“You’ve taken to your new job pretty quickly. And you seem to have good investigative instincts.”
“It comes from being nosy, which is a survival tool in a small town like this. And it’s come in handy during my nursing career, too. The ability to read the small clues can really help when you’re trying to size someone up and get a grasp of their lifestyle.”
Hurley nods. “Whatever the reasons, I just wanted to let you know that I think you’re doing a good job so far despite your tendency to get naked under the oddest of circumstances.”
My face flushes hot at his words and I feel my heartbeat speed up. Desperate to escape that penetrating gaze of his I tell him, “I’d like to move into the bedroom now.” His eyebrows arch and his smile broadens as I realize what I’ve said. “To look at Shannon’s stuff,” I add quickly. He doesn’t move at first and I tag on a beseeching, “Please?”
He finally steps aside and I hurry past him, hoping he won’t follow me. The idea of being in a bedroom with him after the sexually charged moments we just shared makes me nervous. Perhaps sensing my level of discomfort, he wanders off into the living room and starts rummaging through a corner desk instead.
Once again I am struck by the level of femininity in Shannon’s bedroom. It’s a very girly room—too girly for me—and I imagine it would prove uncomfortably girly to any man who may have entered. That gets me to wondering about the intimate moments she shared with Luke Nelson. Did they take place here, his place, or somewhere else that offered a more neutral setting? Somehow I sense that this room was something of a sanctuary for Shannon, a place where no man was welcome.
As I look at the bedside tables I remember the letters I found in there and holler out to Hurley, “Hey, I forgot to tell you that I read those letters from Erik to Shannon.” He doesn’t answer me and I assume he didn’t hear so I move closer to the door to try again. I look out into the living room and see him seated at a corner desk, his face frowning as he examines some papers.
Curious, I walk over to him. “Find something?”
He shrugs. “Don’t know if it’s all that significant but Shannon had quite a bit of credit card debt. On this one card alone she owed over ten thousand dollars and there are two other bills here I haven’t gotten to yet.”
“Hey, it’s the American way,” I tell him, feeling a twinge of guilt. I ran up some pretty significant credit card bills myself when I was living with David. Once I left him, I was afraid to use the cards since they were all in his name and I didn’t know if he had flagged the accounts to prevent me from using them. So to avoid that embarrassment, I never tried.
“What kind of stuff did she buy?” I ask. Hurley hands me the bill he’s holding and I scan the contents. There are several orders from a health food company, which seems in total opposition to the contents of the kitchen. In addition I see charges for several visits to her personal physician and a whopping charge of several thousand to a cosmetic dentist located in Madison.
I make a mental note to chat with Shannon’s doctor, a woman physician I know from working at the hospital. And though I’m momentarily surprised that someone of Shannon’s obviously modest means would spend so much money on cosmetic dentistry, I then remember her side career as a model.
I hand the bill back to Hurley and venture into Shannon’s bathroom, which is just off her bedroom. It’s a typical woman’s bathroom, full of make-up, lotions, fancy soaps, and a variety of hair products. When I open the medicine cabinet I find the usual collection of over-the-counter medications: aspirin, Tylenol, cough syrup, laxatives, and an allergy drug. I also find the reason behind all of the health store charges. The rest of the cabinet is jam- packed with vitamins, minerals, and herbal supplements, most of them bearing labels that promise some type of assistance with weight loss.
Once again I feel a kinship to Shannon and every other woman who has ever had to struggle with her weight. It’s a constant battle and there are days when I swear I can gain weight simply by thinking of eating something, or sitting in the same room with it. When I do cave in and gain a few pounds, at least I can hide the results beneath my larger sized, loose-fitting, fat clothes. But Shannon didn’t have that luxury if she wanted to maintain her modeling career.
Also in the medicine cabinet is a supply of birth control pills, which reminds me of what Erik had said in his letters to Shannon about wanting children. Was Shannon’s obsession with her figure the reason she held out? Was she afraid of ruining her modeling career if she got pregnant? Or was it something else altogether?
Something is nagging at me, a little itch in the back of my mind, but I can’t seem to reach and scratch it. I move back to the bedroom and stand there a moment, trying to figure out what it is that’s bothering me. But it remains elusive so I head back to Hurley.
“Any chance you’re up for a drink?” I ask him.
“Are you asking me out on a date?”
“No, I just want to check out Luke Nelson’s alibi at the Somewhere Bar.”
“I already did. Several people verified that he was there.”
“Oh.”
There’s an awkward moment of silence before Hurley adds, “We can go anyway if you want, and have a nightcap. I don’t know if you found what you want here, but I’m not seeing anything too exciting.”
I put my hand on my hip and give him an injured look.
“Evidence-wise, I mean,” he adds, his eyes twinkling.
“Good, because I’m not that kind of girl.” One of his eyebrows arches and he gives me a smoldering look that makes my stomach go all squishy. “Although I suppose I could be,” I add as I head out the door.
Chapter 25
All of the bars in town have their frequent fliers: the pasty-faced, doughy-looking, smoky-smelling, weekday regulars, folks who look like they live in the place. They’re the ones who have a “usual” seat, are greeted by the bar staff by name, and are served their drink of choice without having to ask for it. But on any given night there will also be some outsiders in the bars, the occasional drop-ins, the celebrators, the lonely, the bored, the out-of-towners, and others like us, who are simply looking for a brief break in the day.
Even if you’re not a regular at one of the bars, Sorenson is a small enough town that a lot of the patrons know each other simply because they are neighbors. Both Hurley and I know the bartender on duty tonight, a redheaded, fifty-something woman named Cara. She greets us both by name and as we settle in at the bar, I order a Miller Lite on tap while Hurley opts for a bottle of Sam Adams. We also know several of the patrons, as well, though different ones for different reasons. In my case it’s because they are people I’ve grown up with or cared for when I worked at the hospital. Hurley, being relatively new in town, knows most of his acquaintances “professionally.”
When Cara brings our drinks, we exchange some polite chitchat with her. But when there’s a brief lag in the conversation, I ask her if she knows Luke Nelson. I see Hurley shoot me a sidelong glance but pointedly ignore him.
“I do,” Cara says. “He comes in from time to time. He isn’t a regular or anything but he probably drops in a couple of times every month. I think he fancies himself some kind of Frasier Crane or something. Boring shit, if you ask me,” she concludes with a roll of her eyes.
Hurley snorts a laugh and Cara looks pleased that her commentary has amused him. She leans on the bar, shifts her attention to him, and asks, “So, are you seeing anyone these days, Detective?”
Hurley practically spews the beer he just sipped and turns cherry red.
“ ’Cause I’m free tomorrow night and have tickets to the opera in Madison,” Cara continues with an exaggerated wink.
Realizing she is merely yanking his chain, Hurley laughs, swallows his beer, and says, “Good one.”
“Hey, a girl can dream, right?” Cara says.
Indeed.
Since neither of us has eaten dinner, we order a couple of sandwiches and then I challenge Hurley to a game of darts baseball. Despite my competitive nature, I spend the entire time not caring if I ever hit the board, as long as I can watch Hurley walk up to retrieve the darts. In fact, I quickly realize the view is greatly enhanced when I miss altogether and he has to bend over to pick up my darts from the floor. He beats me handily and, by the time
