I had entered Barrie’s house with a live suspect and left with a dead one. Now to discover whether Darryl had been behind the attempted runover and if someone had been behind Darryl. I also left Jonathan’s with new questions about Emil’s original story. I toyed with the possibility that Blackhead had tried to use me to smear Jonathan about his relationships with Peter and Darryl. But Emil didn’t seem clever enough to concoct that idea. Or brave enough to pull it off.

I sat in the car, my mind limping up and down the block. What had happened to the Lew Archer in me? That desire to manipulate the pieces of an incomplete picture? Right now, the only pictures I wanted to manipulate were on television.

A surge of protectiveness for Melanie plowed through me. I fingered through the dashboard ashtray and found a fair-sized roach buried under the cigarette butts. I shook the dirt off my hand and lit up. When I finished I took off for the storefront. A decent roll-of-the-dice would put Mel there.

One of the Harrigan sisters, the bigger one, stared at me as I walked through the door. “Damn, a regular after-hours party. Melanie ought to ask me to cover on Saturdays more often. She said she’d be here, but didn’t say anything about you.”

“She didn’t know.”

“Well, I hope you can lighten her mood.”

“Janice. Must you constantly gossip?” It wasn’t a question. Margaret had stormed out from the back room to stand at her sister’s side. “Why does Melanie’s foul mood shock you? You’ve known her long enough.”

Janice retorted, “Why does my talking shock you? You’ve known me your entire life!” I broke into their argument. “You go back a long time, don’t you?”

Margaret said, “Of course, we’re sisters.”

I smiled. “I meant the two of you and Melanie.”

Janice nodded, glanced at Margaret and said, “All the way back.” “Was it as rough for you?” I asked.

Janice shook her head, eager to fill me in. “Not even close. We were the lucky ones in the neighborhood. We had a family—no money—but everybody lived together. Melanie was much worse off. Her home was so lousy she couldn’t live there. She didn’t have anything, except maybe her brother Peter.”

“You knew her when she was little?”

Margaret piped up, “From a distance. We became closer after Peter died. Before that Melanie didn’t have friends of her own.”

“But you knew them,” I prompted. “I guess you were shocked by Peter’s death?”

Before anyone answered, Melanie’s voice ripped through the hall like the crack of a whip. “Everyone was shocked, Matt. Why wouldn’t they be?”

I turned around with a start. Mel had entered the storefront without a sound. She glared at Janice as if daring contradiction.

Janice shook her head. “Oh no. Don’t look at me that way, Mel. I’m not the least bit interested in catching your shit. Just thank us for covering and we’ll leave.”

I noticed Therin slouched against the front door. I looked back at Mel, who wore a rigid smile. Her eyes glittered behind her round glasses, but all she said was, “Thank you, Janice. You too, Margaret.”

Both women nodded and prepared to leave. I leaned against the wall while Melanie went inside her cubicle. Therin had a sarcastic smile on his face.

Margaret walked over and stuck out her hand. “I hope we meet again under more pleasant circumstances, Matthew.” She said my name to let me know she had remembered. Janice strolled by, winked, and pumped her arm, Arsenio-style, as she walked out the door. Margaret shook my hand and followed. I felt foolish standing by myself in the hall so I was relieved, despite her sharp tone, to hear Mel call.

I’d barely closed the partition door when she snapped, “How dare you come here and question people about Peter’s death? Don’t you ever stop lying? Why won’t you leave his accident alone?” Her jaw worked, and her fists opened and closed at her sides. She seemed a spit away from rage.

“Look, nothing’s changed for me about Peter. I heard about Darryl and it’s hard not to be curious.”

She drew her head back and bit down on her lower lip. “How do you know about Darryl?” I looked through the plywood wall toward the front desk. “Do you want to talk here?” Melanie put her glasses on the desk and instructed, “Come with me.”

I followed her down the corridor into the empty, unlit back room. She closed the door behind us, sat down at a table, and flicked her hand toward the seat next to her. I picked the one across. What passed for light shone through a pair of dirty windows set high on the side wall. The gray shadows added to her already frayed look.

“I think you owe me an explanation.” There was more control, but no less anger. “I had a long conversation with Jonathan today.”

“Jonathan?” A note of surprise shared stage with her fury. “He wanted me to look into Darryl’s death.”

A flash of worry crossed her face. “I don’t understand.”

I shrugged. “He’s having trouble accepting the official explanation.” She shook her head impatiently. “I thought we had settled that.” “You seem annoyed at him?”

“I am.

I waited, but there was nothing more forthcoming. “I’m surprised,” I finally added. “Why?” Her bright eyes probed my face.

I felt confronted as if by police lights, but couldn’t find anywhere to retreat. “His response to both of them dying in the quarry is understandable,” I said carefully, steeling myself for a clubbing.

Melanie gave a brusque nod of her head. “You sound just like him. I’m not blind to the similarities either, Matt. Do you think I’m always this much on edge? But it only makes it worse to create something out of nothing. Something out of a stupid coincidence!” She flattened her palms on the top of the table, leaned forward and said, “There are three or four drownings a year in that damn quarry.”

I nodded my agreement.

“I don’t want anyone disturbing my past. Not Jonathan, not you, not me.” She picked my hand off the table, held it close to her lips, and stared blankly at my knuckles. “First you, now this. It hurts me to have all these memories keep surfacing. I’ve spent a lifetime getting them under control.”

“That’s what I told Jonathan,” I said. I felt bad for her. For all of us. I walked around to Melanie’s side of the table and sat down. She turned her body slightly away, so I placed my hand on the top of her back. I felt her shudder as if she were crying. I couldn’t see her face and she was silent, so I grasped her shoulders and pulled her into me. She laid the back of her head on my shoulder. She chose the sore arm, but I kept myself from flinching.

I looked down at her face; her eyes were squeezed shut. After a long moment she said softly, “I hope you convinced him.”

“I don’t know. At least, he didn’t look like he was about to hit the street.”

She pulled herself upright. Her eyes were clear and dry. “Are you going to ‘hit the street’ for him?”

I stood, pushed the chair closer to the table, and gripped the back. “No.”

It had been a mistake to come. Confused relationships, especially mine with Melanie, simply highlighted the emptiness that had built up inside me. “No, I’m not going to work for him. I don’t believe the deaths are connected. I don’t really think Jonathan does either. But Darryl’s death shook him and he’s grasping at straws.”

I took a deep breath and rushed on. “After I left you the other night somebody tried to run me down. Or at least frighten me, with a 4×4. I think it has something to do with Emil and drugs, but I’m not sure. I can’t walk away without figuring it out. I told Jonathan that if I discover anything weird about Darryl’s death I’ll tell him. I also told him I had no intention of looking into Peter’s accident.” I listened to the fatigue in my voice.

“Why do you think you will learn anything about Darryl?”

She’d stood during my explanation and now moved close to me. I bent down and tried to wipe the look of defeat from her face with a light kiss. “I’ll know how to answer that when I do a little more work.”

Melanie closed her eyes again, and I silently debated another kiss. We were close enough to feel each other’s breath. Hers was shallow and rapid, though I couldn’t tell if it reflected excitement or anxiety. A part of me wanted to lose myself with her. To spend the day, the night, or however long it took to understand my attraction. To finally be able to understand this past, present, piece of my life.

But most of me felt distant, too tired to spend time with anyone.

The quiet was finally broken by the sound of Therin calling abruptly from the front, “It’s time to leave, Melanie.”

She looked at me with dulled eyes. “I promised to spend time with Therin. I hope you weren’t…”

I interrupted, “No, no, I just stopped by to see if you were okay.”

She smiled sadly. “I’ll be fine. I have to be. But it was sweet of you to worry.”

She tilted her head; this time our lips met. I could feel her tongue search for mine. Despite my weariness I felt myself respond. I broke the kiss and held her at arm’s length. A shine of tears glossed her eyes.

As we walked slowly toward the front she asked, “You have to continue, don’t you?” I nodded.

But she held my arm. “I’m afraid to let you go.” “I’m not in any danger.”

We had arrived at the front to find Therin looking daggers, his feet up on the desk. I had a sudden impulse to lean down and slap his shoes. Instead I kissed Melanie on the cheek, and walked out the door.

I aimed the car out of The End, feeling a rush of fresh breathing air once the neighborhood’s squalor sat squarely in the mirror. What had begun as a bridge to my past had somehow trapped me with Boots crying at her door, and Melanie crying in The End. About what? Her long-dead brother? Jonathan? Me? The past had become indistinguishable from the present, but the bridge had a two way toll. I only wished I knew the cost.