5. Chapter 5
When I enter the office, I’m pleased to find Dee is actually doing work, so she can’t distract me. George must be out on assignment, along with Monty, which leaves only me and Zack, who is on the phone.
My desk is its usual organized chaos, with different projects I’ve been working on stacked in little piles that sort of crisscross in sections. The little red light on my phone isn’t blinking, which means no voice messages. That is both a good and bad thing—good, because as a general statement, messages are bad. They are usually left by angry readers or sources who deny everything.
Bad because nobody ever calls a reporter back. Ever.
I shake the mouse and wake my computer to check my email. As always, about 60 percent of it is unimportant.
“Ahem.”
My attention is drawn away from my computer by my editor, standing tall and well put-together in her black slacks and blue cardigan, with her hair twisted into a knot at the back of her head. I tell myself I am equally professional, albeit in my black jeans and flats, and button-up maroon collared shirt. My hair is pin-straight and sleek today.
“So, find anything out about the Clinton property?” Cherice folds her arms across her chest and leans against the cubicle wall.
“Yes, actually …” I pull my notebook out and give her a rundown of the details. “OK, let’s see … The property is owned by a Mr. Cartwright, who also owns the building where DSS is located, and that Visiting Nurses Association. The one up on—”
“The one with the big parking garage?”
“Right. That one. The developer for the project is Gerard Lawler from an architectural firm that focuses on ‘green’ buildings. The deal is, it seems, that as the property stands now, as an inactive parcel, the property owner is paying about $30,000 a year in property taxes. If this Lawler were to develop the property the city would then bring in about $300,000 a year in property taxes. However, as an incentive to the developer to invest the start-up costs, which will likely exceed $2 million to gut and reconstruct the building, the city has cut a deal with the parties involved that it will only collect half of the taxes the first three years, figuring it will still be bringing in $120,000 more in taxes those three years, anyway.”
Cherice ponders this for a moment. “But isn’t that incentive offered for any property? Any business?” she asks.
“Yes, it’s a fairly common practice to offer incentives to attract developers and businesses to the city. However, in a separate department over at good old City Hall, a place we like to call the Finance Department, I was able to secure a list of public donors who have funded the mayor’s campaigning throughout the years, and whose name is on the top of the list with a big fat $500,000 total next to it?”
“Let me guess. Mr. Lawler.”
“Bingo. It seems since he’s been giving our good buddy Cal Denison money to keep his seat in the mayor’s office, he got a break on the building project. Also, it doesn’t hurt he’ll have the support of the entire police department once he secures them a new building.”
Cherice stands up straight and places her hands on her hips. “Dig deeper,” she says.
Huh?
“Um … What?”
“There’s got to be more to it. Don’t get me wrong, what you’ve found out is a great start. It’s just not all that interesting, or incriminating.”
“Okaaaay.” I feel a little deflated.
“Don’t take offense. I know you can get more.”
After a long-ass day, I find a parking spot almost right in front of the apartment building. It’s going on nine o’clock, and I’m exhausted.
Then I see a familiar Dodge RAM parked in the lot and my stomach drops.
The door to the apartment is shut but not locked, and as I open it slowly, it announces my arrival with a low creak. I take note of the absence of barking as I enter and plop my purse down on the kitchen island, spotting Knox sitting cross-legged in front of the bookshelf that also holds old CDs, with Kennedy lounging right up against him. He is wearing an undershirt, with his work shirt sticking out of his back pocket, and I can tell by the filth on his pants he must have come straight from work.
Despite his broad shoulders and back, he looks a little pathetic, slumped over in a ball. His hair is a little shaggier than normal and could use a trim.
He looks up at me as if he hadn’t heard my entrance, but I can tell by the awkward air he’s trying to act nonchalantly. “Oh, hey.”
“Hi,” I say, cautiously.
“You didn’t respond to my text, so I thought I’d just try to pop in.” He strokes the dog’s ear.
Realizing I never even checked my phone when I left work, I offer, “It’s still your place, too.” Then I decide to soften my attitude a little. “I wasn’t ignoring you. I got sidetracked at work and haven’t even looked at my phone.”
Knox looks down at the discs in his hands, and there’s silence.
I gesture to the CDs. “You know, you can stream music from your phone these days.” I’m trying to make a joke, but I’m pretty sure it comes out condescending.
“Oh, yeah.” He gives a fake laugh. “I wanted some of my old music to listen to, but I just realized I don’t have any electronics that even play a CD anymore.”
“Yeah, those are very 1990s.”
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well we both know I’m an uneducated asshat, right?”
Now I roll my eyes. Knox’s go-to defense is to make a dig at himself for not pursuing a college degree. But he knows damn well I never cared about that. In fact, I have often thought he was the smart one for not wasting money on college when he had the opportunity to go into the family trade.
Besides, Lord knows my degree didn’t land me in a profession raking in dough.
At a stalemate, we look away from each other and let silence settle in the air, again.
I toe out of my shoes, leaving them right where they are, and head over to the fridge to grab a beer, pausing with the door open as I consider asking him if he wants one, but decide against it. Shutting the door and popping the top on a Genny Light, I come around the island and lean into the wall.
More silence.
Then I notice something sitting on the counter. It’s a palm-sized black canister looking thing. “What’s that?” I ask, nodding toward it.
Knox looks over. “Oh,” he says, unraveling himself and standing up. Kennedy springs to his feet as well, and comes bounding over to me, as if finally realizing I’m home. “That’s pepper spray,” Knox says. I gape at him, but before I can argue he swipes it off the counter and walks over and drops it in my purse. “Just keep it handy since, you know, you’re in this apartment building all alone for the time being.”
“I’m probably going to shoot myself in the eye with it,” I scoff, taking a sip of beer.
“Just leave it in your bag. Forget about it unless you need it,” he counters.
I let it go as I lean down to scratch the top of Kennedy’s head, and he whimpers at my legs.
“Looks like he’s grown on you,” Knox says.
“Yeah, well, we’ve drawn our battle lines and now we’re both tiptoeing around them.” I take another swig of beer. I nod.
He nods.
More silence.
“It’s kind of late, don’t you think? I mean, I would have thought you would stop by earlier.”
“Well, I had planned to. But we ended up staying late at the job site, and then I had to stop at the lumber yard and Jen—I had to settle a billing issue.”
It’s obvious I didn’t miss his near blunder, so I turn and place my beer on the counter and pull my hair out of its knotted mess, only to redo it, taking my time while I’m not facing him so he can’t read the expression on my face. I’m not sure what it will come across as … anger, confusion, hurt?
“It’s fine, really. I would have told you to come by whenever. I mean, most of your stuff is still here, so …”
“Yeah, about that. I just assumed until we worked out … or when we decided … or whatever … ”
He’s looking at me like I’m the one that needs to finish that sentence. Well fuck that.
“Until we decide, what, exactly?” I push. “By we do you mean me? What exactly do I need to decide?”
Hands up, palms out, Knox lets out a mock laugh. “Never mind. I just thought maybe you were mature enough to have an adult conversation. But clearly, I was mistaken.”
He starts to head toward the door.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m the immature one? I’m not the one who acted like a horny teenager.”
This time he’s the one to keep his back to me, but I can see his face in the reflection of the stainless-steel refrigerator. Ironically, I can’t tell if it’s anger, hurt or confusion.
Welcome to my world.
Gathering his CDs in his hands, as well as some mail I left on the counter for him, he heads toward the door, stopping with his hand on the knob. “You should really lock the deadbolt when you leave,” he says. “It’s easy for someone to break in with just the lock on the door handle.” Then he storms out and shuts the door behind him with more force than is necessary.
I swear from the other side of the door I hear him say something about burning my eyes out with pepper spray before I hear his heavy footsteps descend the stairs.
And then the barking begins.
I take a long pull on my beer. Then another. Ugh, fuck you, Knox. Fuck you.
I walk over to the window and peer out between the blinds at Knox crossing the street and climbing into his truck before it noisily roars to life. I push back and into the bedroom, pacing, then back into the main room.
Kennedy is following me around, whimpering and yipping, needing attention.
“Yes, he’s gone!” I yell at him. “He left, OK! It’s not my fault, it’s his. So if you’re going to be pissed, be pissed at him!” I sink onto the couch, my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands as I rake my fingers into my hair and give a little tug.
Kennedy pushes his nose through the crook of my elbow, whimpering and panting.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to the damn dog. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I’m just so angry. I’m just so fucking … sad.” I lean back into the couch, and Kennedy rests his head on my lap, comforting me. Loving me.
Loyal to a fault.
I pull away from the curb and head back to my pop’s house, back to the cold excuse for a bed I’m continuing to sleep on. Lately, my older brother, Bram, the other “son” of Mitchell Sons, has been up my ass about making things right with Lizzie. I haven’t told him and my dad the details of our split, but they aren’t stupid. They could figure it out.
I don’t expect Bram to understand. He married his high school sweetheart, Emily, and quickly had a baby. Another is on the way.
Bram used to prod me about when Lizzie and I would have kids, and I kept telling him I wanted to finish the house first. The one Lizzie and I are designing from scratch. Were designing. I bought the land before even telling her about it. Luckily, Lizzie loved it, and we drew up the architectural plans together. I helped lay the foundation and started the build, which is taking about four times longer than it needs to because we had to borrow more money for materials.
My buddies are helping me with the construction, but only in their spare time, so that’s another holdup.
Regardless, it still sucks sleeping on the pullout when I have a nice warm bed, and—let’s admit it—a warm body to accompany it, on the other side of the city.