Poison Flowers (20 page)

She wondered whether or not she even would have a place to sleep that night. Tears filled her eyes again, but she blinked them back. She would be damned if she’d wallow in self-pity.

Forcing thoughts of Dorry from her mind, Marya began looking for and soon found King Street. There was a gay bar there that she’d seen listed in one of the local magazines and been planning to try it out at some point. Now was as good a time as any, she figured.

The club, called Rainbow Spheres, was small and nondescript when she finally located it, but decked with hanging outside lights that no doubt made it more festive in the evening. No matter. The general tackiness of its daylight appearance better suited her current mood. She parked, gingerly climbed out of the Trooper and slowly made her way into the place.

The long bar running the length of the back was inviting, but she didn’t think her sore ribs would allow her to mount a barstool with any comfort. She decided to claim a small table in a corner where she could drink and cry in dark solitude.

The trio of patrons turned and examined her as she eased her way over to it and sat down, then returned to their drinks and their conversations. Marya ignored them, staring instead at her hands, clasped tightly together on the worn wooden top of the table. She still wasn’t thinking, but the numbness was wearing off, replaced by a growing anger. Anger that Dorry would so quickly assume that she was to blame. Anger that she had made no effort to hear her out or look at the facts instead of her first, shocked perceptions.

She was better off without Dorry in her life, Marya decided. Painful as this all was, it was better that it ended now. She had no tolerance for intolerance. She might be a reporter, might have to look for the right and wrong of things, the good and bad of things, but that didn’t mean she was ruled by absolutes. Sometimes things were gray. Not black and white, even though one might want them to be. But gray. Gray.

“What’ll you have, hon?” A waitress had appeared next to Marya’s table. She was young, in her twenties, with long, dark hair drawn back in a haphazard ponytail. On her the hairstyle looked great. Her dark brown eyes looked as if they were perpetually amused, her mouth was wide and fun-loving. She regarded Marya, her head tilting to one side. “You look like something the cat dragged in. What happened to you?”

Marya shook her head. “You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had. I was beaten up…my ribs broken…by a crazy martial arts guy…Then my girlfriend’s—my ex-girlfriend’s—business was broken in to and destroyed and she broke up with me, blaming me for what happened.”

“Dayum!” the waitress exclaimed. “Are you gonna be all right?”

Marya nodded. “I think so, but three fingers of scotch on the rocks might help.”

“I hear you,” she said. “Single malt coming up. I’m Cybil, by the way.”

Marya extended her hand. “Marya Brock. Pleased to meet you, Cybil.”

Cybil shook the proffered hand. “And me you, Marya. Be right back.”

With concerted effort, Marya pushed Dorry from her mind. When Cybil returned with the scotch, she talked her into joining her.

“So why does your name seem familiar to me, Marya?” Cybil asked, her hands fiddling with a bar towel.

“I write for the
Schuyler Times
. That might be where you’ve seen it.” Marya took a long pull off the tumbler of scotch and was delighted when the heat-generating liquid relaxed her clenched stomach.

“Oh yeah! That article you did last week on the woman with all those dogs…I bet that was fun. What was it like interviewing her?”

Marya chuckled and proceeded to tell Cybil about the three hours she had spent getting up close and personal with the woman’s family of fourteen dogs. The woman had expected her to remember their names after the interview was over.

Sitting with Cybil, relaxing in what seemed like the first time in months, felt amazingly good. Felt a lot, in fact, like the days, back before Kim, when Marya would have worked all night on Miss Cybil and then taken her home with her to have someone to warm her body and her bed. Old habits die hard, she discovered. Before long, she was flirting shamelessly with her. What was her goal? Getting into Cybil’s bed? The idea was pleasant enough, though she knew deep down that it would be meaningless. The two of them had little in common. She didn’t see them building a relationship. Not like what she and Dorry were building. Had been building.

Dorry wasn’t here, though. And Cybil was. And she was warm and definitely willing. She had twice offered Marya a clear view of some very nice cleavage as she had leaned over and refreshed her drink, had caressed Marya’s arm each time she took the glass.

They talked about Cybil’s life. She was fresh out of a two-year relationship. Her partner, a closeted big-time Myrtle Beach lawyer, had decided that being with a man would be a better step on her way up the ladder to a political career. She had wanted to keep Cybil on the side, but Cybil had wanted none of that.

“I mean, what kind of woman does that? Hides the truth that way? I guess what they say about lawyers is true,” she said.

“People never fail to amaze me,” Marya answered.

“So, tell me about your ex,” Cybil prompted. “What kind of business does she have?”

Marya looked at Cybil’s expectant face and knew she couldn’t talk about Dorry here. Not now. Not ever, probably. Maybe something else would work.

She reached across the small table and took Cybil’s hand in hers. Pulling her to her feet, she led her toward the side of the bar and into the hallway outside the bathrooms. She saw a smile settle on Cybil’s full lips as she realized where they were going. She pulled her into the surprisingly spacious ladies’ room after her and into her arms.

“Sorry for the accommodations, my lady, but I find I am overcome with my immediate need for you.” Marya pulled Cybil to her and kissed her long and hard, pushing her tongue into Cybil’s mouth with passionate force. Cybil lurched against Marya and moaned, the sound a stimulus of incendiary proportions. Marya snaked a hand under Cybil’s shirt, relishing the softness of her bare waist and hips. Spreading her other hand wide, she cupped Cybil’s bottom through her nylon skirt, pressing their pelvises together.

Cybil brought up her arms and caressed Marya’s neck as they kissed. Marya moved forward, shifting their bodies so that Cybil was against the wall, then brought her hands around to cup Cybil’s small breasts in her palms.

Moaning again, Cybil lifted Marya’s shirt from her trousers. Marya shifted to accommodate her…and the excruciating pain that followed almost brought her to her knees. For a brief moment she wondered if she were having a heart attack. Then she remembered her ribs. And Dorry. Reality came slamming back. It packed a powerful punch. She hissed in pain and backed away from Cybil, panting. “Oh my God, oh my God,” she muttered. “What the fuck am I doing?”

“Marya? Are you okay?” Cybil asked, coming closer. Marya grasped both of Cybil’s hands in hers.

“Look, don’t hate me, Cybil. God knows you are hot and, oh yeah, I want you…but…but I gotta make things right with her, with Dorry. I just can’t…please understand.”

Cybil bit her bottom lip and nodded, eyes wide. “Sure, hon, I understand.” She shrugged. “You gotta do what you gotta do.”

Marya nodded and, letting go of Cybil, wrapped one arm protectively about her torso. Her other hand reached out and brushed Cybil’s cheek gently. “I am sorry.”

Cybil smiled. “Get on with you. Do what you have to do. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll still be here and we’ll talk.”

Marya nodded and limped painfully out of the bathroom and out of the Rainbow Spheres lounge.

***

The Fetch It Diner was just about empty by the time she got there. It was after the dinner rush and a young high school boy was busily busing the tables, probably so he could go home and play video games. Lisa greeted Marya from her usual perch behind the counter. Marya slid onto a low stool and asked for coffee. Lisa smiled and, placing a cup in front of her, filled it to the brim.

Marya wasn’t sure what her next step needed to be, but she thought sobering up in the diner might be a good first step. She had toyed with the idea of going to her parents’ house for the night but vetoed the idea quickly. She smelled more than a little like scotch and was broken all to hell. The fewer questions she had to answer for them, the better. She keenly remembered her mother’s panicked call after Denton’s body had been found.

The old codger sidled up to the counter and, with a grunt, settled onto the stool next to her. Ah, the trucker and somewhat annoying bearer of local lore. It was good to see him again. Leaning forward, she blew on her coffee and took a cautious sip.

“Well, look who’s here,” he said as he perused the menu.

“And a big hello to you. How was Maine?” She studied him. He looked the same. Only the clothing had changed. Today he was wearing faded blue jeans and a worn, untucked white button-down shirt.

“Cold. I pert near froze my ass off.”

Marya laughed with difficulty, moaning a little as her ribs grated together.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asked, eyeing her with a worried glance.

“Man, you wouldn’t believe it,” she said, shaking her head.

“You havin’ the usual, Kent?” Lisa asked. She waited expectantly on the other side of the counter.

“Yeah, Lisa, sounds good,” he replied.

Lisa pulled out a cup and placed it in front of Kent. She filled it with coffee and pushed the sugar dispenser toward him, then moved off toward the kitchen to put in his order.

Kent poured a steady stream of sugar into his cup and spoke without looking at Marya. “Okay, I’m ready. Let’s have it.”

Marya hesitated only a second. She told him about getting the job at the paper. About the Dorry interview prank and then about the difficulty in getting the cottage. He shook his head now and again but didn’t comment.

She then told him about Denton and about how he’d been murdered and how she and Dorry might be facing charges because of their taekwondo expertise. She wrapped up by telling him about Barnes, how he had picked a fight with her earlier that morning, breaking her ribs. And that she was debating whether or not to report him.

Kent gave a low whistle as Lisa placed his steaming plate of burger, fries and eggs in front of him.

“Sounds like he’s your bad guy,” he said. “You need to report that sucker.”

“He sounds crazy as a June bug,” Lisa said. “I think you need to report him too. You don’t want to go to jail for something that maniac did. Let the police sort it out.”

“Yeah, but will they believe me?” Marya asked.

“Seems to me you’re wearing proof right there under that shirt,” Lisa said as she slid a slice of apple pie in front of Marya.

Marya looked at the pie, then at Lisa. “What’s this?”

“On the house,” she said, swabbing the counter with a cloth. “Eat. You’re skinny.”

Marya laughed and looked at Kent.

He shrugged, chewing. “Better eat it,” he said. “You don’t want to mess with Lisa. You think those busted ribs hurt, but they ain’t nothing compared to how she’ll mess you up.”

Lisa laughed and Marya and Kent joined in.

After a few moments of silent chewing, Kent spoke. “You know what you need to do, don’t you?”

“What’s that?” Marya responded.

“Trap the son of a bitch. Set up a sting and catch him in the act, so to speak.”

Marya paused, a forkful of pie halfway to her mouth. “Oh my God, that is a great idea. He’s got this big old jones for Dorry. I could use her as bait, get the police to wire her and then get him to admit to murdering Denton.”

Lisa and Kent smiled at one another, satisfied. “See, problem solved,” Kent said.

“I’d hug you if my ribs didn’t hurt so badly,” Marya responded.

Kent looked startled. “Oh, there’s no need for all that,” he said.

“You should go for it, Kent. She’s skinny, but she’s kinda cute,” Lisa added as she moved to take the extra setups the busboy was handing her.

Marya regarded Kent as she chewed pie. “I dunno, you’re not exactly my type,” she said.

He laughed, the sound a low gurgle. “I know, I know. You like them Martians over there on Begaman Cove,” he said quietly, grinning into his plate.

Marya laughed so hard she was afraid she might spew pie all over her new friend. She held her taped ribs tightly as laughter and tears poured forth in equal measure.

“Oh, lord, what did you do now, Kent,” Lisa asked hands on her hips.

“Honey, hon…you need to calm down now,” she told Marya. “No sense in busting them ribs up more than they are already.”

“I’m okay,” Marya gasped. “I gotta go tell the Martian about setting a trap to catch a bad guy.”

She slid from the stool. “So, Kent, where you heading next?” she asked.

He sipped his coffee and sighed contentedly. “I’m home for the next week,” he announced grandly. “First vacation I’ve had in eighteen months. Gonna be a good one too. Me and my forty-eight-inch flat screen.”

Marya laughed and patted his shoulder.

“Lisa, thanks for the pie. It was delicious. And I’m gonna need it, I’m thinking. I know from experience, those Martians can be hard to deal with. They’re hot-tempered, you know.”

Kent snorted and Marya stepped out into the dusk.

All the windows at Dorry’s house were dark. Marya checked her watch. Surely it was too early for Dorry to be in bed. Marya held her ribs and sighed. Well, at least she was there, judging from the fact that her truck was parked in the drive.

She knocked on the door but got no answer, so she tried the knob. Unlocked. She stepped inside, calling Dorry’s name. She wasn’t there, it seemed. Neither were Isabel’s photos, Marya noted with a smile. She couldn’t say she missed them. She hoped Dorry didn’t either.

Five minutes later she was back in the living room and completely perplexed. She’d searched the entire house and Dorry was nowhere to be found. Was she at the cottage maybe? Waiting for Marya to get home so they could fight some more? She left the house, pulling the front door closed behind her.