Love You to Death (19 page)

A
fter work on Monday I followed Roger, as usual. If he didn’t do something bizarre tonight, like, say, stalk Henry Fiddler or ask my friends for the name of the guy who broke my heart, I’d give up on him.

He was heading down Exchange Street, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He made a left onto a side street and walked a few blocks, then looked behind him as though he sensed someone was following him. I ducked into a doorway. I didn’t want to follow him much longer. The wind was picking up, and this area was pretty desolate. I was about to pop out of the doorway when I spotted Shelley coming out of a bar and grill across the street. She wasn’t wearing a coat. And she looked as if she was crying. I almost called to her, but she started running and rubbing her arms. Had she and Baxter gotten into a fight and she’d run out? Had she left her coat inside?

I darted across the street and went into the pub, surprised that Shelley would choose such a place. It was a dive, an “old man’s” bar. Not her style at all. There was the requisite old man nursing a beer at the long bar, his eyes on the basketball game on the TV perched on the wall. A few tables dotted the place, and menus inside triangle-shaped Lucite holders offered hamburgers and fish and chips.

I glanced around; maybe Baxter was in the restroom.

“Help you?” asked the bartender, an old man himself.

“Um, I was just seeing if my friend left her coat,” I said. “Young woman with long brown curls? She just left.”

“She was sitting right there,” he said, gesturing at the table closest to the pool table.

There was Shelley’s green wool coat around one of the chairs. And two glasses. One untouched bottle of beer and one half-drunk glass of red wine.

Ah. She’d ordered for him but he never showed? Or they got into a whopper of a fight and he left just as their second round was delivered?

“Sad girl,” the bartender said, wiping glasses. “Comes here twice a week and sits at that same table and orders a red wine for herself and a bottle of Beck’s, no glass, which she directs to be placed at the seat across from hers. But here’s the thing—no one ever shows up to drink that Beck’s.”

What? “Wait a minute. How long has this been going on?”

He shrugged. “Long time. Months now. Maybe even a year.”

“She’s been coming in alone twice a week for
months?
Ordering a beer for someone who never shows?”

He nodded. “Strangest thing. Sad story, I gather.”

I gnawed my lip. “I gather.”

“Yeah, I guess things didn’t work out with that guy. Or maybe she was hoping to run into him again or something.”

“Baxter?” I asked.

“Don’t know his name. British guy. I remember him because of his accent. Just like the royal queen’s. Well, Prince Charles, I guess. They were getting hot and heavy at the pool table one night, and since then, she’s been back alone, ordering what he ordered that night.”

Oh, God. Shelley. Baxter must have broken up with her months ago and she didn’t have the heart to tell anyone. Still, what about all her grandiose stories?
“He wants me to move in, but why not just get engaged? We’re going to his mother’s birthday party this weekend…. Baxter and I had the best weekend skiing at Sunday River…. He drove me down to Boston to surprise me for my birthday….”

Lies? All if it?

I took her coat, thanked the bartender and left and waited a reasonable time for Shelley to get home before calling her. No answer. From the bar and grill, the direction she’d headed would also take her back to
Maine Life,
so I figured I’d try her there. Before we’d left work tonight, she’d been frustrated by an article she’d been fact-checking. Maybe she went back to work to finish?

Nope. The offices were dark. Only the cleaning crew was there, vacuuming and emptying the trash cans. I draped Shelley’s coat around the back of her guest chair. My cell phone rang as I was heading back into my cubicle.

Ben.

“Are you going to be there for another half hour?” he asked. “I want to show you a couple of photos and see if you recognize anyone.”

“Photos? Of who?”

“Fargo found a witness, an amateur photographer, who’d been taking pictures for a holiday photo contest that the
Portland Press Herald
was sponsoring. Guess who’s just visible in the shot? Tom Greer with his hands full of shopping bags.”

“This is great! This is our first break!”

“It’s our first break if you recognize anyone in the photo,” he said. “And it’s a sort of artsy shot, at a weird angle, so I’m not getting my hopes up too high.”

“I’ll be here, Ben,” I said. I hung up, elated.
Please, please, please
let me recognize the person behind Tom! Although if Ben hadn’t, that wasn’t a good sign. He was all too well acquainted with everyone I knew.

My shoulders slumped. So much for elated.

I tried calling Shelley’s house again. No answer. I was too worked up to actually do any work, so I just waited for Ben. This could be it. The end.

He called my cell from the reception desk to let me know he’d arrived. I ran to let him in.

He looked so tired. Just the hint of dark shadows under his eyes.

“Ben, if you didn’t recognize anyone in the photo, why would I?” I asked him as we headed back to my cubicle.

“Maybe it’s someone we overlooked, someone not in your daily world. It could be anyone, Abby.”

I turned on my strong overhead light. He handed me three photos, all the same one, but blown up to different sizes. I stared at them so hard that the faces blurred together. “Damn it! I don’t recognize anyone! And that tall guy doesn’t even look like Roger!”

“I noticed that,” he said.

“Let me get my loupe.” I searched my desk and top drawer, full of junk, for the little magnifying cube, but I couldn’t find it. “Let me see if Shelley has one.”

I darted next door to her cubicle. No loupe. I opened her top drawer, where she kept her desk supplies. The photograph of Baxter was face-side down. Huh. I wondered what had happened. The photo had been out on her desk for months and months until just a few weeks ago. If they broke up long before that, why would she have had it out? And why suddenly put it away? Had they gotten back together and then broken up again?

“Find one?” Ben asked from the doorway.

“Nope. But I found where Shelley put her ex-boyfriend’s picture. This situation is so weird. She’s been supposedly dating this guy for over a year, but I found out tonight that he broke up with her months ago. Maybe even a year ago. But she’s been acting like they’re still a couple.”

“Sounds like she couldn’t face it,” he said.

“I just feel so bad that she felt the need to keep up the pretense. That must be so hard. Why not just tell everyone about the breakup and get comforted?”

“People get wrapped up in fantasies sometimes,” he said. “Abby, trust me, I’ve seen it all. Before you know the facts, don’t jump to conclusions, though.”

“Like you do?” I shot back. “It’s your job to conclude things from circumstantial evidence.”

“People are convicted on circumstantial evidence, Abby.”

“Great. I’ll see you on visiting day,” I said. “I look awful in orange,” I added. “Even if you really do believe that I didn’t kill Ted, does your boss? Does the prosecutor?”

“You’re not under arrest, Abby. There is nothing connecting you to any of the crimes except for the individuals involved. That’s not enough.”

“Shelley doesn’t have a loupe, either,” I said, so tired of this. “I’ll get one from the art director’s office.” I glanced at Baxter’s face again, then went to slide it back facedown, as I’d found it.”

“Wait a minute,” Ben said. “Let me see that.”

I handed him the frame. “You know him?”

He studied it. “I don’t know. But I’ve seen him before.”

I shrugged. “Around Portland, maybe?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “I can’t place him, but I’ve definitely seen that face.” He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Go get the loupe and take another look at the photos.”

“Okay.” I slid Baxter’s picture back into the desk and then ran to the art director’s office. Aha. He had all the loupes. Four were lined up on his desk.

I ran back to my cubicle and studied the photos with the loupe. The faces were magnified, but I still didn’t recognize anyone.

“It almost looks like someone is behind Tom,” Ben said. “But it’s just an arm. Tom’s so damned tall himself that he’s obscuring half the people behind him.”

I looked for the arm. There was just a hint of it. “Looks like whoever it is wears a black coat and black gloves.”

He took a deep breath. “I’m going to see what else I can dig up from the
Herald
’s contest. It might take all night, but if I find anything, I’ll need to come by whether it’s 2:00 a.m. or 7:00 a.m.”

“That’s fine, Ben.”

“Walk you out?” he asked.

“I might as well finish up my Best of South Portland column,” I said. “It’s due tomorrow afternoon. Plus I have a slew of reader mail to answer. I’ll be here for another hour, then I’ll head home. But I’ll keep my cell on, okay?”

He nodded. “We’re close, Abby. I feel it.”

I nodded. I didn’t feel it. The only thing I felt was alone as I watched Ben leave.

I turned on my computer and got to work.

Dear Best Of Editor, Where do you think the best place to break up in Portland is? I need to tell my girlfriend it’s over, and someone said I should do it in a restaurant so she can’t make a scene, but then I’ll be stuck paying like fifty bucks for dinner. Would a park be good? Thanks,

Mike F., 32, Portland, ME

I heard the elevator doors ping open in the reception area. Ben? I glanced out. It was Shelley. She was staring down at the carpet. And she was crying.

“Shell?”

Her head shot up. “I didn’t know you were here.”

I gestured to my computer. “Ton of work due tomorrow.”

“Me, too,” she said, though her eyes were so redrimmed from crying I doubted she’d get any work done.

I took a deep breath. “Shelley…” I went into her cubicle and opened her desk drawer and took out the picture.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asked, grabbing the picture. “Since when do you just go into my drawers?”

“Shelley, I saw you come out of that pub tonight. I was trailing Roger, and all of a sudden there you were, running out without your coat.”

She stared at me, her expression hardening. “So?”

“So I went in to see if you left your coat….”

“And?” she said.

Ugh. Why didn’t she just tell me the whole story right now? Why was she pulling it out of me?

“And you did leave your coat. And your gloves.”

“Did you get them for me?” she asked.

I nodded and gestured toward her guest chair.

“Thanks,” she said. “Baxter and I got into a huge fight. I think it might really be over this time.” Tears came to her eyes.

What was I supposed to do? Tell her I knew? Go along with her charade?

“Shelley, the bartender told me.”

Again the same stare. “Told you
what,
Abby?”

“That you come in twice a week and order a wine for yourself and beer for Baxter.” I walked over and took her hand. “And that he never shows up.”

She burst into tears and sank to the floor. “He dumped me.”

I knelt beside her. “Shelley, it’s okay. Who’s been dumped more than I have? It’s okay to talk about it.”

“I feel like such a fool,” she said. “I just got so tired of being the only one without a boyfriend. You had a new boyfriend like every week, and I couldn’t even get past one date. I just liked the fantasy so much better than the reality.”

“I understand, Shell.”

“You’ll have a new boyfriend by next week, Abby. You always do. You can’t possibly understand what it’s like for me.”

“I know what it’s like have your heart broken,” I said. “I know what it’s like to be in love with someone who’s just using you.”

“Riley Witherspoon is old news, Abby. How many boyfriends have you had since him?”

“Shelley, my last boyfriend ditched me in a department store.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t break your heart. It’s not like you were in love with Henry Fiddler.”

“I’m in love with Ben,” I said. “Trust me. I know what it’s like to love someone for whom you’re just a means to an end. Once he catches Ted’s killer, that’s it.”

She stared at me. “I didn’t know you and the detective were fooling around.”

“We’re not. We’ve never even kissed.”

“So how did he use you?” she asked.

“Forget it,” I said. “He really didn’t. He was just doing his job and doing it well, and I got caught in the cross fire of that. I fell in love with another guy I can’t have. Talk about old news.”

“So maybe you do understand, Abby,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “Could we get out of here?” she asked. “Maybe go for a drink?”

“You bet,” I said.

The phone at my desk rang. I started to head for it, but she grabbed my wrist. “You don’t want to talk to him. He
is
just using you, Abby. He’s just going to break up with you. Like they all do.”

“Break up with me?” I said. “Shelley, I just told you that we’re not dating.”

“Yes, but you’re in love with him. Why are you such an idiot? He’s just going to break your heart and dump you.”

I whirled around and stared at her.

Why are you such an idiot? The cop is just going to break your heart and dump you. And then I’ll have to kill him, too….

Oh, God.
No, no, no, no, no.

Stay calm. Don’t let her know that you know. Just get out of this building. Alive.

“Where do you want to go for drinks?” I asked, striving for natural. “Moxie’s? Maybe Mamba Margarita’s?”

She didn’t respond. She just stood there, zoning. And then her expression changed. Softer. Sweeter. Like the usual Shelley.

“I wish I could, hon,” she said. “But I’m meeting Baxter for dinner. Rain check?”

Huh? Was she totally psycho? Split personality?