Don't Leave Me by James Scott Bell Read Free Book Online

like they were lowering some sort of net on him. “And?”
    “He never made it home, either,” Epperson said. “He was found shot to death in his car in a store parking lot.”
    Chuck swallowed hard. It was like a fist of ice going down. “What does any of this have to do with me?”
    “Let us ask the questions,” Mooney said.
    “I don’t like your questions,” Chuck said. “I don’t know anything except what I’ve told you. Why should I know––”
    “What about Lucy Bowers?” Mooney said.
    Chuck eyed him. “I don’t remember mentioning Lucy Bowers.”
    “We’re mentioning her,” Mooney said.
    “What about her?”
    Epperson said, “She’s been reported missing, too.”
    Chuck stood. Too much information at once. He felt tight around his throat, like the Mad Russian had him in his grip again.
    “I have to get back to class,” Chuck said.
    “Your boss said it’s almost lunch time,” Mooney said.
    “Then I need to get to my sandwich,” Chuck said. “You got an issue with that?”
    “Maybe,” Mooney said.
    “Then deal with it on your own time,” Chuck said.
    Epperson handed him her card. “Will you just let us know if any thoughts on these matters occur to you? That’s a direct number there. I’d appreciate it.”
    Sure, Chuck thought. The way you appreciate people putting ropes around their own necks. He slid the card in his back pocket and walked out.
    Wendy Tower caught up with him just before he got to his classroom.
    “I heard about your house,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
    Chuck nodded.
    “Where are you staying?”
    “The Ritz,” Chuck said.
    She smiled. “All you need now is a home cooked meal.”
    He was going to say no, as he had before. But maybe he needed this. Maybe he should take a chance. “Twist my arm,” he said.
    “Would you like—”
    “What time?”
    “Say six.”
    “Six.”
    “See you then.” She turned and walked off toward the high school. She moved gracefully, like a dancer. It reminded him. The first time he met Julia, they’d done swing. He was the worst dancer ever, but in her arms that night he felt like Astaire.

Chapter 12

    He’d met Julia the night his chaplaincy was approved. Some of his high school friends, who were now older and unemployed, or marginally making money, wanted to have a party for him. They had it at Steve Manley’s apartment in Westchester, by the airport.
    It was almost the same, like being back in high school when drinking and getting high and playing rock with his band, Maniacal Fly, was all he ever wanted to do. He’d long since given up the binge drinking and the Mary Jane, though most of his friends were still hanging onto the residue of that life. Still, he liked hanging with them. Two––Steve Manly and Rob Pinnock––had been in his band.
    Julia came to the party with Rob. She had short blond hair and cornflower blue eyes, and a brace of dimples. She might have walked out of a Norman Rockwell painting, except she had an edge to her that became apparent when he tried to charm her.
    Steve and the others had convinced him to forget his recent fortitude and do some tequila shooters for old times’ sake. He succumbed. After the third he set his eyes on the blonde. He waited until Rob got distracted then caught up with her looking at the poster of Cobain on the wall near the bathroom.
    “Are you Jamaican?” Chuck asked.
    She turned around and looked at him like he was an escapee from the asylum.
    Chuck finished, “'Cause Jamaican me crazy.” He knew it was a corny line, but after three tequila shots he believed anything he said would sound like it came from George Clooney.
    She rolled her eyes and started to walk away. Chuck grabbed her arm. “Wait a second,” he said. “I’m here. What were your other two wishes?”
    “Aren’t you the guest of honor?” she said.
    “I guess I am. It would be my honor to talk to you.”
    She pursed her lips, which were full and inviting. “Aren’t you a Navy