Keith finally took the hint, reluctantly. He wandered through my bedroom and out onto my back stoop. I practically slammed the door behind him. I turned and ran back through the kitchen and into the bathroom. I just had time to apply another coat of makeup and hit the trail, if I wanted to make the first set on time.
In the bathroom, I found the real reason for Keith's frenetic search, at least that's what I found myself assuming. The little garnet and diamond chip ring that Sheila wore on her left hand was lying by the side of the sink. It had been a present from me to her on her fifteenth birthday and it hadn't been lying on my sink two days ago. As far as I knew, Sheila hadn't been to my house in over three weeks.
I picked up the little ring and slipped it into my pocket. An icy finger of fear and worry prodded at the base of my throat. When had Sheila been inside my house? And had she sent Keith over to look for her ring?
The doorbell rang as I stepped out of the tiny bathroom, startling me. Now what? As I made my way toward the living room, it became apparent that the nightmare was continuing. Red and blue lights moved like strobes across the wall, reflections of the two police cars that lined the narrow street in front of my house.
"Oh, great!" I sighed. "Now what?"
I pulled open the door and found myself face-to-face with Heckle and Jeckle, the two officers who had been sent to escort me downtown the night before.
"Ms. Reid?" the younger one said. It was more of a statement than a question.
"Officer."
"Detective Weathers wanted to speak with you," he said.
"Well, why didn't he pick up the phone?" I asked.
The older officer decided to take over. "I think he tried, ma'am. He just wanted us to stop by, make sure you were in. He's on his way over."
I peered around him at the two patrol cars, their lights flashing.
"Where's the SWAT team?" I asked.
He never answered my question. In fact, he didn't speak until Weathers's brown Taurus pulled up behind the patrol car. The officers left the porch and walked to meet him, probably relieved to be away from me.
There was no smart-aleck grin this time. Weathers looked angry. I watched the officers confer with him, speaking in low tones, gesturing back toward the porch where I waited. The neighbors had begun to gather, standing out on their porches craning their necks, or flat-out wandering to the edge of their walkways.
Detective Weathers left the two officers and started walking toward me. I felt a shiver run through me, like somebody walking across my grave.
"Where have you been and why didn't you call me back?" he demanded. He was wearing faded jeans.
They could've been the same tight jeans he'd worn the first night I'd seen him. The denim shirt he wore made his eyes sparkle, even in the near total darkness.
"I am right where I'm supposed to be," I answered. "And I can't call somebody back if I don't know they called."
"You don't check your messages?"
"Well, you know, with all that's gone on, I just plumb forgot." No apology from me.
"From now on," he said, "I don't want you to sneeze without letting me know."
He was wearing a new pair of cowboy boots, lizard skin, Tony Lamas if I didn't miss my guess. His belt buckle was large and silver. He caught me staring at it and arched an eyebrow. My stomach did its little flip, and I found myself responding to the man behind the badge.
"Listen," I said, "I am not your property. I have a life and I intend to lead it. Now, you and I both know that I've got a job and I work regular hours. If you want to haunt me, come right on down to the club. Looks like you were headed there anyway. As for my personal life, and where I go and with whom, well, buddy, I ain't never punched a clock for nobody and I won't start with you."
We were off to a good start. He took two long strides and was up the steps and by my side in a heartbeat, his jaw twitching and his eyes glowing with anger.
"Now see here, Ms. Reid," he said, "I cut you some slack when I let you go last night and-"
I interrupted. "You did no such thing." Let me
go! If he'd held me, I would've known it. I would've felt it. I would've… Stop it, I argued with myself, he's just a cop.
"I could've held you, don't let's be mistaken about that. If you want to play games, I'll make your life a living hell, lady. This is a murder we're dealing with, not some little dating game charade. I want to know where you are and with whom, at all times."
I turned and started to walk back inside. I'd had all I could take of this bozo. I was going to work.
He followed me. I could smell him. I could almost feel him breathing down my neck. "I want to talk to you," he said, "downtown."
I whirled around to face him. "Look, Detective, I told you I'd go over this all again and I will… tomorrow. Right now, I'm going to work."
I didn't give him a chance to say anything. I marched off into the kitchen, into the walk-in closet, grabbed my purple denim outfit off its hanger, and started back to my bedroom. I needed space. I needed to keep my head before my body got involved and I lost my cool and started acting like a damn woman. But he was right behind me.
"If you don't mind?" I said, waiting for him to move. He didn't budge. I took another step closer, until I was inches from his flint-hard face. "I'm going in that room," I said, gesturing toward my bedroom, "and I'm going to change. I think it would be carrying things a little far for you to accompany me." How long has it been? When was the last time a man… Stop it!
"I'm thinking we're going to have that talk tonight," he said, clearly angry. For a second I wondered if he really could hold me. I decided it wasn't worth testing him.
"All right," I said, "let's make a deal. I'll get changed and we'll talk for a little while." He said nothing, which I took for an okay, so I closed the bedroom door and started changing.
I intended to honor my end of the bargain, I really did. But that was before I looked at the clock and saw what time it was. Sparks had called an early practice and now it was five minutes 'til eight. If I had to stick around and talk to the detective, I'd miss practice, and maybe even be late for the first set. I couldn't do that. My band, the Drivin' Wheel, was my job, my dream.
I pulled off my jeans and slipped on my skirt. There was only one thing I could do. I picked up my purple suede boots, tiptoed to the backdoor, and quietly twisted the handle. I let myself out into the chilly fall night and eased down the stairs, sneaking out of my own house, just like a rebellious teenager.
For the first time in twenty-four hours, I felt good. I allowed a small giggle of triumph as I gripped the door handle of my car and started to open the door.
"Not this time," Weathers said, a strong hand clamping down on my shoulder. He seemed to have materialized out of nowhere.
I gasped, jumped about six inches, and felt his strong hands twisting me around to face him. I was pinned against the VW, Weathers's strong arms on either side of me, his face inches from my own.
"Maggie, why do you keep lying to me?" he asked, his voice menacingly soft.
"I just have to get to work and it's late," I answered.
"Nice try, but I don't think that's it." He wasn't moving. He had me trapped, and the only way to move would've been to try and wriggle out under his arms. Something he knew I'd considered, because he brought his elbows down and moved in still closer.
To anyone passing by, we would've appeared to be lovers, embracing. He was so close that I could feel his breath on my cheek and smell his cologne. It felt intoxicating, the smells, the sensations, my fear, all snowballing into a reaction I felt powerless to control.