Homicide My Own - Anne Argula [38]
We knew it was her before she recognized us, dismissing us at first as another couple shacking up at the cottages. When she did realize who we were, her face turned apologetic. She tried to say something but couldn’t get any traction between her mind and her mouth.
“What are you doing here?” asked Odd.
That didn’t concern me as much as the whereabouts of her orally inclined daughter and our prisioner.
“God,” she said, “I thought…it’s you. You threw me. I was waiting for a couple of cops, and then…you guys…”
“Where’s Stacey?” I said, all else put aside, except for my underwear, which I grabbed.
“Inside,” she said. “You see, we…”
Neither one of us was interested in her explanation. We rushed by her and into the cottage. Thank God, Houser was still cuffed to the reefer, the door swinging open. Stacey was next to him, hips touching, leaning against the counter and drinking from a bottle of Molsons. When she realized it was us, she put the bottle down in front of her loverboy.
What a waste of a mad run naked through the rain and a baptism in the cold salty Strait. I was all outrage and business again, bent on keeping the peace and covering my ass.
“You,” I spit at Stacey, “stand over here.”
She looked like she’d love to make an issue of it, but it was my cottage, after all, and she was there univited. She obediently moved away from Houser.
“You didn’t have to chain him like an animal,” she said, needing not to let it go on my terms entirely.
Gwen had tossed her cigarette and now was behind Odd, who was behind me. “I can explain it,” she said. Odd made her sit on the wicker. I made Stacey sit on the bed. We stood between them. Houser watched from his tether.
“You’re soaking wet,” said Gwen.
“Yeah, I know that.”
“You should get out of your clothes and dry off before you catch a cold. We’re in no rush.”
“Oh, you’re not in a rush. Thank you.”
“Maybe you’d better,” said Odd.
“Off,” I said to Stacey, and when she stood up I tore off the bedspread and went into the bathroom.
I pulled off the wet t-shirt and the muddy jeans and toweled myself off. I wrapped myself in the bedspread and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. How do I explain all this to Connors, and do I leave out the kiss with a man thirty-one, two, three? A naked kiss, me anyhow. If I tell him it meant nothing, an unavoidable accident, will I free him up to make a similiar confession to me, using the same alibi? All it was was a kiss, though if Houser were an authority, and he might be, a kiss is the “glory of the universe.” It was nice.
I longed for twenty-four hours ago, when all I feared was losing my essence, and that had already happened.
“You aren’t gonna believe this,” said Odd, when I emerged from the bathroom.
“They got a litle laundromat here,” said Gwen, jumping in nervously, “next to the boiler room. I could laundry your clothes for you. Between me and Stacey, we ought to have enough for you to put together a dry outfit. Our bags are over there, just help yourself.”
“What are your bags doing in our cottage?” I asked, knowing that was part of what I wouldn’t believe, according to Odd, who was smiling at me and the situation.
“They were on their way to the ferry,” he said, “homeward bound. But…”
“But what?”
“Their car broke down.”
“First time that ever happened,” said Gwen. “Honda makes a dependable product, but that one does have a hundred ‘n sixty thousand miles on it, and…I got it real cheap. There’s this old boyfriend…”
“You don’t have to tell them everything, mom,” said Stacey.
“Guess who gave them a tow?” said Odd. “Guess who’s fixing their car?” said Odd.
“Karl Gutshall,” said I, and he laughed. I didn’t see what was so damn funny.
“Trying to fix it,” said Gwen. “I gotta call tomorrow and get the damage.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Beginning to see why they’re here?” asked Odd.
“No, no…”
“This is the only place got rooms,” said Gwen, “and they don’t got any