Paying The Piper - 16. Chapter 16

Cale went to bed early. He was tired and didn’t want to deal with Elizabeth. It was a weak excuse. McCoys didn’t avoid, they confronted. His father had always said so. Since Cale had hated his father, he avoided whatever he could whenever he could. It was petty, but satisfying.

Elizabeth came in hours later. As tired as he was, Cale had yet to sleep. He felt her standing over the bed, watching him. After a few moments, she moved away. She undressed in the dark and slipped into bed quietly. Cale was surprised when he felt her press up behind him.

"Cale, honey. Awake?"

"Yes," he answered. Resentment built up in his chest. He forced it down.

Elizabeth’s hand drifted over his hip. Without thinking, he reached back and grabbed it, stilling its movement. He ached to throw it off. Instead, he simply held it firmly. "What do you want, Elizabeth?"

She sighed angrily. "What do you think?"

He pushed her hand away. "Not tonight."

In a fit of rage, she pushed him away and climbed out of bed. She stalked to the door and flipped on the overhead light. "Where are you getting it, Cale? Just tell me. Because it has to be somewhere. No one can possibly be that cold. That un-needing! So just spit it out? Who are you fucking?"

The resentment burst fee. "You lying, cheating bitch!" Cale yelled. He threw the covers off and faced her over the large bed. "I’m not the one fucking Rob Skinner!"

Elizabeth gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth. "How did you—"

Cale’s rage bubbled over. He happily let it loose. "How do I know? How do you think? Quent found the pictures Marci was using to blackmail you!"

Elizabeth gave two gasping breaths before she collapsed to the floor sobbing. "I’m so sorry. It was nothing, Cale. Nothing! Relief! Companionship! That’s it, I swear."

Cale walked around the bed toward her. "Is that supposed to justify it?"

Elizabeth looked up through her tears. "Yes. It is." She lowered her face into her hands and started crying in earnest. Cale thought he might be sick.

"What’s wrong with me?" she sobbed. "Why doesn’t anybody want me?" Cale made a disgusted sound and turned away. Elizabeth climbed to her feet and followed him. "Why? I was pawned off for marriage before I was even eighteen! Did my parents think nobody would want me otherwise? I decided to make the best of it and what did I get?" She leaned up, right into his face. Cale expected her to yell. He was shocked when her words came out whispered.

"Ten years, Cale. Eight of those in marriage. Do you know I can count on my fingers and toes the number of times you’ve touched me intimately. And you have to be half-drunk to do it. What kind of marriage is that?"

She crossed the room and sank onto the bed. "But despite it all – I do love you," she said through her tears. "Please tell me we can put all this behind us and try. Try to make this work."

Cale closed his eyes and prayed for the strength to walk away. Elizabeth sensed his hesitation and started to cry again. Great heart-wrenching sobs that made him cringe. "Ten years, Cale," she whispered. "It’s too much of our lives to throw away. Can’t we try?"

It had been a losing battle to begin with, Cale realized. He nodded.

**********

Quent jerked awake when his cell phone rang. He glanced at his watch. Twelve-thirty a.m. He grabbed his phone and stuck it to his ear. "Quent!"

"It’s Drew."

"Of course it is. You’re late. Don’t you normally call right at midnight?" Quent cursed his raspy voice.

Drew made a sound. It sounded like a laugh. Quent couldn’t be sure. His body still wasn’t functioning properly. A side effect of sleeping sitting up in his living room most likely. "Well?" he demanded.

"Sorry to wake you."

"I just bet. What do you want?"

Drew sighed but didn’t answer. Quent heard him conversing with somebody in the background. "Is that Cale?" he asked.

A long silence ensued. "No," Drew said finally.

Quent managed to stand up. His back protested loudly. "God damned chair," he muttered.

"What?"

"I said, you’re an idiot."

"That’s not what you said."

"WHY are you calling?" Quent yelled. He instantly regretted it as pain lanced through his head. He picked up the scotch and inspected the level of liquid in the bottle. He grimaced when he saw it was several inches lower than when he had opened it a few hours ago. No wonder he felt like shit.

"I’m at Sarah Cross's. She found something at Cynthia’s house this evening. She thought it might help the investigation."

"And she called…you."

"Yes." Drew sounded confused and amused.

"I’m not even going to ask."

"That’s probably for the best."

Quent cursed his pounding head. "Give me twenty minutes."

Drew consulted with the other voice. Sarah. "Fine," Drew agreed. He hung up.

**********

Quent arrived at the house of mud exactly twenty minutes later. Drew met him at the door. He was wearing khaki pants and a dark brown shirt. Quent couldn’t resist. "Say close. I might lose you inside."

Drew’s lips quirked. "Good to see your sense of humor never ebbs." He turned back into the house and Quent followed. Sarah was sitting on the brown couch. She eyed Quent warily.

"I didn’t want him to call you. But he insisted," she said tonelessly.

"I have him trained well." Drew shot Quent a reproachful look. Quent sighed. "What is it that couldn’t wait until the morning?" Sarah bit her lip. Instead of answering, she glanced over her shoulder at Drew.

"It’s Cynthia’s diary," Drew said from behind her.

"You have quite a talent for throwing your voice. It’d bring a nifty second income," Quent said to Sarah. He smirked. "Now can you make him say, ‘This isn’t a waste of your time, Quent?’" Drew groaned softly. Sarah’s eyes sparked with anger.

"Let’s get something straight, Quent. I don’t like you. But Drew insisted you were the person to call. So don’t fuck this up!"

Quent relaxed back into his chair. "I know I’m going to regret this, but…how do you know the infamous Mr. Marcus?"

The ice in her eyes melted. "He did me a big favor the other day. I just felt like…he would know what to do in this situation."

Quent plucked at the brown fringe on the couch. "You had a flat tire and he changed it?" he guessed.

Sarah looked affronted. "I can change my own flat tire."

Quent clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Of course you can."

"It was much more that a flat tire. You can’t imagine. He saved me." Quent saw Drew roll his eyes. Sarah plunged ahead. "Just when we got that horrible early summer heat wave last week, I discovered my AC had quit working. It must have happened sometime between last summer and now. The repair guys were booked for three damn days! Drew found me in tears at the hardware store, talking to some shit-for-brains kid."

"I bet that’s exactly what he was thinking."

Sarah cocked her head. "Huh?"

Quent pulled out his notebook. "Nothing." From behind the sofa, Drew sent Quent a warning look.

"Anyway," Sarah threw a warm glance over her shoulder, "he came home with me and fixed it right up. Took him two hours. He wouldn’t take a dime for the work." Drew crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his feet. He was uncomfortable with the praise, Quent realized. He found it…endearing. Almost.

Sarah was flapping her hand again. "It was so…."

"Noble?" Quent offered.

"Well…."

"Selfless?" Quent asked mockingly.

Sarah’s hand dropped back to her side. "Unusual," she said through clenched teeth.

"No doubt about that," Quent agreed.

Behind the couch, Drew was staring at the ceiling and shaking his head.

"You know," Sarah said with a sly smile. "I offered him something other than dinner. He didn’t accept." After a teasing glance at Drew, she leaned forward and whispered, "I don’t think I’m his type."

Quent gave a genuine laugh. "You have no idea."