Chapter 7
Aubrey
BEFORE THE ALIBI
I hate working on nights like this. Doug’s is close enough to campus that we get some college kids, but we’re also popular with the young professionals looking for a place to get a cheap drink and play a little pool after a long day at the office.
It’s usually busy enough that my shifts fly by, but not tonight.
Rain pelts against the metal roof and the thunder is loud enough to rattle the windows.
It’s basically a ghost town in here, but Doug won’t let me close early since three people braved the weather to hang out.
So I refill the occasional drink and clean an already spotless bar and stare at the clock as it moves in slow motion.
Just as I’m about to announce last call, the door opens and a gust of wind propels a woman inside.
She struggles to keep the hood over her head while the bottom of her raincoat whips and swirls around her legs, making her stumble.
She pulls the door shut and faces the room.
We’re all staring as she stands there with water rolling off her, puddling at her feet.
When she realizes she has our undivided attention, she dips her head and draws her shoulders inward as if trying to hide. The three guys at the bar track her as she moves into the room, picking a stool as far from them as possible. I slide a napkin down in front of her as soon as she’s seated.
“What can I get you?”
She runs her hands across her face and droplets of water sprinkle the bar top. “Negroni.”
I raise an eyebrow but she misses my look of surprise and instead focuses on brushing water off the sleeves of her jacket. If she’s trying not to bring attention to herself, she’s doing a terrible job.
I make her drink then set it in front of her. “Six fifty. And it’s last call.”
The woman digs in her purse and hands me a ten. “Keep the change.”
I nod, thanking her for the tip, then grab a mop to take care of the trail of water she left in her wake.
The woman sips at the drink, never removing her hood.
She looks ridiculous. Both hands are gripped around the glass, and it’s hard to miss the giant rock on her left hand.
One by one, the other patrons leave until it’s only the two of us left.
I glance at the clock and then at her glass. It’s still half full.
Wiping down the bar, I edge in her direction. “We close in ten.”
She nods but doesn’t make any move to leave or finish her drink.
I turn on the main light and cut the music, hoping she gets the hint.
The woman’s eyes are red rimmed and tired looking. Whatever she’s going through is taking its toll. Her bottom lip quivers, and I pass her a handful of napkins as I see the tears form in her eyes.
“You okay?”
She lets out a frustrated laugh. “No. No, I’m not okay.
” Then she takes a deep breath as if she’s trying to pull herself together.
Finally, she raises her head and looks at me.
“I had this whole speech worked out and honestly there’s no real way to ask you this without it being really awkward, but are you having an affair with my husband? ”
I stand frozen in front of her. “Who in the hell is your husband?”
She finally pushes the hood back and her long brown hair spills around her shoulders. “Benjamin Bayliss.”
Wait. I know that name.
But not because I’m sleeping with him.
My arms cross in front of me. “Your husband is that big-shot lawyer, right?”
She gives me a slight jerk of her head, letting me know I’m thinking of the right guy.
“I’ve never met your husband and have no idea why you think I’m sleeping with him.”
I feel bad for her. It’s clear this has hit her hard, but it’s absurd she’s here accusing me.
She rolls her lips inward, watching me, as if she’s trying to decide if she believes me.
It’s a long minute before she says, “If you’re worried about telling me, I wouldn’t blame you for it—this would be totally on him. I just…want to know. I need to know.”
Funny thing is I believe her. She came in here thinking I’m screwing her husband, but there’s no anger directed toward me. Just sadness and genuine curiosity. “I swear, I don’t know him.”
She shakes her head slowly back and forth. “I don’t understand. He knows you. Your name. He was here last weekend.”
My forehead scrunches. “He shows up at this bar and you automatically think he’s screwing around with someone here?
” I gesture to the empty room. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but when the weather’s not so shitty, we get pretty packed in here.
” I pause a moment, then say, “He may be cheating on you. He may even have met them here, but you have no reason to assume it’s me. ”
She raises one eyebrow. “If he had just come to this bar, I would agree with you. But I found this.” She pulls out her phone and taps on the screen, then turns it to face me.
I step closer to get a better look. It’s a picture of one of our bar napkins with my name, phone number, and home address.
“This is where you live, right? I did a little…research. You live there with a few other people. And according to the travel history on his car, he’s been there too. ”
My mouth drops open in shock as my mind spins, trying to understand what is happening right now. “There’s no reason he should have been to my house.”
We stare at each other, and I see the first signs on doubt creep into her features. She was so sure her assumptions were correct until now.
“What’s your name?” My question takes her by surprise.
“Camille.”
“Camille. Call him. Get him on the phone and put it on speaker. Let’s ask him why he has my name and number and address and why he’s been to my house when I’ve never met him in my life.”
She looks stunned. “What?”
I’m pissed. How dare she come in here, hurling accusations at me like this. “You heard me. Let’s not screw around. We’re gonna get to the bottom of this.”
She stands up abruptly, almost knocking her stool over. “I’m not calling him. I can’t. He can’t know I’m here.”
I’m shaking my head. “Oh, no. You came in to get some answers so let’s get some answers.”
The color drains from her face, and I feel a little bad because she’s clearly scared at the thought of him finding out she’s here. But not bad enough to let this go.
“Look, I’m not trying to get you in trouble, but I’m also not going to be accused of something I haven’t done. It’s clear your husband is up to no good and it somehow involves me, so we are going to ask him about it.”
Camille pulls her purse close. “I made a mistake coming here. I obviously misunderstood.”
“And I’m misunderstanding why he has my name and personal details! Why he’s been to my house!”
Camille runs a hand through her hair. “I must have seen work information and assumed it was personal. I believe you when you say you don’t know him. This must have something to do with one of his cases. I’m so very sorry for bothering you.”
My spine straightens when she mentions his cases.
“You think this is because of a case?” Because there’s only one case my name would ever be associated with and it’s an old one. “Does this have anything to do with Paul Granger?” Paul was convicted ten years ago, but in his recent letters he’s told me he’s trying to appeal his case.
“Who did you say?” she asks, her voice just above a whisper.
“Paul. Granger.”
If I thought she looked pale before, it was nothing compared to what she looks like now.
My head tilts to the side while I study her. “I’m guessing my name didn’t ring a bell, but it’s clear Paul’s did.” She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes get big, so I push a little further. “Maybe you should do a quick search and see how we’re connected.”
We’re both startled when the door opens again. Deacon steps inside and glances from Camille to me and back at Camille. It’s obvious he’s walked into a tense situation.
He shuts the door and moves closer to the bar. Deacon is one of my housemates and can be very intimidating, especially if you don’t know him.
Camille takes him in then takes a step back.
He’s a big guy, but there’s a natural look to his size.
Muscles that come from work, not working out.
His dark hair and tan complexion are a gift from his mom, who came here from Cuba when she was just a little girl.
He works for his cousin, Chris Ricci. I know Chris owns a few bars, I know Chris is a bookie, and I know there’s a lot more I don’t know when it comes to Chris and his business endeavors.
I’m not even sure what the extent of Deacon’s job duties are, but picking up on comments he’s made, I’m convinced collections is a big part of it.
Deacon usually swings by near closing to offer me a ride home so I don’t have to walk, especially on nights like tonight when the weather is so bad.
“Aubrey, you good?”
I give him a quick nod. “I’m good.”
“I’m so sorry I bothered you.” Camille walks quickly to the door, making a wide berth around Deacon, then disappears into the night.
“What was that about?” Deacon asks.
“I’m not really sure.” I lean back against the counter, still a bit stunned by what just happened. “You know a lawyer named Benjamin Bayliss?”
Deacon shrugs one shoulder. “Heard about him but don’t know him. He’s the guy you want if you’re staring at serious time. Word is he can get you out of just about any charge.” He watches me a moment, then asks, “Why?”
I nod toward the door Camille just fled through. “That was his wife. Accused me of sleeping with her husband.”
Deacon’s eyebrows shoot up.
Holding my hand up, I add, “Before you even ask, no. I’ve never even met him.”
“So what made her think that?”