“Cotton remembers you,” Marta insisted. “Bobby told Tess how his dad liked you.”
“Bobby told his mother that his dad liked me? That’s just great. When was that, Marta? I was only here for a few months before it happened.”
Marta sighed at my obstinance. “Are you going to do it, or not?”
“All signs point to not.” I paused, belatedly hearing some innuendo between the lines. Why did Tess want me to get close to Cotton? My thoughts took a turn toward the salacious. “I’m not going to sleep with him.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Jane. Tess just wants you to suck up to him a little, show some interest in the guy. He’s been living like a hermit with his young wife ever since Bobby slaughtered his family and ran.” I cringed at her words. “Tess thinks this is the perfect time to lend a sympathetic ear.”
“I won’t get any results the police haven’t.”
“Five hundred dollars plus, whether you learn anything or not,” Marta coerced.
Five hundred dollars plus. My brain started calculating, taking a trip of its own, as I wondered how many “sessions” I could squeeze out of the deal. It’s hard to turn down pure, cold cash. Dwayne would be proud of my way of thinking.
“Cotton’s having a party next Saturday night.” Marta sweetened the pot. “I can get you an invitation.”
“How?”
“Well…Murphy’s been invited. He’s coming into town this week.”
I swore beneath my breath, loud enough for Marta to hear. Murphy? “What a setup. I’m not interested, Marta. Not one little bit.”
“He knows you might be there. He wants to see you.”
“Not a chance.” Marta knows what she’s doing at all times. She’s an operator, someone who sees what she wants and goes after it, no matter how many souls she grinds into the pavement along the way. I almost admired her.
“Murphy still talks to Tess,” Marta went on. “He mentioned you the other day. That’s what got Tess thinking.”
“Murphy and I don’t talk.”
“Jane, Tess is going to be in my office at three today. She’d really like to meet you.”
“You’re railroading me. I can hear the train whistle.”
“I thought you might want to see him.”
“Bullshit. You thought of a new way to squeeze money out of a client. How much is Tess paying you for this setup?”
“Plenty,” was her equable answer. “Tess is a grateful client.”
I almost laughed. I could imagine how well Marta had put the squeeze on Cotton as Tess’s representative in the divorce. Her unabashed greed appealed to me, maybe because deep inside I’m a kindred spirit. Okay, maybe it’s just that I’m not that deep inside.
She seemed to sense my lessening fury. “Is that a yes?”
Distantly, I heard the sound of a buzzing boat’s engine. I walked toward the rear windows for my peek-a-boo view of the water. It was a beautiful, 75-ish afternoon in late July. The weatherman had said the temperatures were going to rise through the weekend, peaking at about 88 degrees late afternoon Saturday. The night of Cotton’s party. Great boating weather.
I had an instant memory of a hot midnight on Murphy’s boat, illegally docked in the shelter of Phantom’s Cove, two hundred feet beneath the houses perched on the bluff above, hidden by the canopies of oaks and firs which kept the cove under shadow most of the time. I remembered fevered bodies wrapped tightly together, sweat and silent laughter that remained caught in the back of my throat. And pleasure.
An ache filled me inside. I’d fallen in love once in college, but Murphy was the next, and last, man who’d ever filled my senses so completely. I half-believed now that it would never happen to me again. Maybe it would, but right now it felt impossible.
The thought that he might actually be at this party was enough to send me into the kind of female panic I loathed seeing in others. I couldn’t go. Even if I met with Cotton, I couldn’t go to this party if Murphy was going to be there.
I said as much to Marta. At least I think I did. But she responded with a quick overview of how much income this could provide me. I turned her down over and over again, I swear. Yes, dollar signs danced in front of my eyes, but the thought of clapping eyes on Tim Murphy again was something my system couldn’t take. I told myself I would rather live in destitution for a thousand lifetimes than go another round with Murphy.
“…we’ll see you at three, then,” Marta said happily and hung up.
I was left staring into space, my jaw hanging open. Slowly, I brought my lips together again and clicked off my cell phone. There was no memory in my mind of an agreement to meet with Tess, but somehow I’d managed to say yes.
Chapter Two
I had hours before my date with Marta but that didn’t mean I didn’t have things to do. I yanked on a pair of black jeans that had shrunk, making me look as if I were wearing capri pants. I coupled this with a once black, now gray, sleeveless T-shirt and quickly tied on my gray and black Nikes without socks. I gave another cursory glance in the mirror. My light brown hair lay in a shoulder-length tangle. I’m beyond stylish, no doubt. The Nikes were my good shoes, not my running shoes. I also own a pair of flip-flops and that about says it all for my entire shoe selection. There are a few dresses in my closet, left over from college when I used to care what I wore. I save them for weddings and funerals. One of these days I’m going to have to learn how to shop, but it hasn’t happened yet.
I dragged a brush through my hair, hoping for a miracle. No use. The gods of coif gifted me with straight, forgettable hair that firmly defies any kind of style. I used to complain about it until I listened to the woes of those cursed with serious curls/frizz whose taming time at least tripled my alloted five minutes for hair. Now, I keep my mouth shut. As I scraped my hair into a ponytail I remembered things could be worse.
Locking the door behind me I thought about lipstick and settled for Chapstick. I skimmed a wax coating on my mouth, inhaled deeply and smacked my lips. Tropical fruit. Who needs breakfast?
My car is a dark blue Volvo wagon which my mother purchased years earlier and donated to me. Actually, I think she just forgot she owned it, which is fine by me. I drove it out of California a little over four years ago and never looked back. Well, okay, I’ve looked back, but though I grew up in the land of southern California sunshine, I don’t mind the Oregon rain…too much.
With a supreme effort of will I pushed thoughts of Murphy and Cotton and Bobby Reynolds aside. At least I managed to push them to a distant corner of my mind for the time being. As I climbed into the car I called Dwayne on my cell phone to see if any of the property owners he deals with needed someone (me) to post 72-hour eviction notices. These same property owners then pay me a fee for chasing all over the greater Portland area and potentially facing enraged evictees like the howler.
“Hullo,” Dwayne drawled, sounding as if I’d interrupted him.
“Hi, it’s me.”
I could hear papers being shuffled. Dwayne’s in love with hard copy. He relies on the hunt-and-peck method, and therefore he runs off pages and reams and cargo loads of paper. It’s a form of compensation, or maybe Dwayne’s a belt-and-suspender kind of guy—an inverse reaction to his line of work. “What’s up?” he asked without any real interest.
I wanted to blab about Marta’s call and my pending meeting with Tess Reynolds but I also wanted to gauge Dwayne’s reaction to the news when we saw each other in person. I asked instead, “Have you got any work?”
“Hayden needs some 72’s posted,” Dwayne said.
“Great.