CHAPTER SIX
. . . . .
. . . .
A/N: is there anyone out there? Most of my regular commenters fell eerily silent with the last chapter; did I put everyone to sleep? WELL TOO BAD! THE STORY CONTINUES! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!
. . . . .
. . . .
The snooty guard in the booth, to whom he gave his name for access to the gated community, wilted once Carlton made sure he saw his badge along with his iciest glare.
Victoria Parker ex-Lassiter ex-Townsend's home was about what he expected: large, set back on a perfect green lawn, and clearly very expensive, even in the dusk.
When she remarried not long after their divorce, he'd run a background check on the lucky groom (because while he had promised to let her go, he hadn't… quite… let her go).
Alastair Townsend (of course he would have a name like Alastair, despite having been born in Peoria to chicken ranchers) was at the time resting on the laurels of successful stock market investments which supplemented his thriving law career. He was, Carlton noted with satisfaction, short and pasty, but then again, Victoria hadn't been drawn to his looks.
Why did she marry me at all? he asked himself again. Despite his upward ambition, she couldn't seriously have expected his cop's salary to fulfill her dreams. Could it really have been as simple as wanting to defy her father, who'd hated Carlton on sight?
Maybe he'd ask her again. During the long tense period of their marriage and separation, he'd asked more than once, but she only gave him sad platitudes about how they were very different people, growing apart, blah blah whatever. He never really believed it then. Maybe the passage of years would allow her to admit the truth now.
She was standing in the open garage, arms folded. Took him straight back to a memory of her waiting angrily one night when he was late for dinner because of a homicide. Murder was no excuse for not calling, she'd said tightly, and I don't care if the mayor wanted you in on the investigation personally.
This evening she was smiling, wearing a long pale dress which showed off her slim figure, and damn if those dangling earrings weren't the ones he gave her for their second anniversary.
Carlton realized she must really really want to know what was going on with her neighbor, to be this overtly nice to him.
"Thanks for coming," she said, and was her voice throatier than usual? "The dark colors bring out your big blue eyes. Not that they need any help." She smiled.
I'm on the job, he wanted to snap. You don't have to…. lure.
He was wearing a dark shirt and jeans, the better to skulk with, and with merely a nod, waited while she lowered the garage door and led him inside.
"In a little while I'll go out and walk the perimeter of Ridgway's house," he told her. "You said there's no dogs? Nothing to announce me lurking? No parrots, Klaxon alarms, motion-sensor lights?"
Victoria looked over her shoulder, smiling. "Nothing like that. He leads a very quiet life, except for the screaming."
"Do you think it's Ridgway? Screaming?"
They'd come to a stop in her large bright expensive kitchen, and Victoria frowned. "Well… I don't know. I guess I can't tell, really. I don't think it's a child, and I do think it's human, but…"
That was conclusive.
"Where are you when you hear it?"
"Upstairs in my office." She led the way into the grand expensive hall and up the expensive staircase—slowly, he noted, so he wouldn't miss the expensive carpet and sparkling expensive chandelier—to the expensive second floor, where she swept past the expensive master bedroom and stopped in front of a door which opened into a room which looked more like a real person worked and lived there.
"I'm a partner in a decorating business," she offered, and indeed it seemed to be full of catalogs and fabric swatches and photos.
"Hmm," was all he said, because truthfully he didn't care, except it suited her: helping other wealthy people have expensively-decorated homes fit her basic nature.
He was more interested in the balcony doors leading to a narrow deck, wide enough for two expensive wooden loungers and a table big enough to hold an ice bucket and two champagne glasses. Not that the latter was in sight, but he could imagine.
The deck extended down to the master bedroom, and all of it faced the sloping back yard, where dark had settled in for the duration. Ridgway's house was to his right, with a few lower windows and one small upper story window lit.
"It's been so mild lately," Victoria said from behind him. "I work up here in the evenings and usually have the door open."
She was still attractive, he thought again, with her indeterminate-colored eyes and her faint smile, and he remembered kissing her back when she still loved him.
"Have you been inside his place?"
"A few times, when the neighborhood association has open house tours. I made some sketches," she said. "They're downstairs with the apple crumble." Her smile was, dammit, meant to lure.
It had been a long summer, he thought, following her down to the kitchen. From kissing his Juliet—who'd been squirrelly as hell today—to dating Emily to fending Manda off (eventually) with pure wrath, he had no idea what to make of his personal life.
But Victoria's apple crumble had always been tasty, so what the hell.
She gave him a cup of coffee to go with it, and slid a sketchbook over to him. "The side of the house closest to mine has a formal dining room plus the kitchen, along with a sunroom at the back his late wife used to use for sewing."
With one expensively-painted fingernail she gestured to other rooms she'd sketched out, both upstairs and down. She had no information about the basement but offered that there was an elevator in the middle of the house which helped him get up to his room at night. "His wife was disabled," she offered. "Been gone about five years."
"How long have you lived here?"
"Four." She leaned back, sipping her own coffee. "Alastair moved out two years ago."
Leaving you with the house, and you were probably happy with that deal.
And yet why tell me how long it's been over?
He eyed her curiously. What was her game?
"You're very much on edge tonight, Carlton." It sounded like a challenge, and her gaze was amused.
Carlton finished his apple crumble. "I'm working. That was good, by the way. Thanks. I'm going to go have a walk around Ridgway's property."
Her smile was knowing. "I'll wait right here."
He wasn't comforted.
. . . . .
. . . .
Patrolling with Silvers on Saturday afternoon, Juliet found herself in the odd situation of wishing for some kind of street rumble they could interrupt. She felt like a good dust-up was what she needed, something to let off the steam building up in her head ever since she left work last night.
Carlton seemed to be in a relatively even mood after they talked to the hospital informant, and she couldn't tell how he felt about either the phone call which had stirred him to such frustration or about his upcoming visit to Victoria's House Of Apple Crumble Evil.
He wasn't shutting her out per se, she knew that. But he was shutting her out all the same, and the idea that he was slipping away just when she was…
She clenched her fist, her nails biting into her palm.
Just when she was ready to go after him.
Well, it sucked so royally that one royal family wouldn't have covered exactly how much it sucked.
She hadn't heard from him since they parted ways outside the station, and before she met up with Silvers for patrol she did a quick check of overnight arrest reports to see if anything had come of Victoria's screaming-neighbor situation: nothing.
It probably just means nothing happened, or he figured it out and it was nothing, and nothing happened. Nothing.
Her other fist clenched.
O'Hara, she could hear Carlton say with irritation, what are the odds I would actually boink Victoria the first time I'm alone with her?
All right, maybe Carlton wouldn't say 'boink.'
She answered him anyway with a tart: Well, it doesn't seem you needed very long after Emily to boink Manda.
To which Carlton-in-her-head said: So what? What's it to you? Have you shown any interest in being one of my boink-ees? As I recall, you couldn't get away from me fast enough after that kiss.
Silvers said, "On the right. Yellow Mustang."
Juliet dragged her attention back to her job and confirmed the Mustang was on their hot cars list, and while it wasn't quite the street war she needed to fully distract her, rounding the car up focused her energies until they finished the shift and she got back to the station.
Where she was staring at her phone when Chief Vick spoke. "Two weekends in a row by choice, O'Hara?"
Startled, Juliet looked up at her jeans-clad boss. "Chief. What brings you in?"
"Came by to pick up some stats for review. Iris and Richard are off on a father-daughter camping trip tonight." She gave Juliet one of her more piercing investigatory stares. "I hope you're not overdoing it."
"It was just patrol. Quiet day for the most part."
Karen sighed and took the chair next to her desk. "Off the record, O'Hara. Juliet. I understand you just ended a… complicated… relationship. I assume there's a lot going on. A lot of stress apart from the fact that it's because of Spencer in particular. But cold as it seems, I need you focused on your main job here, and working overtime every weekend isn't going to pay off in the long run."
Juliet was both touched and mildly affronted, the latter probably left over from her prickly Carlton-related mood. "It's temporary. I… I don't have a lot of cash reserves at the moment and this'll help get me situated in a new place."
Still Karen studied her. "You're sure? You know you can avail yourself of the EAP."
But the Employee Assistance Program didn't make loans, not that Juliet was interested in one. The EAP provided more talk-related assistance, and that was the Chief's point.
Juliet said evenly, "In the end, Chief, it was just a breakup. My financial problem won't last long, and the minute it seems I can't handle the overtime, I think we both know Carlton will stomp on it."
To that riposte, Karen nodded in agreement, putting a hand on her shoulder briefly before she left.
Returning to the task at hand: to text Carlton or not? It was heading toward six o'clock, and truthfully she just needed some contact with him.
Hey Carlton. What's doing?
At the moment, laundry. How was patrol?
Quiet. Silvers drives a LOT less aggressively than you do.
Yeah, you little wuss, I get the job done. Are you tired?
Juliet smirked at the former, frowned at the latter.
Meh. Did you figure out the noises in your ex's hood?
She didn't want to dignify the heart-stomper with a full name.
Not yet. Don't overdo it, Juliet.
Damn him for calling her that when she was at her most… whatever the hell she was. Damn him!
She started pressing letters angrily.
Gaaaah, you & Vick act like I'm some faint flower who can't handle a few extra hours. Sometimes you and I work 12 hour days for 6 weeks straight & nobody says a WORD about not overdoing it then. What's the difference now? It's just freaking patrol. Last weekend I worked Booking & got to sit down & take breaks & everything. Even got some bread & water and a chance to pee. Jeez.
After she hit send, the following pause was pretty long.
Uh… sorry I expressed concern?
Instantly she was remorseful instead of irritated.
Sorry. I do appreciate it. Just venting. Want to go get a pizza?
Well, who the hell typed that? She couldn't believe the words came from her fingertips.
The pause was long again.
Wish I could. Told V I'd go back for another listen.
She resisted the immediate urge to send a profanity-filled text.
Nothing last night?
Quiet as the tomb.
Juliet resisted another immediate urge to send "too bad heart-stomper wasn't in it, buried under mounds of her Satanic apple crumble."
Yeah, she had a problem. Maybe talking to someone at the EAP wasn't such a bad idea.
Instead she put in another hour, off the clock, going through open case notes in hopes she could just damned well settle down and not think about him with HER any more.
She was on her way out of the station and nearly to her car when Shawn called her name.
. . . . .
. . . .
Carlton dressed in dark clothes, put fresh batteries in his pocket flashlight, and asked himself why he was going over there again.
A pizza with Juliet sounded much better, even if the invitation had been unexpected.
Friday afternoon she'd been touchy in the extreme. It seemed to start during their talk with the nurse at the hospital, but lately he had no idea how to read her. Was this just some sort of post-Spencer mania?
But then he couldn't read Victoria either.
That wasn't new; he couldn't read her while they were married. Or separated. Or even, if he was completely honest about it, back when they were "happy."
For a long time he believed he simply couldn't read women at all, but he knew it wasn't true. He knew he had a pretty good handle on Juliet most of the time, because she was usually open and communicative. These days she was keeping everything to herself—not that he blamed her; he was too—so when she did let something out, it usually blindsided him.
Like a rant about overtime.
Like an offer for pizza.
You're not going to figure her out, so get to work already.
After scoping out Ted Ridgway's property Friday night—all very neat and trim and orderly, no odd sounds, no strange emanations through the windows—he'd slipped back into Victoria's house and spent the next ninety minutes out on her office balcony.
She brought him more apple crumble and coffee. He let her smoky voice wash over him as she talked of what she'd admired about his career, and he understood she was trying to get in his good graces, but he still wasn't sure why. He'd come here to do the job, he was doing the job, and she didn't have to linger in his presence.
Luring.
Eventually the lights in the Ridgway house went out, and he called it quits—but before he got into his car and she raised the garage door, Victoria leaned in to kiss his cheek.
Her scent was familiar… and new… and he couldn't say anything to her other than that he'd come back tonight.
And so here he was, driving toward her expensive house in her expensive neighborhood, when he'd rather be squeezed into a booth somewhere with Juliet across from him, laughing (or even not laughing) and hoping she couldn't see how much, after this summer of damnably unreadable women, he still hadn't been able to shake himself free of his feelings for her.
His path took him by the police station, and out of habit he glanced toward the building. He spotted Juliet's Bug at once—what is she still doing there? her shift ended over an hour ago—and then beyond it, he spotted Juliet herself.
Automatically slowing the Fusion to watch her, he wondered what Victoria would think if he showed up with his partner—you know, the better to check out Ridgway with.
A smirk; he definitely felt a smirk, along with the warmth accompanying the idea of being with his Juliet at all.
Then another figure approached her.
She turned to respond to whatever the man said to get her attention.
She also responded, apparently warmly, to the hug he gave her.
A really close, long hug.
Spencer.
Carlton speeded up, telling his suddenly-squeezed heart this was to be expected. Spencer was always going to try to woo her back, and Juliet was always going to be susceptible to his dubious charms.
"Mr. Enough Now" tried to talk some sense into him, but right now, right this very aching second, Carlton pushed the voice away and let all the old negative voices back, because damn it all, they'd never let him down.
By Monday she'd be back with the asshat.
Son of a bitch.
. . . . .
. . . .
Carlton beat back his internal cacophony enough to get to the job at hand. Focusing on work had always saved him before, and this dumb-ass task could be no exception.
After he got past the slightly-less-snooty booth guard, he drove the entire area looking for anything off kilter. Then he parked a few streets away from Victoria's house and covered the territory on foot, texting her what he was doing and that he'd turn up eventually.
Nothing seemed off. The expensive neighborhood seemed quiet and inoffensive despite all the rich people.
His background check of Theodore "Ted" Ridgway turned up only that he'd made his fortune in the clothing industry and had retired twenty years earlier with his late wife to gated-snootiness peace and quiet. His children were scattered across the country, and the only criminal violation was a ticket for turning left on a red arrow back in '91 when he was trying to get his then-ailing wife to a hospital. Couldn't fault him for that.
Dark had fallen fast and thick tonight, like his mood, but he was ready to stay the course. Leaving his car where it was, he walked to Victoria's house and knocked quietly on the side door to her kitchen.
Tonight's offering—the aroma wafted to him while he was still on the steps—was cinnamon coffee cake, another of her prized recipes.
"All quiet on the Ridgway front?" he asked by way of greeting.
She closed the door behind him. "Yep. He weeded his flowerbeds this afternoon. Looked quite chipper."
Victoria looked chipper herself, he reflected, her hair upswept and a lot of smooth skin showing thanks to her scoop-neck sleeveless dress.
She remembered I loved her skin.
What in the hell is she doing, and why in the hell am I here?
For starters, he was eating cake and drinking coffee, but after a few minutes of odd silence—during which she kept smiling—he set his cup down. "Any chance you're being played?"
Her eyebrows rose.
He persisted, "By a disgruntled neighbor? Wandering punks? Alastair the ex?"
A smile curved her lips. "I don't think so. There aren't many roving bands of hoodlums around here, Carlton, and anyone trying to get at me would need Ted's cooperation, since the noises come from his place. If anyone in the neighborhood association wanted me out—and I don't know why that would be—they could take more direct means. This isn't the land of Scooby Doo." She set her own cup down, leaning back against the kitchen counter. "As for Alastair, we parted amicably. I got the house free and clear in exchange for no alimony. He probably got a nice tax write-off for it."
Hmmm, he thought. "Any chance you're playing me?"
Now she laughed. "Carlton, be serious. Why would I do that?"
He had no idea. That was the problem. "Good cop's gotta cover all the bases." Taking the mug, he headed upstairs to the balcony outside her office, ready for the cool evening air to clear his head again… or make a valiant effort.
After awhile Victoria followed, bringing another serving of the coffee cake.
"You know," she commented from the open doorway, silhouetted by the light behind her, "you've been pretty tightly wound since last night. Isn't it time to let the past die?"
Carlton let his gaze wander to her long legs, clearly outlined through the gauzy dress, then looked away again. "The past is dead. It's the present I don't get."
"What don't you get?" She lowered herself into the adjoining lounge chair, crossing those legs and giving him a seemingly benign smile.
He felt something crackle inside him. "Why did you marry me?"
Victoria was taken aback. "Because I loved you."
It sounded so simple. And so false.
"Is that the only reason?"
"What other reason did I need?"
"I'm sure you've been to more than one trendy therapist over the years. Surely one of them suggested it might have had a little something to do with antagonizing your father."
Her smile seemed genuine. "Oh, Carlton. Back then I wasn't… look, I don't deny I hadn't fully formed my… my mindset, if you will, about the world and what I wanted from it. I suppose I can admit that my father's instant dislike of you—especially when there wasn't anything for him to dislike except that you showed you had a spine—may have made me more determined to see it through, but I promise I loved you. I would never have married any man just to prove a point."
Well, that sounded good, but it didn't answer all the questions. "Then why didn't you fight for the marriage when we hit the rocks? Why weren't you even more determined to prove he was wrong about me?"
Because it still bothered him that he'd been the only one trying to keep things going. He understood now how he'd blundered through his attempts like a blindfolded bear on angel dust rampaging through a gossamer fairy-wing factory, but by God, he'd at least made those attempts.
Victoria only smiled again. "But I didn't need to prove he was wrong about you. Of course he was wrong about you. But he wasn't wrong about the marriage. We weren't suited for each other then; do you really expect me to say we were?"
He stared at her, still trying to understand her. "So why are you… dammit, why are you flirting with me now?"
She'd better not deny it. I'm dense but I'm not blind.
To her credit, she didn't deny a thing. She turned on the lounge chair, facing him fully. "Because time has passed. We've both lived and learned and… maybe I never really let go of the dream, Carlton. The dream of us. I did love you. There was a lot to love."
Carlton looked at her, this woman who had pre-occupied his life and heart and mind and psyche for years, and tried to make sense of her… and this… and now.
Juliet, Emily, Manda, Juliet, Victoria… Juliet… Mr. Enough Now…
Enough now.
But the low keening moan from next door silenced whatever he might have said.
A chill raced up his spine, Victoria's eyes widened, and the instant another low and dreadful moan pierced the air, he was on his feet and running for the stairs.
. . . . .
. . . .