CUTTER'S GROVE Read online

  “About what?” I ask.

  “The dope.”

  “We do nothing about the dope. It’s pot. Who gives a furry rat’s ass about pot? And it’s Herb’s butt that’s on the line for it, not Arliss.’”

  Deborah clearly feels differently. “You saw him there with Alicia Hocking. He’s probably supplying her with it,” she says, arching her eyebrows in righteous indignation.

  “We’ve already established he’s not a candidate for sainthood,” I tell her.

  “She’s just a child. It’s not right.”

  “Deborah, we’ve got bigger fish to fry. Okay?”

  She turns her head petulantly and stares out the window. “We should go back and take it,” she says after a moment.

  “What? Are you kidding?”

  “Can you think of a better way to ensure that Arliss will go for the bait on the necklace?” she says. “He’ll be desperate for money.”

  Deborah’s logic doesn’t take long to sink in. Damn.

  I slow the Jeep and do a u-turn.

  ****

  Back at home, after I drop Deborah, I’m left with the problem of what to do with four boxes, each filled with thirty good-sized bags of marijuana. I dallied enough with this stuff at a younger age to know it’s worth a shitload of cash. I consider dumping it in the desert but, for some reason, I can’t quite bring myself to do it.

  There’s a little crawl space under my room that will just accommodate the four boxes. For the time being, I decide, that’s where I’ll stash the stuff.

  40

  Sunday morning I wake to the distant echo of a chiming bell. It’s an enchanting, captivating sound and, although I haven’t given it any conscious thought until now, it occurs to me I’ve probably heard the same thing every Sunday morning since I’ve been in Cutter’s Grove.

  I’m in a melancholy mood. Beth’s absence in my life is affecting me a lot more than I care to admit to myself. Even Victor seems to sense my mental state. When he sees me stirring he comes over to the bed and nudges my arm with his nose while making little whimpering noises. It’s either his version of sympathetic encouragement or he needs to pee.

  After showering I decide to take my mind off what I’m missing by stuffing myself with food. I mix up a huge batch of scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, and toast. The place smells like a Denny’s on senior’s day. Once done with the cooking, however, I find I have little appetite for the finished product. After a couple of nibbles I chop up the bacon and mix it in with the eggs, then pour the concoction in Victor’s dish. He looks at me like I’ve made a terrible mistake. Where are the Cocoa Puffs? Then he decides to sample. Once tasted, the bacon and eggs disappear in record time. He licks the plate clean for five minutes. I’ll have to be careful not to spoil him like this very often. If he decides to give up his Cocoa Puffs for this kind of breakfast I’ll have to renegotiate my split with Sonny.

  By mid-afternoon I’ve taken Victor for a walk, washed the Jeep, and completed what housework I deem necessary to avoid living in total squalor.

  I sit nursing a beer while I reflect on my relationship with Beth. I know I’ve made mistakes - lots of them - but I also have a strong feeling there’s more behind her inability to trust me than she’s admitted to. It becomes clear to me that I can no longer put off confronting her.

  She answers my knock at her door wearing cut-off jeans, a T-shirt with a picture of the state of Texas emblazoned across the chest, and pink flip flops. When she sees me I’m almost sure there’s a momentary brightening in her eyes before her face takes on the air of someone who has earned the right to be pissed off. She holds the door open but says nothing.

  “Hello,” I venture.

  “Hello.” This is delivered with about the same degree of warmth one would give to the Internal Revenue Service agent when he shows up to conduct the audit of last years taxes.

  “Any chance I could come in?”

  She hesitates long enough for a glacier to move six or seven inches. Finally, she steps aside and motions me inside with an open hand gesture.

  “I think we should talk,” I say, standing awkwardly, waiting for an invitation to sit.

  “So talk.” There’s no way she’s going to make this easy for me.

  “How about if we go for a drive? We could pick up some beer and junk food, and go out in the desert.” How could anyone in their right mind turn down such an enticing offer?

  “I don’t think so, Lucas.”

  I take a deep breath and count to five slowly. “Beth … you know how I feel about you.”

  She reacts by tucking her tongue up between her teeth and her upper lip and pushing out her lips. She looks directly at me and holds the stare. “I don’t think you know that yourself,” she says at last.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “It’s pretty obvious, actually.”

  “How so?”

  “Oh, I think you have some feelings for me, alright. But you’re too hung up on Deborah for it to matter much.”

  “I’ve explained what was happening when you saw us together.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “You don’t believe that there’s nothing between us? You think I’m lying to you?”

  “I think you’re lying to yourself.”

  “Beth---”

  “No more, Lucas. I’ve had it. I mean it. I can’t play this game you’ve got going with the two of us.”

  “There is no game. Deborah is a friend. You’re much, much more than that.”

  Tears suddenly well up in her eyes. She turns away from me and goes to the kitchen. She grabs some Kleenex and dabs at her eyes, then sits at the table and glares at me. I take this as an invitation to sit, so I pull up a chair opposite her. “I think I know what the problem is,” I say.

  She sniffles and looks out the window as tears spill down her cheeks.

  “Tell me about your life before you came here,” I say. “About how you ended up in Cutter’s Grove.”

  “Who cares about that,” she fires back at me. Wiping, dabbing, more sniffling.

  “I do.”

  Silence.

  “Beth … talk to me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I think you need to.”

  She gathers up a bunch more Kleenex and blows her nose. “You’re just like him,” she suddenly blurts out.

  Aha. “And who is him?’’

  “My jerkoff, shit-for-brains husband,” she retorts. “That’s who.”

  Well, I can’t say I’m too thrilled with the description of who I’m being compared to here but now Beth’s propensity to assume the worst of me begins to make more sense. Actually, this is pretty much what I figured the problem might be. “So … you’re married.”

  “Only in the literal sense, believe me.”

  “Tell me about him,” I say.

  “What’s to tell? He’s a liar and a cheat.”

  “So you left him?”

  “I really, really don’t want to talk about him. Okay?”

  “It might help me to understand why you feel like you do about me.”

  She’s quiet for a minute or so. Then: “I loved him once, with all my heart. I thought he was the most wonderful thing that could ever have happened to me. For the first year of our marriage I thought life couldn't get any better than it was. Then I was told by a friend that he was fooling around on me. I was sure it couldn't be true but I did some checking and found out he was cheating every chance he got. I confronted him. At first he denied everything, but I told him it was useless to deny it, I knew he was guilty. So he confessed, but he swore it would never happen again. And like a fool, I believed him. Within a week I caught him in the act with some harpy he’d picked up in a bar. I left him. But he came after me and begged me to take him back. He was crying and pleading with me to forgive him. He said all the affairs meant nothing to him, that he loved me, that the fooling around was just a way for him to build up his poor self esteem. He swore he would never again look at another woman if I
would just give him one last chance to make it up to me. I was so stupid, I believed him and forgave him again. Things were okay for awhile. We even talked about having children. I thought he had really changed. Then I heard him on the phone one night, making a date with his latest conquest. That was it. I'd had all I could take. I left again and this time I made sure he'd never be able to find me. I promised myself that, no matter what, I'd never go back again.”

  “To where?”

  All the heartrending confessing has filled her nose with mucous. She gives a mighty blow into her Kleenex before saying, “Dallas. That’s where we lived.”

  “As in Dallas, Texas?”

  “No, as in Dallas, Saskatchewan, you twit.”

  Sometimes she’s such a smart ass. “So … did he ever hit you?”

  “No. His abuse was of the mental variety. But, believe me, it was every bit as bad as being beaten - at least for me. I left for good two years ago. I took off one day after he went to work and kept on going. I figured California was a pretty safe bet. When I got near Tahachapi I just started taking secondary roads until I stumbled on Cutter’s Grove. The place looked like it was at the edge of the universe. Who the hell would ever look for anyone here?”

  Good question. “And you think, because he cheated on you, that I’m doing the same thing.”

  “Men are all the same. You’re all a bunch of---”

  “Hey, come on. You know that’s not true. Sure, some guys are jerks. No question. That doesn’t mean we all are.”

  “Who says?” She sounds like someone with a bad cold now. She’s got a wad of Kleenex two inches thick that she’s using to sop up the runny nose and teary eyes.

  “Columbo.”

  “What?” This is muffled from behind her barricade of facial tissues.

  “Columbo, that’s who says.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Me. I’m Columbo. And you’re Nancy Drew.”

  Finally, a chink in the armor. A teensy smile. “I’m Nancy Drew?”

  “Yeah. And how is Columbo supposed to solve the case he’s working on without the aid of his trusty sidekick, Nancy?”

  “Who is Deborah, then?”

  “Miss Marple.”

  “Oh.” Disappointed.

  “You ever seen Miss Marple?”

  “... no.”

  “Well, let me tell you, she’s not even in the same league as Nancy Drew.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” I reach out across the table and take her hand. It’s not quite as romantic as I’d like it to be because I end up with a handful of soggy Kleenex, but I’m not complaining.

  She stands up and comes around the table. She pulls me to my feet and snuggles into me. “I’m sorry for being such a bitch,” she mumbles against my chest. “You’re nothing like him, nothing at all. I've treated you terribly, haven't I?”

  I hold her tightly and savor the feel of her body against mine. The fit is just right somehow. When she looks up at me I brush the hair back from her face and kiss the tears from her cheeks. "I haven't exactly handled things the way I should have either," I say. "I promise there'll be no more hiding stuff from you."

  "That's all I ask," she says in a whisper.

  I touch my lips to hers. Her response is so laden with passion I'm left wondering if she might really have designs on that prized picnic-ware of mine after all.

  “How about we give my landlord something to get his heart pumping?” she murmurs.

  Well, hey. Sometimes a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.

  41

  The next night, after she gets off work, Beth phones me. “Geez, what a day,” she says.

  “What happened?”

  “Herb. He was a maniac today. I’ve never seen him so nuts.”

  So he came home to find his stash of dope all gone. Poor Herb. “Somebody put a burr under his saddle, did they?” I never did get around to telling Beth about the little caper Deborah and I pulled off. Somehow, with all Beth had talked out yesterday and then our subsequent lovemaking, it just didn’t seem like the appropriate time to divulge this bit of news.

  “I don’t know, but something has sure got him ticked.”

  “He’ll get over it. Maybe he just had a bad round of golf in Palm Springs.”

  She scoffs at this. “Something tells me it was a lot worse than a bad round of golf. But who gives a damn about Herb anyway? What about us?”

  “What about us?” I say warily.

  “Wanna do something tonight?”

  Memories of yesterday’s gymnastics are still vivid in my mind. “I’m not sure I’m up to it.”

  “I didn’t mean that,” she says.

  “Oh.” Damn.

  “I was thinking maybe a movie in Tehachapi.”

  “Sounds good, sure.”

  “Come on over. I’ll make us a quick supper before we go.”

  Oh, no. Not Beth’s cooking. “Don’t bother cooking,” I say full of gallantry. “We’ll pick up something when we get there.”

  “Okay.”

  Whew.

  An hour later we’re on the road to Tehachapi. Beth is resting her head on my shoulder. Since our talk yesterday she seems to have finally broken through some barrier that has allowed her to see our relationship for what it really is - a meaningful union with a promising future; and me for who I really am - a shithead with no future at all. Just kidding. For the first time, I believe, we’re both completely comfortable with the bond we have formed.

  As we pass Herb’s place we see Arliss’ pickup in the driveway, parked behind the Lincoln. “Wonder what those two are up to,” Beth says.

  I figure it’s time to come clean. “I know why Herb was so pissed off today,” I tell her.

  She looks at me, a surprised expression on her face. “You do? How? Why?”

  “I found out what was in Herb’s basement.”

  “You broke into his place while he was away?” She's astonished.

  “Yeah, I did. Well, we did.” I wince, awaiting the reaction I’ve been dreading. But, come hell or high water, there's no way I'm lying to her any more.

  “We being you and Deborah,” she says. There's actually a hint of humor in her voice.

  “Yeah. You're not mad?"

  “Nope, I’m not,” she says. “You’re my guy. I love you, and you love me. What did you find?”

  “Are you ready for this? A hundred and twenty bags of pot. And they’re big bags.”

  “He’s a dope dealer?”

  “You got it.”

  “I can’t believe this.”

  “That’s not all,” I say. “I took it.”

  “YOU WHAT! You can’t be serious!”

  “Dead serious. Took every last bag.”

  “Lucas, are you crazy? A hundred and twenty bags of pot must be worth ... what? ... hundreds of thousands of dollars? He’ll kill you if he finds out you’ve ripped him off for that kind of money.”

  “I was kind of hoping that maybe he wouldn’t find that out,” I reply.

  “What did you do with it?”

  “I hid it under the floor in my room.”

  She shakes her head, like she’s having a discussion with a member of a different species. “You can’t leave it there. It’s too dangerous. What if---”

  “What would you suggest I do with it?”

  “I don’t know. Something.”

  “It might be what we need to get Arliss to give himself away about Anne Marie’s murder.”

  “Oh, yeah? How do you figure?”

  “Arliss is obviously Herb’s partner in the dope scheme so he’s got to be hurting for money just as much as Herb. I’m going to let Arliss overhear me telling Sonny that Anne Marie was wearing a valuable bracelet the day she disappeared. It was her grandmother’s - an heirloom - worth maybe fifteen or twenty thousand bucks, maybe more. The idea is that, with the dope deal gone bad, Arliss will be desperate enough for money to dig up her body to get the bracelet. When he does, I’
ll be there to nail him.”

  “Won’t he see you following him?”

  “I’m hoping the body is somewhere near where I saw, you know ... her ghost.” Once again, it sounds ludicrous when I hear myself say I’ve seen a ghost. Even though I have no better explanation for what happened.

  “So you’ll what, wait out there for him to show up?”

  “That’s the plan I guess.”

  “Excuse me, sweets, but it doesn’t sound like a real terrific plan.”

  “Can you think of a better one?”

  She mulls over the matter for a minute or so. “Not off the top of my head, no.”

  “Well, if you come up with some vastly improved strategy for accomplishing the objective here, by all means don’t hesitate to let me know.”

  She pats me on the arm. “No need to be testy, Hoss. When do you plan to do your little dog and pony show with Sonny and Arliss?”

  “There’s a poker game coming up next week. I’ll try to do it then. It’s a matter of opportunity, though. I’ll have to get Sonny off somewhere while I confide in him, and time it so that Arliss just happens to overhear me while I’m at it.”

  Beth shakes her head. “I’ve gotta be honest, I don’t think that’s going to be so easy to do.”

  “I know. All I can do is try.”

  “There must be a better way,” she says.

  For the rest of the drive to Tehachapi we toss around ideas. But, by the time we arrive at our destination, we’re no further ahead than when we started.

  We grab a quick bite at a fast food drive-in and catch the show just as it’s about to begin. It turns out to be a gushy love story starring Richard Gere and some young actress I’ve never heard of. Beth is enthralled by the performance. Turns out she’s a hard-core Richard Gere fan. Thinks he’s just about the sexiest guy this side of Caribou, Maine. Of course, I’m bored to the point of suicide ... and, if I’m flawlessly honest, maybe just an itsy-bitsy, teensy bit jealous, too.

  The night air is oppressive when we emerge from the theatre; I don’t think it’s dropped more than two degrees from the hundred and four it registered this afternoon. If there was an air conditioner in that theatre it was amazingly ineffective. We’re both damp with perspiration. “Why don’t we grab a cold beer before we head back?” I suggest.