Devine's Providence: A Novel Page 21

  “Oh,” I said, surprised. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Mm-hmm,” she said. “Youngest in their history. Straight out of a full scholarship at the San Francisco Conservatory of Music. But I threw that all away. That and everything else.”

  She spoke off-handedly, as if she was talking about someone else, someone who she didn’t know all that well and didn’t particularly like.

  “You must have been pretty good,” I said.

  “After Danny died,” she said, “It didn’t take me long to hit rock bottom. The Philharmonic doesn’t tolerate the kind of lifestyle I fell into. Once I bounced back, that’s when I started working with the tabloids.”

  “You ever think about going back to playing? Even as just a hobby?”

  She shook her head dismissively.

  “That Chelsea died a long time ago. I’m a different person now. I don’t have the patience, frankly.”

  “I used to play the piano,” I said, as if I were once a great virtuoso with the Boston Symphony and not someone who plinked out “Heart and Soul” at dinner parties. “I found I don’t have the patience for that anymore, either.”

  “I pictured you as more of a saxophone guy,” she said. “Standing in the fog under a streetlight, trench coat and fedora, blowing the blues…”

  “Nah,” I said, “that’s best left to Coltrane.”

  As much as I was thoroughly living for the lighthearted banter, I couldn’t help but steer the conversation back to the serious side.

  “You know, Chelsea,” I said, “Marc’s not going to have died in vain. We’re going to find out exactly who was behind his death, and why. I promise.”

  She kept her back to me, but stopped flipping through the albums. She said nothing.

  Damnit, Harry.

  I was trying to be reassuring, trying to get her to open up even more, but it appeared to be having the opposite effect.

  “I know,” she said softly. “I will.”

  “We will,” I said.

  “Yes, of course.”

  I could feel the walls going back up, and sure enough, she immediately changed the subject.

  “Aha!” she exclaimed, taking out a record. “This is more like it.”

  She held up the Rolling Stones’ “Let it Bleed” album.

  “A classic,” I said. I knew it was a deflection, but I also knew enough to let it slide for now.

  I stood up and took Coltrane off the turntable. She handed me the Stones and I set it up, putting the needle at the beginning. The opening minor key guitar riff and vocal ooooohs of “Gimme Shelter” pumped out into the room. Chelsea took three long sips, finishing her drink, then grabbed my hands.

  She pulled me over to her and started dancing. I was not nearly as good of a fast dancer as I was a slow dancer, and just kind of bumbled to and fro awkwardly along with her. She sensed my discomfort and laughed.

  “Come on,” she said. “Dance like no one’s watching. It’s just us.”

  She pushed and pulled with my hands to try to get me to loosen up, but it was of little use. I could bluff and charm my way through many different scenarios, but I couldn’t fake my way into being Kevin Bacon so quickly.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Two left feet.”

  Chelsea pulled me closer and grasped my left hand. She put my right hand around her waist.

  “So we’ll slow dance,” she said. “I know you’re good at that.”

  She leaned in close and our bodies swayed in a tight circle in the middle of the room. She looked up at me and smiled.

  “Much better,” she said. There was a look in her eyes—a brief hesitation, like she was about to make a momentous decision, then she grabbed the back of my head and pulled me in to kiss her.

  It was a long, sensuous, hungry, deep kiss, and I felt my entire body explode into a firework of a million little butterflies and flit away, out to all corners of the earth.

  When we finally pulled apart, I stood still, dazed. Chelsea glared at me with an animal look in her eyes, a look that I very much liked being on the receiving end of.

  “You’re drunk,” I said.

  “I know exactly what I’m doing,” she said.

  “I never doubt that, but—oof!”

  She pushed my chest hard with both hands. I tripped backward over my own feet and fell into a sitting position on the sofa. She straddled me, held my face in her hands and leaned in close.

  “I assure you, Mr. Devine, I’m in complete control.”

  “For the love of God,” I said, “call me Harry.”

  We kissed again. A wild, insatiable kiss this time that started with her mouth but made detours along her neck and ended with her biting my lower lip.

  “Oh, Harry…” she whispered.

  Oh all that is heavenly above, is this really happening?

  She tore her t-shirt off over her head and I sat up to kiss her chest, my arms wrapped around her. Since my hands were back there already, I put them to work on unclasping her bra.

  There was a point in my life, in my younger days, when I could just look hard enough at a bra to unfasten it. One-handed or even blindfolded, just a snap of Harry Devine’s fingers would do the trick, anytime, anyplace.

  But it had been a few years, admittedly, since I had been able to practice this skillset. And despite all the advances of technology, it has been a woefully long time since the brassiere clasp has last been updated. We have refrigerators that can tell us when we’re low on milk, but we can’t take off women’s undergarments without an Ikea-like instruction manual.

  It was inevitable, then, that Chelsea sense my fumbling frustration.

  “Just leave it on,” she said between intense kisses.

  Curses.

  She pushed me into the back of the sofa and tore open the shirt Terry had given me, ripping several buttons off in the process and sending them scattering around the room. Good riddance, as far as I was concerned.

  Glad I didn’t wear that polo.

  She leaned down and roughly kissed my neck. It crossed my mind that I hadn’t had a hickie since high school, and wondered if my shirt collar would cover it should I get one now. The ultimate ruling was that I didn’t bloody well care.

  Her lips moved down to my chest. Her hands were all over me; wrapped around my neck, caressing my face, tugging at my hair. She was ravaging me, and I her. I had never been a part of such raw, animal passion before, not even with my ex-wife.

  Christ, Harry, let’s not think about her right now, shall we?

  Chelsea’s hands made their way down over the front of my pants and found a grip. That was one signal even I couldn’t miss.

  Devine, this is tower control. All systems are go, you are clear for take-off. Godspeed.

  I stood, picking Chelsea clear up in the process. Her legs wrapped around my waist.

  I placed her back down horizontally onto the sofa.

  I tell ya, love, sister, is just a kiss away,

  If this were a movie, this is the part where the camera would zoom out, all the way out, a tracking shot out the window—leaving just our moaning and gasping audible until the scene faded to black.

  But life, as I’ve often had to face, isn’t the movies.

  For once in my goddamned life, that’s a good thing.

  • • •

  I awoke sometime during the night, reaching for Chelsea, but finding nothing. We had pulled the sofa bed out at some point, and used the added surface area to its full potential. I sat up, my eyes squinting in the moonlight. I finally saw her beautiful silhouette by the window.

  She was leaning on the record player, wearing nothing except the shirt Terry had picked out for me. She had the window open and the wooden blinds pulled up, and was taking a drag from a cigarette.

  “Hey,” I said. “Everything okay?”

&
nbsp; “Just divine,” she said. I couldn’t see her wry smile through the shadows, but I knew it was there.

  There was a sweet, herbal smell in the air. It took me a bit to realize it was coming from Chelsea’s cigarette.

  “Want a hit?” she asked.

  “No, thanks,” I said. “Not my thing. Where did you even get…”

  “Terry,” said Chelsea. “And let me tell you, she knows what she’s doing.”

  I laughed and shook my head.

  “It’s only a matter of time before weed becomes legal,” I said. “What’s she going to do then? Start cooking meth?”

  “I asked her that, actually,” she said. “That’s when she plans on retiring.”

  “She’s an odd duck.”

  “Odd, sure. But nice. Genuinely nice. Like you. And even Lieutenant Zachetti.”

  She put out her joint and laid down next to me.

  “Even Zachetti, huh?” I asked.

  “He takes some getting used to, but he has a good heart.”

  “There’s not too many people that see that. But yeah, he’s one of the best guys I know.”

  “I don’t usually deal with such nice, kind-hearted types in my line of work. I spend my time scraping away at people until I can see underneath the niceness. And it’s always ugly on the inside.”

  She propped herself up on one elbow.

  “Except for you three,” she continued. “I mean, I hate the circumstances that brought us together. I would give anything to get Marc back. But I feel so incredibly lucky that I was able to meet you folks when I did. You make me realize that there’s still good left in the world. I tend to lose sight of that.”

  “I don’t think we’re such an anomaly,” I said. “I think most people are good, by nature. Not all the power-hungry, corrupt despots you deal with maybe. But ordinary people, in general.”

  “Just thinking that,” she said, “makes you definitely one of the good ones. I may not agree with you, but I love that you believe that.”

  “You’ll come around. I’ll show you.”

  She looked away, saying nothing, until I brushed her hair away from her face. Her green eyes sparkled in the moonlight.

  “I think it goes without saying,” I said, “but I also feel incredibly lucky that I was able to meet you.”

  “Oh, I bet you do.”

  “So aren’t we just two of the luckiest people, then?”

  A detached wistfulness came over her, but she simply whispered, “Indeed.”

  My finger traced the outline of the angel wing tattoos on her bosom. She took my hand and placed it on her breast. I leaned over and our lips met. Our kiss was much more intimate, much less hurried and fevered than those we shared earlier. Our mouths remained in contact with each other’s even as she climbed on top of me.

  Fade to black.

  Chapter 17

  THE LETTER

  Mr. Devine,

  Words cannot express how sorry I am to do this to you. Please know that it is only because I have grown to care so much for you.

  I’m continuing the investigation by myself. I treasure more than you could ever imagine the kindness and helpfulness you, Terry, and Lt. Zachetti have shown me. I know how much you all have put on the line for me, and I will never be able to repay you. I would have been unable to have made it this far alone.

  However, the more I get to know each of you (especially you, Mr. Devine), the more I see what good people you are and how completely unfair it is for me to put you at any sort of risk at all. Tonight has made me realize that I’ve gotten too close, which will just complicate things. You all have lives and livelihoods to worry about in Providence, and I’ve come in and disrupted all of that. I’ve spent my life after my husband’s death losing everyone I love because of my actions, I can’t let that happen again.

  Do not try to find me or contact me, it will only put you in more danger. Please know that this is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I wish you nothing but the best, Harry, which is what you deserve. Give my love and appreciation to Terry and Jake.

  Thank you,

  CW

  Chapter 18

  PANIC IN THE STREETS

  My burner phone was buzzing loudly on the table next to me. I rubbed my face and looked around. Sunlight was flooding the room. The sheets on the pull-out were bunched up in the middle of the mattress, and Chelsea wasn’t around.

  I grabbed the phone and saw a missed call from Terry. I slugged down the scotch left in the glass next to me and dialed her back.

  “Harry?” she answered.

  “Terry, you saucy minx you,” I chided. “You have fun last night, or what?”

  “Harry, I’m down in the War Room. Chelsea’s missing. She’s not here.”

  I chuckled.

  “Yeah, she uh, spent the night out. Hold on a sec.”

  I got up and padded out to the reception area. She wasn’t in the bathroom. Or the kitchenette. Or the office. It wasn’t until I went back into the sitting room that I saw the note on the pillow next to mine.

  “Terry,” I said into the phone. “You’d better come up here.”

  • • •

  “What the fuck did you say to her, Harry?”

  Zachetti was pacing around the office, as if I had simply misplaced Chelsea and she was to be found in a seldom-used drawer or back corner of a closet.

  “What do you mean what did I say to her? You read the letter. I didn’t chase her away.”

  “Couldn’t keep it your pants though, could you?”

  “Excuse me? She came on to me…not that it matters. We’re both adults.”

  “We stick our necks out for her, and then she just bolts? I’m living under a microscope because of her.”

  “That’s on us as much as it’s on her. You’re the one that flew her back out here to get this whole ball rolling.”

  “And for what? So she could ditch us as soon as we start making headway? What if she gets caught and blows us up?”

  “She won’t.”

  “You don’t know that, Harry.”

  “I do.”

  Zachetti stopped pacing and glared down at me, his face red.

  “That’s easy for you say. I have a family to support, Harry.”

  Ooooh, you fucker.

  As much as I wanted to grab a stepladder so I could punch him in the face, I let the barb slide.

  “I’m telling you she won’t,” I said. “But we need to find her anyway.”

  “Baah,” scoffed Zachetti. “Let her rot.”

  Terry had been sitting quietly, wringing her hands.

  “She needs our help,” she said. “She doesn’t even have any place to go. We can’t abandon her.”

  “She abandoned us!” shouted Zachetti.

  Terry stood up and marched over to Zachetti. She got in close and pointed her index finger in his face.

  “You listen to me now, Lieutenant,” she said. “You’re nothing but a big old bully. I’m an old lady. I won’t be yelled at by the likes of you anymore.”

  Zachetti blinked in surprise. I rubbed my chin and covered my mouth with my hand to hide my smirk. Terry began poking Zachetti in his stomach. Anyone else attempting this would have their arm broken for sure, but Zachetti was unreactive to Terry.

  “That poor girl is out there all alone,” she said. “She’s our friend. We’re in this together, like it or not.”

  Zachetti’s eyes narrowed.

  “She clearly doesn’t see it that way,” he said softly.

  “Look, Jake,” I said, “Terry’s right. I, more than anyone, know what it’s like to be scared to get close to someone. I know how strong the impulse is to push everyone away so you don’t hurt them—or get hurt yourself. And that’s what Chelsea’s doing.”

  “She’s not u
sed to being able to trust people,” said Terry. “Poor thing doesn’t know how to handle it.”

  Zachetti sighed.

  “Plus,” I said, “She’s come to mean a lot to me. She’s the first person I’ve really been able to connect with…that I’ve allowed myself to…in a very long time. I can’t…I won’t let anything happen to her. She could be in real danger. They’ve already killed to protect their secrets, they won’t hesitate to do it again. Now I’m going to look for her.”

  “We’re going to look for her,” said Terry.

  “Right. We. Now you don’t have to help us, you can just walk away and put this whole mess in your rearview mirror. But we’d love to have you along.”

  Terry gave an agreeing nod. Zachetti looked at both of us staring at him and crossed his arms.

  “Jake,” I said, “What’s right is right.”

  He exhaled through his nostrils and set his jaw.

  “Fuck it all,” he said under his breath. “We’ve come this fucking far.”

  Terry wrapped her arms as much as she could around him in a hug. His eyes grew wide in surprise. I couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

  “How the hell are we even going to find her?” asked Zachetti. “She could be anywhere, and we have nothing to go on.”

  “I’m sure between the three of us we can figure it out,” said Terry. “After all, we’re detectives!”

  Zachetti rolled his eyes.

  • • •

  Our first step was to try to think where Chelsea might lead her investigation next. “We need to get inside her mind,” said Zachetti.

  “Good luck with that,” I replied. “I’ve been trying to do that since I met her.”

  She would need to figure what else Frank Temple was gaining from the SmartPark business, what it was he was so eager to protect that it meant paying off all those people and killing off Marc Winters. We were her biggest resources, so she would have to make herself more vulnerable. She’d have to be out in the open now.

  We checked the Registry of Deeds, libraries, coffee shops, anywhere a researcher with no place to work would go to get stuff done, but found no Chelsea. Her burner phone had been switched off and our calls went straight to voicemail.