Eileen Slovak

Chapter Forty-two: Not Your Average Boy Scout

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and locales are products of the author’s imagination. They are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is coincidental. Copyright © 2024 by Eileen Slovak.

Scott

I spend the week wrapping up the interviews with Sean’s family, friends, and former coworkers in Rhode Island. I met with Slumansky on Friday to give him the latest update. The trip to Arkansas resolved some issues but created a few new questions. When I was in Arkansas, I drove the route again, measured the skid marks and resurveyed the scene. I reviewed the insurance adjusters report again, and reread the police report. Sean was driving double the speed limit. The mechanics report finally came back revealing what I suspected all along. The breaks, tires and basic mechanics of the vehicle were in perfect working order. I asked the mechanic why he thought the airbags didn’t deploy. He said he would take another look, promising to get back to me.

      Sean was chasing someone. A woman he knew. A woman he was talking to right before the accident. I still can’t access his cell phone. I’ve used every hack Jeff recommended, so I sent him the phone. He knows people who can get into it. I had forgotten I had Sean’s mail in my file until I got to the office. Although I remembered to mention to Mr. Campbell that they should issue a forwarding order.   

     My only loose ends were Sean’s former girlfriends, Patricia Iannuccilli, who was proving to be elusive, and Scarlet. I need to figure out which one of them was there that day. I approach Slumansky with my theory that Sean committed suicide. I add that in an effort to spare the family any further anguish, I want to be thorough, but not drag this out.

      “Look kid, the family isn’t in any hurry, so what’s your rush? You have free digs, we get paid by the hour, plus they have more money than sense. You know what I’m saying?”

      Slumansky is tossing take-out scraps toward a plate on the floor near his desk. A large calico cat sits patiently waiting.

      “Pussy, meet Pretty Boy. I’m sure that’s never been a problem for you,” he laughs.

      I sigh, biting my tongue. It would be so easy to pull my handgun out of my waistband to scare the crap out this guy. Unfortunately, I need this job.  

      “Don’t be such a damn Boy Scout. Hey, that’s a good new nickname for you. Alright, get lost. I have my own work to do.”

      I guess anything is better than Pretty Boy. I let the door slam as I leave the office.

     On Saturday evening, I drive to Scarlet’s apartment, arriving at 8 p.m. sharp. I knock on the front door. Scarlet’s lovely landlady, Mrs. Adams let me in. Mrs. Adams asks me to wait in the entryway while she gets something from inside her apartment. She returns with two cookie tins which she informs me are Snickerdoodles. I’m instructed that one tin is for me and one is for Scarlet. I thank her. When she goes back inside, I walk upstairs to Scarlet’s apartment.

Scarlet doesn’t ask me in, tosses the cookie tin inside, then grabs her purse locking the door behind her. I assume either she’s not much of a housekeeper or else she doesn’t trust me yet.

      I open the door of my red Ford F150 pick-up for her. She has to hop up in order to get in. I spent two hours this afternoon at the car wash, vacuuming and cleaning the truck until it was immaculate. I lay my tin of cookies on the seat in the back. Before we take off, I check to make sure the glove box is locked. I stashed my gun in there earlier; it didn’t seem like a good accessory to bring on a date.

      “I don’t want you getting any ideas about my Snickerdoodles,” I say.

      “I wouldn’t dream of touching your Snickerdoodles. Besides, I have my own.”

      Scarlet plugs the address into her phone for a seafood restaurant downtown called The Blue Fin. Navigation shows that it’s only ten minutes away. I pull into the valet parking line amid a line of luxury cars. I hadn’t expected the restaurant to be so fancy, feeling under dressed in black jeans and a white dress shirt. No matter, clothes are just another disguise for people to hide behind.

      “I’m thinking you’re in charge of all future reservations, since you’re much better at this than I am.”

      I realize too late that I used the word future. Too much on a second date. My sense is this was not lost on Scarlet.

      “Years of practice. I’m glad you’re letting me off the hook after last time. I guess we couldn’t have predicted calamity Cassidy and the power you seemed to wield over her young mind.”

      “Ouch, you’re being pretty hard on poor Cassidy. Don’t make me feel sorry for her now.”

      “I requested a male waiter when I made this reservation, just in case.”

      The place has a lively atmosphere. Scarlet says the seafood is excellent and the wine is cold, buttery and oaky just the way she likes it. I’m not a big wine drinker, but I agree to try it. My new approach is to let her be in charge; it seems to put her more at ease. The waiter is attentive without being overly invasive. The Blue Fin proves to be an exquisite choice. This evening shows promise.

      While we eat, an argument rages in my mind. It’s the same one I’ve been having with myself since we first met. I’m fairly convinced there’s no real connection between Scarlet and the case. She and Sean were over months prior. That was that. Either way, I rationalize if I find myself in a relationship with Scarlet, eventually I’ll have to tell her. That’s a worry for later.

I feel a fleeting moment of guilt for already knowing so much about her. I only know the hard facts of her background. It’s nice to hear the more personal details she adds when talking about herself. I set my doubts aside. She no longer has contact with Sean’s family or his friends, as things go with breakups. Maybe she’ll never need to know. After all, case files are private.

      I entertain Scarlet with stories about my Navy buddies. Recounting pranks the guys played on each other to pass the time and about some of our close calls.

      “You miss it. I can tell.”

      “Sometimes. I miss the camaraderie. I stay in touch with some of the guys, but it’s not my life anymore.”

      “Why did you leave?”

      “Things happen. It was time.”

      With this curt answer, I look away. Back in my shell, I’m in duck and cover mode again. Sensing she’s struck a nerve; she changes the subject.

      “How’s your case going? Are you close to wrapping things up?”

      “Yes, I think so. I have to make a trip to Boston to tie up some loose ends.”

      “It must be nice to have the freedom to go wherever a case takes you. I guess you’ll be going back to Florida or somewhere else afterwards then?”

      “I don’t know. I have to see where the next case takes me. Maybe North Carolina.”

      I’ve heard that the way a person dances says a lot about how they are in bed. I feel like I can tell more by the way a person eats. After all, anyone can take dance lessons. Scarlet enjoys her food. She doesn’t push it around on her plate like some women do. She savors it, relishes the flavors, taking her time. Watching her eat is a sensual experience.

     The restaurant is getting crowded and warm, so we finish our wine in the lounge area. The Blue Fin lounge is so unique, Scarlet says she wants me to see it. The room is shaped like the bow of a boat. The railing is encased in glass sliding doors for the winter. Out here, it’s much quieter and cooler since the glass at night provides little insulation. During the day, Scarlet adds that it’s famous for its stunning panoramic view of Narragansett Bay. Now the inky water is like a pool of oil. The lights of the city landscape bounce off ripples on the reflective surface. Scarlet leans against the wooden railing peering out. I stand behind her with one arm on each side of her, holding onto the railing. My cheek brushes hers. I’m searching for what has stolen her thoughts. Though I feel the warmth of her body, she shivers.

      “We can go back inside if you’re cold.”

      “I’m fine,” she says, still trembling. When she turns to face me, I kiss her without hesitation. I’ve guessed right, she likes to savor…slow, deep, warm, penetrating, but not intrusive. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she presses her body against mine. My attraction to this woman who I hardly know is a baseless, raw physical sensation, but not entirely new. I worry about how I’ll manage to control it.

      “Does this mean we’re more than friends now?” She asks.

      I wrap my hands around her face, kissing her long, strong, and probing. Our eyes meet. Hers are jade with flecks of gold like a deep, dark forest, where a man can seriously lose his way.

      “This means it’s time to go,” I say.

      The drive home is silent. My right-hand rests on her left thigh. The heat of my body flows through to her. Scarlet doesn’t seem to care to ask any more questions. When we arrive at her house, she wordlessly takes my hand and leads me upstairs. We’re climbing the stairs to her apartment, operating on pure physical will. She can turn me away at the door. I’ll leave if asked, reluctantly. I know we both sense what letting me in means. I don’t know if in her mind she’s ready for this step or if I’m even the right person to take it with. She doesn’t seem to be over analyzing it. Leading me with her body, she remains quiet.

Barely inside the door, we’re kissing again, tearing at each other, removing garments at record speed. She doesn’t bother with the lights. My jacket hits the floor. With one hand, I remove her shirt. She unbuttons mine. Removing it, I press my body against hers. She lets out a small gasp. Our movements accelerate as the kissing intensifies, as if devouring each other completely is our ultimate goal. We grope around in the dark, managing to find the carpet. Distracted by her soft, smooth skin, I let go. Her body is solid, her touch tender. In one swift movement, I grasp the backs of her knees, pulling her underneath me. It feels like we’re in the black waves, breathing in the clean, crisp ocean air. She tastes salty, sweet, familiar and delicious. We both give in to going under, without a care.