On Friday night, Elsie sat at the kitchen table, wrapped in a terrycloth robe. Her laptop was open on the table in front of her, and she leaned close to it with absorption. The words on the screen were familiar to her: Missouri criminal statutes defining sex offenses. She clicked the computer, rereading the language of the criminal code, searching the language from a new perspective.
Her cell phone sat at her left hand. When her phone hummed, she picked it up without looking.
“Ash?”
A laugh sounded in her ear; it was Breeon, not Ashlock. Breeon said, “Well, I got lucky. Where are you?”
“Home. Sitting in the kitchen.” Looking down, Elsie frowned as she plucked at a fraying patch on the worn terrycloth robe.
“Great. Excellent. Let’s go see a movie.”
Bree’s voice had a lilt to it; like a kid out of school for a snow day. Elsie checked the time on the computer screen, and scowled.
“Naw, I can’t leave. I’m waiting around for Ashlock.”
“Elsie Arnold! Since when do you waste a Friday night waiting on a man?”
It was a reasonable question. A year ago, she would have been kicking off the dust of the week, lighting up the night spots; undeterred by the fact that the number of cocktail venues in Barton was pitifully small.
A can of Diet Coke sat on the table, and she lifted it for a swallow, but only the dregs remained. “He had to deliver Burton to his mom; it’s her visitation weekend. They meet halfway. But he should’ve been here ages ago. I’m tempted to start drinking alone.”
“Don’t do that. Let me pick you up. If you don’t want to see a movie, we can grab a beer somewhere.”
The mention of beer motivated Elsie to rise from her chair and walk to the refrigerator. Staring at the contents, she beheld a six pack of Corona in bottles and a couple of cans of Coors Light.
Though her mother taught that a considerate hostess would save the best for her anticipated guest, he’d been keeping her waiting way too long. She popped the cap on a Corona and took a sip from the neck.
And a thought occurred. “What are you doing, drumming up a Friday night companion? I can never drag you out on Friday, no matter how hard I try. Is Taylor with her daddy in St. Louis?”
“No. After the ball game, she asked if she could spend the night with a friend. So, I find myself with a free evening. On a Friday, no less. And I’ve got no prospects. It’s kind of pitiful, actually.”
Elsie sat down on the kitchen chair and tipped back the bottle. “Who’s Taylor hanging with? One of the basketball girls?”
“No, it’s a new friend. Her name’s Desiree. She’s kind of an odd duck; not like Taylor at all. I think Taylor has taken her under her wing.”
Elsie was only half listening; she heard footsteps approaching in the hallway outside her apartment; and they had a familiar tread.
“Bree, I think Ash may be showing up at last.”
“Okay, hon. I’ll let you go. See you in court on Monday.”
When he knocked, she checked the time on the laptop: it was past nine. He was late. Two hours late.
She shuffled to the door in stocking feet and looked through the peephole before she unlocked it.
“Sorry,” Ashlock said, walking in and shedding his jacket. “She got held up at work, and didn’t get to West Plains till way past time.”
Elsie nodded, with resignation. She wasn’t actually surprised he’d been delayed. It was a commonplace occurrence.
“How was she? Jolly?” Elsie walked to the refrigerator and pulled out another bottle of Corona. She sawed a wedge of lime on the kitchen counter with a serrated knife.
“You should do that on a cutting board. You’ll scar the countertop,” Ashlock said.
She shoved the limes into the necks of the bottles. “Don’t rat me out to the landlord.” Looking over her shoulder, she made a face at him.
Taking the fresh bottle, he stood behind her and kissed her neck. “You sure smell good.”
“I took a bath. Since I had the time.”
He followed her to the living room; as they settled on the couch, she indicated the TV remote on the coffee table. “You want to watch TV? I’ll let you work the remote.”
He groaned and swilled from the bottle. “It’s been a long week, and I just spent thirty minutes negotiating holidays. I’d just like a chance to relax.” He put an arm around Elsie’s shoulders and pulled her close to him. “Some peace and quiet, that’s what I want.”
He closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the sofa. Since he had mentioned holidays, Elsie considered broaching her mother’s Thanksgiving invitation, but decided to let him rest. So she drank her Corona; and when the bottle was empty, she went to the kitchen for a fresh one. After she opened it, she lingered by the kitchen table, clicking the computer mouse and looking at the screen of the laptop.
Ashlock opened his eyes and called to her. “What are you doing over there?”
She looked over at him with a perturbed expression. “Thinking.”
“Thinking about something bad, from the look of it.” He patted the cushion beside him.
She joined him again, scooting close beside him on the couch, but remained pensive. “I’ve read the reports. Been rereading the statutes. Lord knows, I am familiar with the case law.”
“What are you going on about?”
“The assault at the Rancho. Mandy.”
“Ah,” he said, reaching for his beer. Deadpan, he said: “Mandy Candy.”
She frowned. “Yeah.”
“C-A-N-D-Y. That’s how you spell it.”
“Ash, it’s really bugging me. I keep going back to the report.”
He brushed her long hair off her back and over one shoulder, then massaged her neck with his fingers. “Well, I wrote the report. If there’s a problem with it, I’m your man.”
His hands were working familiar magic; as he tugged at her robe and rubbed her shoulders, she resisted the urge to drop the subject.
“Ash, every time I read the report, it sounds inconclusive. Like there’s a question about whether a case can be made for assault. I don’t feel like we’re doing right by that girl.”
He squeezed the tense muscles of her back with warm, strong hands. “The only thing standing in our way is her. Miss Mandy. Because she won’t give it up. Not her name, not the facts, not the suspect. She’s made it impossible to proceed.”
Elsie’s jaw tensed; but she slipped her arms out of the robe to give him better access.
“Not impossible. More difficult, yeah. But not impossible.”
His hands kneaded her lower back; she stifled a moan.
After a quiet moment, she whispered, “Nothing’s impossible.”
He bit her shoulder; she squeaked in surprise. Shifting on the sofa to face him, she rubbed the tender spot with her hand.
“What was that for?”
He tugged at the belt of her bathrobe. “Are you buck naked under there?”
When he opened the bathrobe, he had his answer. He let out a happy sigh, pushing her down on the sofa with a firm hand.
“Don’t you want to go to the bedroom?”
“Too far.”
As he unzipped his pants, she raised up on one elbow. “Aren’t we even gonna order a pizza?”
“Later,” he said.
And later, they did. With pepperoni and sausage. Extra large.