At the same time
Bleu pulled her Honda all the way into the carport. That way Roche would have plenty of room to park in the driveway behind her.
She pushed open her door and barely stopped it from slamming wide open and into an old bike left by some previous occupant of the townhouse. Excitement fluttered in her belly. If she didn’t calm down, Roche would see how much it meant to her to see him after two days. That, or she’d make an idiot of herself in some other way.
Usually she avoided getting home after dark, but she’d spent the afternoon at Sam Bush’s office and they’d worked late. At least he hadn’t asked her out again, as she had feared he might. Sam was a lonely man. It had to be hard for him not to be free even though his wife had taken off.
Bleu liked Sam but he wasn’t her type.
The light outside the front door had burned out. She unlocked the front door, put her bag down to hold it open and reached to unscrew the dead bulb.
As soon as she touched it, it flashed on and she jumped. Immediately, the light went out again, and she barely stopped the globe from falling. With a shaky sigh, she screwed it back in. She was too jumpy these days.
Roche would arrive in less than an hour—barely time for her to shower and be ready. And she had to decide what to wear for a date at home. He was cooking dinner!
Bleu smiled, but her tummy twisted. She shut the front door and ran upstairs to her bedroom. The mattress she slept on was made, and her green cotton quilt helped make up for the Spartan surroundings, including the lack of an actual bed. A tall, unfinished chest of drawers, two green-striped carpets and a straight-backed wooden chair made up the rest of the decor.
She threw her purse on the mattress and flung open a closet door. Somewhere, she had a pair of blue silk pants she hadn’t worn since they were cleaned.
There they were. Carefully, Bleu put them down beside her purse.
Roche had called each day since the infamous date at Auntie’s. Bleu flinched at the thought of the place being her own choice. When she was feeling sensible, she could laugh at herself and the spectacle they’d witnessed. She wasn’t quite laughing now.
From the chest of drawers, she took a cotton sweater in a paler blue than the pants and dropped it on the mattress, too. Talking to Roche—he’d called more than once on each of the past two days—and starting to feel as if they were close had excited her.
His voice tightened her all over. Just the sound of him made her pulse race. But then she relaxed and felt warm and safe—and longed to be with him. There wasn’t much mystery about all this. She’d started falling in love with him.
She slammed the drawer shut and leaned her weight on the chest. Why should she be surprised that she reacted like a girl with a first boyfriend, dreamily imagining that this was a forever thing? Experience wasn’t her middle name.
A violent thud came from behind her. Bleu shot around, her heart in her throat, blood pounding in her ears.
The noise came from the bathroom.
Uncontrollable shaking took over.
Another bang.
A tearing sound.
Bleu caught a toe in the nearest rug, stumbled sideways catching at emptiness and fell against the closet, her shoulder landing hard enough to rattle the doors.
Angry, deep-throated grunts grew louder.
The bathroom lay between her and the top of the stairs. She’d never make it out of the bedroom if someone opened that bathroom door and came for her.
Her cell was in the bag on the mattress.
Everything was too far away to help her.
And she couldn’t seem to move.
The clock radio on the seat of her one chair blasted on. Loud enough so she could hear it when she was downstairs, yesterday she had thought to put it on a timer for safety reasons. Anyone managing to get into the house when she was at home in the evening would hear the noise and think there was someone up here.
Maybe they would.
Sweat drizzled down the sides of her face and the middle of her back.
Get the phone.
Grunts turned to hissing, then high-pitched howling and a crazed scratching on the other side of the bathroom door.
The tension ebbed. Bleu still shook but she giggled and felt ridiculous. A cat was shut in the bathroom, probably the big tabby that liked to sun himself outside her kitchen door.
He would be wild and dangerous when she let him out.
On her toes, she crossed the room. With her back to the wall, she reached for the bathroom door handle, turned it sharply and pushed.
Shrieking, the tabby emerged, first hunched down and spitting, then leaping and throwing himself downstairs, hissing with fury all the way.
Bleu wanted him out of the house. Now. She stepped cautiously down after him, listening so hard her ears popped, and walked into the one big room downstairs.
The end of the cat’s tail disappeared through an open window above the sink, and the instant quiet drained any fight Bleu had left. She managed to get herself to that window and shut it tight.
This would teach her to be more careful. She always made sure all windows and doors were secure before she left in the morning, but this time she couldn’t have checked that the catch was all the way down.
Now she really had to hurry, and on weak legs, Bleu rushed back the way she’d come. Last night, she had cleaned every inch of the place, and the flowers on her little table still looked fresh.
Her cell phone rang before she made it up the last couple of steps, but she reached her bag in time to answer.
“Hello,” she said, not meaning to sound so frazzled.
“Are you okay?” It was Roche.
“Great,” she lied, aware of a silly smile on her face. “Looking forward to seeing you.” Now, a cool woman didn’t blurt that out.
He didn’t answer, or not immediately. When he did, he said, “I am so sorry, Bleu. This is awful, but I can’t get there.”
Her throat ached. Then she felt a little sick, and her eyes burned.
Ridiculous. Things happened. Disappointments happened all the time. “Boo,” she said. “That’s a shame. You’ve been working really hard, haven’t you?” Unless he said otherwise, she would choose to believe that work was keeping him from their evening together.
“I have,” he said. “But I didn’t expect this one. I’ll explain better when I see you.”
Her breathing relaxed a bit. “I’ll be interested.” Psychiatry had begun to really intrigue her. Or perhaps she was hoping to find answers about herself. “What time do you think you’ll get away?” It didn’t matter if he was late.
“Not tonight, Bleu. I’m going to have to stand by. Are you going to forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” she said and forced a laugh. “You’re a busy man. Don’t worry about me, I’ve got plenty of chores to catch up on.” And she wasn’t proud that she felt weak and like having a good cry.
Darn that cat.
“Thank you,” Roche said. “I’m really bummed out. I’m glad you’re more grown up than me.”
He was kidding her, but she was glad he didn’t know just how disappointed she was. “I’m a baby,” she said. “But I’m not going to cry without an audience.”
They both laughed.
“Is it all right if I call you first thing?” Roche said. “Are you going to the rectory?”
“Yes, and yes,” she said.
“What time are you getting there?”
“Before you’ll be ready to get up,” she told him. “Just call my cell when you feel like it. Good luck tonight.” Now she wanted to get off the phone and be miserable all on her own.
“Expect an early ring,” he said.
Bleu smiled. “Okay, I’ll do that.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
It took her a few second to get a breath before she said, “Tomorrow. I’ll look forward to it. Good night.”
“Good night,” he said, and they hung up.
Pull yourself together and grow up. After Michael, weakness had been the first item on her list of emotions that had to go.
Back upstairs she went. She wasn’t interested in eating dinner anymore.
She hadn’t told Roche about the cat, because he would have grilled her on how it got in and she didn’t want to say she’d forgotten to close one of the windows.
The clothes she had chosen were quickly put away, and she pulled out her favorite pajamas instead.
Instead of a quick shower, she would take a long, hot bath in mountains of bubbles and read a book until she turned into a prune.
Locked in the bathroom, she checked for scratches on the back of the door and grimaced. The paintbrush would have to come out. The poor cat had terrified himself by shutting himself in.
The start of a headache niggled between her brows. The cat could have run inside through the front door while she was fixing the outside light.
She stripped off her clothes.
Air from the fan sent the shower curtain billowing inward. The current felt good. Bleu turned the faucets on and grabbed the edge of the curtain to pull it out.
On the bottom of the tub, in the first rivulet of water to shine its way over the porcelain, a pinkish-red streak wound a path.
Bleu gripped the curtain so tightly, a ring popped off the rod.
With a yank, she bared the tub.
In the bottom, with its head missing, lay the body of a chicken.