A gray cloud hung overhead that Sunday. Sure, the sun was bright and the sky beautiful, but my mind was clouded with negativity. Not only had two of my favorite people been lying to me for two weeks but my only evidence had gone belly up in one two-minute phone call.
Thankfully Taste Teas was less crowded than most Sundays. Practically empty, in fact. I wasn't in the mood to socialize with any other humans and the universe had mostly complied. Except for Johnny but he was busy painting upstairs.
I sat behind the counter, staring across the room at a bouquet of golden irises. Courtesy of Manny and stuffed into an odd geometric black vase—the only vase I could find. When the delivery man had dropped them off, I'd thought of trashing them but the cheapskate in me couldn't be wasteful not even on principle. And besides that, they were beautiful. He knew yellow was my favorite color.
I sat staring at them and releasing my body's pressure valve every so often with a melodramatic sigh. My phone sat on top of the counter—face down ironically—on silent and vibrating about once an hour.
That was an improvement from the once every five minutes he was calling last night. At least he hadn't stopped by. Not the apartment. Not here. Manny was astute like that and perfectly understood my need for space even though his constant calls suggested he really didn't want to give it to me. I appreciated it, but some part of me, I admit, longed to see him.
I looked down to the spiral notebook opened in front of me and sighed again. My plan to take my mind off my interpersonal problems was to try to work out my professional problems. Like who killed Diana Dupont and why.
So far, I'd worked out that murder was probable and that one of our will conspirators was likely the culprit. What I didn't know was how and when.
The lined paper in front of me was graffitied with scribbles and doodles and scratch outs. Names, places, opportunity. What I'd worked out was mostly the inner workings of the conspiracy. It was motive that was shaky.
From what I figure, this started with Corrine selling Gabe prescription drugs. She got fired and Gabe promised his friend a job working for his sick mother. They flubbed the employment documents or disregarded it and she's in. Robert wrote up the first will and passed the info to Malik. Malik was furious and concocted a plan to change the will, but they needed the help of a nurse. They pulled Corrine and Gabe in with a promise of money. One night, Corrine or Gabe let the other two into the house. Corrine drugged her just enough so that's she was lucid enough to sign the new will. Corrine maybe accidently overdosed her.
Something was missing from the picture here, but I wasn't sure what.
I was pulled from my thoughts by a mild clearing of a throat. Johnny stood to my side in his work boots and jeans; his hands splattered with paint.
"Do you like these flowers?" he said, pointing to the bouquet.
"What?"
"Do you like these flowers?"
It was a Herculean task not to sigh again. "Do I like these flowers? What a thing to say."
"Could I borrow them? For a still-life?"
"Sure. Knock yourself out."
Johnny for his part had spent the morning tip toeing around me as if I would blow at any minute. I was grateful. As much as I enjoy teasing him, I wasn't really in the mood. And if he took the flowers out of my sight maybe they'd stay out of my mind long enough to get some work done.
He grabbed the vase and hauled the irises up the stairs. I stared down at my notes, the information turning over in my head until it felt like my brain would go numb.
The bell above the front door twinkled. My head shot up. A smile found my lips. "Welcome to Taste—" The smile dropped. Henry stood in the open doorway; his brow knitted into a surly frown. "What do you want?"
He closed the distance between the door and the counter in five long steps. "I want to talk."
I didn't stand to greet him. "About?"
"About what happened yesterday."
"There's not much to talk about."
"You stormed into my house, cursed me out, and threw a pizza on my floor."
"I was trying to toss it on the table. And anyway, that wasn't half so dirty as what you were up to."
"And what was I up to?"
I dropped my pen and stood. "Sneaking around with my boyfriend. Probably saying all kind of shit behind my back."
"You really think we'd shit talk you?" He scoffed. "Of course, you do. Everything any of us do is about you."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing." He looked around at the empty room to avoid eye contact. "Look, I just needed someone to talk to."
"You could have talked to me."
"Could I? When?" He turned back; his eyes marred by bitterness. "When we're pretending to be a married couple to get into a gym? When you pick where to go to lunch based on how close it is to one of your marks? When we're on the phone and you go on and on about your work, your family, your boyfriend, your life?"
"If you don't want to help me you don't have to."
"How can I help it when you wrangle me into something without warning?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were grown. I didn't know I had to hold your goddamn hand and let you know you could decline to participate. My bad."
"Another thing. How can I talk to someone whose default reaction is sarcasm?"
It was my turn to scoff. "You like it just fine when it's directed at other people."
"So? I'm not talking about other people I'm talking about us."
"That's right us. Allegedly best friends—"
"We are best friends!"
"—I don't even know where this is coming from!"
He ran agitated hands through his hair, expelled a heavy breath, and said, "I broke up with Robin."
I frowned. "What? When?"
"Couple weeks ago."
"Why didn't you—"
"When would I have had the chance? It's been nothing from you but sunshine and rainbows the last few weeks."
"So, this is my fault because I'm happy?"
"No. I'm happy you're happy. I really am." His mouth about disappeared into a stern straight line as he chewed at his lip. "But it was hard."
"I thought you didn't like Robin that much."
"I didn't." He drummed his fingers on top of the counter, careful to avoid my gaze. "Ever since Stef..."
I waited as long as I dared for him to spit it out, but the thought seemed to catch on whatever mental trap had been keeping him from open dialogue for the last couple of weeks. "What about Stef?"
"It was hard."
"Lots of things are hard."
"This was different."
"How?"
"It just was."
"Stop talking in circles!"
"I'm not!"
"Why can't you just tell me what's wrong?"
"Because I don't know what's wrong!" Even though there was a counter between us, the sudden raise in volume made me take a step back. "Why can't you stop being manipulative?"
And just like that I was angry all over again. "I'm not manipulative!"
"You are! Sometimes I can see your mind working. The way you flip a switch and change your tone to get what you want. Jesus, just let me talk." His voice was back to its normal pitch, but his shoulders had started to tremble. Something he did only when very irritated. "I was...I was going to ask her to marry me, okay."
"Stef?"
"Then she came to me to confess she'd been fucking her coworker. Oh, and we're breaking up." His eyes rolled to the back of his head. "Four goddamn years of my life wasted."
"I didn't know."
"You didn't ask."
"That's not fair."
"I know." He held his hands up in surrender. He didn't want to fight anymore. "I love being friends with you. But sometimes it's nice to talk to another man."
"I would've understood."
"Yeah, maybe." He turned toward the door. "I need to go."
I watched him walk out. My throat tightened with the need to call out to him. Stop. Come back. I don't want to fight anymore either. But I let him go. No matter what I wanted to say my heart had exhausted all effort for the day. My God, other human beings can be tiresome sometimes. Even the ones you love.
As Henry cranked up his SUV and pulled out into traffic Johnny slinked to the end of the stairs and watched me, no doubt thinking of something to say but I spoke first. "You heard that?"
"He was pretty loud. I came down to make sure everything was okay." He walked over, his hands shoved in the pockets of his filthy coat. Should have removed that while painting, but maybe he was cold.
"Great." Somewhere in there I had sat back down and folded my hands together over my notebook. I was truly done with everything for the day.
He paused for a moment; examining me briefly before reaching out. He placed one of his hands, cold and paint dotted over mine. "For the record, You're not manipulative. You're a lot sometimes. But I wouldn't waste my time coming to see or working for someone I thought was manipulative."
I managed a smile. "Thank you."
He smiled back. "I want to show you something."
"What is it?"
"A present."
"For me? Why?"
"Just because. Come on." He gripped me at the wrist and gently pulled to try and convince me to stand.
"Okay."
He led me up the stairs and into the second conference room where he'd taken to setting up his easel when he rented the room on Sundays. On the easel a mid-sized canvas sat glowing with spots of fresh yellow paint. Beneath shades of yellows, greens, and blues was the light sketching of flowers.
"Is this the still life?" I asked while I examined it.
"Yes."
Something about the yellow splotch in the center sparked recognition. It was drier than the other unfinished parts of the work. Then I remembered. Three months ago, in this very room, Johnny had let me try my hand at painting and I'd produced nothing but a pathetic yellow spot in the center of the canvas. Da Vinci I am not.
"Is this...is this my yellow splotch?"
"Yeah." He nodded and let his fingers float carefully along the lines. "See it here? I'm layering the flowers over it."
"That's so cool!"
"Yeah, well. I needed to do something with the canvas."
"When you're done, I'd love to buy it."
"It's on the house. You did half the work."
The earnestness in his voice was soothing to my raw nerves. It was nice to know I had a friend, even when I felt like trash. It wasn't as bad as all that. Could've been worse. Could've been cheating. I'm mad today but maybe tomorrow...
Well, tomorrow was another day.
*********************************************
"Tell me how that makes you feel." Dr. Deb sat in her usual seat in a deep blue sweater and slacks.
"It makes me feel like straight shit."
"Why?"
It was too early on a Monday morning for baring my soul, but rescheduling appointments so late was cumbersome and also prone to canceling fees. "It's the lack of respect."
"I see."
It had been easy getting used to our monthly meetings. I never saw myself having regular meetings with a therapist but there'd been a lot of things I never thought would happen in this last year. Things that I couldn't always work out on my own. At least I only needed to see her once a month. Some people, she said, come once a week. That's too many co-pays for me.
"I'm not even that mad! A genuine goddamn apology would be nice." And maybe some ass-kissing if the ego allows it. "Not one of those dismissive 'oh you're overreacting. I'm sorry, 'kay' apologies either."
She scribbled something in her notes. "But why did you follow him?"
"I don't know. I had an inkling. Stupid intuition." Stupid women's intuition ruining blissful happiness by revealing the lies underneath. A relatively petty lie, but still. "While it was happening, I told myself I was just saying hi, but I knew something was off."
She looked up from behind her glasses. "Perhaps it's your aversion to love."
"I'm not averse. I'm just not ready."
"Not ready for what?"
"I'm not ready to meet his mother or talk about moving in together or discussing finances or children. We work now but what if his mother hates me or one of us doesn't want children or has massive debt? Then we go from fun to business."
Even thinking about it was giving me hives. The last time I'd had to seriously meet the parents was, well, Dante. But my college sweetheart-slash-almost fiancé had graduated a year before me and gotten a job offer of a lifetime. In Spain. And that had crushed any ideas either of us had had about a future together.
Dr. Deb nodded her head. "Those first few months of a relationship are great. But change is inevitable."
"I know. I just wanted more time."
"Did you tell him that?"
"I did."
"And?"
"And he was perfectly understanding. Told me to take my time." I sighed. If I kept that up for another few days my lungs were likely to collapse. "He's pretty great sometimes."
"And now you've found out he's lying."
"Yeah. But like I said, I'm not really that mad. I just want to be mad."
"Why?"
"Because when someone hurts me, sometimes—and this is dumb, I feel like they need to be punished sufficiently." I turned my head to the right and peeked out the window at a line of cars passing by. "What does it say if people can treat me any kind of way without consequence? Does that make me a bitch?"
"No. I suspect it's a very ordinary thought process. Though, I recommend you express your anger in healthier ways. Starting with forgiveness."
"Of course, I'll forgive them. I love them both, there's not much choice."
"And remember not to self-sabotage."
My head swiveled back to stare at her. "What makes you say that?"
"I think your paranoia with Manny was because on some level you wanted something to be wrong with him."
"Why would I want that?"
Her hands gestured wildly as they tended to do as she explained things. "Because you're afraid. Afraid that it'll work out. Afraid to be happy because sometimes you don't think you deserve to be happy. That's why a lot of people self-sabotage."
Was I really so transparent? "Sometimes when I get too happy it doesn't feel real, you know? Like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop and I'm constantly bracing myself for impact."
"I understand that thought very well. But you can't control others or the future or the past. The only thing you really control is you in this moment. Don't sweat the rest."
Easier said than done.
For no reason at all I laughed. I don't know why, but suddenly everything seemed so absurd. "Am I your most annoying patient?"
"No, but you are my funniest." She smiled. "And one of my most self-reflective."
"Always looking at the positives, huh?"
"You should try it sometimes. Unload your burdens."
I left her office with my heart feeling a bit lighter and my mind a bit clearer. Yeah, I had problems, but they weren't insurmountable.
My bigger problem was how to prove Diana Dupont had been murdered. And to do that, I figured, I'd need a little more info into the hearts and psyche of my suspects. Particularly Malik. If I knew one thing it was that that heartless bastard would feed any of his family members to the wolves than take even a minor financial hit. I think it's said that one in five CEOs were sociopaths. And that fit Malik to a tee...
...I mean, I was technically the CEO of Taste Teas, but you know what, I stand by that shit!
I got to my car with a new plan formulating. The key was the house. It's where Diana lived and died. It's where she did much of her work and where three-fourths of her children lived. It was the center of everything.
And it was my next destination.