Then Living History Day on Saturday; it could be my going away party from Golden. All my friends would be there, and maybe Oro Ignited would play after all. I’d be able to say goodbye to everybody in style with a big fat diamond on my hand.
Oh, where was Jason?
I dialed his number again.
No answer.
Forget it. I climbed the steps to his apartment and knocked at the door. “Jason?”
Silence.
He’s probably wrapped up in his work.
Still. I had to at least see him one final time before heading home.
My forgetful computer genius kept an extra key under his mat. It seemed that all he could keep track of were formulas and advanced algorithms. Forget about keys and wallets. I unearthed the key, stuck it in the door, and slowly pushed it open.
I peeked my head in. “Honey.”
No answer.
I tiptoed into the apartment. It was eerily quiet.
“Jason?”
Still no response.
I walked to the living room; his laptop was still aglow.
Where was he?
He’d probably gone out to get something to eat. Maybe he was at The Spoon, our local burger joint, enjoying a greasy cheeseburger and all the fries he could stuff into his face.
I turned on my heel and headed toward his bedroom, still calling out to no avail, “Jason?”
Before I could push open the door to his bedroom, my phone buzzed. Jason’s face illuminated the screen. “Hello?” I said into the phone.
“Frannie, where are you?” Jason asked.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“I’m at the Wine Jug looking for you.”
“Oh! I came back to your place. I was worried about you,” I said.
“My place?”
Was I imagining it, or was there a tone of panic in his voice?
“Yeah. I used your key from under the mat. I got worried about—”
“Worried? Uh . . . stay there! I’ll be right back,” he said.
“Okay.”
“Sit on the couch in the living room. I’m coming right now,” he said.
“Alright, honey, no problem.” The cell phone reception started to get spotty, our connection sputtering and cracking. “I’ll see you in a minute,” I said, ready to hang up.
“Wait for me in the living room,” he said again.
“Right,” I agreed.
“My bedroom’s a mess,” he added by way of explanation.
“Don’t worry about that,” I said.
Why was he all nervous and panicked? Was he hiding something in there? A black velvet box, perhaps?
We hung up, and I couldn’t resist. I pressed my palm against the door to his bedroom and pushed it open.
The room was not messy at all. In fact, it was the opposite of messy. It was nearly empty.
The bed was made and a few file boxes were sitting between the closet and his nightstand, as if he’d been packing.
That was strange.
My stomach flip-flopped, an odd feeling spreading from my torso into my throat. Certainly he was planning on proposing, he was just packing up getting ready for our move to New York. That had to be right. He was packed up to move with me . . . with me, not without me.
Right?
I carelessly opened one of his dressers. It was empty—no socks, underwear, or small velvet box.
No!
There had to be a mistake. Jason wasn’t going to leave without proposing. He was going to propose; we were moving to New York together. I knew that.
I slid open the mirrored door of his closet. Two dark suits hung side by side like lost, forgotten soldiers. The rest of his closet was packed up.
I swallowed the dread bubbling up inside my throat.
He was going to leave!
He was leaving me in Golden. He was taking off to New York after the promotion on his own. He hadn’t said anything to me about packing.
A mixture of sorrow and rage boiled inside me. I kicked the trunk by the end of bed.
Was the trunk empty too?
Without hesitation, I yanked open the lid. An unexpected sight burned my eyes, and a bloodcurdling scream escaped my throat, leaving me woozy and aghast. Inside the trunk was the shoeless body of Dale Meyer.