Cyanide Wells by Marcia Muller Read Free Book Online Page B

responsibility. You wouldn’t be alone.”
    “I don’t know. I just don’t know. Kids, they make everything so…permanent.”
    “The way you’re looking at me, Gwen, it’s as if you hate me.”
    “Matt, no…”
    “Well, that sure isn’t the way a woman looks at the man she loves.”
    “I
do
love you; that’s not the problem.”
    “Then what
is
the problem?”
    “Matt, I want a divorce.”
    “You say you love me, but you want a
divorce?
”
    “I want a divorce because if I don’t leave you, I
will
hate you.”
    “The mind may forget, but not the body.”
    “Then stay. Refresh your memory.”
    “It’s not that simple, Matt.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because it just isn’t.”
    When he reached for the Wild Turkey again, he saw the bottle of wine that he’d bought along with his lunch at the deli in Cyanide Wells.
    Sam! Jesus Christ…
    He’d been due at her house at seven, but now his watch showed eight-forty.
Better phone. No—go. Think of some plausible excuse on the way.
Poor kid, she’d been so excited; he couldn’t brush her off with a call.
    Sam’s little frame house was dark when he stopped at the curb, and for a moment he felt relieved. He could just drive away, call her in the morning. But then he spotted a flicker of light on the porch, and a figure moved in the shadows. After he cut the Jeep’s engine, Sam’s voice called, “Well, John Crowe. The roast I spent my hard-earned money on this afternoon is as tough as beef jerky by now, and the fresh asparagus have turned gray. So what’s your excuse?”
    He got out of the Jeep and mounted the steps. The light he’d seen came from a candle in a glass globe on a small table between two broken-down wicker chairs. Extending the wine bottle to her, he said, “I’m sorry.”
    She took the bottle and turned toward the door. “It’s my fault, for making a big deal out of having a guy I met in a bar over for dinner.”
    “No, it’s my fault. I lost track of the time.” The elaborate excuse he’d concocted about his new job and a time-consuming first assignment seemed a shabby lie now.
    Sam said, “I’ll open the wine and get us glasses. Maybe after we drink some, the beef jerky won’t seem so tough, and I can probably get the asparagus up on their feet with some salad dressing.”
    In a couple of minutes she came back. Wordlessly she handed the open bottle to him, set down two glasses, and indicated he should pour. When she sat, the candle’s light touched her face, and he saw her eyes were puffy and red.
    “You’ve been crying.”
    “Crying’s kind of my thing these days.”
    “Sam, I should’ve called. I was thoughtless, and I’m sorry.”
    “One ‘sorry’ is enough, thank you. How much bourbon have you drunk, anyway?”
    “Too much.”
    “You shouldn’t’ve driven in your condition. I don’t like drunks behind the wheel. My girlfriend’s little boy died because of somebody like you.”
    “I’m—”
    “Yeah, I know—you’re sorry. Give me your car keys.”
    “What?”
    “Your car keys.” She held out her hand, snapped her fingers.
    “You can stay here tonight, because I plan to drink this wine and then some more, so I won’t be able to take you back to your motel.”
    “But—”
    “It’s not a proposition. My dad’s bed is made up fresh.”
    He reached into his pocket, surrendered the keys.
    She nodded in approval. “So why the communion with the bottle?”
    He had an easy answer prepared. “Celebrating too much.”
    “Celebrating what?”
    “My new job as general assignment photographer for the
Spectrum.
”
    “Hey, that’s great!”
    “I’m pretty happy about it.”
    “That what you did up in Canada?”
    “For a much smaller paper.”
    “Then you know about all the world-shattering events you’ll be taking pictures of: the hog judging at the county fair, old folks celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversaries, the groundbreaking for the new Denny’s.”
    “Listen, in order to get the