Shades of Grey (4 page)

‘Sure thing. I should get to work here anyway.’

Even with the door closed, Dulcie didn’t feel quite right jumping into the shower. The half mug of coffee she’d had must be kicking in; she was acutely conscious of Luke right on the other side of the wall, but she washed her face and dabbed at her armpits, too. The July humidity made it difficult to get a comb through her light-brown curls, but a pick worked to fluff them up nicely and after she had brushed her teeth, she could smile at herself without grimacing. She prepared to bolt for her bedroom, already thinking about what to wear, when her own thoughts stopped her. What was she doing? Flirting with her dead room-mate’s brother?

It must be the sleep deprivation. But, truth be told, it had been a while. Jonah had taken the NYU teaching gig last September, grateful for anything that might possibly lead to a tenure track position in film. They’d had some nice weekends through the fall; he came up for foliage and for the Cassavetes retrospective. She’d presented a paper at the ALA conference in January: ‘Public Perception and the Role of Increasing Female Readership on the Early Gothic Novel’. But by then more than the weather had cooled. The paper had been well received, but Dulcie had not been surprised when Jonah had begun taking longer and longer to return her calls. Not that it hadn’t hurt when he’d told her about Summer, the camera woman on his ongoing project. Dulcie remembered lying on the sofa, with Mr Grey curled on her belly, wondering if she could just hang up. That was in March. Had she been so resilient, so recently? Where had her backbone gone? Unable to answer either question, Dulcie gave a last tug to her curls, neatened her robe and prepared to open the bathroom door and return to Tim’s room.

‘Damn! Where is it?’

So much for a grand entrance. Luke was under the bed, and Dulcie couldn’t help noticing how long his legs were in his faded jeans.

‘Where’s what? If you’ve found old pizza under there . . .’

‘No, not quite.’ Luke slid toward her. Dulcie stepped back and felt something soft give way beneath her bare foot. ‘I meant his stash.’

Dulcie leaned against the door-frame, trying to be subtle about wiping her foot on the rug. ‘I’m trying to remember Tim doing anything other than drinking.’ She couldn’t. ‘You mean drugs, right?’

‘I’m his brother, remember? I know Tim.’ Luke slid out from under the bed and started rooting around the closet, knocking on the floorboards. ‘And I know he was not getting any cash from the folks.’

‘Wait a minute.’ Dulcie stood up. ‘You’re not talking about a little personal weed, are you? You think he was dealing?’

‘I’d put money on it. And, believe me, we’d all rather I find his stash than that the cops do.’ He pulled a chair over and climbed on to it, the better to start pushing at the ceiling of the walk-in closet, the tiny room’s best feature according to Suze. ‘If they haven’t already.’ He was tapping on the closet walls. ‘My folks aren’t as brittle as they look, but still I’d rather spare them.’

‘God, this is just great.’ Dulcie allowed herself to collapse on the unmade bed, reflecting that anything living in it would have moved out by now, surely. ‘He was rude, crude, a slob – and a dealer.’ She put her head in her hands, the mess that was her life overwhelming her. When she looked up, Luke was staring at her.

‘I’m sorry.’ She felt the flush rising. ‘I didn’t mean to sound so selfish. He was your brother, and what happened was horrible. Unthinkable.’ Her cheeks were burning. ‘It’s just—’

‘No, I know.’ Luke sat down beside her. ‘He was a mess. And I hope I’m wrong but, well, that’s what he did all through high school whenever the folks cut him off. I was hoping . . .’

He let the thought slide into the air, and Dulcie found herself biting her lower lip. She hadn’t even considered how he must feel. His baby brother – murdered. As an only child, she had no idea how he must be hurting. She thought of Mr Grey and how much she missed him, the physical warmth of him just being there. The pain must be similar. Worse, even. But Mr Grey had been innocent. Tim had been dealing drugs. Here, in her home. He’d been so stupid, so rude; a typical preppie, acting like he owned the world even here, off campus, in the big city.

‘Wait a minute.’ She grabbed Luke’s arm. ‘That could be it.’ He stared at her, not understanding. ‘Tim’s used to – what? Peddling a few joints at his prep school? Supplying the local party boys with their nose candy?’ Luke shrugged. ‘Didn’t he realize that he was living in a city now? Luke, I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but Tim was not particularly smart – I mean, street smart.

‘What if he was doing his little bit of dealing on somebody else’s territory? Somebody else who was serious about it? And that’s what got him killed?’

‘Oh, hell.’ The tall, lean stranger seemed to collapse on himself. What she’d said made perfect sense. For a moment, Dulcie really wished it didn’t. What she wouldn’t give to go back just two months, when she had a room-mate she liked and trusted, a pet she adored, and an apartment that wasn’t a crime scene.

‘Are you out of your mind? I mean, are you, like,
disturbed
or something?’ Trying out her theory on Alana two hours later, Dulcie got an entirely different reaction. ‘Tim went to Andover!’

‘Yeah, where he sold drugs for pocket money.’ Dulcie’s patience was shot. Luke had spent another hour in her place and together they’d tapped on every board in the bedroom. Dulcie had been happy to help, once she’d gotten dressed; the inch-by-inch search felt like penance for her earlier thoughtless words, and as they’d crawled around, an easy camaraderie had developed. Both their backs were aching by the time they finally gave up, and Luke was overdue at his parents’. He’d taken the amp and guitars, one bag, and Tim’s laptop, asking if he could return sometime soon to pack up the rest of his brother’s belongings. Despite the kink in her neck, Dulcie had been sorry to see him go.

Alana had barged in less than an hour later, a friend in tow, and demanded access to Tim’s room. Figuring that as Tim’s girlfriend, Alana had been there often enough, and, besides, everyone else had been up there, Dulcie had just stood back while the blank-faced blonde swept by, her dark-haired friend right behind, like a matched set of models on their way to film a shampoo commercial.

‘Someone has been in here!’

With a sigh, Dulcie had put down the Sunday books section once again. It wasn’t a question, but the pretty blonde was expecting an answer. Maybe if Alana had sounded sad, with even a touch of the mournful note Dulcie had heard in Luke’s voice, she would have gotten up. But the supposedly grieving girlfriend had been all business since she’d marched in, her placid face unmarked by tears or sleeplessness. Dulcie wasn’t going to yell up the stairs. Alana could come down.

‘
Someone
has been in Tim’s room!’ Dulcie waited. From the resulting thumps as the peeved, if not bereaved, girlfriend stalked down the stairs, Dulcie figured that her failure to respond immediately had aggravated the insult.

‘Who has been in there?’ Alana looked flushed, and a flash of amusement passed through Dulcie’s mind. What had there been to find? Lingerie? Love letters? Sex toys?

‘Where do you want to start?’ It had been a long five days. ‘The cops came over a few times, and they had all their crime scene people in here, too. I stayed next door for the first two nights, so I don’t know how often any of them were in the apartment. And the landlord’s people were here, replacing the carpet. I don’t think they went upstairs, but who knows? And Luke, Tim’s brother, dropped by earlier this morning to pack up Tim’s belongings.’

‘Luke? What’s
he
doing back in town? And what gave him the right to go through Tim’s personal belongings?’

‘He’s family, Alana. He was doing charity work in Asia, and I guess he missed the funeral. He was here because Tim’s parents wanted his stuff back.’ She paused and watched Alana’s face knot up. If she’d left it there, the pretty blonde would have had to accept it. She couldn’t be that dense; Tim had said she was enrolled in that upscale finishing school nearby, the one she and Suze had nicknamed ‘Mischief Manor’. But the past five days had been trying, and Dulcie’s temper had worn paper thin. She couldn’t resist. ‘If you’re looking for his stash, Alana, I can’t help you. Luke said it was already gone.’

That’s when Alana had exploded, displaying a vocabulary that Dulcie was sure they didn’t teach at finishing school.

‘You little bitch!’ The volume of Alana’s diatribe had snapped Dulcie’s head back. ‘How can you be so
stupid
?’

Dulcie closed the book review, ready for a fight. ‘Hey, I don’t know what they teach you at Mischief—’

‘It’s Miss
Chivers
, stupid. It’s
British
!’
Alana had advanced, leaning over the kitchen table. For a moment, Dulcie wondered if she’d gone too far. The other girl was thin, but had the longer reach. Would a rolled-up newspaper work, as it did for dogs? But just then Alana’s friend appeared at the foot of the stairs. ‘Alana? Dulcie? Aren’t things getting a bit out of hand, here?’

Alana whirled around. ‘Stacia! She thinks Tim was selling
drugs
.’

‘Maybe it’s what
she’s
used to.’ So the other woman wasn’t going to be a peacemaker. Dulcie started to object, but the dark-haired one – Stacia – held up her hand. ‘Come on, everybody. Let’s be sensible here. Everyone’s a bit tense.’

She must have had experience with animals. Alana slumped into a chair. ‘Now, Dulcie – it is Dulcie, right? I’m Stacia.’ She smiled a lovely smile, her deep tan setting off perfect teeth. Dulcie didn’t trust it for a minute. ‘Everyone is touchy right now. Alana is grieving. She and Tim were going to announce their engagement soon.’ As if on cue, Alana sobbed once. Dulcie looked for tears, but Alana had covered her face with her hands. ‘So Alana is understandably distraught.’ Her smile grew by a millimeter, making Dulcie trust it less.

‘What we came here to retrieve were certain letters. Personal notes and correspondence, including some plans that Tim and Alana had drawn up.’

‘And those are missing?’ Dulcie wasn’t going to let herself be lulled, but she was curious.

‘No, no – we haven’t finished looking yet. It was just the shock. The violation. Seeing the state of his room like that.’

‘It didn’t look that different when he was alive.’ OK, that wasn’t smart, but it was true. And neither of her visitors had seen the real violation, the husk of the room’s brief occupant. Maybe something in her tone carried that message. Maybe it was just Dulcie.

With a quick intake of breath, Alana started crying again. Stacia’s eyes narrowed, and Dulcie thought she was going to spit. Instead, the sleek brunette wrapped her arms around her friend and shot Dulcie a look.

‘Can you make her some tea or something? You’re not helping here.’

‘Yeah, you’re right.’ The lack of sleep, the whole horror of the past few days was making Dulcie forget what manners she once had. ‘Sorry.’ Dulcie stood up and went to check out her cabinet. Suze was the tea person, and the sight of the familiar boxes made her sigh. ‘Earl Grey or peppermint?’ Talk about a violation.

‘Peppermint.’ From under the cascade of shiny hair came a sniff, followed by a little voice. ‘With Splenda, if you have it.’

‘Coming right up.’ Suze was a honey girl, but Dulcie was always dieting. She reached for the kettle and paused. ‘Stacia, you want some, too?’ A truce would just take less energy.

‘No. Thanks.’ Despite the pause between the words, Dulcie figured the offering had been accepted. Stacia was still patting Alana, but everyone seemed to have calmed down. The dark-haired girl leaned down toward her friend. ‘Why don’t I just run upstairs, see if I can put a few things together while you catch your breath?’

Alana nodded, and Dulcie didn’t bother to point out that this was still her apartment. As she’d noted earlier, everyone and his brother had already been through it. The kettle whistled and Dulcie filled the small teapot. Grabbing one of Tim’s mugs – she checked it was clean – she set them on the table. As she turned to get the sweetener, and honey, just in case, she heard Alana’s voice, not at all nasal or tearful.

‘She’s really been a rock, you know. Stacia’s so smart. At first I was worried that Tim liked her better, but they were more buddies. They even studied together.’

Tim studied? Dulcie managed a non-committal grunt and refilled her own coffee.

‘I mean, Stacia’s not at the B-school or anything. But Miss Chivers does have a management program. Systems and all.’

‘Well, she is great at conflict resolution.’ Dulcie tried a smile. Much to her surprise, Alana smiled back, slowly at first, but that only made it seem more real. ‘I am sorry, Alana. I hadn’t realized you two were so serious.’ No point in bringing up all of Tim’s extra-curriculars now.

‘Thanks, Dulcie. You know, he really admired you.’

‘He did?’ She sipped from her mug to hide her shock. She was absurdly pleased.

Alana nodded and blew on the hot tea. Now that the fit of pique had passed, her voice sounded younger and more girlish. ‘He said he was really impressed at how you could work so hard for something. He never had the patience.’

He must not have realized how far adrift she was in her quest for a thesis. Clearly, he didn’t have to worry about grants running out. Still, to hear that she was thought about at all was a pleasant surprise. ‘I’m sure he would have buckled down and finished business school with flying colors, Alana.’ What harm could a little white lie do?

‘His grades were coming up you know.’ Dulcie looked up at her. She sounded like she believed what she was saying. ‘He told me not to worry. And once he was off academic probation, we were going to announce our engagement.’

Dulcie nodded. Both options were safely off the table now. And before she had to respond further, she heard Stacia coming down the stairs, her tread noticeably lighter than Alana’s despite the milk crate she carried.

‘Alana, are you feeling better now? I’ve found some things.’ She put the crate on the floor and bent over it, picking through a pile of papers and plastic. ‘Some of your letters and some CDs that I think are yours. Also, some of his school notes. You don’t mind if I take them, do you?’