Chapter Twenty-Eight SCARLETT

Chapter Twenty-Eight

S CARLETT

Wednesday, July 17, 2024

5:45 a.m.

I’d barely slept last night. And after staring at the ceiling for a few hours, I rose and turned on the lights and moved into my studio. I glanced up toward Margo’s apartment. No lights on. No sign of movement.

I crossed to the Della painting and uncovered it. Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I reached for the tubes of paint. I gripped the stylus and mixed the blues with hints of white. The color I mixed was not from an old, rusted memory but from the vivid blue of Margo’s eyes. I dabbed a clean fine-tipped sable brush into the paint and regarded the canvas. I carefully began to reshape the eyes and shift the color. Slowly Della’s eyes faded, and Margo’s took their place.

Margo had said she was from Newport News. She’d been a cop for eight years in Northern Virginia, and now she was back. Not to Newport News, but to Norfolk, right across the street from me.

Was it an accident that she’d been the cop who’d found Sandra’s body? Randomness was a big part of the universe, but I’d grown suspicious of it since Tanner. Was it a twist of fate that put him in the house across the street from my mother’s house, or had he chosen it because he’d already selected me? He was familiar with the neighborhood and my school.

I wiped my hands, shifted focus to my laptop, and searched Margo Larsen. She was listed as a new hire with the Norfolk Police Department and according to her bio was highly decorated. She would be working violent crime and homicides in her new position. She had a two-year degree from community college and her BS from Virginia Commonwealth University, both in the Richmond, Virginia, area. Her degree was in criminology. No record of her high school. She had no social media presence. One article I found said she was a “wrecking ball” in human trafficking.

I sat back and regarded the painting, reconnecting with an awareness that had slowly waned over the last decade.

When my phone rang, I didn’t recognize the number, but for the first time in a long time, I answered it. “Yes.”

“Scarlett.”

The woman’s scratchy voice was barely recognizable. “Tiffany?”

“Yeah. Can you come get me?”

I hesitated, wondering why the shift in attitude. “Where are you?”

“Jail. I was arrested for being intoxicated in public.”

I rose. “I’m surprised you called me.”

“I don’t have anyone else. My roommate isn’t answering. Can you bail me out? I can pay you back.”

She couldn’t. But that didn’t matter. “I can be there in a half hour.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure.”

The drive across town to the regional jail took a half hour, and then it was a series of administrative procedures. I showed my driver’s license and was directed to the magistrate, who then put me in touch with a bail bondsman. Two hours passed from the moment Tiffany called to the instant I saw her move through the double doors, hugging a plastic bag stuffed with her belongings.

When she saw me, she nodded but didn’t smile or look grateful. Maybe she saw this as one more stone in the rebalancing of my debt to her. Maybe she was so tired and hungover she couldn’t summon any emotion.

She followed me out the front door and to my truck. “Where do you want to go? You can crash at my place if you need to get it together.”

“I have an apartment.”

“I can take you there.”

“I guess.”

“Why don’t I buy you a meal first? You’ve got to be hungry.”

“Sure. Okay.” Inside my truck the scents of jail and the streets hung heavily in the air. “Why did you do it?”

The simple question came too loaded for me to respond. “Do what?”

“Bail me out.”

“Ah,” I said, relaxing. “Because I meant it when I said I wanted to help you.”

She scratched her pale, freckled arms. “That asshole Dawson arrested me.”

Dawson. He got around. “What did he want?”

“To know more about you. But I was high.” She shook her head. “I don’t remember what he said.”

“Where did he arrest you?”

“At Jeremy’s house.”

“You just happened on him?”

Nervous laughter bubbled, but it held no joy. “I’m there a lot.”

“Do you remember the night I saw you there? It was early July.”

“Kind of. It was really crowded.”

“Whoever called the cops that night and reported the location of Sandra’s body did it from Jeremy’s block.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. How would I know something like that?”

“Okay.” I drew in a breath. I didn’t know what to believe now.

“You believe me, right?”

“Sure.”

I drove back toward my place and parked behind the warehouse. Out of the truck, I started walking, and she followed. I could feel the tension radiating from her body. Down the block from my place was a Chinese restaurant. “Anything you want?”

“Whatever is fine.” She leaned against the brick wall, tipping her face.

Ten minutes later I came out with a bag filled with three different entrées. “Come on.”

Again, Tiffany followed me to my warehouse, and after punching in the security lock code, we were inside. She sat on a barstool at the small kitchen counter while I unloaded the food. I set out plates, opened the container, and handed her a fork and a cold soda from the refrigerator. We both ate in silence for ten or fifteen minutes, and when she finished off her soda, I grabbed her a fresh one.

“Your coloring is better,” I said.

“My head is pounding, but not as bad as before.”

“Good.” But it wouldn’t be long before fresh cravings started.

“I need to get to my car.”

“Where is it?”

“Parked at my place. I caught a ride to Jeremy’s.”

“I can drive you.”

“Thanks.”

“Can I ask you a question? I don’t like bringing it up, but I need to ask.”

“Sure. Why not?”

“We’ve never talked about Tanner,” I said.

“I try to forget him,” she said.

“He came into Mike’s Diner a lot, right?”

“A few times a week. Sometimes he lingered.”

“Did he talk to you?” I asked.

“Mostly to Mike. But I could see him eyeing me when he didn’t think I was looking. They liked to shoot the shit.”

“Did Mike tell that to the cops?” I asked.

“I guess.”

“Was Mike surprised when the truth came out about Tanner?”

She pushed back a thick shock of red hair. “We were all shaken.”

“Any idea what Mike and Tanner talked about?”

“Sports. Construction. Women.”

“Did you hear any names?”

Tiffany shook her head. “I make a point not to get into anyone else’s business. I don’t know any more than I told you.”

I wasn’t sure I believed that. I fished an egg roll out of a wax paper envelope and took a bite. “You like Mike?”

“He’s cool. Cut me a lot of slack after what happened. I was late a lot after that.”

“Tonja wasn’t crazy about me visiting the diner a few days ago.”

Tiffany shook her head. “Tonja is a mama bear. She took care of us all, including Mike.”

That might explain why she was so tense and why she identified me so quickly. “Want a shower?”

“Do I need one?”

“You do.”

Tiffany shrugged. “Do you have anything to drink here?”

“Beyond soda and water, no.”

She frowned. “I’m going to need something soon. I really can’t stay.”

“You can leave anytime. Or you can shower and get some sleep.”

“Can you just take me to my car?”

“What are you going to do?”

A small shrug lifted her shoulders. “Get my act together and get back to work. If I’m not fired already.”

“I know a shelter where you can stay if you want to get your feet under you. It’s more support than being alone in an apartment.”

“Shelters have rules. And assholes.”

“Everything in life has rules, and there are always assholes,” I said.

“I don’t like being locked in at night at the shelters.”

“At least take a shower here. Get a little sleep.” Opening my home to her would create levels of complications I wasn’t sure I could handle. “I have fresh clothes you can wear.”

“I like my clothes.”

“I’ll wash them and give them back, but that takes at least an hour.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll put my clothes outside the bathroom door.”

I walked her to the small bathroom, handed her a towel, and let her close and lock the door. The water started running almost immediately, and I imagined her looking around the space for any kind of pill. I’d been on antidepressants for a while, but they’d made me feel foggy, and I’d lost interest in my art, so I’d tossed those years ago. I didn’t even keep aspirin here now. I laid a pair of jeans, a long-sleeve shirt, and underwear by the door.

When she emerged ten minutes later, the coloring in her skin was better and her damp hair looked a shade lighter. She looked so young. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight. Why?”

“Just curious.” Only a few years older than me. “The washing machine and the dryer are small and old, so it’ll take at least another hour. You can crash on the couch in the meantime.”

She looked around the space, her gaze drawn to the tall windows and the afternoon sun casting a glow on the drying prints. “Why are you in such a big place?”

“I like the space and the light. I also make prints.”

She walked up to a nearly finished image. “It looks weird.”

“It’s not finished. I can only screen print one color at a time. Two colors to go.”

“People buy this?”

“They do.”

She turned toward the easel where the Della picture lurked under the canvas. “Is that the painting of that girl?”

“Yes.”

“Why’s it covered?”

“I don’t like looking at it.”

“Why?”

No one had ever asked me about these paintings. “It drives me nuts because I can’t finish it.”

Her brow knotted. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I’m not sure.”

“How could you not know?”

“I just don’t. When it’s right, I’ll know.”

“Can I see it?” she asked.

A knot coiled in my gut. “Sure.” I drew back the cloth, careful not to disturb the newly retouched eyes. With Tiffany standing beside me, Della’s image didn’t seem to hold as much sway over me.

She stared at the painting for a long moment.

“Do you recognize her?” I asked.

“Kind of. Maybe.”

I swallowed, refusing to be excited. “Did she come into the diner?”

“Yeah, maybe. Once with Tanner.”

My heart pounded. “You’re sure?”

“I’m not sure about anything. But I feel like I know her,” Tiffany said.

“Her name was Della. She’s the one that lured me into Tanner’s van.”

Tiffany leaned in until she and Della were inches apart. “She was never found.”

I folded my arms over my chest, refusing to allow Tiffany’s half-hearted sighting of Della to matter. “No. Everyone tells me she’s not real.”

“I think she was,” Tiffany said.

My fingers curled into loose fists. “Do you remember the last time you saw Della?”

Tiffany shook her head. “A few months before you came into the diner. Spring, but I’m not exactly sure.”

“How could you remember her? It’s such a busy place.”

“I don’t know.”

“But you always noticed Tanner and who he was with.”

“That’s probably why I kind of remember her.”

Here I was holding on to the maybes of a woman coming off a drug high. “Did the cops ask you about Della?”

“I think so. I don’t remember.”

Ten years ago, the cops’ number one suspect was dead; his house destroyed, taking with it all the forensic evidence; and I’d been rescued. Case closed. Time to move on. “Okay.”

“Maybe you should ask his old girlfriend. She might have seen her.”

“Lynn?”

“Yeah. Tanner and Lynn came in the diner a lot. She seemed tight with Tanner.”

“Why do you remember Lynn?”

“I was jealous of her. I kept wondering how a guy like him wanted to be with a plain woman like her.”

Swallowing anticipation, I asked, “You said they were tight? How so?”

“She was really into him. They were always talking. I caught her staring at me once or twice.”

“Why?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“How did Tanner treat Lynn?”

“He was Tanner. Smiles. Eyes always roaming when he didn’t think anyone was watching.” Tiffany pressed her finger to the edge of Della’s jawline and carefully traced. “They were fighting a lot that summer.”

“About what?”

“She was tired of doing shit for him.”

“She ever say what the shit was?”

“No.” Her gaze settled on the portrait. “What are you going to do with the picture?”

“Normally, I’d burn it, but I might give this one to a friend.”

“Burn. That’s very weird.”

“It is.” I covered the painting with the drop cloth. Not having Della’s eyes on me was always a relief. “Do you want to stay or leave?”

“When my clothes are done, you’ll take me to my car?”

“I will.”

She looked toward the door and the locks. “And I can leave at any time?”

“Yes.”

“Why all the locks?”

My oddest habits were so ingrained, they’d slipped into the background. Tiffany’s assessment reminded me I was far from normal. “Better safe than sorry, right?”

“I guess.”

“I’ll get you a pillow and blanket.”

“Okay.”

The drugs draining from her system, food in her belly, and locked doors surrounding her, she yawned. Exhaustion would take her now, but I wondered how long it would be before she couldn’t resist the lure of another hit.

When I came back, she was sitting on the couch. Her head was tipped back, and her eyes closed. “Tiffany.”

The woman didn’t move, and from here it was hard to tell whether she was breathing. I leaned in, saw the subtle rise and fall of her chest, and set the pillow at the end of the couch. I lowered her toward it, lifted her feet, and covered her with a blanket.

Moving to the front, I stared at the building across the street. A light flickered on in Margo’s unit. My breath caught in my throat as I waited for her to appear. When Margo passed in front of the window, she paused as if she felt my gaze. She looked toward my building, but I couldn’t tell whether she saw me or not. She waved, then turned and left.

“Who the hell are you?”