The Crooked Street

41

Frost didn’t know when or if Fawn would call him back. His phone was dead quiet as he drove home from the yacht harbor. The rain had started again. The next wave of the storm was stronger and harder than the morning showers. A deluge poured across his windshield. He climbed the sharp peaks of Russian Hill and watched rivers flooding back down the asphalt. It wasn’t even safe to stop at the uphill intersections; all he could do was slow down and keep driving upward with his foot on the gas. By the time he arrived home, it was almost eleven o’clock. He opened his truck door and ran for the stairs, and in the few fast paces it took him to get there, he was drenched.

Someone was waiting for him.

She sat in the pouring rain at the top of the steps. Her red hair was pasted to her face and neck. She stood up as he climbed to his front door.

Tabby.

“I’m sorry to ambush you,” she said.

Frost shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“We need to talk.”

“I know. Come on in.”

He let them both inside, where it was warm. She wasn’t dressed for the downpour. All she wore was a simple blue dress with spaghetti straps. She shivered, and water dripped from her skin in the foyer.

“Do you want some dry clothes?” he asked. “I probably have something upstairs you could put on.”

“No. Not right now.” Her voice sounded low and distressed. She kicked off her heels; her feet were bare. She was nothing like the girl who’d danced and sung with him two days earlier.

“Well, wrap yourself in a blanket,” he said. “I have to go rescue Shack.”

“Where is he?”

“I made a little nest for him in the attic. I couldn’t take him with me today, and I wanted him out of the way in case I had visitors.”

Tabby made no effort to move from the foyer, and he went to the living room and grabbed a fleece blanket and came back and wrapped it around her. He led her to the sofa, where she sat down and made a cocoon around herself. He got a towel from the kitchen, and she used it to dry her face.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

Frost ran upstairs. There was a drop-down ladder in the walk-in closet that led to the attic, and he lowered it to the floor, leaving a rectangular hole above him. Shack’s unhappy face peered over the edge. Frost climbed to the top of the ladder and let the cat hop onto his shoulder.

“Sorry about that, buddy,” he said. “This was for your own good.”

He descended to the closet floor, and Shack jumped down and began to review the house to make sure nothing had changed while he was locked away. Frost didn’t bother changing his own wet clothes. He went downstairs and poured two glasses of brandy at the bar for himself and Tabby.

When he handed it to her, he watched her silently close her eyes as she took a sip. He did, too, feeling a river of warmth in his chest. Shack walked along the top edge of the sofa and shoved his nose into Tabby’s wet hair. It was enough to bring a fleeting smile to her lips.

Finally, her emerald eyes opened, and she stared at Frost. “You know, right? About me and Duane?”

“Yes. I know.”

“I’m sorry,” Tabby said. “I’ve been trying to call you. I wanted you to hear it from me. I wanted to explain.”

“You don’t owe me any explanations,” he said.

“Did you see Duane?” she asked.

“I did.”

“How is he?”

“He’s devastated. He loves you, Tabby.”

“I know he does.” Just as the rain had dried on her face, she began to cry in front of him. Her shoulders shook, and she talked through her tears. “Believe me, I didn’t want it to go like this. I wanted to still be in love with him. I wanted to feel the way I did last summer. The thing is, I just don’t. I realized that the other night. Those feelings are gone. They’ve been gone for a while, and I couldn’t pretend anymore. That’s not fair to him or me.”

“I have to ask,” Frost said. “Are you really sure? You told me it was a phase. I don’t want to see you throw something away and then find out you wish you still had it.”

Tabby shook her head. “I’ve been lying to myself. I kept thinking things would change long after I knew they wouldn’t. He’s a wonderful person, but we’re not right for each other. I can’t make it into something it’s not. And I’m sure he hates me for it, and I’m sure you hate me now, too. I broke your brother’s heart.”

“I feel terrible for both of you,” Frost said. “But I don’t hate you.”

She finished the rest of the brandy and held out her glass so he could pour her another. He went to the bar and got her a double. He’d finished his own and he wanted more, but the last thing he could afford to do was get drunk with her again.

“Here you go,” he said, handing her the glass. “Drink it slowly.”

Instead, she drank all of it in one burning swallow. Her hands were trembling as she returned the empty glass to him. As she did, she looked at his face and reached out and grazed her fingertips across the bruise on his cheek. When he grimaced, she pulled her hand away.

“What happened?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Frost, come on. Tell me.”

“Duane and I got into it. He took a swing at me. I took a swing back. I lost my cool. It wasn’t good.”

“Why did Duane hit you?”

Frost didn’t answer her. It didn’t matter, because he could see that Tabby already knew the truth. Her wide-open green eyes held him in their grasp, and he was powerless to look away.

“Duane said some things to me when I told him it was over,” she murmured.

“What things?”

“He accused me of being in love with you,” Tabby said. “He said I was breaking up with him because of you.”

“Duane was upset. I’m sure he said things he didn’t mean.”

“Oh, he meant what he said,” Tabby replied. “I wanted to deny it. The thing is, the other night — with you and me—”

“The other night we were very, very drunk.”

“We were going to kiss,” she murmured. “Weren’t we?”

“Tabby, it didn’t mean anything.”

Her eyes widened. “It didn’t mean anything? Really? Because it meant something to me. It made me realize I couldn’t marry Duane when I felt the way I did being with you.”

“Tabby, don’t do this.”

“Duane says you’re in love with me, too,” she murmured. “Is he right?”

“Maybe you should go,” he said.

“Do you want me to go?”

Frost shook his head. “No, but you should.”

“He told me it was never just him and me in our relationship. You were always there between us.”

“And what did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything. Just like you’re not saying anything. It seems like we’re both afraid of something, Frost. What are we afraid of?”

She undid the cocoon of the blanket around herself. Her clothes were still wet. She nudged closer to him on the sofa until their thighs brushed together. Behind the dampness, he could smell her perfume. Her lips parted, ready to be kissed. Her eyes were full of wonder about what would happen next.

“Do you want to take me upstairs?” she asked quietly.

“I can’t do that.”

“But you want to. I know you want to. Right? It’s not just me.”

“Don’t ask me that, Tabby.”

“I’m putting myself out there for you, Frost. I’m tired of lying about what I feel. I’m tired of both of us lying. Last fall, I came to your door and asked if we had a big problem. You knew exactly what I meant, but you said no. Ever since then, I’ve assumed it was just me, that I was the only one feeling something. But that’s not true, is it?”

Frost stood up from the sofa. He ran his hand back through his wet hair and stared at the ceiling. “Tabby, stop. Just stop. It can’t be like this between us. What I feel or don’t feel doesn’t matter. Duane is my brother. There couldn’t be anything between you and me before, and there can’t be anything between us now.”

She stared at him in horror. “Oh, hell, what have I done?”

“You haven’t done anything.”

Tabby put down her glass and got up and pushed past him. She marched across the carpet to the foyer and began shoving her feet back into her heels. “No, you’re right, I should go. It was wrong of me to put you in this position. I’m sorry for coming here, Frost. What the hell was I thinking? Please forgive me. I can’t do this to you, I can’t, I can’t, I won’t.”

“Tabby, wait.”

But she was gone. She rushed out through the front door and left him alone. Frost followed her onto the porch, where the rain blew in across his body and soaked him all over again. He saw the taillights of her car as she drove away. He was in love with her, and she was leaving him behind, just as he’d asked her to do. He was mad at her for making him choose. He was mad at Duane for giving him only one choice. Most of all, he was mad at himself for walking into a disaster he’d seen coming a mile away.

His silent grief was broken by the ringing of his phone.

He almost didn’t answer it, because he assumed that Tabby was calling from her car. But he checked, and it wasn’t her.

Instead, he recognized the number he’d been calling all week.

“Inspector Easton,” an intoxicating Indian voice said when he answered. “This is Fawn. We need to meet.”