trip to Kmart and picked up forks, a coffeemaker, and a weird picture of a horse, which she hung in the bathroom. It was definitely bathroom art.
She liked to think of her decorating style as eclectic, but interior designers would probably have called it mishmash. The multicolored wooden fish from the Bahamas clashed with the Georgia O’Keeffe print on the wall next to it. Her beige furniture had been bought as a group from Goodwill for a hundred dollars.
In her bedroom were five chairs that used to match a wooden table long since tossed out. The chairs were pushed up against the wall, making her bedroom look like a waiting room. She sighed. That image was accurate. Men waiting to get into her bed, followed quickly by her waiting for them to get out.
In the corner of the living room was the chest, painted yellow and red, she’d gotten with Del more than four years ago. She had been a cops reporter and he had been a photographer, both just starting out at an Orlando paper. They had graduated from the University of Florida but somehow never met. They didn’t have a first date. They went to her house after a work party and he never left. Within a week they had boughtthe painted chest together; it replaced her orange crates as their new coffee table.
The chest was awful, really. Gaudy without having any character. Del loved it, she hated it. When they moved to Santa Fe last year, they sold all their furniture, except the chest.
He was supposed to come by a half-dozen times in the past few months to get it, but never did. It was always, “I’ll get it when I move to a bigger place.”
It was now pushed into a corner and covered with a lace cloth, only a tiny part of the red-and-yellow paint visible. She put pictures of her mom and her brothers on it to chase away the Del demons. She had no pictures of her father left. Those had gone into the trash years ago. She wondered if he was still living in New York. Her mother refused to say that Dad had abandoned them; it was always, “He needed to find himself.” Like he was in India on a spiritual quest instead of in New York getting remarried.
Lucy walked over to the chest and pulled off the pictures and lace cloth. The photos she put with the others on the mantel. The lace cloth went, unfolded, into a drawer in the kitchen. The yellow-and-red chest she pushed out onto the back porch. Maybe some passing teenager would steal it. Maybe it would finally snow and ruin the paint. She could only hope.
Lucy turned off all the lights and fell asleep on the couch, with
Three’s Company
as her background noise and night-light.
CHAPTER FIVE
Wednesday Morning
W hen Gil walked into the kitchen just after waking up at six thirty, Susan silently handed him the
Capital Tribune.
He read the first three paragraphs of the Melissa Baca article before he saw the word
drugs.
He left the house without taking a shower or saying good morning to the girls, who were still sleeping.
The newspaper article had used the phrase
sources close to the investigation.
He wondered who the state police’s leak was. And he wondered why the state police, who had been acting so cooperatively, hadn’t told him about finding drugs in Melissa’s car.
Gil used his cell phone to dial Chief Kline. Kline answered groggily. Gil read to him from the article’s third paragraph: “‘Baca’s car was found in Oñate Park, which Santa Fe Police Chief Bill Kline called “a haven for drug dealers” during an interview last month. Sources close to the investigation said heroin and a syringe were found on the front seat of Baca’s car. The sources also said Baca was a frequent drug user.’”
All Kline said was, “I’ll get back to you.”
Next, Gil called Lieutenant Pollack, who answered his phone with a “yo.” Before Gil could say anything, Pollack started. “I bet you’re calling about the newspaper article.” Pollack sighed and said, “Look, if it had been up to me, I would have told you that we found
She liked to think of her decorating style as eclectic, but interior designers would probably have called it mishmash. The multicolored wooden fish from the Bahamas clashed with the Georgia O’Keeffe print on the wall next to it. Her beige furniture had been bought as a group from Goodwill for a hundred dollars.
In her bedroom were five chairs that used to match a wooden table long since tossed out. The chairs were pushed up against the wall, making her bedroom look like a waiting room. She sighed. That image was accurate. Men waiting to get into her bed, followed quickly by her waiting for them to get out.
In the corner of the living room was the chest, painted yellow and red, she’d gotten with Del more than four years ago. She had been a cops reporter and he had been a photographer, both just starting out at an Orlando paper. They had graduated from the University of Florida but somehow never met. They didn’t have a first date. They went to her house after a work party and he never left. Within a week they had boughtthe painted chest together; it replaced her orange crates as their new coffee table.
The chest was awful, really. Gaudy without having any character. Del loved it, she hated it. When they moved to Santa Fe last year, they sold all their furniture, except the chest.
He was supposed to come by a half-dozen times in the past few months to get it, but never did. It was always, “I’ll get it when I move to a bigger place.”
It was now pushed into a corner and covered with a lace cloth, only a tiny part of the red-and-yellow paint visible. She put pictures of her mom and her brothers on it to chase away the Del demons. She had no pictures of her father left. Those had gone into the trash years ago. She wondered if he was still living in New York. Her mother refused to say that Dad had abandoned them; it was always, “He needed to find himself.” Like he was in India on a spiritual quest instead of in New York getting remarried.
Lucy walked over to the chest and pulled off the pictures and lace cloth. The photos she put with the others on the mantel. The lace cloth went, unfolded, into a drawer in the kitchen. The yellow-and-red chest she pushed out onto the back porch. Maybe some passing teenager would steal it. Maybe it would finally snow and ruin the paint. She could only hope.
Lucy turned off all the lights and fell asleep on the couch, with
Three’s Company
as her background noise and night-light.
CHAPTER FIVE
Wednesday Morning
W hen Gil walked into the kitchen just after waking up at six thirty, Susan silently handed him the
Capital Tribune.
He read the first three paragraphs of the Melissa Baca article before he saw the word
drugs.
He left the house without taking a shower or saying good morning to the girls, who were still sleeping.
The newspaper article had used the phrase
sources close to the investigation.
He wondered who the state police’s leak was. And he wondered why the state police, who had been acting so cooperatively, hadn’t told him about finding drugs in Melissa’s car.
Gil used his cell phone to dial Chief Kline. Kline answered groggily. Gil read to him from the article’s third paragraph: “‘Baca’s car was found in Oñate Park, which Santa Fe Police Chief Bill Kline called “a haven for drug dealers” during an interview last month. Sources close to the investigation said heroin and a syringe were found on the front seat of Baca’s car. The sources also said Baca was a frequent drug user.’”
All Kline said was, “I’ll get back to you.”
Next, Gil called Lieutenant Pollack, who answered his phone with a “yo.” Before Gil could say anything, Pollack started. “I bet you’re calling about the newspaper article.” Pollack sighed and said, “Look, if it had been up to me, I would have told you that we found
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