The Sugar Queen (9 page)

She felt a slight pinch of apprehension. "How did you know that?"

"I've been asking around, and I might have some leads." She looked at him, confused. "You said you wanted to find out who the other woman was," he clarified. "The woman he cheated on you with."

Her heart started to race. "You know who it is?"

"Not yet. But I'm close. There's only been one soap opera in the DA's office in the last three months, and I was told it had to do with a golden boy named Jake Yardley. No one has wanted to give up the details yet."

"I can't believe you'd do something like that for me. You don't even know me." She put her hand to her chest. His eyes followed the movement to her breasts. He didn't look long, but long enough.

"I know hurt when I see it. I guess my next question is, do you want to know her name? There's no going back once you know."

"I want to know," Chloe said without hesitation.

"Then I'll find out for you. I have some connections at the courthouse."

Their drinks arrived and Chloe took a sip of hers, trying not to stare at him outright, but she couldn't help it. "You don't work at the courthouse, do you? I've never seen you there."

"No, but I've had plenty of legal matters settled there, enough to become friendly with people who can help me out if I need it."

"What can I do for you, then? I'd like to be able to help you."

"You can start by taking off your jacket and staying a while." He got off his stool and stood behind her. He slowly slid her jacket off, touching her neck ever so slightly as he did so.

He put her jacket on the bar, then sat beside her again. She felt light-headed. She blinked a few times, trying to corral her thoughts. "So, um, have you heard from your girlfriend?"

"No."

"This must be so hard for you. Did she leave you a note, anything?"

"No." He put both his hands around his beer mug and stared down into it. "We've been fighting a lot lately. After our last fight, she got in her car and left. She'd been acting strangely for a while, depressed and prickly, like she knew she was going to leave and she was just waiting for the next big fight for the excuse. But she didn't take her clothes or purse or anything. Then, a couple of days after she disappeared, a woman came into the house while I was sleeping and took some of her clothes and her wallet. So I know she's still around. She just doesn't want to come back, or see me."

"So, is it over between the two of you?"

"Probably." He met her eyes. "What about you and Jake?"

"I don't know."

He smiled slightly. "You still love him."

She looked away. After a few moments she said, "I can't seem to help it."

"Your Jake, is he tall with blond curly hair?"

She turned back to him curiously. "No."

"Then is he medium height with dark hair and light eerie eyes?"

He was beginning to scare her. "I wouldn't say they were eerie, but yes. Why?"

"Because a big blond and a shorter guy with those eyes just walked in and zeroed in on us. And they look none too pleased." He smiled like it meant nothing, like it actually amused him.

She looked over to the door and locked eyes with Jake. The force of it nearly knocked her over. As much as Julian could do, as much as he wanted to do, he could not affect her the way Jake could. It was the difference between a tickle and a punch.

Jake walked toward her, Adam on his heels. They got caught in the group of shiny women on their way. Walking through that group was like walking into a sudden dust devil. They emerged on the other side looking rumpled and windblown.

By the time they reached her, Julian had disappeared.

She looked around, confused that he could slip away without her even being aware. He was nowhere to be seen.

"Clo, what are you doing?" Jake said. His eyes were all over her, drinking her in like sweet tea with lemonade. He
missed
her. She felt it as clearly as she felt her own sense of loss.

She got off her stool and grabbed her jacket. "It's none of your business."

"You don't know that guy. He's bad news."

"Oh, really?" she snapped. "Let me tell you something, Jake. You lost the right to have any say in my life the moment you slept with another woman."

"I didn't sleep with her."

"You're splitting hairs?" she said incredulously.

"When it's this important, you're damn right I'm splitting hairs. I had sex with her. That was all it was. It didn't mean anything. Everyone was tired, everyone was high on winning, and there were all these emotions looking for release. I didn't make a conscious decision . . ."

"Will you listen to what you're saying?" Chloe's voice was rising and people were starting to stare, but she didn't care. "You're blaming cheating on me on
a murder case.
There was a decision, a decision whether or not to do it, and you made that decision. The case didn't.
You
did. Who was she?"

He paused, and for one brilliant moment she thought he was going to tell her. But then he said, "She was no one."

"Get out of my way." She tried to push him, but he didn't budge.

He took her by the arms. "Chloe, please, just promise me you'll stay away from him."

"I never
ever
told you to stay away from other women! I trusted you."

"I trust you," Jake said. "I don't trust him. He has a record."

She sucked in air so quickly she almost choked. "How do you know that? Have you been spying on me? You don't think I can handle myself. You don't think I can do anything without you. You don't even think I can handle knowing who you slept with. I'll show you, Jake." She barreled past him this time. "I'll show you."

Jake went after her,
but she ran to her car in the side lot by the bar and raced out without another word. He watched her car disappear. At least she was heading in the direction of their apartment.

He went back in and found Adam at the bar. He'd already ordered beers.

"Did you know she was going to be here?" Adam asked as Jake took a seat. "Is that why you wanted to come?"

"Someone from work said they'd seen her here earlier in the week, talking to that scumbag. I just wanted to tell her what he was."

"I feel so used."

Jake tried to smile at that. He didn't think it was possible to miss a single living human being this much. When he'd seen her across the bar, his heart had nearly beaten out of his chest. He missed her passionate earthiness, her easy laugh, her warmth. He missed the smell of her skin. He wanted to touch her again. But when she'd seen him, she had looked so profoundly unhappy that his hands had fisted at his sides with frustration. He didn't know how to fix this. And it looked like he'd made things even worse tonight. For the first time, he began to wonder if things were truly going to be all right.

He'd just picked up his beer when he looked across the bar to where Chloe had been seated. Her drink, probably a lemon drop because that was her favorite, was still there. And next to it was a book. He knew it was hers. When he first met her, she was never without a book. And she had more books in storage than he had ever seen one person own. It had always fascinated him that she'd consumed so many words, that her head was full of stories, told a thousand different ways. She'd always seemed a little embarrassed by her books, so he'd never pushed the subject. But this book could be the key to seeing her again. He could return it to her and say he was sorry, start some sort of dialogue. To hell with what his father said.

He put his beer down and began to walk around the bar, keeping his eye on the book. He got caught again in that group of drunk, touchy-feely women along the way. He heard Adam call to him, "Don't panic! They can smell your fear."

Eventually he managed to untangle himself from them.

By the time he reached the other end of the bar, her drink was still there.

But the book was gone.

Chloe woke Up
feeling parched and headachy.

"Jake," she said automatically, reaching for the other side of the bed. He always made her feel better when she was ill. But when her hand touched his flat, empty side of the bed, she remembered. He wasn't here. He wasn't here and she was. In bed. In her clothes. She sat up slowly, squinting through the pain in her head.

She moved her legs to the side of the bed and sat on the edge, putting her head in her hands. She'd spent hours crying when she got home, crying in a ball on the floor, crying so hard her chest felt like it was going to cave in. It physically hurt to cry that hard. A hard cry could draw walls in, it could bend metal, it could turn a full moon into a sliver.

She began to shiver, so she grabbed her jacket from the bottom of the bed. It smelled like cigarette smoke from the bar. She slowly got up and headed to the kitchen for some water, ignoring
Old Love, New Direction,
which had perched itself on one of the blades of the slow-moving ceiling fan above the couch. A
Girl's Guide to Keeping Her Guy
was sitting primly on the coffee table.

Paper, string and glue.

As she walked she stuffed her hands into the pockets of the jacket. She felt something in the left pocket and pulled it out.

She stopped and stared at it. It was a cocktail napkin, and on it was written a phone number and a name.

Julian.

Sugar Daddy

Monday afternoon, on her
way to the organic grocery store to pick up the peppermint oil that was finally ready for her mother, Josey stopped by the courthouse to see Chloe. The moment she caught sight of her, even from halfway across the rotunda, she knew something was wrong. Chloe was sitting at one of the two cafe tables in front of the counter, a cup of coffee in front of her, staring into space.

"Chloe?"

She immediately looked up. When she saw who it was,

she smiled. "Oh, hi, Josey." She didn't have on any makeup, although there was some leftover glitter dotting her brow bone, and her red hair was pulled up into a tangled ponytail. There was sadness under her skin, giving her a fragile, matte pallor.

"What's wrong?"

Chloe stood and picked up her cup. "Nothing, I'm fine," she said as she walked around to the sink and poured out the coffee.

Josey went to the counter. "No, you're not."

Chloe shrugged, her movements uncomfortable. "I guess I was in shock for a while—Jake telling me he'd slept with another woman, then kicking him out. This weekend I think it finally hit me. Bam!"

Josey suddenly felt ashamed of herself for getting so worked up over Della Lee. Chloe had real problems. Josey just had a woman living in her closet. "What can I do?"

"Nothing. I wish there was something you could do, you know, to make this move faster. I just want to hurry and get to the part where it's over and I feel better."

Josey tried to think of something comforting to say, maybe about the slowness of some parts of life, or how quickly things can change, or how, when all else fails, it helps to eat chocolate.

But then Chloe shook her head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to put that on you. Would you like a sandwich? Grilled tomato and cheese? Fried egg?"

Chloe seemed to like the distraction that food preparation gave her, so Josey said, "What's your favorite?"

"My
favorite?" Chloe said, as if no one had asked her that before. "I guess I like plain turkey on jalapeno cheese bread the best."

"Okay, I'll try that."

"To go?"

"Yes. I have to go to the organic grocery for peppermint oil. I just wanted to stop by to say hello, and to thank you for the books again. How goes the house hunting?"

"I've been going over rental listings and making appointments," she said as she assembled the cold sandwich. She bagged it and handed it over to Josey. "Peppermint oil? Is that why you always smell like Christmas?"

Josey laughed at that. "My mother insists that peppermint oil be used on the casings of our house. It's supposed to keep unexpected guests from arriving on the doorstep. I'm pretty sure the old herbalist at the organic grocery propagates these superstitions for profit. She claims that she can whip up love potions, elixirs for pleasant dreams, charms that will give you more hours in a day. All made from natural ingredients found in the mountains. Nova Berry, she's quite a character."

"I've never heard of her."

Josey gave her the money for the sandwich even though Chloe tried to wave it away. "Not many people have. She works with referrals only."

As Chloe put the money in the cash register, she said thoughtfully, "Do you think you could refer me?"

"Well, sure. What do you need?"

"I don't know," Chloe said. "Maybe she can tell me."

Nova Berry looked
like a hickory switch—tall, thin and knobby. She could trace her family line back hundreds of years in the Appalachian Mountains. These days people treated what she did as a novelty, but there was a time when the Berry women were known far and wide for their natural remedies. Slippery elm for digestive problems. Red clover for skin conditions. Pot marigold for certain monthly female ailments. Nova had been forced to spice things up a bit now that there were things like Maalox and Midol on the market, so easily acquired. So she made it known that her cure for heartburn also mended a broken heart, and her cure for cramps also made you more fertile, or less, if that's what you wanted. Half the time it really worked, because if it was one thing generations of Berry women knew, it was that confidence was the primary ingredient in every potion.

Nova's children ran the market, and Nova had her own workroom in the back. Josey led Chloe there, pushing back the curtain that separated it from the rest of the store. Nova was sitting at her workbench, crushing lavender with a mortar and pestle, listening to Patsy Cline on the CD player her grandchildren had given her.

She looked up when they entered. "Josey! I have your mother's peppermint oil right here. Please tell her I'm sorry it took so long. There was a sudden outbreak of constipation that kept me busy." She got to her feet and gave Josey a small glass vial. Josey discreetly gave her the cash for it. Nova stuffed it in her bra. "Now, can I interest you in a scarf this time?" She gestured to the corner of the room, which was an explosion of yarn, in baskets, on shelves. She knitted two or three scarves a week, and they were hanging everywhere, even alongside bundles of dried herbs. "Red is your magic color, Josey. Try red."

"No, thank you." Josey gestured for Chloe, who was standing by the curtained door, to come forward. She did, but leerily. Josey took her hand and pulled her the rest of the way. "Nova, this is Chloe Finley."

Nova looked her up and down. "The Finleys who grew corn?"

Chloe cleared her throat. "Yes, my great-grandparents used to."

"I knew your great-great-grandmother when I was a small child. She traded my mother bushels of white corn for a horse chestnut remedy for her varicose veins. Is that what you're here for?"

"Varicose veins?" Chloe said, surprised. "No."

"Then what?" Nova said. When Chloe hesitated, Nova turned to Josey and said, "Go and try on my scarves in front of that mirror. Red, Josey. Red will get you what you want. Go." When Josey walked over there, she saw Nova take Chloe by the arm and lead her even farther away. But Josey could still hear when she said, "Now, what can Nova do for you?"

"I want to forgive someone," Chloe said, "or I want to move on. Do you have anything that would help?"

Nova thought about it a moment. "You need a tisane of stinging nettle." She went to her workbench and opened one of the dozens of clear glass jars. "You use this like tea leaves, to drink." Nova scooped some of the dried plant into a small paper envelope.

"Stinging nettle," Chloe said, trying to laugh, but she sounded nervous. "That sounds painful."

"Love sometimes hurts. This is painless, though. It tells your heart what to do. Your heart, child, remember. When you have a decision to make, listen to your heart."

"Thank you," Chloe said, taking the envelope. "How much do I owe you?"

"Josey's paying for it," Nova said. "That's what she gets for eavesdropping."

Josey dropped Chloe off
at the courthouse, then went home. As soon as she walked through the door with the peppermint oil, Margaret admonished her for taking too long, then grabbed the oil and went in search of Helena. The oil had to be put on the casings immediately, she said, because Thanksgiving and Christmas were almost upon them and people didn't think twice about dropping in during the holidays. Margaret wanted to nip that in the bud.

Josey went upstairs to get out of her mother's warpath. Margaret hated the holidays. She went to all the holiday social functions because it was expected of her, but there was something about Christmas that always set her off. Josey had learned years ago to try to stay out of her way when she got like this.

Josey unbuttoned her coat as she walked into her room. She went straight to her closet, because that's what she always did. It used to be just for the candy. Now it was also to see Della Lee, to talk and to argue. She was actually starting to
look forward
to it.

Which meant that Della Lee had finally succeeded in driving her insane.

When she opened the closet door, Della Lee was sitting where she always sat, on the sleeping bag, but she was no longer poring over those old notebooks. She was still wearing all her clothes, but she'd taken off her makeup and she was holding the small tiara in her lap, looking at it wistfully.

"Della Lee?"

She looked up and smiled. She looked younger without makeup, her skin even more translucent, like that of a child.

"I won this in the Little Miss Bald Slope pageant when I was six years old."

Josey went to her knees. Her long coat spread around her on the floor. "You must have been a pretty child."

"I was." She put the tiara on the floor and pushed it toward Josey. "Here, you can have it. Put it on."

Josey shook her head. "My hair wasn't made for wearing a crown. It would get lost."

"Please?"

With a sigh, she put it on her head, then she spread her arms, inviting snide comments.

But Della Lee said, "Very nice. And nice scarf, by the way."

Josey looked down at it, then immediately took it off. Thank God it had been under her coat. "Thank you for reminding me. Nova Berry insisted I buy it, but my mother hates me in red. I bought you some nonperishables while I was at the market, things you can keep up here to eat, but they're still in the car. I'll get them when Mother goes to sleep. You have to stop moving things downstairs. You're driving Helena crazy. She can't figure out what's going on. Oh, and I also got you a sandwich at Chloe's but I ate it on the way home."

"Josey, there's something important I have to tell you," Della Lee said seriously. "I've been debating whether or not it really has anything to do with me being here, but I think it does, so I think you should know."

"Let me guess, you're a serial closet squatter and I'm not your first victim."

"No." Della Lee reached into a corner of the closet and brought out the box Josey had taken from her house. She set it in front of her, then she pushed it halfway between her and Josey. "Look inside."

Josey scooted the box the rest of the way toward her and lifted the lid.

"See those notebooks?" Della Lee said. "Those were my mother's. Go ahead. You can look in them."

Josey lifted the first one out. It was a regular spiral notebook, the kind kids carried to school in backpacks. The paper was thin and graying but the ink was still dark and feathery, like that from a felt-tip pen. "Are these diaries?"

"More like logbooks. My mother liked to follow Marco Cirrini and write down what he did. She did it for almost twenty years. When I was a child she would drag me around town in our car, driving wherever he drove. I remember sitting outside homes and office buildings and the ski lodge for hours while he went inside. Mama would talk to herself the whole time, cursing him while scribbling in those books. Sometimes, when he would park his car, she would get out and break his windshield wipers or scratch his doors, then she'd run back to our car and laugh about it. She was obsessed with knowing what he was doing, and who he was with."

Josey looked over a few pages, feeling uncomfortable. Most of it was written like this entry, dated March 30, twenty-three years ago:

Marco drove down Highland Street.

Marco parked in the seventh parking space from the

corner.

Marco used two dimes in the parking meter.

Marco was wearing his gray suit with a red tie.

They stood on the sidewalk and talked.

Marco laughed three times.

She touched his sleeve.

License plate numbers of cars in the street: ZXL-33,
GGP-40, DIW-07, FNE-82, HUN-61, CMC-
75, DFB-93.

Josey closed the notebook, shutting out the frantic energy emanating from the pages. "I don't understand. Why would your mother do this?" Marco Cirrini had been a very public figure, but as far as Josey knew, he'd never had any real enemies. She was ashamed to admit that she knew very little about her father, just how great everyone said he was, and the snippets he'd sometimes shared with her on their Sunday drives. He'd had his own apartment at the lodge, so he'd rarely even slept at the house.

Della Lee ran her tongue over her crooked front teeth, thinking about her answer. "My mother was a troubled person," she finally said. "And she was too beautiful for her state of mind. She always looked like she knew more than she did. She left home when she was sixteen because her stepfather was molesting her. She dropped out of high school and got a job as a checkout girl at the Winn-Dixie. When she met my father, she thought he was going to be her savior. She loved to tell me the story of how she was sitting on a bench downtown one Saturday, drinking a bottle of Pepsi-Cola with a straw, when he walked up to her and said, 'You are the most beautiful creature I've ever seen. Can I buy you dinner?' It was like something out of a movie. I came along nine months later. She was eighteen."

Josey thought about it, and she vaguely remembered Della Lee's mother, small and pretty and rough like Della Lee, but with big green doll eyes. "Your mother was Greenie Baker, right?"

"Yes."

"I remember seeing her around."

"I'm not surprised. Following you and your father on your Sunday drives was one of her favorite things to do."

"She followed him when I was with him?"

Della Lee nodded.

Time lines, like strings of thread, were weaving together, forming connections. "Were you with her?"

"Sometimes. But as soon as I was old enough to stay home alone, I did. I hated following you. Hated it. But then I would always hear about it when she got home, where he took you, how you used to laugh when you were with him. Sometimes I would put my fingers in my ears so I wouldn't hear it. I didn't want to hear about him acting like a good father with you."

"What happened to
your
father?"

"He died when I was nineteen."

"And he let your mother do this?"

"I don't know if he actually knew. I didn't even know who he was until I was nine. He paid off my mother when I was born. Bought her the house. Bought her a car. Bought her silence."