Sucker Punch (31 page)

My back and neck were a little less sore by the next morning, but the bruises on my face and neck hadn’t faded. If anything, they were darker and angrier than ever. There wasn’t enough makeup in all of Paradise to cover the bruises and minimize the swelling.

Liberty came upstairs throughout the day to take Max for his walks, and Karen kept a watchful eye on the inventory in the store. Divinity was known for having fresh candy made daily, but I thought that staying out of sight for a few more days might be better for business than letting customers see a giant grape working in the kitchen.

Wyatt and Elizabeth stopped by that evening bearing a huge plate of cheese enchiladas, rice, and beans. Oh, and food for themselves, too. Wyatt even produced a six-pack. I knew I shouldn’t have a beer on top of the pain medication but, let’s face it, Mexican food is just not meant to be eaten without alcohol.

While I tried to find a comfortable way to sit at the table, Elizabeth bustled around the kitchen, gathering everything civilized people use when they eat. I didn’t want to disappoint her, so I scooped an enchilada, rice, and beans onto the plate she gave me and pretended that I wouldn’t rather eat straight out of the Styrofoam box.

Wyatt heaped his plate with smothered burritos and dug in. “You look like a Mack truck hit you,” he said around a mouthful. “Any idea who did this to you?”

I shook my head gently. It didn’t hurt quite so much tonight, but I wasn’t sure whether that was because of the pain meds or the beer. “I didn’t get a good look at him. In fact, I didn’t get a look at all—except for his shoes, and I could barely see those.”

Elizabeth spooned salsa onto a crisp taco and pushed the bowl to the center of the table. “You don’t have any idea what kind of shoes he wore?”

“No, unfortunately.” I filled my mouth with enchilada and closed my eyes in ecstasy over the spicy, cheesy goodness. When I could speak again, I admitted, “I’m not even absolutely certain the attacker was a man.”

Glancing up sharply, Elizabeth said, “You think it could have been a woman?”

“I can’t completely rule a woman out.”

Wyatt pulled a longneck bottle from the six-pack and cranked it open. “Oh, come on, sis. You know who did it.”

“No. No, I don’t. As far as I can tell, nobody has a motive for any of the things that have been happening.”

“You might not know his motive, but I’d say skipping town is a pretty good indicator that the director—what’s his name? Allen Pastaroni?—did it.”

My heart skipped a beat or two. “Alexander Pastorelli? He skipped town? When?”

“Nate says they went to talk to him about the attack, see where he was last night, that sort of thing. Funny thing, he wasn’t anywhere to be found.”

Elizabeth sent Wyatt the same kind of look she gave the boys when they were acting out. “Don’t make it sound so mysterious, Wyatt. He checked out of his hotel early this afternoon, that’s all. It’s not as if he slipped off in the dead of night.”

“Oh.” A dull disappointment settled over me again. “We shouldn’t be surprised, I guess. Vonetta closed down the production today.”

“We shouldn’t be surprised about that, either,” Wyatt said as he forked up some rice. “If you ask me, it was way past time for her to cut her losses and walk away. Three people attacked? One dead? Time to give up.”

“I suppose so,” I said. “Alexander didn’t waste any time getting out of town, did he?”

“No, he didn’t.” Elizabeth got up to grab the salt and pepper and carried them back to the table. “I guess we’re a little too small-town for him these days.”

“We’ve been too small for him for years,” Wyatt muttered. “You ask me, he got too big for his britches a long time ago.”

I didn’t say anything to that, and neither did Elizabeth. My leaving town for the university had long been a bone of contention between my brother and me. It wasn’t just me, either. Any time someone left Paradise to search for a bigger, broader life, Wyatt took offense. It was an argument we’d had too often, and one I didn’t want to have again.

Keeping quiet isn’t easy for me, but I’m learning. I concentrated on shoveling food into my mouth until Wyatt spoke again. “You don’t think it was him?”

I glanced up and reached for the square of paper towel masquerading as a napkin by my plate. “Who? Alexander?”

“Yeah. The director. You’re attacked one night, and he takes off the next day. Don’t you think that sounds a bit fishy?”

He had a point. More importantly, he was trying to help. “What did Nate say?”

Wyatt’s eyebrows scrunched together over the bridge of his nose. “You care about what Nate thinks? You musta been hit harder than I thought.”

I grinned. “I didn’t say
that
. I just wondered what his theory was. Does
he
think Alexander is the killer?”

Wyatt mopped chili verde from his mustache and leaned back in his chair. “No, he doesn’t. He’s still putting his money on Richie.”

Elizabeth barked a disbelieving laugh. “He thinks Richie attacked Abby last night? Did he say that?”

“Didn’t have to. I know how Nate thinks. He checked out the director fella’s hotel room, but that’s
all
he did. If it was me, I’d-a gone after Pastorelli. Caught up with him and asked him about last night. Nate didn’t do that. Just chalked it up to the play closing and went back to the station.”

I lowered my fork to the table and eyed my brother carefully. As long as I could remember, he’d stuck up for Nate whenever I objected to something he’d done. This was the second time in a week he’d said something negative about his buddy. I wondered what was going on with them, but I decided not to ask. Another time, maybe. “Does anyone know where Alexander went?”

“Beats me,” Wyatt said with a shrug. “Coulda gone home, I guess. Or off to New York so he could become a big Broadway . . . whatever.”

“Well, he’s gone now,” Elizabeth said. “If he’s the one responsible for what’s been going on around here, he might just get away with murder.”

“He will as long as Nate’s in charge of the case,” I muttered. “I suppose we’ll never know what drove him to do it.”

“Probably not,” Elizabeth agreed.

Wyatt’s only response was a low growl.

“Does that bother you?” I asked him.

“Hell, yes.” He put his bottle back on the table with a bang. “Son of a bitch attacked my sister. I want his ass in jail where it belongs.”

I wasn’t sure which surprised me more, Wyatt’s dissatisfaction with Nate or his defense of me. I know he loves me—that’s never been a serious question. But our relationship hasn’t always been easy, and I haven’t always been sure that he
like
s me.

I nudged him with my shoulder. Pain shot up my neck, but I ignored it. It didn’t seem to matter so much right then.

“Until Nate can find him and lock him up for good,” Wyatt said, “I want you to be careful. Don’t go out alone, okay?”

“Wyatt—”

“I’m serious, Abby. For once, don’t argue with me.”

“I’ll be careful,” I said, “but I can’t promise that I won’t go out alone. I live alone, remember? Besides, like you said, Alexander’s probably long gone. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

And I believed that I was. It just goes to show how wrong you can be.

 

 

I was still too sore the next morning to work and too bruised to put myself on display in the shop, so I spent the day lying around the house. I watched a few daytime talk shows, but that got real old, real fast. I tried reading, but I’d read every book on my shelves at least twice. The first time someone knocked on my door, I raced toward it eagerly. But when I checked the peephole and saw John Haversham standing on my porch, I decided Regis and Kelly weren’t so bad after all. I ignored him and went back to the TV.

The second time Haversham came by, around noon, I avoided him again. And the three calls he made to my home number also went unanswered.

I’m sure some people would consider the attack on Colleen and me newsworthy, and I might even talk to him when I wasn’t so loopy from the pain medication. But not now.

When I needed a break, I called Colleen to check on her. She was sore and bruised, as well, but Doyle was taking time off work to stay with her and she didn’t sound concerned about having him around, so I told myself not to worry. I tried Jawarski’s cell phone twice, but he didn’t answer either time. I even called the police station for an update on the investigation into the attack, but all I got for my trouble was a brisk assurance from Nate that they were working on it.

Finally, just after sunset, I decided I couldn’t stay locked up in my apartment any longer. Haversham or not, I needed fresh air. I needed to see people and eat food that hadn’t been delivered by friends or family. And I needed some nice, thick foundation to help disguise the bruises on my face so I could go back to work. I couldn’t take another day of this.

I wasn’t up to walking with Max tugging at the leash, so I waited until Liberty came to get him, then slipped into boots with traction and a hoodie so I could hide my bruises and avoid the stares of curious passersby. After tucking a couple of twenties into my pocket, I made my way down the stairs and set a course for Walgreens.

A stiff wind had blown into the valley during the afternoon, and I shivered in the cold. The fresh air didn’t clear my head completely, but it did chase away some of the clouds that had been hovering in my brain since the attack. I probably wouldn’t feel normal again until the medication left my system.

Determined not to let the weather drive me back indoors just yet, I pushed through the rising wind. I’m not a fan of foundation and other heavy makeup, but at the rate my bruises were fading it would be weeks before I dared show my face. If I had to wait that long, I’d need intense therapy. Lots of it.

Inside the drug store, I pushed a cart resolutely toward the cosmetics aisle. I’m not a complete novice when it comes to makeup, but I stopped obsessing about my appearance when I divorced Roger and came home to Paradise. That’s not to say that I don’t want to look good, just that I don’t feel the need to plaster my face with chemicals to do it. Give me a little eye shadow, some blush, and lip gloss and I’m good.

When I reached the pain killer aisle, I decided on a quick detour. I’d walked away from the clinic with enough pain medication to last for a few more days, but I couldn’t work if I was taking it. Just as I started down the aisle, a hand brushed my shoulder. I cried out in surprise and spun around quickly.

“Did I startle you?” Paisley asked. “I’m sorry.”

Relieved to see a friendly face, I managed a weak smile. “Sorry. I’m a bit jumpy, I guess.”

“I’m not surprised. Being attacked the way you were. It’s horrible.” She studied my face and grimaced. “Gee, he didn’t mess around, did he?”

If I hadn’t known how bad I looked, I might have been hurt by her reaction. “No, he didn’t.”

“Are you okay? I mean other than the bruises and all? You’re not seriously hurt?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m not. Just sore.”

“Thank goodness for small favors. Do the police know who did it?”

“Not yet. But I think the fact that Alexander disappeared early the next morning says something.”

“Alexander?” Paisley’s mouth fell open in stunned silence. “You think
he
attacked you?”

“I think it’s a strong possibility.”

Paisley shook her head in disbelief. “That’s just unbelievable. He seems so . . . normal.”

“Yeah, well, a lot of criminals do.” My stomach growled so loudly, I knew she could hear it. Guess I was hungrier than I thought. I was also weaker than I’d expected, and I knew my outing wouldn’t be a long one. I mumbled something about talking to Paisley later and started away.

She came with me. “Did you say that Alexander’s gone?” When I nodded, she frowned and asked, “Are you sure about that?”

“Nate told Wyatt and Elizabeth that Alexander had checked out of his hotel. Why? Have you seen him?”

“No. In fact, he wasn’t at the theater today, but—” Paisley broke off with a shake of her head. “Nate has to be wrong. All of Alexander’s stuff is still at the Playhouse. I can’t imagine him leaving town without it.”

I put the small bottle of ibuprofen back on the shelf and picked up the economy-sized bottle. “You’re sure he left things behind?”

“Positive. Vonetta was complaining just this morning that he left his day planner in the rehearsal room again. And when I took it back to his office, all of his pictures were still on the desk.”

I wheeled the cart slowly away from the painkillers and toward the makeup aisle. “I can’t imagine him leaving those pictures behind,” I said as we walked. “But I guess it’s possible that he forgot them.”

Paisley cut a questioning glance at me. “No. There’s no way. Either he ran off and left them on purpose, or he didn’t leave by choice.”