Down the Darkest Street Read Online Free PDF Page B

pocket. He heard a rustling sound. His cat, Costello—named for Elvis, not Lou—appeared from under the large dining table in the middle of the main room. The table stood next to an old couch, a dark red recliner, and a beat-up coffee table. The cat started rubbing his face against Pete’s leg. He put his bag down on one of the dining chairs and picked up the cat, rubbing his chin as he walked toward the kitchen.
    “Hello?”
    Where was she? he wondered. The house looked the same—she hadn’t left many signs that she’d just moved in, Pete thought.
    He let Costello drop to the floor and walked to the kitchen counter. That’s when he heard a drawer closing in her room. She was getting dressed.
    He picked up the stack of envelopes on the counter and scanned them. Two pieces of junk mail. A telephone bill that was already a week overdue and a letter addressed to him. He looked at the return address: The Carver Family. Pete felt a tightening in his chest. He looked across the kitchen to the opposite wall; near the landline phone—which existed for no other reason than Pete’s desire to keep the house as close to what it looked like when his father lived there—was a calendar for the month of October. Circled was the twelfth, a week from tomorrow. A year since his best friend Mike had died, overcome by flame and metal as his car exploded around him. An explosion Pete should have seen coming. An explosion that was Pete’s fault. He knew what the card was: a memorial of some kind. He let it drop back on the counter as he turned to the hallway.
    Emily stood in the doorway to the kitchen, her head turned to Pete, having just noticed him on her way out. She was wearing a black skirt, black heels, and a short-sleeved white blouse. He could smell her perfume. He hated himself for still being able to name it. He hated her for not changing it. She was going out.
    “Oh, hey.”
    “Hey,” Pete said.
    “I didn’t hear you come in.”
    “Heading out?”
    “Yeah, actually,” she said. “I’m going to meet Susan for a drink. She got off work early.”
    Pete tried to smile, but produced an awkward half-smirk instead.
    “Rick came by the store today.”
    “What? Really?”
    “Yup. He wants to talk to you.”
    “Well, no. That’s not going to happen,” she said, her arms crossing. “I have nothing to say to him.”
    “He seemed pretty desperate to talk to you.”
    “Was Dave there?”
    “Yeah, why?”
    “Did he stay calm?” Emily asked. She’d known Dave as long as Pete had, which was to say, not very long, but long enough to know he had a short fuse and wasn’t afraid to let people know about it.
    “Who’s Alice?” Pete asked.
    Pete noticed Emily’s face flush at the mention. He didn’t need her to answer to know who Alice was.
    “He mentioned her ?” She stretched out the last word a split second too long.
    “Briefly,” Pete said. “He didn’t look good. Seemed shaken up. We didn’t talk long.”
    “What did he say?”
    “What I said,” Pete said. “He wants to talk to you—about Alice.”
    Emily stood in the doorway, her stare blank, brow furrowed. She wasn’t going to respond.
    “So Alice is the girl he fucked around with? That’s why you needed to stay here?”
    Emily’s distant gaze found focus on Pete’s face. Her eyes narrowed and he noticed her fists clench. He’d seen her dance close to this line before, but that was in another life. He didn’t have to take it in this one. He raised his hand.
    “Don’t go postal on me,” Pete said. “I’m just telling you what happened and making a reasonable assumption.”
    “Why do you have to be so fucking logical about everything?”
    “Would you be getting like this if Alice was his cousin from West Palm, Em?”
    She let out a sigh and entered the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and sidestepping Pete to get to the fridge. As she poured herself some water, she spoke.
    “Yes, Alice was the girl he ‘fucked around’ with.