Big Boned (14 page)

“I can’t believe you told him first and not me.” Patty, who even when not pregnant has a tendency to glow in an irritatingly radiant manner, lowers herself with a dancer’s grace into the blue vinyl chair beside my desk and picks up one of
the magazines. “I think she should go with pure white. Ivory will make her look sallow. What do you think, Tom?”

“I was thinking just the opposite,” Tom says, settling down at my desk. “A cream will bring out the rosy tones in her skin.”

“Do you know there’s a gigantic rat across the street from your building, with all sorts of people parading around it?” Patty asks. “And when were you going to tell me about your boss being shot in the head yesterday, Heather? This is ridiculous. How long do you plan on working in this death trap? You can’t have lost
another
boss.”

“I was telling her to wait until she’s had eight,” Tom says, with a laugh, “then quit, and say—”

“—
eight is enough!
” they both finish.

“Hold that thought,” I say, “I’ll be right back.”

And I dart from the office before either of them can say another word, or look up from the glossy photo they are admiring, of a Jackie O style wedding gown that in a million, trillion years would never look good on a girl like me.

“I don’t get it,” I say, as we cruise up the Hutchinson River Parkway.

“What don’t you get?” Cooper wants to know.

Other cars are passing us at an alarming rate, some of the drivers giving us dirty looks—and even dirtier gestures—as they go by.

But Cooper doesn’t seem to mind. He is being supremely cautious with his ’74 2002 BMW, handling it as softly as a baby—which is a good thing, because a jolt—or anything
over fifty-five miles per hour—could shake the ancient four-door apart.

I feel lucky to have caught him after a recent cleaning binge. My feet, for once, aren’t sitting in three inches of fast-food detritus, but on the actual floor mats the car came with.

“When Sarah and Gavin asked you yesterday if you’d drive them to Rock Ridge, you said no. But when I told you I needed to get up there, you couldn’t grab the keys fast enough.” I study his profile curiously. “What gives?”

“Do you think there’s a distance I wouldn’t go,” Cooper asks, shifting, “for a chance to see that kid in the slammer?”

I roll my eyes. Of
course
the reason he’d dived for the keys the minute I’d walked into his office and said, “I need a ride to Westchester. Gavin’s in jail,” had been because he’d wanted to laugh at Gavin for getting caught with his pants down, not because he knows I entertain big-sisterly feelings for Gavin and had wanted to help get him out of the jam he’s currently in.

Men.

On the other hand…
men
. I try not to be overly conscious of the sexiness of the sleek dark hairs on the back of the hand on the gearshift next to me. What is
wrong
with me, anyway? I already
have
a boyfriend. A boyfriend who wants to marry me. I’m pretty sure.

It’s just that the backs of Tad’s hands aren’t hairy. Not that he doesn’t
have
hair on them. It’s just that he’s blond, so you can’t really see them.

Not that hairy hands or lack thereof necessarily constitute sexiness or anything. There just seems to be something particularly sexy—even predatory, in a sort of thrillingly masculine way—about Cooper’s. It’s hard not to think about
how those hands would feel on my naked body. All over my naked body.

“Why are you staring at my fingers?” Cooper wants to know.

Oh God.

“I just d-don’t,” I stammer, tearing my gaze from his hand. “D-don’t understand how Sebastian could have shot Owen. I mean, I saw Sebastian right after the murder. Like a couple hours after. And he was joking around. There’s no way he could have done it. No way he’s that good of an actor.”

“Ah. So you’re going for the old just-because-he-had-the-murder-weapon-on-him-doesn’t-mean-he-did-it defense,” Cooper says, with a shrug. “Well, it’s an oldie, but goodie. But I suppose someone else
could
have shot the guy and slipped the gun in Sebastian’s bag…”

“Exactly!” I cry, brightening, as a Volvo station wagon being driven by an angelic-looking soccer mom—who gives us the finger—passes us just as we’re merging onto I–684. “That has to be what happened. So that means it has to have been someone with whom Sebastian came into contact yesterday morning, sometime between the murder and his arrest. Which,” I add, glumly, “could’ve been a million and a half people. I’m sure he was all over campus, between his classes, his GSC stuff, and everything else Sebastian is into. I saw him in the chess circle in the park with Sarah and all those reporters. Any one of those homeless guys in there could’ve walked up and slipped anything they wanted into that bag, and he never would’ve noticed. No one would’ve.”

“Well, I’m sure his lawyers are on it,” Cooper says calmly.

“Don’t they need to find, I don’t know, gunpowder residue on his hands?” I ask. “And witnesses?”

“He’s got motive,” Cooper says. “And the murder weapon. And no alibi. The DA’s probably thinking this one’s pretty open-and-shut.”

“Right. Except for one thing,” I grumble. “Sebastian didn’t do it.”

My cell phone chirps. Patty’s on the line. I know she can’t be particularly pleased with me, but I’m surprised by just how immediately she makes her unhappiness with me known when I pick up.

“Right back?” she barks. “You’re on your way to Westchester? But you’ll be
right back
?”

“I had to go,” I say. Patty’s normally the most cheerful of women. Except when she’s in her first trimester. And second. And, now that I think back to right before Indiana was born, her third, too. In fact, pretty much during her whole pregnancy. “I didn’t want to get into it right then.”

“Why? Because you knew I’d tell you you’re crazy?” Patty demands. “Because going to Rock Ridge to bail a kid who isn’t even your own out of jail is
crazy
? Just like marrying a guy you’ve only been going out with for three months is
crazy
?”

I have to hold the phone away from my head, she’s yelling so loudly. I can’t help glancing at Cooper to see if he’s overheard. But he’s messing with the tape deck—oh yes, the 2002 only has a tape deck—to turn up the dulcet tones of Ella. I think I’m safe.

“I’m not going to Rock Ridge to bail him out,” I growl into my phone. “I’m just going there to
talk
to him. Besides”—I lower my voice further, turning my head toward the window—“you’re the one who brought the
bridal magazines
over. Plus, he hasn’t even asked me yet. All he said was that he had something he wanted to—”

“What? I can’t even hear you? Heather, a man is
dead
. Shot in the head just feet from your desk. In the same building where, just a few months ago, you yourself were nearly killed. What is it going to take to convince you that you need a different job? A job where people don’t DIE all the time?”

“Funny you should mention that,” I say, glancing at Cooper out of the corner of my eye again. Now he’s keeping his gaze on the road, because a very large semi is passing us, the driver pulling angrily on his horn because we’re going so slowly. Cooper doesn’t seem the least bit perturbed by this. In fact, he waves happily at the trucker.

“What is that sound?” Patty demands. “Are you on a boat?”

“No, I’m not on a boat,” I say.

“Because that sounds like a foghorn.”

“It’s just a truck. I’m on the highway. Patty, this isn’t really the best time to have this conversation—”

“Heather, you know I’m only saying these things because I love you like a sister.” And, just like a sister, Patty completely ignores me. “But something has got to give. You can’t go on like this, sleeping with one guy while being in love with another—”

“What’s that, Patty?” I say, making whooshing noises with my mouth. “You’re breaking up.”

“Heather, I know you’re totally making those noises. You don’t even sound anything remotely like static. When you get back to town, we are sitting down and having a
talk
.”

“Uh-oh, can’t hear you at all now, must be passing through a no-cell-tower zone, gotta go, bye.”

I hang up. As soon as I do, Cooper goes, “Tad asked you to
marry
him?”

“God!” I cry, frustrated. “No! Okay?”

“Then why did you say that Patty brought you a bunch of bridal magazines?”

“Because everyone is jumping the gun,” I say. Then wince. “Ouch. I didn’t mean to use the word
gun
. It’s just that the other day, Tad said he has something he wants to ask me, but only when the timing is right.” I cannot believe I am sharing this information with Cooper, the last person with whom I enjoy discussing matters pertaining to my boyfriend. I am going to kill Patty when I get back to town. I really am. “But I’m sure it’s nothing, I never should have mentioned it to anyone, especially
Tom
, who has the biggest mouth in the known
universe
, and—”

“You guys have only been going out for a couple of months,” Cooper says, to the steering wheel.

“Yeah,” I say. “But. You know.”

“No,” Cooper says. Now he’s looking at me. And if I had to describe his expression, I would have to say it’s a mingling of incredulity and sarcasm. “I
don’t
know. What’s happening to you? Who are you supposed to be now? Britney Spears? My brother’s happily married and popping out sprog now, and you can’t stand to get left behind, or something? What’s next? You’re going to get yourself knocked up, too?”

“Excuse me,” I say, taking umbrage. “I didn’t say I was saying yes. I don’t even know that’s what he’s asking. Maybe he’s just asking me to move in with him, or something.”

“And you think
that’s
a good idea?” Cooper wants to know. “To move in with your math professor? Who doesn’t even
own a TV? Or eat anything except tofu-covered bean strips dipped in wheat germ dust?”

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I point out to him. Because he doesn’t. “There isn’t even such a food as what you just described. But if there was, you might want to look into trying it. Because it might do you some good, judging by all the fast-food wrappers I see lying around your office. When is the last time you had your cholesterol checked? Your heart is probably a ticking time bomb.”

“Oh, excuse me, were those your carefully constructed Giada De Laurentiis–inspired Nutella Chips Ahoy! Macadamia Brittle ice cream sandwiches I saw in the freezer last night?”

I glare at him. “Oh my God, if you ate one—”

“Oh, I ate one, all right,” he says, his gaze back on the road. “I ate them
all
.”

“Cooper! I made those especially for—”

“For what? For you and
Tad
? You have got to be kidding me. He wouldn’t touch one of those hydrogenated fat-wiches if you served it to him on his favorite Frisbee with a big side of babaganoush.”

“Now you’re just being mean,” I point out. “And that’s not like you. What, exactly, is your problem with Tad? Or your problem with
me
and Tad, to be exact?”

“I don’t have a problem with
Tad
,” Cooper says. Although he can’t seem to say the man’s name without sneering. “Or with you and Tad. I just don’t think—as a
friend
—your moving in with him is the best idea.”

“Oh, you don’t?” I ask, wondering where on earth this can be going. “Why?”

“Because the whole thing just has disaster written all over it.”

“For what reason? Just because he’s a vegetarian and I’m not? People with different values end up together all the time, Cooper. And the TV thing—I’m not convinced it’s a deal breaker. He just doesn’t know what he’s missing. He still watches movies, you know.”

Cooper makes a noise. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought it was a snort. “Oh yeah? Do they all have hobbits in them?”

“God, what is
wrong
with you?” I demand. “You are being such a d—”

My phone rings again. This time it’s a number I don’t recognize. Fearing it might be something to do with work—which I am, admittedly, blowing off—I pick up.

“Heather,” an unfamiliar, albeit jocular-sounding older male voice says. “It’s me, Larry! Larry Mayer, your dad’s old business partner. Or should I say, new business partner!”

“Oh,” I say faintly. Cooper has just taken the exit to Rock Ridge. “Hi, Larry.”

“Tried to reach you at your office just now, but your boss told me you were on your cell. This isn’t a bad time, is it? I was hoping we could talk…”

“It’s not the
best
time,” I say.

“Good, good,” Larry booms, evidently mishearing me. “Been a long time since we last spoke, huh? God, last time I saw you, I think you still had on those see-through spangly pants you wore to the MTV music video awards. You know, the ones you got in so much trouble later with the FCC for ripping off? Which I never understood, because those bikini briefs you had on underneath covered everything. Well,
almost. Ah, good times. Anyway, so your dad and I were just sitting here talking about you—I bet your ears were burning—and we were wondering if you’d given any more thought to our proposal.”

“Yeah,” I say. “You know, like I was saying, this really isn’t the best—”

“Because the clock is ticking, sweetheart. We’ve already rented the studio, and if we’re gonna get started, we need to get in there and start banging some stuff out. Not to put any pressure on you. But then, if I remember correctly, you always did your best work under pressure—”

We’re cruising past the low stone walls surrounding rolling green horse pastures and thick woods—hiding multimillion-dollar homes (with sophisticated security systems) that indicate we’re entering the exclusive bedroom community of Rock Ridge. Cooper’s expression, when I glance at it, is as closed as the spiked gates at the end of the long, curving driveways we’re passing.

“Larry, I’m going to have to call you back,” I say. “I’m right in the middle of something at the moment, something work-related.”

“I understand,” Larry says. “I understand. Your father told me how important that little job of yours is to you. I’ve just got four words to say to you, sweetheart. Percentage of the gross. That’s all. Just think about it. Call me. Bye.”

“Bye,” I say. And hang up.

“So,” Cooper says, as we pull into the picturesque village of Rock Ridge proper, all cobblestones and thatched roofs (and security cameras perched on top of the replica antique
street lamps, to record the moves of every citizen and visitor to the downtown area). “Tell me.”

“Believe me,” I say. “You don’t want to know. I wish
I
didn’t even know.”

“Oh,” Cooper says. “I think I
do
want to know. Do I need to start looking for a new housemate…
and
a new bookkeeper?”

I swallow. “I…I don’t know. When I do, you’ll be the first to know. I swear.”

Cooper doesn’t say anything for a minute. Then, to my surprise, he says, “
Damn!
”

Only not, I realize, in response to what I’ve just told him, but because he’s just driven right past the police station, and has to turn around.

When we finally return to the police station, we’re a little astonished to note it’s one of the few places not marked by a
Ye Olde
sign. We park in one of the many empty spaces in front—we are, as far as I can tell, the only visitors to the Rock Ridge Police Station on this spring day…a fact that’s confirmed when we step inside and find the place completely deserted except for a corpulent man in a dark blue police uniform, seated at a desk and eating chicken wings. Not far behind him, in the building’s only barred—and scrupulously clean—jail cell, sits Gavin McGoren, his goatee stained orange as he, too, gnaws on chicken wings.