32. Mallory
Chapter 32
Mallory
Jolene: One month, Mal. You've officially been gone one month.
Mallory: Little longer than I expected...
Jolene: Have you seen a doctor?
Mallory: Yes. I set up an appointment with the ob-gyn Hugo's sister used. My appointment is tomorrow.
Jolene: Are you going to learn the sex?
Mallory: I haven't decided.
Jolene: I expect you to call me THE VERY SECOND you step out of that office.
Mallory: Pinky promise.
Jolene: On to other topics. Are you hooking up with Hugo?
Mallory: We're not hooking up.
Jolene: You're such a liar. Does he make you wear his gold medal while you ride him?
Jolene: Are you there?
Jolene: Hellooo??
Jolene: Mallory!!!!
When I mention in passing to Hugo the next morning that I have an appointment, he offers to go with me.
"I can drive you," he says, smearing avocado on a slice of toasted sourdough. He piles a mountain of scrambled eggs on top. This plate is for me, and the only reason I know that is because he was finishing his when I walked in the kitchen a minute ago. "I'll sit in the waiting room, if you'd prefer."
"You have a full day of work," I argue. I don't know why I'm protesting. It would be nice to have somebody there. It's a reflex, this urge to do everything on my own.
"I can make time," he counters.
"Don't worry about it," I say with a wave of my hand, when what I really want to say is something along the lines of I'd love to have you there with me. But the words are already out there, and I'm not sure how to retract them, and Hugo's already changing the topic.
"My mom has asked if you will be joining us at family dinner tonight. It'll be worth your while, I promise. Vivi cooks."
I feel bad for turning down his offer to come to the doctor with me, so I go to him where he stands at the sink, wrap my arms around him. "It would be worth my while even if the food was terrible."
He lowers his face, drops a kiss to my lips. We haven't done anything except kiss since that day on the blanket surrounded by olive trees. It's not that I need to rush anything, but at the same time, my hormones are in high gear. I know he doesn't regret what we did, he wouldn't kiss me the way he does if that were the case. But there are moments, when his lips are on mine and I'm burning up with desire, that I want to be manhandled. I want his weight, the slap of skin, beads of sweat forming on both of us.
"I'll see you this evening," I tell him. "I have an errand to run before my appointment, and I'm going to grab lunch in town."
"Errand?"
"Police station," I explain.
Confusion tugs at his eyebrows. "You changed your mind and decided to tell the police about the pictures?"
I hesitate. Hugo knows I'm doing work, and he knows what my work is about, but he doesn't ask very many questions. He may have given me his blessing, but that doesn't automatically mean he wants to be involved in every detail. I can't lie to him, though, especially not when he's asking me a direct question. "I'm hoping to sweet talk my way into your dad's file."
A little bit of the light in his eyes goes out. I hate that. I wish it never had to happen.
With a second, parting kiss, Hugo leaves for work, and I get ready for the day.
The police station is a brick building in the center of town. Two flagpoles fly an Arizona state flag, and a United States flag, but nothing else about it is remarkable. It doesn't seem like a lot happens in Olive Township, but then again I've been ensconced in a safe bubble at Summerhill.
Admittedly, I've been there due to something I would've normally reported to the police.
"Hello," an older woman snaps when I walk in. She sees my belly and softens her tone. "What can I do for you, dear?"
It's amazing how people melt when they see a pregnant woman. Almost as if the presence of my belly is magic.
"Hello, Mrs. Black." I read her name off her desk, and offer my winningest smile. "I was hoping to ask someone a few questions about an old case."
She pulls her glasses lower on her nose, peering at me over the frame. "I've been with this department longer than you've been alive. What case are you referring to?"
"Simon De la Vega."
She laughs.
"Sure, hon." The glasses return to the bridge of her nose. "Let me open up the coldest case file in this town's history to a complete stranger."
I smile sweetly. Bees are attracted to honey, not vinegar. "Mrs. Black, I'm certain you know which officer was with the department during that time. If I could have a teeny, tiny conversation with them, it would be very much appreciated."
Her fleshy arms cross over her generous bosom. "Does the family know you're here poking around their business?"
I admire the loyalty of small towns, the way they fiercely protect their own. "They do. In fact, I can give Hugo a call right now."
Her mouth opens to respond when a portly older gentleman walks through the door. He's wearing slacks and a long sleeve, crisp shirt. Tie. Holding a large paper cup and a white bag printed with the Sweet Nothings logo.
"Detective Towles," Mrs. Black greets, sounding like she's already done with the day even though it's not yet halfway over. "This young lady is asking questions about Simon De la Vega."
Her words send the detective up short, coffee sloshing through the pill-shaped hole in the mouth of the cup. "Is that right?" He looks at me, head tipped. His dark hair has salt and pepper creeping up on all sides. Wrinkles pull at the corners of his eyes, crease his forehead.
He regards me for a few seconds before he says, "Come on back with me."
I'm expecting to follow him through metal detectors, or at least a security guard taking a peek in my purse, but there are zero safety measures. Small town, I guess.
Detective Towles leads me past a row of occupied desks. Every man and woman looks up as I pass. At the far end of the room, the detective ducks into an office. He steps behind a desk, placing his coffee and breakfast on top. He motions for me to take a seat at one of the two chairs in front of his desk. "What can I do for you, miss?"
I don't like the idea of sitting while he's standing, but hopefully compliance from me will beget compliance from him. I settle in a chair, crossing my legs at the ankle. "I was hoping to ask a few questions about the Simon De la Vega case."
Detective Towles's eyebrows climb up his forehead. "That case is nearly twenty years old."
"Correct," I nod.
"Let me guess. You read about the case on some obscure message board and now you're curious?"
"Not quite. I host a true crime podcast?—"
His palm shoots out, stopping me. "Do you know how many true crime junkies I've had call me over the years? Someone runs an old episode of Unsolved Cases and my department gets flooded with tips." He grimaces as he wrestles with the knotted tie at his neck, attempting to loosen it. "This department does not have the funds to deal with it. I'm stretched thin as it is. When Olive Township grows, the police force must grow alongside it. I'll let you guess which one has grown, and which one hasn't."
"I'm not asking for any of your resources," I assure him. "Only the case file."
"I thought you had a few questions, and now you're asking for the case file?"
"You're busy," I remind him. "Your time is valuable."
"If you want the file, you'll have to make a public records request."
Asshole. I know exactly what he's doing. "That'll take weeks."
"Maybe even months," he adds, reaching for his coffee.
Cool. A detective on a power trip. This is fun.
"It would be a lot easier if you could simply hand me the file. I'm sure it's in its physical form. I doubt you were electronic back then."
He takes a sip of coffee. A few drops dribble out from the lid, land squarely in the center of his white shirt. "And you think you're going to find something in there our entire department missed? Simon was one of our own, and we did everything we could to find out what happened."
It's mostly ego keeping the detective from cooperating, but perhaps it's a pinch of disappointment, too. In himself, in his department. He wanted to be the one to solve the murder, find justice for the beloved Simon.
"It doesn't hurt to have a fresh set of eyes after all this time. "
"Do the De la Vegas know you're poking your nose into their business?"
"I'm staying at Summerhill."
He flinches at the admission. "I can call Sonya or Hugo right now and verify that."
I smile serenely. "So can I."
He looks down. Notices the coffee on his shirt. With an aggrieved sigh, he removes a packet of stain wipes from the top drawer of his desk. Wiping at himself, he says, "I'll get one of my desk sergeants to find it. Might take a couple weeks. It's in archives."
I wince at the idea of Simon's case sitting in archives, collecting dust. Forgotten. Somewhere in Phoenix, Maggie's file does the same.
"I appreciate it." I stand up, removing a business card from my purse and placing it in the center of his desk. It was Jolene's idea to have them made. "Have a nice day, Detective Towles."
"Same to you," he peers at the card. "Miss Hawkins."
I exit his office, retrace my steps back to the front. "Have a lovely day, Mrs. Black," I say on my way by. Her eyes burn with curiosity. I'm sure she thought I was on a well-traveled boulevard of broken dreams.
Even though I don't have the file in hand yet, this feels like a win. When I have dinner with Hugo's family tonight, I'll be able to tell them I'm making progress.
The development with the case file makes me happy, and I reach for my phone, pausing outside the doctor's office .
I want Hugo. Here, with me. I want to do all this with him.
"Excuse me, miss, are you new in town?"
My head whips to the voice. Deep, rich, curling into my bones. My grin is automatic, reaching my eyes. I think it may reach down into my heart, too. "What are you doing here?"
Hugo steps in beside me. No hesitation. His arm goes around my waist. Right here on the street for all to see. "The more you see someone show up for you, the more you'll let them." He drops a kiss to my forehead. "So, here I am."
I reach up, palm his cheek. My heart becomes more than a life source, it's a conduit for happiness. How does Hugo do it? So readily, so generous. No reservation.
I know the answer. His mother didn't quit, like mine did. The circumstances weren't identical, so the comparison isn't completely fair. I don't want to think about that right now. I want to bask in Hugo.
"You are so good to me, Hugo."
"You are so deserving, Mallory."
And then he kisses me. On the lips. Right in front of the doctor's office, for anyone and everyone to see.
"Hugo," I admonish softly. "People are going to ask you questions. They're going to think you're the father."
"I don't care what anybody thinks," he all but growls.
What people think of me means little to me, but I do care what they think of Hugo. This is his town. His home. I'm a guest, a visitor.
"Don't," he says softly, smoothing out the furrow between my brows. "I know exactly what you're thinking. I'm a grown man, and this is my choice. You are my choice."
He takes my hand, and leads me into the office.
People stare. The women in the waiting room, the receptionist. Even if Hugo doesn't know them, they know Hugo. Operator of Summerhill, winner of Olympic medals. A local celebrity, though I admit I hadn't fully considered that until now.
When the nurse calls me back, Hugo stays seated. I stand, looking down at him, and decide in that moment to include him. All he wants is to support me, and it's well past time I allow someone to be there for me. The truth is, I can do all this on my own. But that doesn't mean I have to.