chance, call extension seven last night? Just before two thirty?” I was tipping my hand, but I needed to know if he was the caller.
He paused midmovement. By the expression in his red-rimmed eyes, I could tell that the question greatly intrigued him.
“Ahhh, is this an important clue you’re giving me a hint to?”
“Not really a clue of any kind. As you may have heard, Devon called that girl Laura for water during the night. About an hour and a half later the phone rang again, but no one was there. Devon was dead by then.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
What next, I wondered? I needed more answers, but there wasn’t a soul in sight. People were obviously in their rooms, catching up on sleep or praying for the plow to arrive.
When I reached the foyer downstairs, planning to return to my room yet again, I noticed that several rain ponchos had been hung on a row of pegs on the wall. Having viewed the weather only from windows over the past twelve hours, I decided to grab a poncho and head out to the deck.
It looked surreal outside, like a scene from a movie about a planet in a distant galaxy. Fog rose from the ground in patches all through the woods, as if there were smoldering brush fires. It had stopped raining, and the temperature seemed to have dropped again.
I took three steps out onto the deck and jerked in surprise when I spotted Tommy in the far right corner, the same spot where Cap and Devon had stood late Friday night. He was jacketless, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth and a cell phone to his ear. It couldn’t have been a private call because he didn’t bother to lower his voice when he spotted me.
“Fuck it, man,” I heard him say. “I’m not going to do that. So just fuck it.”
The person on the other end must have offered a plea on his or her behalf, because Tommy listened for a bit, his face pinched.
“Like I said, fuck it,” he said finally. “I’ll talk to you later.”
He flicked the cigarette over the rail of the deck and dropped the phone into the pocket of the oversize white shirt he wore above jeans so tight the only thing left to the imagination was genital skin tone.
“Hi,” I said, walking toward him. “You want a poncho? There’s a bunch of them inside.”
“Why would I want a poncho? It stopped raining.”
Okaaay.
“How you doing?” I said, trying again. “This must be pretty upsetting.”
“Ya think?”
I wasn’t sure what to try next. He seemed to be making it clear he didn’t want to talk to me. But then he leaned back against the wet wooden rail of the deck and looked at me intently, as if we were two people who had things to say to each other.
“Devon was my lady for six freakin’ months, you know,” he said. “We weren’t an item anymore, but we were—I don’t know, connected still on some cosmic level.”
“Why did you break up?”
He shrugged. “I got a little distracted on my summer tour, if you know what I mean. That didn’t sit well with her at all. I couldn’t stand the nagging, so I took a powder.”
“And now you’re with Tory?”
“Yeah. For now. My IQ is shrinking just being with that bitch.”
“Any guesses about how Devon died?”
“Nope. She was as fit as a horse as far as I knew.”
That was a stretch, considering she had probably weighed about ninety-five pounds sopping wet.
“I mean, she smoked, she drank,” he added, “but she didn’t do hard drugs, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Was she anorexic or bulimic?”
“A lot of these model chicks are all fucked up about their eating. I brought out a can of Reddiwip once with Tory, just for a little fun, and she practically went insane. I think she thought the calories were gonna be absorbed through her nipples.”
“But what about Devon?” I asked, trying not to let a picture form in my mind of Tory and Tommy in the sack with a bunch of sex props. “Was it more than just counting
He paused midmovement. By the expression in his red-rimmed eyes, I could tell that the question greatly intrigued him.
“Ahhh, is this an important clue you’re giving me a hint to?”
“Not really a clue of any kind. As you may have heard, Devon called that girl Laura for water during the night. About an hour and a half later the phone rang again, but no one was there. Devon was dead by then.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
What next, I wondered? I needed more answers, but there wasn’t a soul in sight. People were obviously in their rooms, catching up on sleep or praying for the plow to arrive.
When I reached the foyer downstairs, planning to return to my room yet again, I noticed that several rain ponchos had been hung on a row of pegs on the wall. Having viewed the weather only from windows over the past twelve hours, I decided to grab a poncho and head out to the deck.
It looked surreal outside, like a scene from a movie about a planet in a distant galaxy. Fog rose from the ground in patches all through the woods, as if there were smoldering brush fires. It had stopped raining, and the temperature seemed to have dropped again.
I took three steps out onto the deck and jerked in surprise when I spotted Tommy in the far right corner, the same spot where Cap and Devon had stood late Friday night. He was jacketless, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth and a cell phone to his ear. It couldn’t have been a private call because he didn’t bother to lower his voice when he spotted me.
“Fuck it, man,” I heard him say. “I’m not going to do that. So just fuck it.”
The person on the other end must have offered a plea on his or her behalf, because Tommy listened for a bit, his face pinched.
“Like I said, fuck it,” he said finally. “I’ll talk to you later.”
He flicked the cigarette over the rail of the deck and dropped the phone into the pocket of the oversize white shirt he wore above jeans so tight the only thing left to the imagination was genital skin tone.
“Hi,” I said, walking toward him. “You want a poncho? There’s a bunch of them inside.”
“Why would I want a poncho? It stopped raining.”
Okaaay.
“How you doing?” I said, trying again. “This must be pretty upsetting.”
“Ya think?”
I wasn’t sure what to try next. He seemed to be making it clear he didn’t want to talk to me. But then he leaned back against the wet wooden rail of the deck and looked at me intently, as if we were two people who had things to say to each other.
“Devon was my lady for six freakin’ months, you know,” he said. “We weren’t an item anymore, but we were—I don’t know, connected still on some cosmic level.”
“Why did you break up?”
He shrugged. “I got a little distracted on my summer tour, if you know what I mean. That didn’t sit well with her at all. I couldn’t stand the nagging, so I took a powder.”
“And now you’re with Tory?”
“Yeah. For now. My IQ is shrinking just being with that bitch.”
“Any guesses about how Devon died?”
“Nope. She was as fit as a horse as far as I knew.”
That was a stretch, considering she had probably weighed about ninety-five pounds sopping wet.
“I mean, she smoked, she drank,” he added, “but she didn’t do hard drugs, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Was she anorexic or bulimic?”
“A lot of these model chicks are all fucked up about their eating. I brought out a can of Reddiwip once with Tory, just for a little fun, and she practically went insane. I think she thought the calories were gonna be absorbed through her nipples.”
“But what about Devon?” I asked, trying not to let a picture form in my mind of Tory and Tommy in the sack with a bunch of sex props. “Was it more than just counting
Similar Books
