Sole Witness (12 page)

Lori considered the wisdom of authorizing Davy to
loot through her panty drawer. Then she considered the attraction of wearing
the same mud-stained outfit for the next Heaven-knew-how-many days.

“Fine. Just about everything is hanging in the
walk-in closet, and there’s a backpack on the floor. Use that.”

“What should I grab?”

How to describe coordinating fashion to a man? “I
don’t care. Try to make matching possible. Don’t forget deodorant, my
toothbrush, and… some underwear.”

Silence emanated from the phone.

“Underwear. Right.”

Lori chose to ignore the husky edge to his voice.
“How soon can you come?”

He paused. “What?”

“How soon can you get here, Davis? Get your mind out
of the gutter.”

Men.

“Oh. Maybe an hour. Why?”

“I’m starving. There’s a diner down the block. You
want to meet me there, instead?”

“Sure. What is it, Auntie Lou’s?”

Lori blinked. “You’re weird, Davy.”

“What? You’ve never eaten at Auntie Lou’s?”

She glanced at the alarm clock. “It’s a quarter past
eleven. See you in an hour?”

“I’ll be there.”

Lori snapped her cell phone closed. One hour. A tiny
hotel room that stank like a cigarette box and still-damp clothes from the
night before. Maybe she’d head over early, kill some time.

No sense hanging out in this dump.

 Before schlepping over to the diner in wet high
heels, she swung by the front desk for toothpaste and a toothbrush. She could
get that much done, at least.

The clerk was a tall, skinny man with olive skin.
Maybe Latin. Maybe not.

He gave her the brush and a take-out menu for Auntie
Lou’s, which made no sense since she had to walk over there either way. Lori
just smiled and thanked him and headed down the block.

The outside should have prepared her for the inside.

The diner bulged on the corner, about the same color
and dimensions as one of those silver, bullet-shaped Airstream RVs but five
times the size. A massive, asymmetric backboard boasted a neon sign proclaiming
“Auntie Lou’s” in flashing letters.

The whole effect was sort of 1960s Americana meets
the Jetsons.

The thick scent of grilling hamburger assaulted
Lori’s nose from the moment she pushed open the asymmetric door. She changed
her mind about breakfast and began to think about lunch.

Tiny booths clustered along the outer walls. Each
old, warped table staggered under silverware, paper placemats, and tableside
mini-jukeboxes.

A long U-shaped breakfast counter hogged the center
of the restaurant, surrounded by metal-rimmed turquoise swivel stools, attached
to the floor on their single stands. Old men dotted the seats, each wearing
matching leers when she walked through the door.

Lori shrugged it off and fed herself the usual
justification.

Since she didn’t have the most brilliant mind, her
chosen career set her body up to be objectified. She couldn’t complain when men
did just that.

Even creepy old guys.

If they didn’t like looking at her, she wouldn’t
have had a job. But she didn’t have to like being leered at.

Now, more than ever, she wished she’d started her
talent agency after all. She’d be glad to trade Lori Summers, supermodel, for
Lori Summers, businesswoman.

Lori glanced around for a hostess and didn’t see
anyone. The hand-lettered sign read “Please Be Seated,” so she wandered around
the diner, peering at all the sepia-toned photographs of pre-condo Florida
adorning the walls.

She chose a corner booth and ordered a vanilla
milkshake from a bouncy waitress in a checkered apron.

Why not? Might as well ruin her diet while she was
ruining her life.

The one thing she wouldn’t stand for, however, was
ruining anybody else’s lives. Davis had to catch the killer before more people
were caught in his crossfire because of her. She had a bad enough history as it
stood.

Everyone who loved her, who trusted her, died.

*          *          *

Davis stood in Lori’s bedroom feeling like a Peeping
Tom.

Other technicians bustled around the room. It wasn’t
as if he were alone in here, sniffing her panties. For the first time in his
life, however, he could see how a man could be driven to such a thing.

The drawer before him was a candy store of delights.

Tiny wisps of white lace, stretchy scraps of black
fabric, flower-studded g-strings, silky bikini-style panties… even what looked
like a pair of Wonder Woman underoos. He didn’t know why that turned him on,
but it did.

Everything about her turned him on.

You’d think he’d be over her by now. Twelve years,
man. That’s a long time to carry a torch. Especially when he was the one who
did the dumping.

Davis stuffed a handful of assorted panties into a
side pocket of the canvas backpack.

More than his father, he blamed his mother for
talking him into breaking up with Lori.

Although why he’d listened to either of them was
beyond him. Mother stayed in a loveless relationship because she married money.
And his father stayed because he hadn’t gotten a pre-nup.

It was as simple as that.

Silk slid through Davis’s fingers. No way could he
pick and choose  tiny underthings without imagining Lori wearing them. She’d
have to make do with what she got, Wonder Woman and all. She was a wonder
woman.

On the surface, Juliana had seemed a good catch. She
wasn’t as sexy as Lori, of course, but she had pigtails and pom-poms and
country-club lineage.

In retrospect, big deal.

Lori hadn’t wanted a pre-nup. Juliana did.

Davis slung one backpack strap over his shoulder and
stepped into the walk-in closet.

Wire shelving ran around the top of the walls with a
matching bar underneath for hanging clothes. Every inch burst with color.

He’d wanted Lori in a powerful, frantic way that
he’d never felt for Juliana.

Even now, just the scent of Lori’s clothes made his
heart spasm. But at eighteen, his parents were an immovable force.

Davis thumbed through the closet, forgetting to
breathe when he came across a long black dress very similar to the one Lori had
worn to the winter formal. That had been the first night they’d made love. He’d
told himself he’d never let her go.

In the end, he’d followed his parents’ dictate like
a sheep.

Juliana was heading to the same university, not that
she planned to ever do anything so vulgar as actual work. Lori was still
heading into her junior year.

His mother called Lori his ‘white trash mistake’—but
then his mother didn’t think much of anybody. Oh, the irony, when Lori’d first
shown up on TV…

Davis found a stack of khaki shorts and stuffed them
in the bag.

He should’ve sung his own tune. Danced to his own
drum. Married Lori right out of high school like he’d wanted to. Snuggled her
every morning. Made love to her every night.

His father would’ve followed through on his threat
to disown him, but who cared? He hadn’t gone after partner in the law firm
anyway.

Davis selected a few random blouses and tucked them
into the bag.

Everything went with beige, right? She’d make it
work.

Lori looked good wearing anything. Or nothing. He
ought to know. Tangled hair, satin and sweat, hot breath on his neck, his heart
pounding like his…

Bad train of thought.

He headed for the bathroom to toss some toiletries
in the bag. What had she said? Deodorant and a hairbrush. Or was it a
toothbrush? Better bring both.

How much had Lori changed? Was she like Juliana now,
the sort of woman who prized money over values, preferred a slim stomach over a
family?

Davis shoved as many little bottles into the front
pocket of the backpack as he could.

He’d never believe that.

He should’ve married her back when she might’ve said
yes. Taken the chance before life had turned them into two very different
people.

But that was then, and there was no going back.

Davis zipped the backpack, nodded goodbye at the
technicians on the scene and headed for the diner.

Auntie Lou’s had always been a rockin’ place. His
parents would die rather than lower themselves to such a level, and that’s
probably why he loved it so much.

Childish, perhaps. He couldn’t help it.

Once he hit the highway, Davis punched up Carver on
his cell.

“Yeah?” she barked. “Where the hell are you?”

He navigated up the on-ramp. “Highway. I’ll hit the
station in another hour or so and pick you up.”

“What are you doing?”

“Interviewing a witness.”

Carver snickered. “Lemme guess. Miss Summers?”

“Right in one. And I don’t want to hear about it.”

An inelegant snort crackled across the line.
“Ten-four, big daddy. See you at the station.”

“Yeah. Later.”

Davis clicked his phone shut and pocketed it. He
turned up the radio and listened to soft jazz until Auntie Lou’s loomed into
sight. He couldn’t wait to see Lori. His stomach burbled with anticipation. He
felt like a freaking teenager.

Think she’d punch him if he tried to kiss her?

Bad idea. No kissing allowed. She was a witness. He
was a cop.

Nonetheless, as he strode to the diner from the
parking lot, he couldn’t help but wish he came bearing more than an army-green
backpack. Flowers, maybe. Roses.

He shoved open the door and stepped inside.

His eyes found her immediately. She was the one in
the back corner being ogled by no less than nine dirty old men and at least two
illegal-resident cooking staff.

Holy crap. Was that stabbing actual jealousy?

No, of course not. Just cop instinct, that’s all.

Men were bigger and stronger and meaner and dumber
and put women of all types at a disadvantage. There’s no gender equality. He
shouldn’t have let her come here alone.

He muscled his way past a drooling busboy and
deposited her bag on the seat next to her. She looked up at him and grinned.

His heart melted.

“Listen, Davy.” She punched up the volume on the
jukebox. “It’s Tommy James. You remember?”

Did he ever. Davis sank onto the bench like he took
a bullet to the gut.

Thirteen years ago. A ‘sock hop.’

He thought it was the stupidest thing he’d ever
heard of in his life. But Lori wanted to go, and in those days, he’d be
anywhere she asked. No way was he letting some other guy take her out, dance
with her, hold her. Like hell.

“How can I forget? I fell down eight times.”

She smiled. “You were so cute. Slippery dress socks
were maybe a bad idea, but you did the twist with such… such gusto.”

Some call it ‘gusto,’ others might call it ‘making
an ass of himself.’ Whatever it took to win the girl.

“You were good, anyway,” Davis muttered.

She’d been phenomenal.

No poodle skirt, though—just something else for the
‘cool’ kids to ride him about—but she knew all the steps. Who knew ‘mashed
potato’ was a dance? He’d thought it meant the cafeteria was serving midnight
snacks, and she hadn’t even laughed at him.

“So, why weren’t you at your mom’s?” he asked.

Lori jacked the volume up higher.

Fine. No questions about her mom. Maybe family meant
little to her.

Maybe she was more like Juliana than he could have
ever guessed. Maybe he should run screaming before letting his foolish heart
get all sorts of bad ideas about rekindling a romance with Lori Summers.

Davis twisted the knob on the jukebox until he could
talk without shouting.

“You ate?”

“Yeah,” she answered and gestured to an empty plate
and a half-drunk milkshake.

Those dormant protective feelings bubbled to the
surface again. If he thought the creeps in here were bad, what about the Shell
Motel? Talk about sketchy.

“Can I walk you to your room?”

Something flashed in her eyes.

“No.”

Lori snatched up her purse and tossed a twenty on
the table. She slung the backpack over one shoulder and rose to her feet.

“Lor, I just–”

“I said no.”

Lori turned away, shoulders back, spine ramrod
straight, the rear of her skirt smeared with dirt and grass stains. She looked
like a million bucks. Way out of his league. She stalked toward the door,.

She didn’t need him. Worse, she didn’t even want
him.