| |
"I said I was sorry." I didn’t know how many times I needed to apologize. I was so sure it was a prostitution thing. It should be. It was a great set-up. Maybe I should suggest it to Peter after the police closed their case and weren't snooping around all the time. I slumped back into the cab's leather seat. The cab smelled of curry, making me nauseated.
"Why couldn't I have fallen for a 'normal' girl?" Gray held my hand in his, patting the back of it with his other hand. I figured he couldn't be too angry with me if he was willing to still be affectionate.
"Regan, let’s just drop this, okay?" Gray suggested.
"No. Something is going on! Why else would the mayor's name be on the client list?"
"I don't know. Maybe because he is a client. The mayor of Chicago, the third largest city in the U.S., is a perfect example of someone who would hire expensive, pretty bartenders to work private events."
"And a politician is a perfect person to hire an escort!" I said.
"That’s it. Stop it. This isn't one of your books, this isn't a movie, ‘this’ isn't even one of your bad reality TV shows. Just drop it." Gray let go of my hand to rub his eyes.
I needed to learn to shut my mouth. Gray truly was angry with me. I did want to giggle, thinking about the look on Sarah's face when I asked about sex, but I didn't think now was the time. I had never seen anyone leave a room so quickly. She picked up her purse and left, saying there was a misunderstanding before my question had even penetrated Gray's brain.
"Can we go home now?" I asked. We had left Jax's place and got in a cab, telling the cabbie to just drive around. The first forty-five minutes, no one had spoken. Now, we were bickering. I think I preferred the tense silence.
"Yes." Gray leaned forward giving the cabbie Peter's address. We were just passing Wrigley Field, which gave us a few more minutes. There was never any talk about where Gray would go. Once he proposed and I said yes, he moved right into Peter’s guest room with me.
The lights were on when we reached Peter's. I could see him moving around in the condo from the sidewalk. His shadow passed through the windows every few minutes. I dreaded going up those stairs. I had never been a fan of the unknown. We found him in the kitchen, cooking dinner.
"Oh, good. You're home. Dinner is almost ready," he said. For someone who spent their afternoon in a police station, he seemed very calm.
"Hi. How was your day?" I couldn't help myself from asking politely like it was a common occurrence to spend the day at the police station. I sat down on one of the bar stools. Gray had followed me into the kitchen but had his back to us, getting something to drink. Peter took Gray’s return as he took everything, with barely an acknowledgment before going back to something that interested him.
"I'm sure you’ve already heard about it. I know all about your day. Anything you want to tell me?" Peter asked.
"Yeah, Regan, anything you want to tell him?" Gray chimed in, giving me a grin over his water bottle.
I think I could safely assume that Peter was well aware of my adventures for the day. I could take the high road and admit to my exploits of Sarah, but I didn’t feel like the climb right now. I'd just wait for him to bring it up with a more direct question.
"It was just so-so. Um, so, how's it feel to be a felon?" I asked him, turning the tables.
"You are such a funny girl.” Peter patted my cheek. “I was released an hour ago, but they confiscated my passport." Peter pulled the oven door open, checking on the contents. Whatever it was, it smelled amazing.
"I know you didn't do it," I said.
"Thanks for the faith. As a show of goodwill, we didn't charge Gray's credit card today."
"I should hope not. She didn't even put out.”
"She's not supposed to. She's a bartender. Regan, what were you thinking?" He stood up, slamming the oven door.
"I don't know. It seemed like a good idea, at the time."
"Did you think to just ask me? I would've told you if I was selling sex. We've been friends for a long time. I love sex. I’d be bragging if I were making money from it," Peter said.
He had me there. Peter did love sex. All kinds of sex. I said, “I’m sorry,” for the hundredth time today. My imagination just got out of control. I thought for sure I had been on the right track, though. It had all made sense to me earlier.
"Are you okay after today?" I asked, turning the conversation to a more serious note. Even though he looked like he was holding up well, the day had to be trying for him.
"Yes. I just want to sit down to a nice dinner and then soak in the hot tub. I need to relax and unwind.” Peter said. He rubbed his temples like he was trying to ward off a headache.
We sat down to eat baked chicken and au gratin potatoes with a nice Chilean red wine. I thought a soak in the hot tub would be lovely but was leery after the last time. Peter assured me that he had drained and cleaned the tub before refilling it so I would be safe from snake cooties. I gave in.
As always, Peter was right. The hot water felt amazing. The three of us soaked, all lost in our own thoughts. I didn't know why I was so hell-bent earlier today. We were lucky to have not wasted the money. That much money went far in supporting us during our travels. I had been very foolish.
But, what happened to Anya? Who did it? I knew it wasn't Peter. Ben had been cleared. Who did that leave? Did she have a lover that no one knew about? Was it someone else from the pub? Anya surely would've let in another employee after closing. What were she and Peter arguing about before her death?
Just when I thought I had something to go on, it unraveled. Like with Sarah this afternoon. At least I left her with a good story. How many people get accused of being a prostitute when hired for an afternoon bartending gig?
But, the ultimate question was, why was I so interested in this? I wanted to say it’s because I was a good person and the thought of someone I knew being murdered bothered me. I wanted to say it was because I loved Peter and the pub so much that I wanted the taboo of Anya's death cleansed from them. But, I feared the real truth might just be that I was nosy and selfish. The thought of writing a book from firsthand knowledge of murder was intriguing. I would’ve had a point of view for the story that would be new and refreshing. I let my own desire to write a mystery novel overpower the thoughts and feelings of my friends.
This time when I uttered the words, “I'm sorry,” to Peter and Gray, I truly meant them.
I put down my wine glass, calling it a night. Bed and a good book were calling my name. I kissed them both goodnight and crawled over the side of the tub. Three wooden stairs were next to the hot tub for easy access, but I hated them. When wet, they became slippery. As I carefully stepped over the side, I wondered how I jumped out of it without falling when I was trying to escape the snake. I was still not even sure why I freaked out so badly at the snake. With Gray and my travels through jungles and small remote mountain towns, snakes were common. Just two months prior, our apartment in Honduras had two baby snakes in the bedroom.
My foot hit the top step, and it slid out from under me. One minute I was upright and the next I was sprawled on the ground. It happened so quickly my first thought was, “How did I get down here?” My second was the stabbing pain. I howled and had tears in my eyes just as the next pain hit.
"Oh, my God. Are you alright?" Gray was squatted next to me. How the heck did he get out that quickly? Why didn't I have his grace?
"I'm . . . uh. . . fine." I hated crying, but I had landed on my foot. I looked down, it had already swelled. Peter grabbed a towel and filled it with ice from the wine bucket.
"Come on. Let's get you downstairs," Peter said.
I tried to put some weight on my foot, but the edges of my vision faded to black with the effort. I had my arms around Peter and Gray's necks, hobbling between them on my good foot.
"How do you suppose the three of us are going to fit on the curly staircase? It’s too narrow," I said.
“Your foot is probably broken, and you’re worried about the stairs?” Peter asked.
"Like this." Gray picked me up and flung me over his shoulder. With each step, my stomach pressed harder into his shoulder. I didn’t know which was worse. The thought of getting sick down his back from the movement or the thought of how huge my butt must look from this angle. The throbbing in my foot won out.
Gray and Peter dried me off and changed me from my bathing suit. I felt like a five-year-old, but I was a wimp when it came to pain. I sniffled and hiccupped through it.
"I'll take her to the hospital. Peter, will you help me get her to the car?" Gray asked.
“Wait.” I turned to Peter, putting my hand on his cheek. “Are we okay? Really okay?”
He pressed his cheek into my hand. “Of, course. How can I be mad when you’ve followed my plan perfectly?”
“What? You wanted me to order one of your girls?”
“No. That I never expected. Serves you right, I should’ve charged your card.”
“Then, what?” Peter’s eyes moved over to Gray.
“Him. I knew if I got you to look at Ben’s faults, you could let him go. I must admit, it worked better than I planned. Well, faster anyway.”
“You—”
“Congratulations on your engagement. Now, get our girl to the hospital Gray.”