Liquid Lies Part 4

I felt defensive, and hurt. "Yes, you know he's my best friend," I explained.

"I'm still not used to you having a guy as a best friend. Let alone a mortician," he said.

"What's your problem?" I asked. Sadness seeped into my soul. I so badly wanted Ken to accept Mark.

"Don't you think it's all little morbid?" Ken asked, his baritone voice rising to a high pitch.

He was demeaning Mark which made me defensive. I said, "The male part or the mortician part?"

"It's just creepy." Ken sighed.

"What, cut into people and take their hearts out like you? That's not creepy?" I asked.

"But I save lives," He said.

"And when you don't, Mark is there," I replied.

"Touche." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, your scan came back. It's normal. Let me know if you get any severe headaches or anything else."

"Sure."

"Did you happen to see my new boat at the dock?"

"Yes. This morning I saw them putting it in the water. It looks great. Love the metallic red paint."

"Good. Listen, I have to go now, they're paging me. My shift ends at ten. Meet me at the pavilion so we can take my new toy for a spin. If you can, bring your video camera so we can doc.u.ment the maiden voyage." He clicked off.

"Love you," I replied into a dead phone. I also wanted to tell him that my video camera wasn't working.

For some reason, I felt like a deflated balloon. Maybe it was because of seeing Francesca this morning, and my sadness that my relationship with Ken didn't feel right anymore.

Ambling up to Aunt Estelle's yellow two-bedroom bungalow, I took in the groomed lawns of all the well-kept pastel-drenched old Victorians lining the block. Chimes hanging on our front porch tinkled gently in the cool afternoon breeze as I stepped on worn wooden steps which creaked lightly under my weight. As I walked up the front porch steps, I grabbed the banister, and it gave way. Oops.

This had been Estelle's home since she was a newlywed. Now a widow in her mid-sixties, she says it's the only place she'd ever want to call home. Since my parents pa.s.sed, this was my cherished home as well. I took a deep breath, soaking in the crisp clean smell of freshly mowed gra.s.s, as I cleared away the day's chaos. It wasn't long before Skipper barked my arrival.

"Want another cookie?" Estelle greeted me through the screen door.

"No thanks. I don't want to ruin my dinner with Mark," I said.

The smell of Estelle's cooking enveloped me as I moved through the living room. It smelled like spaghetti sauce, one of her few edible recipes. "I've got something on the stove. Let's go and chat in the kitchen."

"I'll get the banister on the front porch fixed. It's just about to fall off." Skipper circled me, and I scratched behind his ear. He stayed still long enough to enjoy the attention.

"You don't have to. I've got someone coming over tomorrow to fix it."

"Who?" I followed into the kitchen in the back of our house. Skipper pushed open his dog door and wandered into the fenced backyard.

"He's new in town. And a handsome young man." Estelle stirred a pot on top of the stove.

I sat down on a green stool next to the yellow Formica kitchen table. "As long as he can fix your banister, it doesn't matter what he looks like," I said.

A large picture window, covering nearly the whole back wall of the kitchen, allowed in daylight. I looked out the window and saw Skipper chasing a squirrel. Skipper almost made it over the fence to continue the pursuit. Then another squirrel ran across the yard. "So what about that letter you had this morning?" I asked Estelle.

Estelle glanced up from her pot. "Don't you worry about that. Are you okay?"

"Ken made me have a CT. It came back normal." I averted my gaze from Skipper's chase and turned to Estelle. "So, about the letter?"

"Well, if you insist. It was from a lawyer. I gave it Hazel to look at. I don't know what in the world they wanted. It was something about immigrant romaine." She wiped her hands on the red flowered ap.r.o.n and adjusted the bow.

"What?"

She began to wave the worn wooden spoon in her hand. Drops of red sauce flew off the spoon and onto the stove. "Hazel knows all about legal stuff, you remember her first husband, or was it her third? No, it was Stanley, the first. Anyhow, he was an attorney."

"But that doesn't mean that she knows the law just because she was married to an attorney. Just like I won't be any more qualified to practice medicine, simply because I'm going to be married to a doctor. Let me take a look at it for you," I said, somewhat alarmed that she wanted to take things in her own hands.

"I'll let you see it when I get it back from Hazel. She's got it all figured out." Estelle pushed her gla.s.ses up on her nose.

"I hope so," I said.

"Oh yes, she's already working on forming a group because of the letter," Estelle turned her back and stirred the pot.

"A group? For what?"

"For what's in the letter," Estelle said. "We must not sit by, we will rebel."

"This whole letter is beginning to worry me," I said.

"Now, now, don't you fret about silly old me," Estelle said. "I'm more worried about you and your accident."

"I'm fine. No big deal."

Estelle turned off the stove, put down her spoon and walked over to me. "You're a big deal to me. Your parents, G.o.d rest their souls, left me in charge of you. I can't let anything happen to you." Her eyes welled up. She made the sign of the cross and then leaned over and grasped my hand.

I squeezed her hand back as a lump formed in my throat. Nearly ten years had gone by since their tragic deaths in a car accident, and not a day pa.s.sed that I didn't think about them. "I didn't have the chance to see you this morning before I left for work to tell you how much I love you," I said, my eyes watering. I wiped the dampness with the back of my hand.

"But you're here now because you have angels in heaven watching over you." Estelle lowered her gla.s.ses on her nose, and looked at me over them. "Your folks."

"I know," I agreed. Although I wished they were still here on earth looking over me.

"You know, that was awfully brave of Mark to rescue you," Estelle added.

"Yes it was." I fiddled with the salt shaker on the kitchen table.

"He's always there for you and me, isn't he?"

"Always."

Chapter Six.

"You look great!" I said. Mark had somehow managed to tame his normally wild red hair. A pale blue t-shirt, dark jeans and checkered canvas loafers rounded out his ensemble. "It's a shame I have to pummel you."

"What for?" Mark asked.

"Nearly drowning me; the horrid makeup job; where do I start?" I playfully punched him on his arm as we walked from his apartment to the restaurant.

"Hey, you volunteered for the makeup. As for nearly drowning you, that was an accident."

"Okay. I'll make your death an accident too." I smiled.

He struck a pose. "So you think I look okay?'

I applauded as he modeled for me.

"Do you think my future girlfriend will be impressed?" Mark asked.

"Who's that?" I asked.

"Francesca."

"You're getting a little ahead of yourself my friend, but I think she'd be foolish not to give you a chance." He was a terrific guy, and I think anyone would be lucky to have him.

"And by the way, you're looking mighty fine too," Mark said.

"Good, because the clown look you gave me earlier wasn't working for me." I was wearing a white v-neck top, a navy blue cardigan and faded Levi jeans. My brown shoulder length hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail. Just a brush of mascara, a touch of blush and lip-gloss suited me fine.

He crooked his arm, so I put my arm through his.

"I wasn't trying to make you look like a clown," Mark said. "Actually, that makeup really looks good when applied to the right skin tone."

"Yes, cadaver skin tone. So unless I'm deceased, no more of your dead people make up on me, got it?"

We began the short promenade to H&K's restaurant.

Downtown Round Lake bordered the waterfront with a variety of locally owned stores, and restaurants. Green and white awnings hung over storefronts of the two-story crimson brick buildings. We pa.s.sed by a fudge shop, a tea and spice emporium, followed by an arts and crafts store as well as other quaint little shops and businesses. As we rounded a corner we came upon H&K's, across the street from the pavilion.

Mark and I grabbed a side booth with a panoramic view of the Lake. Through the window, we saw the public dock. People milled about and vendors sold their goods. Activity on the lake slowed down as the sun began to set. That's when the bars and restaurants picked up.

It was eight o'clock. The bar, which adjoined the dining section near the back of the restaurant, was half full. H&K's had been in the Howard and King families for one hundred years. It was a favorite stop for both locals and tourists.

"Mark, I have to use the restroom. I'll be right back," I said, after we placed our orders.

On the way to the restroom, I turned the corner and ran into the back of a guy leaning against a wall.

"Excuse me," I said.

"No problem," he said as he spun around.

It was the same guy I ran into on the lake path earlier. A group of girls pressed against me trying to pa.s.s me in the narrow hallway.

"We seem to get into tight s.p.a.ces together don't we?" he said.

I backed closer to the wall to allow the girls to pa.s.s. "It's weird."

He leaned over. Six inches from my face he stuck out his hand. "Jacob Elmore."

"Cecelia Coe." I nervously shook his hand. It felt calloused and firm. "No tool belt?"

He pulled me close with the unbroken handshake. "Tools?" He leaned one arm on the wall above my head.

My stomach tingled. "You had a ... tool belt... this morning, and, well... never mind. Nice nail necklace you have there." I felt like brain cells were pouring out of my mouth. I had to go. Now.

He moved closer to me. "Are you staying to listen to the band?"

My heart raced. My face flushed. I let out a nervous chuckle. "No. I can't. I'm getting married. I have to meet him on a boat at ten. But now I have to pee...Forget it."

He bent over and whispered in my ear, "Another time then?"

I jerked back and hit my head on a protruding fire extinguisher. "Ouch."

Jacob leaned in and kissed me. "All better now?"

He left a scent of woodsy musk as he walked away. How dare he kiss me? I told him I was getting married. The nerve. Yet, surprisingly, I had kissed him back a little.

I stood motionless for a second before using the restroom then rejoining Mark.

After finishing our beer and sandwiches, we paid our bill. Mark and I stood to leave the table.

"Is that Francesca?" Mark's eyes widened.

Francesca looked stunning in a pink tank top, denim mini skirt and flip-flops as she entered the front door. She saw us and waved.

So much for my fleeting thought of ducking out before she saw me.

"It's nice to see you again, CiCi." Francesca gave me a quick hug.

I so wanted everything to be the way it was before the truck stop incident. "How are you, been a long time huh?"

"Yes. Too long," Francesca held my gaze.