Thugs and Kisses (6 page)

“Wasn’t his wife killed a few years back? A botched carjacking, I believe.”

I nodded. “Yes, very tragic. I didn’t know his wife and had lost touch with him. But after that happened, I sent a condolence card to his office and later received a lovely note from him with an e-mail address. We still correspond once or twice a year, just catch-up stuff.”

“He didn’t attend the reunion, did he?”

“No. About a month ago, he sent me an e-mail saying he was going to be in Japan on business and was sorry he was going to miss seeing me.”

Dev leaned forward in his chair, his notebook forgotten. “So, Odelia, tell me what happened at the prom.”

I got off the sofa and started pacing while I spoke. “A few months before the prom, Donny approached me, saying he really missed me and our
special
friendship.” I paused and rolled my eyes. “Said he wanted to get together before we graduated.”

I stopped dead in my tracks, stung by the sudden remembrance that Greg and I had graduated from the same college, just several years apart.

“What’s wrong, Odelia?” Dev asked with great concern.

I shook it off. “Nothing worth mentioning.” I started pacing again.

“Anyway, I stupidly figured, why not? I missed having sex with him and wasn’t interested in having a boyfriend at that time. All I thought about was going to college and working so I could move out of my dad’s house as soon as school ended in June. A little fling was in order.”

“You were definitely sophisticated for your age, Odelia.”

“Maybe I was just old for my age. Or maybe I was merely a teenage slut.” I stopped and looked at him. “Looking back, I probably should have found myself an older and experienced lover. It just never occurred to me then that anyone would really want me in that way, except for a horny high-school senior.”

Dev tossed me a frown. “So you started up with Donny again?”

“Yes, but just a couple of times, both times at his house when his family was gone. But frankly, I didn’t have much free time, and fun though it was, there didn’t seem to be much point since I knew the relationship had no future. So, once again, I told him it’d been swell, but let’s move on.”

I stopped pacing and dropped back down on the couch.

“This time, though, he didn’t get mad. He agreed that we needed to get ready for finals and graduation. We parted friends, and I thought everything was hunky-dory—stupid me.

“The prom was actually a lot of fun … until the last item on the program. The plan was to show slides on a big screen of the senior class in various activities—football games, debates, pep rallies, the usual. Near the end, the photos changed, and suddenly there I was on the screen, naked in all my fat glory on Donny’s bed.”

Dev gasped.

I fought back tears as I recalled the horror. “The next photo was of my face, another of my boobs, and so forth. Everyone was in such shock that it took several photos before anyone moved to turn the damn projector off. Needless to say, I was totally humiliated and ashamed. I started to run out the door, but Donny grabbed me and held me while the photos played. I still remember him, smelling of beer and whispering in my ear, ‘Nobody dumps me, especially a fat bitch like you.’”

Tears were streaming down my face. Dev plucked some tissues from the box and held them out to me. He sat next to me on the sofa and for the second time that day put a comforting arm around me.

“Most people were stunned into silence.” I stopped to blow my nose again. “Some were laughing. The few chaperones there were busy trying to get to the projector. Tommy ran up to where Donny held me and demanded that he let me go, but Donny just laughed. Then several of his buddies grabbed Tommy, pulled down his trousers, and dumped him headfirst into one of the fish tanks.”

“Some prom.”

“Yep, a real humdinger. That’s one of the reasons I didn’t want to go to the reunion—and why I nearly had a heart attack when I saw the theme for the reunion.”

“I’m sure it’s also why several people pointed fingers at you when the police asked about suspects, even though you and I were on the dance floor at the time Oliver was shot.”

Stunned, I looked at Dev. “People accused
me
of killing Donny Oliver?”

“No, Odelia, no one accused you. It’s just that when the police questioned people about who might have a possible axe to grind, your name came up. And you did tell him to ‘eat shit and die’ in front of a lot of people last night.”

“But that’s just a silly, vulgar phrase. Lots of people say it.”

“Yes, true. But when most people say it, someone doesn’t wind up dead.”

Considering the events of the weekend, I was very glad Steele was out of the office for a few days. Between Donny’s murder and my split with Greg, the last thing I needed was Steele’s usual obnoxious comments. I wasn’t, however, so safe from Kelsey Cavendish. She was already waiting in my office when I arrived at work Monday morning.

“Please tell me,” she began, even before I had a chance to put my tote bag down, “that the high-school reunion with the murder this weekend wasn’t yours.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you.”

I sat down, put my bag away, and switched on my computer—all the normal things I did on a workday morning, trying to pretend that everything in my life was normal. I had even gone walking this morning around the Back Bay with the Reality Check group. There weren’t many walkers this morning, for which I was glad. Since the murder took place in Los Angeles County and none of the walkers knew the high-school reunion in the news was
my
high-school reunion, I was spared questions. And no one there but Zee knew about the break up. Zee walked beside me, allowing me my silence as I put one foot in front of the other, pretending everything was normal.

Normal.

What is normal, anyway? Isn’t it just a standard, a routine, a conformity that people live by or with? It seems to me that what is normal for one person might seem perverse to another, or silly, or unimportant. One woman’s normal is another woman’s weird and unusual. If you don’t count a murder and a break up, everything in my life was normal, or at least normal for me.

Maybe in my little corner of the world, being a corpse magnet is normal. Who’s to say it’s not?

On that thought, my eyes traveled against their will to the photo of Greg and me taken one Christmas. It sat proudly on the upper right side of my desk in a lovely frame. The tears I had carefully squelched all morning rose to the surface like a storm-swollen river about to breach its banks.

Kelsey was watching me. “I’m sorry about your friend,” she said in a comforting voice.

“My friend?” I choked out.

“The guy at the reunion, the one that was killed. Must’ve been quite a shock. I mean, an old friend getting shot right there, with all of you around.”

My mouth opened in a wail, but nothing came out. Tears followed as if pushed forward by a category 5 hurricane. Kelsey got up and shut my office door.

“Oh, honey,” she said to me, rushing to my side.

She bent over and encircled me with her arms. I clung to her and cried, much as Johnette had done to me the night of the reunion.

“Was the guy an old boyfriend?”

I shook my head, first sideways, then up and down, then gave up and just tried to get a grip. Eventually, the crying stopped. I grabbed a wad of tissues from the box I kept next to my computer screen. Just as I was mopping myself up, hiccups set in. Perfect.

“It’s … not that …
hic
… guy …
hic
… hated him … Greg … ,” I tried to get it out.

“Greg? Something’s happened to Greg?”

I nodded, keeping my lips sealed tight as I held my breath.

“What? What’s happened to him?” Kelsey’s eyes were wide open in fear.

I let out the breath I was holding. “He …
hic
.” Crap. I took another deep breath, held it a moment, then released it. “
Hic
.” I picked up the water bottle on my desk and shook it—empty.

“Stay put,” Kelsey ordered. “I’m going to get you something to drink.”

She left, closing the door behind her. I hiccupped my way through the few minutes until she returned, but at least the flood gates were dry. When the door opened, Kelsey walked in, holding a mug of coffee and a fresh bottle of water. Behind her was Joan, the firm’s litigation paralegal. The three of us were known as the Three Musketeers of Woobie.

“Hope you don’t mind,” Kelsey said. “I brought reinforcements.”

I smiled weakly at Joan, and she tried to smile back. I had no idea what I looked like, but it couldn’t be great, judging from the sheer fright in her expressive dark eyes. Reaching into my tote, I pulled out my cosmetic bag and retrieved my compact. Yikes! No wonder Kelsey felt like she needed to rally the troops. I looked like a puffy raccoon who’d tangled with a nasty Mary Kay dropout. Quickly, I administered some damage control with spit and a tissue, then patted powder lightly over everything. I looked at my two office buddies for approval and got nods that I interpreted as
it’ll do.
By then, the hiccups were gone.

Picking up the coffee mug Kelsey had placed on my desk, I took a long, deep drink and felt the warm, comforting liquid ooze its way through me. After a second long drink, I finally looked at Kelsey and Joan. Joan was parked in the side chair across from me, and Kelsey was leaning against the tall file cabinet to my left. Both were waiting for me to explain my hysteria.

I put down the mug and grabbed another wad of tissues as a precaution. In a flat voice, I announced, “Greg broke up with me this weekend.”

Joan gasped, and her eyes immediately pooled in sympathy. Kelsey crossed her arms over her chest and stood straight.

“And why in the hell would he do a stupid thing like that?” she asked.

“Because,” I started to say, then paused to clear my throat. I took another gulp of coffee and straightened my shoulders. I would get the words out if it killed me. “Because I’m a corpse magnet.”

“Huh?” they said in unison.

I waved a hand as if to erase what I’d just said. “Actually, there were several reasons, but the central one is he’s tired of worrying about me. He said it’s not normal for someone to get into the trouble I do and have people trying to kill me all the time.”

“Well,” Joan said, pausing for diplomatic effect, “he has a point.”

“Yeah,” Kelsey chimed in. “Especially after that murder at the reunion.”

“Oh my gosh!” Joan clapped her hands to her mouth and nearly fell off her chair. “That was
your
reunion on the news this weekend?”

Ignoring Joan’s drama, Kelsey cut to the chase. “You said that was the central reason. Were there others?”

I nodded and felt my face grow warm. “Something I did at the reunion, something stupid that set off the whole fight.”

Again, the two of them waited for me to say something, this time to confess what had set Greg off. Kelsey still stood with her arms crossed over her chest, but now her eyebrows were raised. Joan sat prim and proper, with her hands clasped demurely in her lap.

I took a deep breath and let the words come out in one big gush of hot air. “Greg was sick so I took Dev Frye to the reunion without telling Greg I know it was wrong but I didn’t want to upset Greg but when he found out he was livid and that started the fight and then he told me he was tired of worrying about me all the time and then I told him that Seth Washington called me a corpse magnet and Greg said he didn’t want to marry a corpse magnet then Dev called and Greg got even more pissed and announced we needed a break from each other.”

When I was done, I felt like I needed a hit of oxygen.

“Wait a minute,” Joan said, holding up a delicate hand. “Greg said he thought you needed a break from each other?”

“Yes,” I told her, nodding. “That’s pretty much it.”

“Well, technically, a
break
isn’t a
break up
.” Joan looked at us, pleased with her theory. Looking over at Kelsey, I could tell she was considering it as plausible.

I threw up my hands in frustration. “Of
course
it’s a break up.”

Kelsey unfolded her arms and wagged an index finger at me. “Now, now, Odelia, don’t be too hasty about dumping this relationship into the ground and throwing dirt over it.” She paused and looked over at Joan for backup, getting it in the form of a nod. “It’s true, you did do a pretty stupid thing, and you do seem to get into more jams than a bushel of strawberries. But Greg loves you. Hell, he even wants, or wanted, to marry you. Feelings like that just don’t die overnight.” She moved over to my desk, bent down, and wrapped her arms around me once again. “Just give him time to cool off.”

Joan reached forward, took both my hands, and squeezed them. “Yes, Odelia, he’ll be back. I’m sure of it.”

I sighed deeply. A few days or weeks might prove them right. But at this point in time, it crossed my mind that they’d both been sniffing Wite-Out.

We broke our huddle, and they started to leave. Joan had just opened my office door when Jolene McHugh charged in, almost knocking Joan on her butt.

“Okay,” Jolene started to say to me, then, catching herself, she turned to the startled Joan. “Sorry, Joan.” Like lightning, she turned her attention back to me. “So, where is the despicable slime ball?”

“Woooeee, that comment has Mike Steele written all over it,” Kelsey said, slipping past Jolene. “And on that note, we’re outta here.” She directed the still-shocked Joan out the door and closed it behind them.

Jolene plopped herself down in the chair Joan had just vacated and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desktop. She stared at me, her blue eyes hot and piercing, like the flame from a welding torch. Jolene McHugh is a long, lean, and leggy redhead of Irish descent. When she’s emotional, like this very minute, the freckles on her pale face look like paprika sprinkled over milk.

I took a minute to clear my throat and mentally shelve my personal issues. “Okay, what has our despicable slime ball done now?”

“You don’t know?”

I shrugged. “I just got in. And for that matter, Steele isn’t even here today.”

“I know that, Odelia.” Jolene scrunched up her face and pressed further. “So, where is he, and when is he returning? And how can he be reached? I tried him on his BlackBerry, but there’s no answer. I want to scream at him
now
, Odelia. Not later and not in an e-mail. I want my pound of flesh
now
!”

Generally, Jolene McHugh is a sweetheart with a very even temperament. Whatever the slime ball—ahem, Steele—had done, it had to be big. And as much as I’d like to see Jolene go the distance with him, I knew I had to calm her down. After all, Michael Steele is a partner, and Jolene is not. Associates, even brilliant senior associates like Jolene, cannot extract even an ounce of flesh, let alone a pound, from a partner. Not unless said associate was ready to look for work.

“I’m not sure if he’s due back tomorrow or Wednesday. I just know he took a few personal days. He didn’t tell me why.” I picked up my phone and punched in Rachel’s extension. “Rachel might know something.”

As the extension at Rachel’s desk rang, Jolene reached over and punched a button, disconnecting my call. “That’s the problem, Odelia. Rachel’s gone—
poof
, like the wind.”

Still clutching the dead phone, I stared at her. “What?”

“You heard me.” Jolene leaned back in the chair and ran a hand through her curly red hair. “The best secretary we’ve ever had in that spot, and she’s gone. She called Tina this morning and said she did not want to come back. Not now, not after the baby, never. And I just know Steele has something to do with it.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “But she seemed happy enough on Friday, and she and Steele got along famously. I thought we finally had a winner.”

My phone rang. The display said it was Tina Swanson, our office manager. I picked it up and said, without bothering with a greeting, “Jolene’s with me right now, Tina. So, it’s true?” I listened as Tina repeated what Jolene had just told me. Rachel Keyo, dream temp, was gone. She didn’t give a reason—just told Tina she didn’t want to work here anymore.

In the past three days, I had lost a high-school classmate, a boyfriend, and a secretary. That had to be some kind of record. My only comfort was that I was sure I had nothing to do with Rachel’s leaving. My money for
that
dirty deed was on the slime ball.