Perfect Sax (20 page)

It stung, but he was right. I had become completely insane, fearing the world was trying to kill me. He made sense. Hell, I had used the same arguments to talk myself down
from the ledge of my paranoia all week. Each night, as I rechecked the chambers of the Lady Smith .38, just to reassure myself that she was ready, I thought about how ridiculous it was for anyone to still be after me.

“Thanks for coming out here tonight, Honnett.”

He met my eyes, held the contact. I was startled by the emotion I saw there.

“Look,” I said, “I’m…Well, I’m tired. I need sleep. Obviously. Wesley is here. You should go home.”

“I’ll stay,” he said, looking surprised I’d kick him out.

“That’s okay. I’m fine now.”

Honnett looked over at Wesley, waiting for support, but Wes didn’t insist he stay either.

“If you’re sure,” Honnett said, sounding tired of fighting me. “Walk me to the door, then?”

The room was small, and Wes took the hint, excusing himself and disappearing into the back bedroom.

“You’ll be okay?” he asked.

I looked at Honnett. He seemed older somehow. He still had the great rugged face, the strong cheekbones and jawline of a cowboy. But his clear blue eyes looked a little vague, like he had a lot on his mind.

“How’s everything with you?” I asked, standing with him near the door.

“It goes on. The usual. Sherrie has been doing a little better. She’s getting out a little more.”

“Good.”

“So, Maddie. You like this other guy a lot, huh?”

“This is not a good time to go into this, Chuck,” I said. I had had enough drama for one evening. I wanted a bath and bed. My own.

“Okay. Sorry. Look, I have to ask for the thirty-eight back, if you don’t mind.”

The what? I looked at him like he had suddenly slapped me. Now, I could stand a lot of things. I could stand to watch my romantic evening destroyed in an instant. I could stand to find my old boyfriend waiting up for me at home. And I could probably get through a teenager’s birthday party in a few hours. But I simply could not part with the gun.

“No.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You can’t have it back now. You can’t. I haven’t had time to buy one of my own. And—”

“Maddie—”

“NO! Look, if you’re worried I don’t know anything about guns, you don’t have to worry. I found an instructor. She’s really kick-ass. And I’ve been out on the range, shooting real bullets. I can shoot, too. That is not a worry. But the whole idea,” I rattled on quickly, “is to provide me with a little goddamned sense of security in the crazy world, Honnett. And if you take that revolver away from me now, while who knows what freakin’ forces of evil are gathering to get me, I’ll completely,
completely
wig out. I will. So this isn’t even a question, okay? You can’t have it back right now. Understand?”

“Bad timing, I get it,” he said, taking me and my paranoid outburst with measured calm.

“Okay. So good night. And thanks for coming by.”

“Good night,” he said, searching my eyes for something. I think he wanted to kiss me. It wasn’t going to happen. Access to my lips was closed to all, perhaps forever. Didn’t these guys realize that despite the logic and the scenarios, despite their theories and all the cops in the world working on the case, I knew without reason that someone was maybe trying to kill me?

“I’m going to drive around awhile,” Honnett said, opening the door to leave. “What sort of car should I be looking for?”

“Honda Accord. Black. No front plate.”

He stopped in the doorway, and looked back at me, thinking it all through, I guess. How we had gone from where we were a few months ago to where we were now was a hard journey to map. I was sure he was going to say something more about the time we had been together. But instead, he simply asked again, “An Accord, you say?”

I stood there, exhausted, nodding. And then he left.

J
acked up on Double-Double Animal-Style burgers and third helpings of Chocolate Madness Saxophone cake, three dozen twelve- and thirteen-year-old boys raced through the Hutson backyard, whooping at one another that they could beat anyone at Starcraft.

I was happy to see the party had come off so well. Sometimes “impromptu” works. Wes was pouring Holly and me glasses of champagne to celebrate the fact that our crew had cleaned up and was ready to move on.

Wynton Marsalis had been brilliant, charmed the audience, and cut out about an hour earlier. Even in this wealthy crowd, guests were whispering about how much money Mr. Hutson had spent for this treat. The muchtouted battle of the bands, or more specifically, young musicians, was yet to come. But it wasn’t our responsibility to get all those carbo-crazed boys and their instruments up onstage. Thank God.

We had leased the tables, risers, and audience chairs, as well as the sound equipment and soundboard. The truck would come to collect it all tomorrow. I raised a flute of sparkling, straw-colored wine and clinked glasses with Holly.

“To more easy gigs,” she said, taking a sip of the tiny bubbles
that gave joy to this particular vintage of Louis Roederer Brut Premier.

“Amen,” I said.

“And no shocking surprises after,” Wes said, taking a drink.

“Hey,” Holly said, looking over my shoulder. “Someone here for you.”

I turned. Dex Wyatt had appeared. He was coming down the path in the Hutson’s huge backyard. When he missed the Marsalis concert, I had briefly wondered what was up, but then I got busy as I always do and sort of lost track of time. Suddenly a commotion broke out not ten feet away from where Dex was walking.

“Hey, Uncle Dex!” A fully clothed young man had decided it would be hilarious to sit in the Jacuzzi. He held his alto sax above the bubbling hot water and began playing. Several other young party guests and their instruments followed his lead. You had to love kids.

“Hey, Kirby,” Dex called to the boy, saluting him back, and then he walked over to us. “Wes. Madeline.” Dex stopped by my side and I could swear the sun got brighter. I’m not making this up. “You okay?” he asked me.

“Fine. You missed the concert.”

“Stuff came up I couldn’t get out of.”

“That’s okay.”

“Hey, I didn’t realize my nephew, Kirby, would be at this thing. How wild.”

“You know Holly Nichols, Dex.”

“Holly,” he said, with a devilish grin. “I’ve been dying to see you again. And you look stunning.”

Holly, standing in full daylight in a proper Pasadena garden, was currently wearing a tiny red Paul Frank muscle tee with the famous image of Julius, the puzzled monkey, on her chest. The shirt ended way above her navel, and it was only
after many inches of bare, tanned stomach that her pink hip huggers began. I won’t even go into the belly-button ring, or the sprinkle of glitter in her blond hair.

“Thanks,” said Holly, dimpling.

“So what has Madeline told you two about me, then?” Dex asked.

“Everything,” Holly said.

“Everything?” Dex looked at me, voice squeaking in mock shock.

“I cook with these guys all day long,” I confessed to him. “The hot stoves. The bright lights. They get every detail out of me. I should have warned you.”

“I’m cool with that,” Dex said.

“Great attitude,” Holly commented, admiring my new man and giving me a nod. “Mad is like some supernaturally gifted pitcher. When you’re at the plate, you never know what she’s going to throw at you. So, my advice would be, stay alert.”

“You a baseball fan, Holly?” Dex was a sports guy, so he sounded intrigued.

“Well, not really,” she admitted.

“She just likes the metaphors,” Wesley explained.

Connie Hutson walked up to our group and I turned on my party-planner personality. “Connie, we’re just ready to leave. Is there anything else you need?”

“I was coming over to congratulate your group. It’s a terrific party. Ryan has had the best time. Despite himself.”

“I noticed some of the guests are in the whirlpool,” Wes said helpfully.

“Oh, these boys! We’ve brought out towels and they will just have to play in the contest in soggy clothes. We’re about to get started. Anyway, thanks so much for taking us on at the very last minute.”

“You’re welcome,” Wesley said, smiling.

We all began to depart. When we got to the front of the house, I hugged Wes and Holly good-bye and we separated to go to our own cars. Dex had walked out with me and asked if I had time for a private word. I wanted to talk with him, too. We stopped in front of my parked Trailblazer.

“Dex,” I said, “I’ve got to ask you something and I need you to be completely honest with me. Okay? This is serious.”

“Sure. What?”

“The woman. Are you telling me you never saw her before? Or is she someone you dated or something. It’s important. I need the truth.”

“What are you talking about?” Dex sounded genuinely insulted. “I told you the truth last night. I don’t know who she was or what she was doing there. What is this, Madeline?”

“I think I’m in some serious trouble, Dex. I need to know what is going on now. A cop warned me I might be being naive. He thought it was likely that woman was connected to you. I just had to make sure.”

Dexter stared at me, putting it together. “So your boyfriend, the cop, is getting you all worked up over me, right?”

“I’m not usually like this,” I said.

“Madeline, you think I’d lie to you?”

My eyes stung with sudden tears, which I fought to hold back. “Men lie,” I said, with more force than I had intended. “I’m not saying you are, right now, but it happens.”

“That’s a great attitude you’ve got. What the hell did I do? We are just getting started. Why are you suddenly so suspicious?”

“Don’t sound so self-righteous,” I said, snapping back. Fearing for my life for the past week had done a number on my legendary self-control. And the last person in the world I
wanted to take it out on was Dexter. He stood there in the dappled sunlight of the lush trees, looking angered by my attack. Like he wasn’t going to take on the burden of all the men who had done me wrong. But before I could begin to trust him, I had to know what was real to him. In the daylight, I doubted everything about everyone.

“You are hard work, Maddie,” he said with a half smile, defusing my anger with the sudden shift of tone.

“Oh, hell.”

“That’s part of the attraction for me, no doubt. I’ve had it pretty easy my whole damn life, as I’m sure you have figured out. But I want to work this out, you and me. Did you hear what I said? I said the word
work.
Several times.”

I smiled. “Only twice.”

“And I know deep down you can’t entirely approve of me, can you? But I feel like we have a connection. And if I get my act together, we could be awesome. I’ve never felt that before.”

“Really?”

“Really. And if you want honest, I’ll be honest. The girls in my life…Well, the girls have been kind of easy to get. You know, I’m lucky like that. But they never last with me. I can’t get that attached. I’m like a Velcro guy, but all the girls don’t have the right loops or whatever it is that makes Velcro stick together.”

I nodded, smiling more.

“No one reaches me. We’ve talked about this before. But it’s different with you. You’ve got the right kind of loops for me, Madeline.”

“Oh, Dex.”

“You are completely odd.” He touched my cheek.

“Odd.” I smiled.

“Odd, but I like it.”

“I like you, too, Dex. I do. But there’s something very wrong. I know there is. I just feel it.”

His smile faded a tiny bit and he finally nodded.

“And until I can figure all of this out, we can’t work as a couple.”

“Do you have to make some big decision about us today? Why can’t we just keep on? Get to know each other a little better.”

I shook my head, working hard to resist him. It made my words come out hotter than I intended. “You haven’t been completely honest with me. You know it. There’s something more going on between you and the art collection that was ripped off than you are willing to tell me. I felt it last night when you were avoiding the questions. Tell me if I’m wrong about that.”

We stood near my red rent-a-car, our voices suddenly heated.

“What do you want from me?” He didn’t look away from my eyes. “If you wanted a saint, you wouldn’t have been hanging out with me this long, Madeline.”

“You’re not a saint. What exactly does that mean?” I was unable to hold back all my frustration and anger. How dare he make me fall for him! I was no longer content to wait for answers. I had to know where we really stood. “Did you have something to do with the art theft, Dex? Is that it?”

He stared at me, hurt and surprised.

“And what about the tenor saxophone at the Woodburn auction? Did you have something to do with that theft as well? You showed up downtown that night and everything around me started falling apart. And that woman in your yard. Did she really follow me to your place, or did you set me up, Dex? Did you have something to do with these murders that have haunted me?”

“Sweetie…” He sounded honestly shocked. “Maddie,
this is too much. Are you accusing me of murdering someone? We have to talk. You can’t be for real.”

“I need the truth, Dex.”

“The truth…” Dex shook his head. “The truth is tricky, Madeline. The truth can hurt people. I’m not always sure the truth is such a good idea.”

It wasn’t the answer I was looking for, but it worked. Here I’d been ranting about how I was afraid to trust him, and I suddenly saw clear as day that all along he had been afraid to trust me. Somehow, the sadness of his voice and honesty of his concern woke me up out of my anxious spell.

I loved his face, even now, showing some strain. He may have perfected his charming facade and fooled everyone with the happy-playboy act, but I saw another man. Dex seemed so lonely to me despite his great humor and easy smiles. So much more real. Maybe I was one of the very few who saw the real Dexter Wyatt. And then my anger seemed to dissolve. I knew he wouldn’t lie to me. I couldn’t believe he would hurt me. His character may have many flaws, but I believed he wanted to play straight with me. And I realized I was willing to risk being a fool rather than give up on this man.

“Tell me,” I said softly.

From behind the large Arts-and-Crafts-style home we heard faint sounds of many instruments tuning up. The battle of the young jazz musicians was about to begin.

“Okay,” he said. “We’ll do it your way.”

I took his hand and we leaned against the car and he began to tell me his story.

“Three years ago, Zenya’s husband, Bill, asked me to house-sit. Four weeks. I said no problem, plus he offered to pay me. So you know what happened. There was a break-in and three etchings were stolen. The cops always thought it
might be me behind it, but they never recovered the artwork and that was that.”

“And?”

“And I didn’t do it. I didn’t. But I think I know who did.”

I looked at him and stroked his arm, waiting for more.

“Zenya called me from Maui the day before the theft. She never calls when she’s away, so it was kind of unusual. Anyway, she told me that months before they’d planned the Maui trip, she bought tickets to a Stones concert in L.A. They were for the next night. She’d forgotten about them until just then, she said. She told me where I could find them in her desk and told me to use them. She hated to think they’d go to waste.”

“And that’s the night you went out and that’s when the etchings were taken.”

He nodded.

“But that could have easily been a coincidence,” I said.

He looked at me. “It was funny. Odd. She never bought tickets to concerts. And Zenya doesn’t really go for the Rolling Stones. And she actually called me the day of the concert to make sure I was going. I thought it was all very strange even before the break-in.”

That did sound suspicious.

“And that’s not all. About a month after the theft, Zenya called to tell me she had gotten lucky with some investment and she was buying me a house.”

“What? I thought you said Zenya didn’t have a lot of her own money.”

His eyes looked pained. “She doesn’t. And she told me a big story about how Bill had given her a little money to invest. Anyway, she had a friend who was a real estate agent find a great place for me. Zenya always hated that I lived in an apartment. So she told me she found me a place and she put the down payment into escrow. It was up to me to pay the rest of it.”

“And you did?”

“I needed some permanence. I thought it was the only way I’d grow up and settle, you know? I wanted to pay her back, but she wouldn’t let me.”

“And you think Zenya was involved with the art being stolen? She needed money and kind of paid you your share for not telling the police about the circumstances that got you out of the house that night?”

“I try not to think about the whole thing very much. Pretty weak of me, isn’t it? Well, you knew there was some outside thing about me, Madeline. You have always known I don’t have the highest moral fiber. I think it’s what attracts you to me and pulls you away. Even your mother warned you about hanging out with the wrong crowd.”

“My mother was proud of me for forgiving my friends their mistakes,” I said. “And Debra turned out great. She outgrew her bad-girl phase and overcompensated. She’s an attorney in Chicago now.”

“Is that so?”

“But explain more. What happened after those etchings were stolen? What’s the bottom line?”

“Just ask Mid-Pacific and North American Insurance. They were insured for twenty million dollars.”

Oh my God.