Page 21 of Clubs

“They said she was bludgeoned to death. Why the hell would anyone bludgeon a woman to death?”

“Incite fear?” Emory asked, crossing his arms against his chest. “Maybe even to scare you.”

“And what am I supposed to be scared of?” Continuing back to the booth with the book in hand, I laughed. “Some pussy who beats women? I’d kill that fucker in a heartbeat and not lose a second of sleep over it. If this was supposed to scare me, all he did was piss me off. And if it’s about trying to send a message, don’t you think they would’ve done it in smarter way? Like, I don’t know, let me know who the fuck they are?”

“You’d think,” Emory said. “But I’ve got this strange idea that whoever this bastard is, he’s not very intelligent. Would have known better than to fuck with you if he were. Or, I should say, he would’ve known better than to fuck with Brooke Lewis’s boyfriend. She’s the one they should worry about.”

Laughing, I flipped open the most recent guestbook. It spanned from late last year until now. Starting on the first page, I scanned each name for a Alicia, or a Tanner, but wasn’t surprised when she didn’t show. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“That Brooke would kill for you? Oh yeah, I believe the hell out of that.”

“And you still think she doesn’t love me?”

Letting out a deep breath, Emory raised a shoulder. “She can’t stand me, but she would kill for me. Then make my eyes melt out of their sockets or some shit just for inconveniencing her, but I have no doubt that she’d kill for me.”

I wasn’t sure what point he was making. Was it that Brooke just didn’t show love the way that the rest of us did? Or that she was just fucked up? Or that she was a psychopath who maybe enjoyed solving cases and killing people a little bit too much?

I didn’t know. I doubted anyone did. If anyone had ever seen the softer side of Brooke Lewis, I would’ve loved to sit down and pick their brains. Because even though I could go inside hers at any given moment, I never had any idea what was going on in it.

* * *

After dotting all my Is, crossing all my Ts, flicking over every name in the guest book for the last two years, which was a shit ton of fucking names, I found nothing. Many Alices, a number of Alicias, but no Alicia Tanner. I made note of each one though, then tabbed it with a Post-It note to come back to. Maybe Alicia Tanner was a married name, and her maiden name was somewhere in my records.

What I needed to do was get my hands on something of Alicia’s. If I smelled some of her belongings, I might recognize her scent. While I didn’t remember everything I saw, it was rare for me to forget someone’s scent. It was how I remembered most things. It was a much stronger sense, and I relied on it the most. It had yet to fail me, while my eyes often did me a solid disservice.

Either way, by the time I was done going through all the paperwork, it was approaching four. That meant that Brooke would be getting off work and I could go make my amends. Might have to sell my dignity in order to do so, but it was a price I was willing to pay So that was what I did. Headed to her place.

Shutting off the engine of my bike as I rolled into Brooke’s driveway, I noted Ria’s van parked across the street. I couldn’t say me and Ria were close. We weren’t best friends by any means, although she had become my best friend’s good friend. But she was a sweet kid. And Brooke loved her.

Reaching into my saddlebag, I lifted out all of the necessities. They were a little squished, but I knew Brooke wouldn’t mind. With a brown bag in hand, and some semi-squashed flowers tucked under my arm, I started up the cement walkway. Brooke was already opening the door by the time I reached the threshold. Hands on her hips, lips pursed, she said, “You smashed them.”

“Just a little. The ones in the middle are fine. Just gotta pick out the ones on the edges.”

She glared. “Fuck you.”

“I mean, if that’s how you want to make up—”

“I don’t want to make up.” She snatched the bag of Chinese from my hand and the flowers from under my arm. “I want an apology, and then I want you to get back on your bike, drive your ass home, and come back with flowers that aren’t ruined. Then we can talk about making up.”

“You really want me to go get you new flowers?” Smirking, I shook my head. “It’s not happening.”

“Then have a nice night.” She snapped the door shut, but I caught it before she could click it into the lock. Struggling, pushing with all her might, to no avail, she glared at me through the half a foot gap. “Fuck you. Let go of my door.”

“I’m sorry. I was a dick this morning, and I’m sorry. You had every right to make me walk. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

Her glare softening, she did her best to hide a half-smile. “I don’t know if you’re forgiven yet, but I believe you enough to open the door.” Pulling it closer so there was more air and less wood between us, she wagged a finger. “But that’s not an invitation inside. You don’t get that until you just accept that I’m giving you the money, and there’s no—”

“I’m not going to take the money, Brooke.”

“Jesus Christ—”

“But not for the reason you think,” I said quickly, hoping she wouldn’t snap the door in my face before I could finish. “My dad was a piece of shit. I loved him, I really did. But he was a piece of shit. And every day—or at least, it seemed like every day—he was in trouble. He was either nodding off at dinner, or pulled over for a DUI, or getting Spades raided for trafficking, or dealing, or whatever the crime of the week might have been. My mom filed bankruptcy trying to save his ass. She paid lawyer fees to keep him out of jail more times than I can count. And I don’t wanna be that guy. I don’t want my girl to pay for my fuck ups.”

Expression softening, Brooke’s tight shoulders released. “But it’s not—”

“My fuck up, I know. I didn’t do this. But it felt too similar. And I don’t want to do that to you. I love you too much for that. I don’t want to be a burden in your life. I just want to make it better. It was bad enough you had to come pick me up, but I have to pay my own lawyer fees. Please.”

She frowned, then nodded. “Alright. I understand that. And I appreciate it, even. But you could’ve said that instead of calling me a bitch.”

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