Scratchgravel Road (Josie Gray Mysteries #2)(34)

“It’s the cooking.”

“What is it with you and cooking?”

“It makes me crazy,” he said.

“You’re barking up the wrong tree if you think I’m a Betty Crocker girl.”

“It’s not what you cook. It’s just seeing you there, standing over the stove, your hands occupied.” He kissed her neck. “I’m going to come up with a combination apron-negligee. We could sell it and make a million.”

Josie laughed. She turned the knob on the burner to zero and slipped around in his arms to face him. “Let’s save the cooking for later. I think I’d like to keep my hands occupied elsewhere.”

*

Cassidy Harper parked in her driveway, turned the engine off, and then gripped the steering wheel again. She looked at her cell phone lying on top of her purse. Her dad had left her several voice messages, practically begging her to call. If she called, she would be in tears in seconds, with the whole sordid story spewing out of her like a volcano erupting. She looked up at the living room window where a slit of light came through the closed curtains. It was 9:12 P.M. and Leo was waiting for her, knowing to the minute how long it took her to drive home after her shift ended. He pulled back one of the drapes and stood staring out at her. The light from a table lamp illuminated his face and she watched his lips turn down into a frown.

She choked back a sob and picked up her phone and purse off the passenger seat. As she closed the car door, Leo walked out onto the front step, the screen door slamming behind him.

“You planning on coming inside tonight?” he asked.

“I’m coming.”

“What are you doing sitting in the car?”

She tried to judge his mood by his facial expression, but it was too dark outside. “I was just looking through my purse for something.” She looked at the ground, trying to dodge the pools of water covering the walkway up to the porch.

She walked by his body without touching him and went inside the house. He followed her into the kitchen where she laid her purse on the table and opened the refrigerator for a snack. She had absolutely no appetite but she needed to stall, to think of something to talk about.

“The cop stop by to see you today?” he asked.

Her heart pounded in her chest and she kept her head in the refrigerator to avoid looking at him. “Yeah. She just stopped by to make sure I was okay.”

“Really. She didn’t question you?”

Cassidy grabbed the gallon of milk and found a glass in the cabinet. “Not really. Nothing really to say.”

“That’s funny, because she came here. Questioned me like I was a criminal.”

Cassidy said nothing. She faced the sink and drank the milk. She placed the glass on the counter and he grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around.

“I’m tired of the games. Tell me what the hell is going on!”

Tears appeared instantly. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“What the hell were you doing out by Scratchgravel Road? You hate it outside! Never once have I seen you go outside to take a walk.”

She jerked her arm away from him, furious suddenly at everyone’s accusations. It was as if she had done something wrong. She stared at him, seething with anger, and wanted to confront him about the phone call. He was the reason she went hiking on Scratchgravel Road, and she wanted to tell him that. She wanted to tell him that she was protecting him from the police, that she was ruining her relationship with her family, and that she hated everything about him. Nothing in her life made sense anymore. But she had no idea what his reaction might be. He had always taken the dominant role in everything, and she had been fine with it. It kept her from having to make decisions. But now what? She had no idea how to take control.

“How would you know what I like or don’t like to do? You don’t pay any attention to me. The only time you talk to me is to complain about something I did. This whole thing is pointless.”

He stood motionless, staring at her.

“I’m moving back with my parents,” she said, forcing herself to look at him, shocked at herself.

He hesitated then came to her as if consoling a child. “Cassidy, come on. You don’t mean that.” He cupped her face in his hands and searched her eyes. “Can’t you see how stressed out I am? This job thing is messing with me. I don’t mean to take it out on you. I love you. It would kill me if you left right now.”

Leo wrapped his arms around her and she laid her cheek against his chest because it was expected. She felt nothing. Her limbs felt like lead weights, as if she had lost her sense of touch. She wanted to ask the question: How did you know the location of the dead man? But she was certain the answer would require something from her, and she didn’t think she had anything to give.

*

When Teresa Cruz heard her mom pull into the driveway she was curled up on the couch, physically ill with shame, thinking about her mother, Enrico, and her father in Mexico. The engine stopped and the car door slammed hard. Teresa closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, praying for an answer to the mess she was in. Her mom walked into the living room wearing her uniform, one hand propped on the nightstick hanging from her belt, the other hand held out as if she was going to shake a hand, except her fingers were rigid, her hand directed at Teresa.

Teresa sat up and her mother stood in front of her, the rage in her eyes unfocused. She accused Teresa of throwing her life away on a drug-addicted convict, of bringing shame into their home, of heading down the same path her father had, of making a mockery of everything she stood for, of ruining her good reputation in the community. She yelled and paced around the living room, finally coming back to point at her again. When she noticed the blank look on Teresa’s face, her mother stopped as if slapped and began to cry. She turned and left without another word. Teresa sat numbly on the couch and listened to the squeal of tires as her mother backed out of the driveway.