A Bad Day for Romance (14 page)

Johnny Cash blasted out of the speakers—Stella had been listening to his San Quentin album, one of her favorites ever—and she smacked the knob to turn it off.

“How’d you get in?” she asked, not looking at Goat.

He barked out a laugh. “Really, Stella? You think I’m such a dumbass I can’t handle a simple door lock? Nowadays they make it a little harder, but I’m law enforcement, I got ways.” After a moment, he added, “Plus, you might want to move that magnet key holder somewhere else. Everybody and their mother uses the wheel well.”

Stella was silent a moment, embarrassed. She pulled out onto the road that led from the resort down to the pretty valley below, her way lit by a huge orange autumn moon. “But why, I got to ask?”

Goat threw up his uninjured hand in a gesture of disgust. “So, I get back from the roadhouse with those clowns, every one of ’em drunker than the next. Finally get them to the elevators, and then I go to get me a room. And, Stella, would you believe it—not a damn room left to be had. Hell, I would have slept in the lobby but that prissy son of a bitch at the desk probably would have had me sent out to be cleaned and pressed. And of course by then all those slobs from the party were long gone so I couldn’t even bunk with them.”

“What about—you could have”—Stella felt her face flame—“you could have called me,” she mumbled.

“Yeah? Well, how was I supposed to know you hadn’t sent someone to fetch—” his own voice ended in a growl. “That damn barkeep of yours.”

Stella didn’t take her eyes off the road, a good idea since the lane wound around several times before it reached the main road.
He’s not mine
, she felt herself wanting to protest, but didn’t. Instead she said, “And yet it seems you found your way to my door a few minutes ago.”

“Yeah. Only after I tried sleeping out by the pool and near froze to death, and then I remembered you keep a space blanket in your Jeep. So I went to borrow it and—well, maybe I got a little curious when I popped the trunk, and it’s a damn good thing I did because that stupid tank was tucked between those boxes you keep in the back. Once I got the sensor disconnected and all, I took the tank out by the service shed, and then when I came back I figured you ought to know about it, even if you were… if you were… uh, entertaining. Hey!” he exclaimed suddenly. “You didn’t have him in the bathroom, did you?”

“I certainly did not! I mean, did you even
look
at me? When I answered the door? You think I’d look like that if I was entertaining?”

“Like what? Like you were just waiting for someone to walk in there and—aw, hell, never mind.” Goat was practically yelling. The effect was mesmerizing and maddening at the same time.

“You don’t get to start talking like that and then ‘never mind’ me, Goat Jones!” Stella snapped. “I had my grandma nightgown on and my face scrubbed off and I have panty lines pressed into my flesh that are liable to never come off from that dress I had on earlier. And if you think I’d take the
dog
for a walk looking like that, you’re crazy.”

Goat said nothing for a moment, then he peeped at her sideways. “I didn’t notice any of that.” His voice sounded funny, which got Stella even further riled up.

“How’d you find out which room was mine?”

“Aw, really? You think a sheriff’s badge doesn’t hold any weight around here at all?” Goat sounded genuinely wounded.

“Well, with Lloyd standing in for Fairweather, maybe not.”

Goat sighed. “Yeah,” he said glumly. “That boy just about got us thrown out of the roadhouse when he tried to swipe a neon beer sign off the wall and got his sleeve hooked on the nail. Ripped his uniform sleeve one end to the other and got a nasty gash on top of it. Had to bandage him up myself. Dumbass.”

They’d arrived at the twenty-four-hour emergency clinic. Stella had noticed it on the drive to the resort yesterday, and it was a habit of her profession to take note of such things. She’d dropped more than one of the men she’d tangled with at such establishments in the past, as a sort of final professional courtesy after she’d got done explaining how they were going to change their ways. She took care not to leave any marks that could be traced back to her, but it was funny how often it got back to her that such men had met with dubious misfortune: falling off ladders or hitting their thumbs with hammers or burning or puncturing or cutting themselves with a variety of Craftsman tools. All by accident, of course.

“Thanks for the lift, Stella,” Goat said, his good hand already on the door.

Stella, who’d accidentally quit focusing about the time Goat started growling at her, grabbed his shirt sleeve and hauled him back.

“Whoa there, buster, where do you think you’re going?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m coming with you. Make sure you let them look you over. You damn men, probably go in there and use the bathroom and then leave before they can give you so much as a Band-Aid if I’m not there to keep you in the chair.”

Goat scowled, but the corners of his mouth twitched. “I ain’t like that.”

“Oh hell yes you are.”

“Well, maybe I am, but—”

“But nothing. Stop talking and get moving.”

And even though he did, Stella managed to get around to the side of the door to hold it open for Goat so he wouldn’t have to use his bad hand. The thing had swollen even further, to where it looked like Goat was wearing a catcher’s mitt made of flesh, but as he followed Stella into the clinic he didn’t seem to mind one bit.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THEY’D HAD TO WAIT BEHIND A
young man who’d tried to settle a bet by jumping from a moving flatbed, and a woman with a feverish little boy Stella would have sworn was possessed by the devil, judging from his wailing, so it was nearly two in the morning when they emerged, two of Goat’s fingers bandaged and bound up in a splint arrangement.

“Don’t know how I’m supposed to not use this hand for two weeks,” he grumbled as Stella headed back toward the resort. The orange moon had risen high in the sky and cast a silvery light on everything, making the road gleam like a sinuous ribbon. It was downright romantic, Stella thought, if one’s thoughts ran that way.

“Well, you might ought to have thought about that before trying to put your fist through my wall.”

“Well, you might ought to stop making me!”

“Oh! So this is
my
fault?” A dangerous combination of anger and something else bubbled up inside Stella. She chanced a glance over at him, got fixed on his proud and smoldering profile. “I don’t know how as that’s possible, considering I’m not the one loading up on mixed messages and letting ’em fly all over town!”

“Mixed—what the hell are you talking about?”

“Well, you kiss me one minute and then the next I don’t hear from you for a month,” Stella said, knowing she was mixing her metaphors but too mad to stop. “You ask me to dinner after my birthday last May, which ’less I somehow blocked it out, I don’t recall happening even though four months have gone by.”

“I got called up to Fayette for that watercraft rescue training!”

“Yeah, which lasted a week and a half,” Stella shot back. She’d done some very delicate interrogating of Irene while Goat had been away for the class, bribing her with her favorite pulled-pork sandwich from Pokey Pot, so she knew exactly when Goat rolled back into town, after which she’d waited for her phone to ring for about two weeks before giving up in disgust.

“Well
yeah
, ’cause you were parading your barman around town, showing him off like a prize hog.”

“I was—what are you talking about?”

“I
seen
you, Stella Hardesty. Out at Aiello’s? You were in a blue dress, staring at that—that thick-neck soldier boy like you were fixing to take a bite out of him!”

Stella remembered the date in question, to the only Italian restaurant within thirty miles of Prosper, the sort of place that kept candles stuck in Chianti bottles coated with several decades’ worth of dust. There was a stained patch on the hem of her dress that she was pretty sure was the wine she spilled when BJ surprised her during dinner by putting a clammy hand on her knee. The date had ended with some polite groping on her front porch; Stella had hung in there as long as she could bear before pleading a headache.

“How’d you know I was there?”

“Well, you ain’t the only person in town who goes out to a meal now and again. Course, I lost my appetite after seeing your date stick a napkin in his collar. I mean holy smokes, Stella, you couldn’t at least throw me over for a man whose mama taught him a few manners before setting him loose in the world?”

Stella was speechless, but since they’d arrived back in the parking lot she was saved from having to respond. Goat must have been more than a little worked up, because he tried to open the door with his injured hand. A whole lot of yelping ensued, and Stella hurried around the Jeep.

“Hush now, you’re gonna wake up the whole hotel!”

Goat rubbed at the edge of his splint and winced. “Don’t matter, I’m gonna stretch out in the backseat and with the doors closed, won’t anybody hear nothing.”

He moved toward the back door, groping for the handle with his good hand. Stella maneuvered herself between him and the door. “Oh, come on,” she said. “Don’t be an idiot. You aren’t sleeping in the damn Jeep. You can stay in my suite, it’s got a whole little nook with a sofa and a TV and all.”

“I wouldn’t want to put you out,” Goat said, after a long moment. There was that growl again; the sound traveled up and down Stella’s spine like an electric spike.

“Oh, hush, I’m so damn tired I’ll forget you’re there,” Stella lied. She had been plenty tired when she and Chrissy left the party, but at the moment she was as wired as a polecat on an electric fence.

“Well…” Goat looked at her with one eye narrowed, like a pirate. He took a half step closer. Stella backed up, her ass bumping against the Jeep. There wasn’t anywhere else to go, which maybe wasn’t the worst thing in the world, since the moonlight was glinting in Goat’s eyes and his mouth was doing that quirked-up almost-a-smile thing. “If you’re sure…”

He bent forward in slow motion, his good hand heading for her hair like he was going to grab hold and drag her closer.

Nearby, there was a scuffle in the gravel and the sound of someone heaving. Goat stepped back in alarm. The heaving turned into the unmistakable sounds of someone disgorging wetly, followed by coughing and cursing, and then a figure staggered into view.

“Who
is
that?” Stella exclaimed.

“Aw, hell,” Goat muttered. “It’s that damn Swede, that Torgrimson boy. He was a mess back at the bar. Drank like a city boy, buying rounds for everyone and showing off.”

“I shouldn’t of had those nachos,” the man said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Stella recognized him from the party, a good-looking young man in his thirties who, earlier, had sported a lot of hair product and a sharp-looking jacket and tie. His hair was now flattened and decorated with what Stella hoped was only leaves. The jacket was nowhere to be seen, and a bit of the tie was peeping out of his pants pocket, where he’d presumably stored it once the party took a casual turn. “They sounded good at the time.”

Goat rolled his eyes. “I tried to stop you.”

“Aw, man, I don’t remember that.”

Stella started to hold out her hand to shake, then thought better of the idea. “I’m Stella Hardesty, Dotty’s friend. I’m sorry we weren’t formally introduced earlier, but I’ve heard nice things about you.”

“Thanks.” Leif swayed a bit, looking around the parking lot as though surprised to find himself there. “Hey, what are you guys doing out here anyway?”

“Little accident,” Goat muttered, holding up his bandaged hand. “No big deal. Stella just gave me a ride to the hospital.”

“So did they end up finding you a room after all?”

Stella and Goat exchanged a glance, one which was weighted heavily with all manner of unspoken thoughts. “Well, uh… actually, they were all booked up for the wedding.”

“Hey, you can bunk with me! I got double beds. Nice view of the golf course. And
Hangover II
is on HBO! You know the guy who plays the monk? He’s a client of mine.”

“Ummm… I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it, man.” Leif smacked Goat on the back, bro style. From Goat’s expression, it seemed close proximity brought all manner of unpleasantness, probably of the olfactory sort. “I could use the company. Tell you the truth, this mess with the murder and all has me a little down. I mean, I’ve known Bryant for years, not well or anything, he’s just sent me a few leads. But, still, I thought I knew him… I mean, makes you wonder if you can ever really know another person, you know? And that Divinity girl—just, wow.”

“Don’t go assuming Divinity’s guilty,” Stella said quickly. “I mean, they arrested her right quick without a whole lot of evidence. Is what I heard.”

Leif yawned extravagantly, scratching at his stomach while he did so. “Yeah, I can’t really see anyone killing Bryant out of jealousy, no matter how heartbroken she was. I mean, he wasn’t that kind of guy.”

“She was heartbroken?” Stella asked. “I mean, sure, she was heartbroken. About their breakup, right?”

“Well, yeah, I guess, at least that’s what I heard from Bryant. Barely got out of bed, that kind of thing. Cried herself too puffy for auditions. Told him she needed time. Time!” he barked, starting to stalk toward the resort entrance. “Who has time? Did Meggy Langrick ask for more
time
when they were casting
Harry and the Hendersons
? Was Barry Pepper too busy to read for
Battlefield Earth
?” When Stella and Goat reacted with puzzled silence, he added, “Clients of mine. If there’s one thing I ask of my clients, it’s that they be ready to roll the minute opportunity hunts them down. There
are
no sick days. There
are
no prior commitments. You get an audition, I don’t care if your mom’s on her deathbed and your kid’s lost in the mall, you
go
.”

Leif’s passionate speech was a bit at odds with his lurching progress across the lobby, which suggested that he might not have completely sobered up from the earlier festivities. But Stella was still stuck on reconciling the Divinity she knew—selfish, scheming, ambitious—to the notion of a heartbroken, listless girl. “You sure about Divinity? I mean, she wasn’t maybe taken down with the flu or…” Or lying through her cosmetically whitened teeth?