Black Beans & Vice (11 page)

"Good news?" he asked.

Lucy waited until Huckabee also went outside and then allowed herself a jubilant smile. "Yes! You remember Sullie, right?"

Naturally James remembered the hunky deputy. He'd been
the reason James and Lucy's relationship had failed the first time
around. Lucy had become obsessed with Sullie and had turned her
back on James. As a result, James had sought comfort in the arms
of the reporter, Murphy Alistair. Thinking about the two women
who'd caused him such heartache, James became cross.

"Who could forget Sullie the Magnificent?" His tone was petulant.

Too happy to notice James' peevishness, Lucy went right on
talking. "He's transferring to our station! The sheriff wants me to
arrange a welcome party. Oh, isn't this wonderful news?"

Recalling that only moments before he'd hoped for this very
thing to happen, James nodded and forced his mouth into a smile.
"It's great, Lucy." He paused and then churlishly asked, "Do you
think he's still single?"

Lucy was unfazed by the question. "I know he is. I became
friends with one of the female deputies in Sullie's station during
the last tri-county department bowling tournament. She said that
Sullie talks about me all the time."

James rose. He was ready to go home. "I hope everything works
out for you, Lucy."

"Me too. I feel like it's finally my turn," she said and walked out
of the office with James.

I hope Sullie doesn't want to have a child, because Lucy certainly
doesn't, James thought as he caught a ride home with Bennett to
check on his own kid.

By the time Monday rolled around, James had recovered from the
unsettling experience of Ned Woodman's death. Fortunately, Eliot continued to believe the man had simply chosen to take a nap
on the bathroom floor. His four-year-old brain reasoned that the
grown-up must have been really hot and had found relief on the
cool tile floor. James and Jane said nothing to correct this notion.

The workday was refreshingly uneventful. James discarded another pair of thoroughly unpromising job applications, manned
both the circulation and information desks as the Fitzgerald twins
put on a Dr. Seuss puppet show for a group of kindergartners, and
made it through eight hours without a single sugar craving. That
afternoon, he nearly hugged Harmony when she invited him into
her office for their second session.

"I've lost two pounds!" he boasted happily. "I know that isn't
much, but I feel like this treatment is exactly what I needed!"

Harmony smiled in encouragement. "Kicking your sugar addiction is a great start, but remember that you still need to eat balanced meals and exercise regularly if you want to be truly healthy."

James didn't want to admit that he hadn't been to the gym
once over the past week so he merely nodded in agreement.

After gesturing for her client to be seated in the recliner, Harmony took her place on the sofa and gazed at him with friendly
concern. "I heard your son discovered Mr. Woodman's body on
Saturday. Is he okay?"

James wiggled around in the chair until his body weight felt
evenly distributed. "Eliot thinks Ned was just resting. He's forgotten all about it by now." He opened the folded blanket Harmony
handed him and spread it over his legs and belly. "Did you know
Ned?"

"No," Harmony answered. "Not personally, I mean. I knew that
he was a councilman and I've seen his wife around the Village.
She's a regular at Knead Your Cares Away. That poor woman. Her
husband's death must have been a terrible shock."

Staring at one of the soft watercolors above Harmony's head,
James nodded. "I hope he didn't die because of stress. The last time
I saw him alive, he was standing near the protestors. He looked utterly panic-stricken. I asked him to help keep the crowd calm, but
he disappeared as soon as Deputy Donovan showed up."

Harmony didn't seem surprised that Ned dodged what James
considered to be his responsibility as a town official. "Not everyone is comfortable handling a volatile situation. The noise, the
escalating emotions, the possibility of violence. I'm sure several
people were upset by the protest, but I'm still grateful to live in a
country where our expressions can be voiced, no matter how disagreeable to some."

Wanting to avoid a political discussion, James decided to change
the subject. "Tomorrow night is the first meeting of our supper club
in which we're all sugar-free."

"Well, let's make certain you stay that way," Harmony said. "Are
you comfortable?"

"Ver "
Y•

Harmony turned on her CD player and the tranquil mixture of
birdsong, running water, and wind chimes drifted into the room.
James closed his eyes. The session was similar to the first one, but
instead of visiting his brain's control room, Harmony asked James
to picture the sugary treats he loved during childhood.

One at a time, he called the images to mind. Charleston Chews,
chocolate chip cookies, ice cream sandwiches, Twinkies, his mother's homemade doughnuts, and hordes of Halloween candy floated
across his vision, and he couldn't help but grin over the variety of
sweets his memory had been able to bring forth. One by one, James
laid out the delicacies he'd succumbed to for nearly forty years and
then turned his back on the entire display. When he awoke, he felt a
sense of freedom, as though he'd reprogrammed his long-term
memory and it would no longer have the power to make him believe
he wanted to submit to the culinary temptations of his boyhood.

Once again, James collected his reinforcement CD from Skye
and then headed out of the office. Skye's boyfriend, Lennon, was
raking a swath of white pebbles in the Japanese rock garden in between Harmony's office and her neighbor on the left, the massage
therapist. James watched the young man's steady and deliberate
movements and then realized he must be raking in time to music,
as a pair of white wires dangled from his ears and disappeared into
the neck of another tie-dyed T-shirt.

James glanced around the tidy garden, the spotless cement
walkways, and the carefully trimmed bushes. Bluebirds flitted
about the treetops and the sun fell through the leaves, dappling
the ground with patterns of light and shadow. The Village was incredibly serene this Monday compared to the boisterous scene on
Saturday.

The feeling of relaxed empowerment fled the moment James
returned home and hit the play button on his answering machine.

"It's me," Jane's voice trembled slightly. "I was really hoping
you'd be home. I ... I need to know how worried to be about what
happened today. Someone left another dead bird at my house,
James, but this one wasn't in the mailbox." She paused to collect
herself. "It was nailed to the front door"

James called her back immediately. "Honey, are you okay?"
He didn't notice the use of the endearment; it had rolled off his
tongue naturally.

"I actually had a shot of whiskey to settle my nerves. Really, I'm
better now. Luckily, Eliot didn't see it since we always come inside
through the garage." Jane sounded exhausted.

"You've had quite a shock," he told her. "I can hear it in your
voice. But sweetheart, you've got to call the police. This has moved
beyond the realm of practical joke to vandalism. A person sick
enough to nail a dead bird to your door could be capable of much
worse.

Jane sighed. "I'll do it in the morning. I promise. Right now, I
just wish ... well, I wish you were here."

It was all the invitation James needed. "Give me an hour," he
said and hung up.

By the time he reached Harrisonburg, Eliot was already asleep.
Jane was clad in a pair of blue cotton pajamas covered with designs of bacon and eggs. After hugging her, James pointed at her
nighttime ensemble and smiled.

"Do you like my `breakfast in bed' PJs?" She laughed and then
her face grew serious. "Thank you, James. It's not like me to feel
insecure in the house by myself, but I knew with you here I'd feel
much safer."

James pointed at the sofa. "Should I make this up?"

"No," Jane said with a flirtatious grin. She stepped closer, her
eyes shining with invitation. "You'd be a much more efficient bodyguard in my bed."

Without the slightest hesitation, James scooped her into his
arms and planted a kiss on the exposed skin of her neck. "Why do
I hear Whitney Houston music playing in my head?"

Jane's lips found his. Huskily, she murmured, "Get that other
woman out of your mind. Tonight, you're mine."

Whispering into her hair, James answered, "I think I always
have been."

The next morning, Eliot was delighted to find his father standing
over the stove, fixing scrambled eggs with cheese with one hand
and drinking coffee from one of Jane's purple JMU coffee mugs
with the other. However, his initial pleasure quickly turned into a
sulk as he realized he'd missed James' arrival the night before.

"I didn't know there was gonna be a sleepover!" Eliot whined.
"I missed the fun!"

At that moment, Jane entered the kitchen and distributed good
morning kisses to both males. "It was grown-up fun," she said and
winked at James. Taking a drink from his mug, she pointed at the
stovetop clock. "You'd better get going or you'll be late for work."

James cast an anxious look toward the front door. "Are you
sure you're fine dealing with this by yourself? I can take a sick day."

Jane nodded and lowered her voice. "I'll do it after I drop Eliot off at day care. Having cops at our house might freak him out.
Then again, he might love it. Either way, he won't be here."

"Call me later, okay? I've got an interview scheduled for two
this afternoon but otherwise I should be available to talk." He
hugged his ex-wife and then presented his son with his breakfast.
"An egg-monster for the coolest kid in the room."

Eliot examined the lumpy pile of eggs forming an oval face, the
apple-slice mouth, the baby carrot nose, and the four eyes made
out of cheese cubes and laughed. "Hey! I'm the only kid. You and
mom are old!"

James pretended to pull an invisible knife from his chest as he
gathered his overnight bag and waved goodbye. Before leaving, he
snuck around to the front door in order to get a firsthand look at
the dead bird.

This was no pathetic robin resting on a pile of mail, but a big
black crow, like the ones in James' nightmare. Both wings had
been spread and a nail had been driven through each wing bone
into the wooden door. The bird's head and neck sagged sideways
and its feet were curled inward as though it had died in agony.

Repulsed, James took a step backward. He glanced around the
stoop, looking for a note or any indication that would explain the
gruesome display of vandalism. His eyes swept the property and
then he walked slowly to his truck, thinking that it would be a
challenge to have staged the macabre display in Jane's neighborhood. The houses were relatively close to one another and there
were very few mature trees dividing the yards. Most of the neighbors were two-parent families and though many of the mothers
worked outside the home, the women living on either side of Jane
did not.

"Who walks up to the front door of someone's house, nails a
dead bird on it, and then drives away unseen?" he asked the quiet
street. "And just as important as the `who' is the `why.' Why do this
to Jane?"

James put his hands on his hips and glared in every direction
as though he could frighten away the perpetrator with the sheer force of his presence. Putting his faith in the abilities of the local police, James backed out of the driveway and headed south to
Quincy's Gap.