Bitch Slap (25 page)

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Authors: Michael Craft

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Doug's face brightened as he explained, “This has nothing to do with what happened in Green Bay, but it is sort of heavy—at least for me.”
Neil said, “You've captured our attention, Doug. What's on your mind?”
“Well, I want to thank you and Mark for introducing me to Todd.” Doug turned to the man next to him on the sofa. Looking him in the eye, he continued, “Todd, we've known each other … how long? About twenty-four hours. We've had the chance to really talk only once, last night at dinner. By any reasonable measure, we've barely met, so the things I'm trying to say will sound premature. But you won't be here for long, and I don't know when I might see you again.”
Todd opened his mouth to speak, but Doug forged ahead, telling him, “And that's the point, Todd—I
want
to see you again. I want to see you often. I know the logistics seem impossible, but we can deal with the thorny details later. For now, I just want you to know—” He broke off, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “Christ, I'm no good at this. Lack of practice, I guess.”
Todd said, “You're doing fine. You were saying?”
Doug swallowed. “For now, I just want you to know that … (a) I find you highly attractive … and (b) I'm already very fond of you … and (c) … well, (c) I think I could grow to love you.” Doug blinked, looking stunned, as if he couldn't believe his own words.
Todd eyed him sternly for a moment. “Sheriff?” he asked through a scowl. “Do you have any idea what you're getting into?” Then he broke into a wide grin, flung his arms around Doug, and pulled him forward for a deep, long kiss—which was eagerly accepted. It was as if they were two starving men, grateful to be nourished by each other.
Neil and I exchanged an astonished look, not only because the love scene on our love seat was so unexpected, but because it involved
Doug
. Our friend the sheriff was easily the most circumspect and straitlaced gay man we knew. Though publicly “out” and, by all appearances, comfortable with himself, he never lost sight of the proprieties of his office. Discretion was his watchword, so this sudden display of affection was nothing shy of nuclear. The foundation of the house seemed to rumble beneath us.
A loud
ding
carried from across the hall.
Coming up for air, Todd announced, “Supper's ready.”
We all had a good laugh, then paused to lift our glasses.
Doug told Neil and me, “Thanks again, gentlemen.”
“I'll second that,” said Todd, swooning next to Doug.
“Glad to help,” said Neil.
“Sincerely,” I told them, “we never expected to share such a moment with you, but thanks for including us.”
We drank to their happiness, to their first blush of romance, ignoring the geographic obstacle they faced, to say nothing of the unknown developments in Green Bay, a cruel uncertainty that still hung over the night.
Before long we had left the den and gone to the kitchen, where we all pitched in—making up plates, opening wine, soaking a few pans—before moving our party to the dining room. The oblong table was set for two on one side, two on the other. There was now no question as to the seating arrangement; Doug and Todd sat together as a couple.
When we had settled into our meal, having complimented each other on the food and the wine, our conversation hit a lull. Neil noted, “Everyone's kinda quiet.”
The others may have been quiet because they were savoring their dinner, but I wasn't even aware of what was on my plate, grappling with so many questions that focused on Green Bay. What had Doug learned there? When would he reveal those findings? What action would he take? How would the outcome affect my life with Neil? Would Neil avert all this anxious doubt and come clean with Doug? If not, would my own scruples seize the moment and force me to speak up, leading Neil to conclude that I had betrayed him and that our love had meant nothing? My stomach twisted with a painful knot as I tried to swallow.
“I was just thinking,” said Doug, setting down his fork.
“About what?” Todd asked.
Doug turned in his chair to face Todd. “About us.”
“We're ‘us' already? I like it.”
“Good, so do I. But I hardly need to tell you—we've got some issues ahead of us.”
Todd chortled. “The four-hour drive?”
“Mainly. And all it represents. You're a city boy; I'm not. I'm a cop; you're not.”
“Uh-uh-uh,” clucked Todd. “Don't you get it? That's what makes our attraction so pure, so genuine—there is
nothing
superficial or convenient or predictable about it. It's so offbeat, who knows, it just may be the real thing. Time will tell, and we've got plenty of that. I've been out of circulation for a while, and unless I'm mistaken, you've never been
in
circulation. So we can take this slow and easy. If you think you might be able to handle a long-distance relationship, so can I.”
Doug traced his fingertips across Todd's cheek. Smiling, he affirmed, “I can handle it.” Then he turned to Neil and me. “Sorry, guys. Hope I'm not embarrassing you. Truth is, until last night, I'd almost forgotten that I've needed another man's love.” With a soft chuckle, he shook his head. “God, I don't believe the way I've been tossing that word around tonight.”
Todd slung his arm around Doug's shoulders. “Sheriff, you can toss that word in my direction anytime you like.”
Neil told both of them, “We're not the least bit embarrassed. We couldn't be happier for you.” Smiling, he took my hand.
I mirrored his smile, but said nothing. I wanted to feel happy for Doug—in fact, I
did
feel happy for him—but mostly I felt the knot in my stomach. It was difficult to share Doug's joy while wondering if he had already been on the phone to Harley Kaiser, informing our intrepid prosecutor of Neil's role in Gillian's death.
“I think we could use some dessert,” said Neil, pushing back his chair. When someone groaned in protest, he added, “Tonight's a special occasion. Besides, it's ready to serve.”
“Sure,” said Todd, standing. “Let me help.” Then he and Neil cleared our dinner plates, carrying them to the kitchen.
A few quiet moments passed. Then Doug leaned toward me over the table, asking quietly, “Are you okay, Mark? You haven't said much tonight.”
“
Doug
,” I said, hunching forward on my elbows, “I'm a nervous wreck. I realize you're trying to have a pleasant evening, and I'm glad you and Todd are making such headway, but I don't know how you can be so cool about the investigation. When I asked you about it in the den, you said, ‘Why dwell on disappointing topics?'”
Doug said flatly, “The time didn't seem right.”
Getting flustered, I stammered, “Well, why not? I mean, when? And what did you mean—‘disappointing topics'?”
He sat back. “I meant just what I said—what I learned was disappointing.”
Todd and Neil were whisking into the room with dessert and coffee. Neil asked, “What was disappointing, Doug? Not the meal, I hope.” He plopped a plate in front of me; I have no idea what was on it.
“No, the meal was great.” Doug explained, “We were talking about my trip to Green Bay this afternoon. I met with the shopkeeper who sold that old Royal typewriter on Wednesday. The results of the interview were disappointing.” Eyeing Neil, he emphasized, “
Very
disappointing.”
Speechless, Neil slid into his chair.
I felt my heart pounding in my neck.
Todd set the coffeepot on the table and took his seat next to Doug, asking, “Disappointing? How so?”
Doug drummed his fingers on the table. “The man who runs this used-office-equipment store is a nice old guy named Angus Maas, and—”
“
Angus
?” asked Todd.
Doug nodded. “That's his name. It looked as if the business hadn't seen much action lately, and he wanted to be helpful—I think he just appreciated the attention. He had no trouble recalling the transaction, probably the only sale he made all week. The buyer helped him figure out the sales tax …”
Oh, God. It was all lining up, all the circumstantial evidence that would point directly to the man seated at my side. Neil sat listening with a blank expression as Doug related the events of that afternoon, drawing nearer to the moment when Neil would be named the author of the anonymous letter. Mentally, I tried nudging Neil to the admission that could help him salvage a shred of credibility. But I've never had much faith in telepathy, so I wasn't very good at it. Neil sat stone-faced as the story unraveled. My only remaining option, I now realized, was to take matters into my own hands. Tasting bile in my throat, I waited for a pause in the story, then began, “Doug—”
“But he never got the guy's
name
,” Doug continued. “The customer paid cash, and the description Angus gave me was vague at best, so the bottom line is, I've got
nothing
to go on. The entire afternoon was just a wild-goose chase—and
that's
what I call disappointing results.” He crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head.
Neil and I dared to glimpse at each other. I'm sure my numb, bug-eyed relief was even more transparent than his was. Fortunately, Doug wasn't watching.
Todd asked him, “Isn't there some other way to trace the typewriter?”
“Nah, I don't think so. And you know, driving back today, it occurred to me that I'd taken the wrong tack altogether. I mean, whoever bought the typewriter was honest enough to help the old guy compute his own sales tax, and that doesn't sound like a homicidal sociopath.
Even if it was the killer, I doubt if he still has the typewriter. So even if I found him, I'd have no hard evidence to link him to the letter. Tomorrow morning, the death of Gillian Reece will be ruled accidental.”
Todd circled a finger around Doug's ear. “Tomorrow morning's a long way off. Got any plans tonight?”
Doug paused to consider Todd's suggestion, but not long, before replying, “I thought you'd never ask. My place?”
I was tempted to offer, Just use the guest room. You're already here. And Todd's all settled.
But I bit my tongue, vowing never again to indulge in fantasies of tinkering with the sleeping arrangements upstairs on Prairie Street. Go with my blessing, Doug. Take Todd. And have a ball.
Todd pushed back his chair and stood, telling Doug, “Your place—it's a deal. Give me two minutes to throw a few things together.” He kissed the top of Doug's head, flashed Neil and me a cagey grin, then tore across the front hall and shot up the stairs.
Neil sat back and laughed with sheer delight.
“What's so funny?” asked Doug. “My dating skills may be a little rusty—hell, they're nonexistent—but I made a prize catch tonight.”
“You sure did. You both did.” Neil's old sparkle was back. The grim pall of the last two days had lifted. “I wasn't laughing at you, Doug. It's the irony of your trip to Green Bay—Gillian's death was just an accident after all.”
I tried to telegraph, Don't press your luck.
“If not,
I'll
never be able to prove it.” Doug reached for the coffeepot. “Coffee, guys?”
“Why not?” I said. “I'm already keyed up. I have an inkling I won't get much sleep tonight”
“Funny,” said Doug, rising and moving around the table, “I've got that same inkling myself.” He rested a hand on my shoulder while pouring my coffee.
Neil mused, “So the kindly old shopkeeper wasn't much help …”
Doug stepped to Neil and poured coffee for him. “No, Angus Maas was pretty hazy in his recollections—said something about sandy blond hair—a few other details, not much else.”
Neil's eyes slid in my direction.
Doug put the coffeepot on the table. Then he fingered the amethyst stud that glinted from Neil's earlobe. “You know?” he said. “If I were you, I'd put that in a drawer somewhere. Purple's not your color at all.”
Neil's eyes froze on the badge clipped to Doug's belt.
“Well, I'm gonna see if Todd needs a hand. He's taking way too long up there.” Doug grinned, turned, and strolled from the dining room.
He crossed the hall, then started up the stairs.
When Neil could breathe again, he fumbled to remove the stud.
Though a bit shaky myself, I offered, “Let me do that.”
Standing, I stepped behind Neil's chair, rested his head against my hip, and unfastened the stud, which I plucked from his ear. Slipping the amethyst into my pocket, I knelt beside him, brought my lips to his ear, and kissed the tiny pink wound.

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