Reckless Moon (11 page)

“Is there something I can do for you?” Beth said impatiently. Why was this clown telephoning her in the middle of the night?

“Yeah, there is, ma’am. I got a client of yours down here in the tank. He had your card in his wallet when we took his personal effects. I thought I would be getting your service at this hour, but since I’m talking right to you, maybe you can tell me what to do.”

“Who is it?” Beth asked. But she knew.

“Abraham Curtis. His daddy is some big deal grower out in the valley. I booked him on a D&D.”

Drunk and disorderly, Beth thought. Wonderful. “Who are you?” Beth asked.

“Oh, didn’t I say?” the man responded, and then chuckled at his own eccentricity. “This is Sergeant Canning of the Enfield police. We picked your boy up during a disturbance at the Kit-Kat Club. He wouldn’t let me call anybody, but when I found your card I thought I’d take a chance.” The sergeant lowered his voice. “He really doesn’t belong here, miss, in with all the drunks, dressed in evening clothes like he is. And beat up some, too; he really should see a doctor.”

Beth closed her eyes briefly, then opened them. “Will he be arraigned in the morning?”

“Yeah, but he can go home now if you’ll vouch for him. It’ll be just the standard deal. He doesn’t have to spend the night if you can make bail.”

“What is it?”

“The set fine, five hundred dollars.”

Beth didn’t have five hundred dollars in cash in the house. But she knew a bondsman who was open twenty-four hours a day, and she calculated the time it would take her to get to Hartford, and then to Enfield.

“I’ll be there in an hour,” she said shortly, and hung up.

Marion was sitting on the bottom step of the staircase, her elbows on her knees.

“I woke you again. I’m sorry,” Beth said.

Marion turned her palms up. “Who could sleep in this house? What’s going on?”

“Bram is in jail in Enfield. I have to drive over there and bail him out.”

Marion exhaled slowly. “That guy will never change.”

“Maybe so,” Beth replied, sidestepping her sister and heading up the stairs. “But the cop said he’d been in a fight. I can’t just leave him there overnight if he’s hurt.”

Marion looked up the stairwell after her. “Are you sure you should get mixed up in this?”

“I’m a lawyer, Marion. I’m just bailing a client out of jail.”

“Huh,” Marion said expressively.

Beth got a pair of jeans and a shirt from her closet and took them out into the hall, changing as she talked.

“I think maybe this is my fault,” she went on quietly. “I said some awful things to him tonight, and I know I upset him.”

“So he gets into a dustup because you hurt his feelings. That’s very mature.”

“I didn’t say it was mature. But it’s typical of Bram.” Beth took her purse and keys from the hall table and hurried down the stairs.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be all right. Go back to bed,” she said to Marion.

Marion made an exasperated face. “The alarm will be going off in half an hour; I might as well just hit the road. I’ll be back home around noon if you want to talk.”

Beth nodded and waved, sprinting out the door.

Five minutes later she was on the highway, heading for Hartford.

CHAPTER 6

Don’t you have one of those little plastic cards that you stick into a machine and get money?” the bondsman asked. “My night business is down incredibly since they came out.”

“If I had one of those cards would I be standing here at three-forty in the morning talking to you?” Beth asked.

“Touchy,” the man groused. “What are you so worked up about? Five hundred bucks, the charge can’t be much. What was your client doing, growing pot in the basement under a plant light?”
 

“Drunk and disorderly,” Beth said shortly.

“Ah. Turned out a bar, huh?”

“Something like that. Could you make it snappy, please, I’m in a hurry.”

The bondsman signed the note and slipped it into an envelope, handing both to her. “Lady, next time I get arrested I’m calling you. You do fast work.”

Beth smiled weakly, backing out of the door. “Thanks a lot. Good night.” She was back out on the street in seconds, gunning the motor of her car toward I91 and Enfield.

The jail was dark except for a single light burning above the door. Beth went inside and discovered Sergeant Canning sitting at the information desk. His name tag was pinned to his uniform blouse.

“I’m Miss Forsyth,” she announced to him. “Mr. Curtis’s attorney.”

The sergeant glanced at her jeans and sneakers. “You don’t say.”

“Yes, we spoke earlier on the phone. You called me about Abraham Curtis.” She handed him the envelope. “Here’s his bail.”

He nodded, impressed. “That was quick.” He removed an accordion folder from a drawer and handed it to her. “These are his personal effects, a wallet, a watch, and some money.” He flicked the switch on an intercom at his elbow. “Rafferty, bring up Curtis. He’s walking.”

Beth shifted nervously.

“Got some ID?” Canning said to her.

Beth showed him her Bar Association card.

“Looks like the ink on it is still wet,” Canning observed. “Where did you go to school?”

“Western New England, in Massachusetts.”

Canning scratched his graying head. “I got a nephew at U Conn Law School. Wants to do taxes.”

“That’s very lucrative,” Beth said, wondering how long this would take.

“Eh?” Canning said.

“You can make a lot of money doing that,” Beth translated.

“Yeah. And you don’t have to spend your sleeping time bailing losers out of the clink,” Canning replied.

On that note Bram arrived, escorted by a uniformed policeman. Bram was minus his tux jacket, and his shirt was ripped and filthy. There was a large scratch on his cheek, one eye was bruising, and he had what appeared to be a deep cut on his left bicep, bound with a handkerchief. He froze when he saw Beth.

“What’s she doing here?” he growled to Canning.

“You’re welcome,” Beth said sourly.

Canning looked from one to the other, puzzled. “Isn’t this your lawyer?” he asked Bram.

“I’m beginning to feel like his mother,” Beth said. She surveyed Bram from head to foot. “Look at you; you’re a mess. When are you going to grow up?”

“Never,” he replied shortly. “I’m Peter Pan.”

Beth glanced at Canning. “Is he free to go?” she asked him.

Canning produced a pen and a triplicate voucher. “Just sign for your valuables right here, Mr. Curtis.”

Bram scribbled his name, saying to Canning, “I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed my stay in your luxurious accommodations.”

“We aim to please,” Canning replied, unruffled. He took his pen back and pointed it at Beth. “I’d treat this little lady right, if I were you,” he added. “I called her an hour ago and she dropped everything to get here and spring your ungrateful carcass.”

Beth lowered her eyes. Bram said nothing.

“Get out of here,” Canning said. “Your hearing is 10 A.M., October fifteenth.”

Silence reigned as they walked to Beth’s car. Bram broke it as she unlocked her door.

“I’ll drive,” he said.

“You will not. You’re in no condition to take the wheel.”

She expected an argument, but Bram had apparently had enough conflict for one night. He walked around and got in on the passenger side, doubling up his long legs in the cramped space of the sports car.

Beth slid in next to him, starting the engine. “Your arm looks bad,” she said. “We should have it checked out.” She snapped her fingers. “I know. Just the job for Dr. Redhead. Or is her practice confined to ankles?”

“Give it a rest, mouse,” Bram said wearily.

“How come she wasn’t arrested with you? She’ll be disappointed that she missed all the excitement.”

“I took her home before I...”

“Got bombed and tore up the Knick-Knack Club?” Beth suggested.

“Kit-Kat Club,” Bram corrected.

“A rose by any other name.” Beth downshifted for the entry ramp to the highway. “Call me foolish, call me curious, but might I know what you were doing there? Is that the sort of place you usually hang out?”

“I wanted to get drunk.”

“You accomplished your goal.”

“I didn’t feel like sitting home alone and thinking about what you had said to me, okay?”

“Then why didn’t you occupy yourself with Dr. Redhead?”

“Her name is Reynolds.”

“I don’t care what her name is!” Beth yelled. “Or why didn’t you call gorgeous Gloria? I’m sure she’d be willing at all hours. Or that radio station manager. Does she work the night shift?”

Bram’s head turned toward her, and even in the darkness she could see the narrowing of his eyes.

“Have you been keeping tabs on me?” he asked.

“Word gets around,” Beth answered, uncomfortable.

Bram nodded, as if confirming something to himself. “Melinda Sue Bigmouth,” he said. “Otherwise known as the Voice of America.”

“Well, you haven’t exactly been conducting your affairs in a closet,” Beth said defensively. “Of course people are going to talk.”

She could feel his gaze on her face. “I wouldn’t have a minute for any of them if you’d give me half a chance,” he said quietly.

Beth’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.

“You know it’s true,” Bram added. “But you’ve made it clear that you wouldn’t have me if I came gift wrapped. So what am I supposed to do? Enter a monastery?”

Beth kept her eyes on the road, not answering.

Bram looked out the window, throwing his strong profile into sharp relief as they passed a streetlight. “Bethany, I don’t understand you. You want me so much you tremble like a leaf in the wind every time I touch you. You care about me, or you wouldn’t have come out at this hour when you heard I was in trouble. Why won’t you give us what we both need?”

“You know why,” she whispered, still not looking at him.

“Oh, yes,” he said in a resolute tone. “Love, or the lack of it. Wonderful love, which makes the world go round, the last best hope of the human race.” He gestured dismissively. “It’s overrated.”

“How do you know? Have you ever been in love?”

“I’ve seen the behavior of people who said they were in love, and believe me, that was enough.” His tone became cynical. “Take my father, for example. A strong, intelligent, capable man. Until he fell in love with darling Anabel. His brains, his strength, his entire constitution went out the window. He became a stupid, fawning weakling, and all for a woman who...” he stopped abruptly.

“A woman who...?” Beth prodded.

But Bram was too quick for her. “Never mind,” he answered. “Suffice it to say that I can do without an emotion that can transform me into what he became.”

“So you’ve got it all figured out, have you?” Beth asked.

“I think so.”

“If you let yourself love anybody, it will diminish you and make you putty in that person’s hands?”

His silence was confirmation.

“Then I feel sorry for you,” Beth concluded. “You’re going to be alone all your life.”

“We’re all alone all our lives,” he replied. “You’re kidding yourself if you believe otherwise.”

“Is that what you learned in the merchant marine?”

“I learned to take care of myself.”

“Oh, I can see that,” Beth said tartly. “You did a great job of taking care of yourself tonight.”

“Tonight was different,” he said defensively.

“I hope so. I hope you don’t make a habit of this sort of thing.”

“Give me a break, Bethany,” he sighed. “I feel ridiculous enough as it is.”

“Are you going to tell me about it?”

He shrugged. She barely saw the movement in the scant light.

“Nothing much to tell. I got tanked and into a fight. Somebody called the cops.”

“How did you hurt your arm?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “This guy I hit smashed a beer bottle and cut me with the end of it.”

Beth’s foot slipped off the accelerator. “What! I’m going to take you to an emergency room right this minute. You could get an infection.” She started to pull off onto the shoulder of the road.

“I am not going to any damn hospital,” he said with absolute conviction.

“Then maybe we really should call Dr.—”

“If you bring up Althea Reynolds again, I won’t be responsible for the consequences,” he interjected. His tone dripped icicles.

“All right,” Beth responded meekly. “Don’t get carried away.”

“Can’t you take care of it?” he asked, as she pulled back into her lane. “Put iodine on it or something?”

“I hope I won’t be putting a Band-Aid on an incision,” she said worriedly.

“Nah,” he responded. “I’ve been cut before. This is nothing. I was in a brawl once in Bilbao—some Basque separatist took exception to the fact that I was an American. He slashed me with this knife, looked like a scimitar.” He stopped abruptly when he noticed Beth’s frozen posture.