Paying The Piper - 8. Chapter 8

Cale didn't move until he felt more in control. Then he swiftly made his way out of the apartment and down the stairs. He circled around the back of the house to reach the car, feeling far too off-balance to deal with polite goodbyes. But as he passed behind the tall hedge that circled the outdoor patio, he heard whispering. He slowed his pace despite himself and strained to pick up the conversation. He recognized both Marci and Jim's voices, but little else. There was, however, no mistaking the tension in the heated whispers. Suddenly the whispering stopped, and the patio door opened and closed. Giving a shaky sigh, Cale continued toward the car.

As he passed near Jim's front door, he heard Quent's voice ring out.

"I'll be back, Marcus."

"I'm sure you will. Don't worry. I'll be here." Drew's voice, rough with desire two minutes before, was now flat and emotionless. Cale hovered just outside, listening.

Marci spoke next. "And what are you doing dragging Cale around with you? Is that really appropriate?"

Cale wondered that himself.

"That's hardly your business, Ms. Patterson. I assure you, it's perfectly ethical."

"If you insist," Marci shot back. "But I'm sure Elizabeth is frantic with worry for him."

Cale heard Quent snort. "I highly doubt that."

Drew's voice cut in. "Cale's married to Elizabeth…McCoy?"

"Yes, that's right," Marci clarified. "Do you know Elizabeth?"

A pregnant silence followed in which Cale was sure Quent was waiting expectantly for Drew to answer. "Only in passing," he said. "I met her at the mall the other day."

Cale didn't want to hear any more. He slipped past the door unnoticed and trudged back to the car. He leaned against the door, waiting for Quent.

Fatigue overpowered him, providing an appropriate counterpoint to his disappointment.

**********

Quent didn't bother asking Cale whether he wanted to go home. He simply drove him there. The only words of support he offered were, "Sleep. Now," which Cale took to heart. He shuffled up the stairs to his bedroom, stripped out of his clothes, and slipped between the sheets. The cotton was blessedly cool and the room dark as a tomb.

It suited his mood.

Later, he heard Elizabeth pass through the room on her way to the shower. He vaguely noticed her dressing and putting on her makeup as he dozed on and off. She finished in half her usual time and did her best to slip out of the room quietly. Cale glanced at the clock as she closed the door behind her. Six-fifteen. He'd been in bed for four hours but doubt if he'd slept even fifteen minutes. With a sigh, he threw back the covers and headed for the shower.

At seven o'clock, he went downstairs to find something to eat. He dialed Quent's cell phone while he made a sandwich.

"Quent."

"McCoy," Cale replied.

"Very funny. Did you rest?"

Cale cringed. "Sure. I was in bed for four hours." Technically, not a lie.

Quent chewed that piece of information over. "Did you sleep?"

"Yes." Again, not a lie.

Quent gave a deep sigh and Cale wondered how the rest of his friend's day had panned out. "You okay?" he asked as he spread mustard on his sandwich.

"Yes. Are you up for a drink?"

"I don't feel like going out. Elizabeth's gone. Why don't you come over and tell me about the rest of your afternoon. Did you get the autopsy results?"

In the background, Cale heard papers shuffling. "Yes," Quent said. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

"I'll be waiting," Cale replied. He topped his sandwich off with a pickle, grabbed a beer, and went into the living room to wait.

**********

As promised, Quent arrived exactly ten minutes later. Cale handed his friend a glass of scotch and steered him toward the couch. For himself, he grabbed another beer and sprawled in a large chair close by. For several minutes, they enjoyed a comfortable silence. The kind that only exists between the best of friends. Quent was loathe to break it. He did anyway.

"What's going on between you and Marcus?" He had hoped the question, seemingly out of the blue, would shock Cale. He hadn't, however, expected the poor boy to nearly choke to death on his beer.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Cale wheezed when he had stopped sputtering.

Bingo, thought Quent. "You tell me."

"I thought you were here to talk about the case."

"Well, not totally."

Cale sprang from his chair and stalked to the bar. Rather than grab a third beer, though, he poured a healthy dose of scotch for himself. Quent looked on with interest. "There's a good reason why you don't drink too much, am I correct?"

Cale ignored him and killed the double shot in two gulps. He immediately poured another. Quent rolled his eyes. "Care to share your early-life crisis with an old man who needs a laugh?"

Cale shot him a dirty look. He returned to the couch with his glass and the bottle. "No, I don't," he said as he collapsed back into his chair.

Quent watched him carefully. "I want to help, Cale," he said.

Cale's hand tightened on his glass. "I appreciate that. But I don't want to talk about it."

Quent saw Cale closing himself off. That hadn't been the goal of the evening so he switched tactics. "Tell me, did you know Cynthia Mullen was in a relationship with Braden White?"

Cale groaned. "You've got the wrong McCoy, Quent. If it's gossip you want, talk to Elizabeth."

"No, thank you." Quent sniffed. "Did you know, then, that this Marcus fellow has been in town just over a week and has already managed to make a friend of just about everyone?"

"Sounds like a likable guy," Cale said into his scotch.

Quent sighed and rose to make himself another drink. He snagged the remnants of Cale's dinner on the way. "All right. How about this, then? What would one be doing driving out on Powder Mill Road?"

Cale frowned. "I can't imagine. Since my father shut the Mill down, that road leads absolutely nowhere. I guess the local kids might use it at night, but beyond that…I have no idea."

Quent returned to the couch. He swallowed the last bite of Cale's sandwich. "One last question. Why would Cynthia think her brother was a 'nutcase'?"

Cale blinked. "Did she say that?"

"Purportedly."

For several seconds, Cale stared off into space. He twirled the tumbler of scotch in his hand. "From what I remember of Steve Mullen, he can fly off the handle pretty easily. And I suspect he didn't care for her…activities. Beyond that, I don't know. Have you tried talking to Sarah Cross?"

Quent arched an eyebrow. "No," he drawled. "Why would I do that?"

"She and Cynthia were best friends."

"I thought you weren't a gossip, Cale."

Cale shifted in his chair. "That's not gossip, you idiot, that's a well-known fact. Frankly, I'm surprised you haven't gotten in touch with her already."

"I've had a busy day," Quent snapped.

Cale smiled. "I know. I was only kidding." Quent sneered at him and Cale laughed softly. Only Quent could ease his mind like this – with so little effort.

"Are you going to tell me about your afternoon?" he asked.

"If you insist."