The Sunset Witness (11 page)

I asked him if he knew why I'd come to Sunset.  We
hadn't talked much up to that point, so he wouldn't have known unless Joel told
him.  He knew I was replacing Sarah Duncan.  I asked if he'd met her.  He said
Joel introduced them at a house party in Nevada when he was in law school. 
Sarah was with another girl.  He was alone.  I asked if he dated her.  He
talked to her briefly at Twyla's one night.  He said they had one date in Las
Vegas, but he had to break it when his flight was delayed because of weather. 
He'd gone to Chicago for a mock trial competition in the dead of winter.  I
asked Michael if Sarah was upset.  By this time, he felt like he was in court
on the stand.  He leaned against the drop leaf table, put his glass down, and
folded his arms.

"Where are you going with this, counselor?" 
He laughed.

"Was she upset when you broke the date?" I
asked.

"Yes.  She was upset.  It was a formal dance. 
She had a new dress, had her hair done.  You know, the whole nine yards."

"What did you do to make it up to her?" I
asked.

"Nothing.  It was nothing I could help, and she
was a real bitch about it, if you want to know the truth.  In fact, I remember
she said the least I could do was send her flowers.  I was glad I didn't waste
an evening on her."

"Sarah led me to believe she would be living and
working in Hoquarten if I came here and took over her lease and the job at Twyla's. 
We haven't talked once.  It's been phone tag for the last week.  I'm sure she
told me she lived on Orchard Avenue in Hoquarten, but no one on Orchard Avenue
had heard of her.  I talked to someone at the graphic design business she was
supposed to work for and found she'd stayed only a little while and then quit
to freelance, saying she was going back to Pennsylvania.  She told Twyla and
Joel the same thing.  I think she's hiding because she saw something she
shouldn't have, but her behavior's been very strange.  I feel like I don't know
her anymore.  I thought the flowers might be her way of saying she was sorry
for something," I said.

"I don't think so.  Sarah was pretty
disappointed about the dance.  She didn't even congratulate me on winning the
competition.  The only thing she was sorry about was meeting me.  She said so
in no uncertain terms."  He laughed.

Michael took the glass from my hand and set it on the
table.  Then he wrapped me up in his arms and kissed me.  I looked into his
eyes.  Something told me he would break my heart, but I was powerless to
prevent it.  I'd never been with anyone who affected me the way he did.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

I was a day late with my period and surprised that
sex with Michael the night before hadn't brought it on.  Michael and I did a
run on the beach early in the morning.  We were sitting on the rocks where
Dennis and I'd sat when he told me about the hitman who might come for him and
Frank someday.  Michael and I were rehydrating as we enjoyed the perfect start
to the day and being together.

"So, you went to law school," I said,
picking up our conversation from the previous night.  "What type of law do
you want to practice?" I asked.

"I don't want to be in a law office at all.  I'd
like to be a reporter and cover the Supreme Court, legal issues, that sort of
thing.  What about you?"

"I worked in my father's firm for three years
and was bouncing off the walls by the time I quit.  I was good at it, but
creative writing is my real love.  I went to law school to please my father. 
Legal writing is all about following convention.  I only feel really alive when
I'm creating.  But I can use my background in the law for my novels," I
said.  "Are you taking a break before you get a job?"

"Actually, I have a job.  Whenever I want to do
it.  I should quit putting it off.  I have a lot of debt, and I need to start
paying it off," he said.

"I was lucky in that respect.  My parents took
care of everything.  Did you get loans?"

"Yes.  Do you feel like another run?" he
asked, as if he hoped to change the subject.

We ran back to the beach house and showered together. 
He started brunch while I did my hair and makeup.  Michael was shocked at the
amount of salt I used on my food.  I told him it was my only vice and I needed
the salt after running.

"So what's the one thing you can't resist?"
I asked.

"You," he said.  He kissed my nose.

"That's not a vice."  I laughed.

"I'm serious, Rachel.  I don't want to rush you,
but you're all I think about.  I hope we have a future."  He was looking
into my eyes.

"I'm glad you feel that way.  I think we should
take this one day at a time.  I don't know you very well yet," I said.

Michael pushed his scrambled eggs around as if they
had to be arranged just right before he could eat them.

"I racked up a lot of debt with school.  My
mother says I have champagne tastes on a beer budget.  I never went to a casino
until I was in over my head with debt.  I had beginner's luck and went back.  I
didn't do as well the next time, so I went back to recoup what I lost.  It was
a vicious cycle.  I guess you might as well know.  I owe several thousand
dollars.  It'll take years to pay it off," he said.  He'd put his fork down
and was looking into my eyes again.

I felt lightheaded and queasy.  Michael looked
vulnerable and sad.  I wanted to believe it would be all right, but I knew it
never would be.  I got up from the table and went into the living room.  He
followed.

"I'm sorry.  I didn't know you'd take it so
hard," he said.

"Michael, my mother was an alcoholic.  She was a
wonderful mother, and I loved her very much when she wasn't drinking.  She was
addicted…like you are.  It finally killed her.  I promised myself I'd never go
through that again."

I turned to face him, buried my head in his shoulder,
and cried.  He held me tightly.

"Rachel, this isn't like alcohol.  I can quit. 
Sit down.  I need to tell you something."

He led me to the futon and sat sideways facing me.  I
reached for a tissue.

"This is something I never planned to tell you. 
I hope it'll help you understand how serious I am about quitting," he
said.  He took a deep breath.  "I was desperate about the kind of money I
owed, who I owed it to, and how little time I had to repay it.  You've never
been in that position.  I was on my own.  My stepfather was killed in the
Kuwait war.  My mother barely made ends meet.  There was no one I could go to
for help."  Michael hesitated and then plowed ahead.  "Rachel, I made
a deal I'd trade my debt for a hit on a guy who ratted on the mob and left
state protection."

"Oh, god, Michael.  This gets worse and worse. 
You're a hired killer now?  An addiction to gambling was bad enough!"  I
realized he was sent to kill Frank, because Dennis had failed.  I couldn't look
at him.  "Michael, please leave.  Please, please leave me alone."  I
cried.  He tried to turn my face, so I'd have to look at him.  I pushed his arm
away and stood up.  I was screaming at him.

"Get out!  I never want to see you again!" 
He looked confused.  I turned away so I'd not be tempted to go to him.

"Rachel, please let me finish."

I wouldn't turn around or talk to him.  He stood up. 
I heard him walk to the kitchen and close the door behind him.  I felt limp and
sat in my chair in front of the laptop.  I looked out the window at the
beautiful ocean we had enjoyed together a short time before.  The tears
trickled down my cheeks and then became a flood of grief and despair.

After what seemed a long time, I got up, locked the
door, held a washcloth under cold water and then pressed it to my face.  I had
time before I was due at Twyla's, so I lay on the futon with the cold cloth on
my eyes, and an afghan my mother had made pulled up to my chin.  I was freezing
cold and turned on my side, drawing my knees up and clasping my arms to warm
and console myself.

I woke up when my cell phone rang.  It was Twyla.  I
was overdue, and she wondered if I was all right.  I apologized profusely and
told her I'd not felt well and was asleep.  I promised I'd be there in ten minutes. 
By the time I changed clothes, pulled my hair into a bun, powdered my red nose,
and applied lipstick, I had five minutes to get to work.  I was shaking too
much to put contacts in my eyes, so I wore my glasses.  They would help conceal
my puffy eyes.  I locked the door and walked quickly to the restaurant.  Twyla
was helping a customer at the bakery counter.  I went to the kitchen and tried
to keep my head averted so Simone couldn't see I'd been crying.

It took great effort to be welcoming and cheerful for
the benefit of the customers.  I was glad none of the regulars chose to eat at Twyla's. 
It was easier to take the orders of customers who were indecisive about the
menu, distracted by the view from the windows for the first time, or involved
in their own conversations.  No one seemed to notice my eyes, which felt
swollen and gritty to me.

I closed by myself and left after Simone.  Twyla had
a headache and went up to her living quarters as soon as the last customer
left.  She did not ask me any questions.  I knew she could tell I'd been
crying.  I thought about what I'd tell her as I walked home.  I was not looking
over my shoulder.  If someone had attacked me, I'd not have resisted.  I drifted
down the street and then sat on the bench by the stairs to the beach.  I was
desolate.  I dreaded going into the empty house.  It had been a lovers'
hideaway for Michael and me.  The only bright spot was I realized my regret
over Nate did not compare to what I felt at losing Michael.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

After tossing and turning all night, the garbage
truck woke me as it maneuvered into the parking lot and backed up.  The high-pitched
beep, beep, beep was followed by the drone of equipment as the dumpster was
positioned on the lift and then hoisted into the back of the truck.  It seemed
like a fitting way to start the day.  My hopes had been trashed.

To further complicate things, my period was still
overdue.  I was an emotional wreck.

Underlying my feeling of loss was one of guilt.  I'd
discarded Michael as if he'd had no further value.  Yet, I could not reconcile the
Michael who'd accepted a hit to erase his debt with the Michael who'd been such
a tender and sensitive lover.  Who was the real Michael?  It was exciting to
make love to him without knowing him.  If only I
had
known.  Could Joel
know about Michael's deal?  What kind of friend would encourage me to go out
with a cold-blooded murderer?  What did I really know about Joel?  Had I become
so desperate for affection that I lost my self-respect?  On the other hand,
Michael had tried to explain.  It couldn't have been easy for him.  Maybe he
was going to tell me he couldn't do it.  Was I too harsh?  Or was it too much
coming so soon after Dennis unloaded on me?  Was Michael like the criminals my
father had chosen to represent?  I couldn't believe it.  He seemed to be hiding
something, but I could not believe he was capable of murder.

Possibly, I could wash it all away and cleanse myself
as both the wronged and wrongdoer.  I escaped the seemingly endless circle of
negative thoughts by throwing off my comforter and standing under the running
water of the shower.

I poured a mug of coffee and stood in front of the
window facing the ocean.  Last Thursday I woke up in Frank's house instead of
sleeping in my own out of fear.  A week later, I'd slept with the man who might
have agreed to kill Frank.  What if it was not Frank?  Maybe it was someone
else.  Possibly, if I'd not lost my temper, I could have convinced Michael to
forsake his part of the deal.  It would be far better to owe thousands of
dollars than to have the guilt of someone's death on his hands.  I'd been too
quick to be hurt, and I'd done nothing to prevent Michael from killing Frank or
someone else.  It might already be too late.  Michael might have fulfilled his
part of the bargain and left town.

I picked up my cell phone and called Frank.  I was
relieved to hear his voice.  I told him I was touching base and wondered how he
was doing.  He was just fine.  He said he would like to see me if I had the
time.  I told him I'd buy him the lunch I promised last week.  He actually
preferred the Fisherman's Five at the diner to Twyla's "highfalutin"
menu.  I suspected Michael was Frank's hitman, so it didn't matter if Michael
saw us together.  I'd do my best to convince Michael it was not in his best
interest to kill Frank.  I'd lost Michael already.  I had nothing more to lose.

Frank seemed to move even more slowly than when we
first met.  I was sure he was more stooped and had a more difficult time
hearing me.  Gloria brought a carafe of coffee to our table and took our
order.  The Fisherman's Five was one egg, two strips of bacon, and two
pancakes.  Frank ordered his egg over easy.  I told Gloria I'd have the same
thing with a scrambled egg.  I don't like a runny egg with pancakes.  Then I
told her to be sure to bring me the tab.  Frank had trouble opening the cream
packet, so I helped him and opened a packet for myself.  We were alone in the
diner except for two men who sat at the counter.  I didn't recognize them and
thought they looked suspicious.

I mentioned Breanna was doing well after her surgery. 
Frank asked me about her accident.  I'd not asked Joel about the details.  I'd
not watched the evening news because I was working.  No one at Twyla's Tea Room
seemed to know any details, either.  I could have found the Hoquarten Herald
online, but I realized I'd not cared enough to do so.  Why was I so indifferent
to her?  She seemed to resent me because Joel had taken me under his wing so I'd
be successful at Twyla's.  On some level, I'd brushed off her attitude as
jealousy.  Joel was the same age as Michael and several years younger than I,
but I supposed Breanna could still see me as a threat.  Now, I wondered if
Breanna had hoped to get the waitress job Sarah vacated.  If Joel had cared for
her, he might not have been as helpful to me.  She must have sensed he did not
care as much as she did, which added salt to the wound of being passed over by Twyla.