Liquid Lies (7 page)

“What for?” Mark asked.

“Nearly drowning me; the horrid makeup job; where do I start?” I playfully punched him on his arm as we walked from his apartment to the restaurant.

“Hey, you volunteered for the makeup. As for nearly drowning you, that was an accident.”

“Okay. I’ll make your death an accident too.” I smiled.

He struck a pose. “So you think I look okay?’

I applauded as he modeled for me.

“Do you think my future girlfriend will be impressed?” Mark asked.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“Francesca.”

“You’re getting a little ahead of yourself my friend, but I think she’d be foolish not to give you a chance.” He was a terrific guy, and I think anyone would be lucky to have him.

“And by the way, you’re looking mighty fine too,” Mark said.

“Good, because the clown look you gave me earlier wasn’t working for me.” I was wearing a white v-neck top, a navy blue cardigan and faded Levi jeans. My brown shoulder length hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail. Just a brush of mascara, a touch of blush and lip-gloss suited me fine.

He crooked his arm, so I put my arm through his.

“I wasn’t trying to make you look like a clown,” Mark said. “Actually, that makeup really looks good when applied to the right skin tone.”

“Yes, cadaver skin tone. So unless I’m deceased, no more of your dead people make up on me, got it?”

We began the short promenade to H&K’s restaurant.

Downtown Round Lake bordered the waterfront with a variety of locally owned stores, and restaurants. Green and white awnings hung over storefronts of the two-story crimson brick buildings. We passed by a fudge shop, a tea and spice emporium, followed by an arts and crafts store as well as other quaint little shops and businesses. As we rounded a corner we came upon H&K’s, across the street from the pavilion.

Mark and I grabbed a side booth with a panoramic view of the Lake. Through the window, we saw the public dock. People milled about and vendors sold their goods. Activity on the lake slowed down as the sun began to set. That’s when the bars and restaurants picked up.

It was eight o’clock. The bar, which adjoined the dining section near the back of the restaurant, was half full. H&K’s had been in the Howard and King families for one hundred years. It was a favorite stop for both locals and tourists.

“Mark, I have to use the restroom. I’ll be right back," I said, after we placed our orders.

On the way to the restroom, I turned the corner and ran into the back of a guy leaning against a wall.

“Excuse me,” I said.

“No problem,” he said as he spun around.

It was the same guy I ran into on the lake path earlier. A group of girls pressed against me trying to pass me in the narrow hallway.

“We seem to get into tight spaces together don’t we?” he said.

I backed closer to the wall to allow the girls to pass. “It’s weird.”

He leaned over. Six inches from my face he stuck out his hand. “Jacob Elmore.”

“Cecelia Coe.” I nervously shook his hand. It felt calloused and firm. “No tool belt?”

He pulled me close with the unbroken handshake. “Tools?” He leaned one arm on the wall above my head.

My stomach tingled. “You had a … tool belt… this morning, and, well… never mind. Nice nail necklace you have there.” I felt like brain cells were pouring out of my mouth. I had to go. Now.

He moved closer to me. “Are you staying to listen to the band?”

My heart raced. My face flushed. I let out a nervous chuckle. “No. I can’t. I’m getting married. I have to meet him on a boat at ten. But now I have to pee…Forget it.”

He bent over and whispered in my ear, “Another time then?”

I jerked back and hit my head on a protruding fire extinguisher. “Ouch.”

Jacob leaned in and kissed me. “All better now?”

He left a scent of woodsy musk as he walked away. How dare he kiss me? I told him I was getting married. The nerve. Yet, surprisingly, I had kissed him back a little.

I stood motionless for a second before using the restroom then rejoining Mark.

***

After finishing our beer and sandwiches, we paid our bill. Mark and I stood to leave the table.

“Is that Francesca?” Mark’s eyes widened.

Francesca looked stunning in a pink tank top, denim mini skirt and flip-flops as she entered the front door. She saw us and waved.

So much for my fleeting thought of ducking out before she saw me.

“It’s nice to see you again, CiCi.” Francesca gave me a quick hug.

I so wanted everything to be the way it was before the truck stop incident. “How are you, been a long time huh?”

“Yes. Too long,” Francesca held my gaze.

“I guess so.” I looked down at my feet.

“Are you feeling better? The whole town is worried about you,” Francesca said as she touched my shoulder.

“I’m perfect, like nothing ever happened,” I said. Then I felt rude, Mark was just standing there. “Have you met the mail boat captain, Mark Stevens?”

“You’re the hero of the day. It’s so nice to meet you,” Francesca said as she gave Mark a hug. “So, mail boat captain huh? That’s a great job, how long have you done that?”

“This is the fourth and final summer for both CiCi and me,” Mark replied.

“What do you two do the rest of the year?” Francesca asked.

“I’m starting grad school in September,” I chimed in.

“What school?” Francesca asked.

“You know me, has to be close to home. U of W,” I said.

“Mark, do you attend Wisconsin too?” Francesca turned to Mark and asked.

“Nope. I’m an M.I.T.,” Mark said.

“Cool. My dad went there for his MBA. What degree are you working on?” Francesca asked.

“Not M.I.T. I am an M.I.T. It’s short for mortician in training.”

Francesca raised an eyebrow. “You work with dead people?”

He leaned near her and whispered, “Yes. We’re not allowed to embalm live ones.”

Every time Mark mentioned he’s a mortician, he usually elicited one of two responses: either complete revulsion or intense curiosity. The first time he told me, about two years ago, that he wanted to be a mortician, I asked no fewer than a hundred questions.

Francesca continued, “What’s it like working with dead bodies?”

“Great. None of my clients has ever complained.” Mark smiled.

Francesca and I both laughed.

A mutual friend strolled by and waved for us to come back to the bar.

Francesca put her hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Go ahead Mark. I need to talk to CiCi alone for a minute. Okay?”

“Okay. I’ll see you later on. I’ll wait for you in the bar,” Mark replied before he left.

Francesca bit her bottom lip. “Can we sit over there and talk?” She motioned to a recently vacated table, in the corner of the room, just outside the bar.

We sat down. I wondered how long it would be before she wanted to get to the truck stop incident.

A waiter came over and took our drink order.

“So, how was Europe? What’s up since, well the um, you know?” I hated that she represented the past that I had so carefully avoided, yet she was also was a part of a time in my life that I missed so terribly.

“The last night we saw each other? Actually, that’s what I have to talk to you about. It’s time to pay up.” Francesca fiddled with her hair.

I asked, “How much do you want? I think I’ve got forty bucks.”

Francesca got her margarita from the waiter. “We have to talk about
it
.”

My stomach took a free fall. “The weather? It’s been kind of balmy huh?” The waiter put a draft beer in front of me. I pulled out a twenty for both drinks and tip and gave it to the waiter.

Francesca brushed a strand of hair away from her face. She spoke softly, “I’m being blackmailed. I have to come clean, that means you do too.”

“Are you kidding me?” I answered. My breath was shallow and my hands trembled.

She reached over and held my hand, her eyes were slits. “We have no choice.”

In a barely audible voice I leaned toward her, “Four years ago you gave me no choice. Remember? It was your decision. No. Your demand, that we never talk about it again. Yours alone. I honored that against my better judgment to go to the police. We had a pact. Hell, you told me it would ruin your dad’s career. Isn’t he running for governor?”

“I know. But things have changed.” A tear streamed down her face. “Horribly changed.”

My heart raced. I kept my voice low. “Listen, I’ve made peace with that night. It was self-defense.”

She leaned in. “I have to pay off the person who knows it was me. It doesn’t matter if it was self-defense. It’s our word against a dead guy’s.”

“But a dead guy who was threatening us,” I said as I clenched and unclenched my fists.

She moved closer to me. “Are you going to the police with me to confess, or do we pay off the blackmailer?”

“Neither!” I reached for my drink with a shaky hand. I dropped the beer mug on the floor. The crash of the shattering glass made everyone in the bar turn and look in our direction.

Francesca stood. “Walk out with me,
now
.”

Something told me I should. I stood and followed her outside. We walked across the street to the lake.

We stopped under a streetlight, near a bench. Francesca commanded, “Police or payoff? We have to do one of the two.”

I slumped down on a bench. No doubt about it. This had to be the shittiest day of my life…since the day with the trucker anyway.

She plopped down next to me. “If the money isn’t dropped off at nine-thirty tonight, the police will be notified. So what’s it going to be?”

“How much are we talking about?” I asked.

“Twenty thousand in one hundred dollar bills,” she lowered her head.

“I don’t have that kind of money,” I panicked.

“I have the money with me. I took it out of my trust fund.” Francesca pulled out a small package wrapped in black paper from her purse. “Is your freedom worth this? All you have to do is deliver it and keep your mouth shut.”

I lifted my head and looked her in the eyes. “Give me the details.”

“You see that mailbox beyond the swing sets? The money has to be put under there at nine-thirty, not one minute before or after.” She looked at her cell phone. “It’s nine-fifteen”

I tightened my jaw. “So we’re already on borrowed time?”

“Weren’t we always?” she said.

I forced a grin. This day was dripping with irony. “After all these years, someone comes forward?”

“Yes. And I think I may know who it is, but I want to be sure before I make an accusation,” she said.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“I can’t tell you now. I have more pressing matters to take care of. First, I have to meet someone.” She pressed the package into my hand.

I pushed it back at her. With fear in my voice I said, “I won’t do this.”

Francesca chucked the package back at me and yelled, “It’s this or jail. I came up with the money. The least you can do is make the drop-off.”

She did have a point. Before I could respond, she stormed off leaving the package in my hands and fear in my bones.

Just then, something occurred to me about the bench I was sitting on. Any time I passed it, the people on it always seemed to be shouting and arguing. It must be cursed. It was an angry bench. I looked over and saw a couple kissing on a bench a few yards away. That was the same bench on which I sat when Ken proposed. It must be the romantic bench.

My thoughts flew back to my assignment.

What if the blackmailer planned on not only taking the money but killing the person who delivered it? Or demanded more money later? Okay, my imagination was running wild. But I didn’t want to be seen doing the drop-off. I quickly decided that I would disguise myself, and then get a weapon for protection. I had less than fifteen minutes so I hurried to the pavilion.

I dashed to the locker room, unlocked the door and grabbed some of Mark’s clothes. I put on his captain’s hat and his windbreaker. I tucked the package of money under the windbreaker. Looking around I found a flashlight, which would have to do as my weapon. And it served a dual purpose. If needed, I could shine the light in their eyes to blind them and then whack them on the head with it.

Emerging from the locker room, I hurried to the playground area. I sat outside a stream of light from one of the nearby pavilion street lamps. I had a good view of the mailbox. Now I had to time it just right to run to the mailbox and toss the money under it. My heart was racing and my body drenched in bitter dread.

A dark shadow moved near a group of trees by the mailbox. I forced myself to concentrate on deep breaths.

Glass broke. I jumped. It became darker. Someone must have busted a streetlight. They’re after me.