Daryl who?”
“Daryl Hartley, Mr. Beroe. It seems you had a confrontation with him the night before last, at a party?” the officer states matter of fact.
“There was an incident with a man named Daryl. I was unaware of his last name. What’s this all about?”
“I’m Officer Dean and this is Officer Gower.” Their starched, militia-esque uniforms, eerily contrast their faces in the porch light as they move forward towards the door jam. “Do you mind if we come in?” the trooper inquires.
“Actually,” Remy holds steady. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” He bars the door with his forearm. “You want to tell me why you’re here?”
Obviously miffed, both men readjust their stance, before Officer Dean proceeds, “Mr. Hartley was reported missing. His wife stated you had an argument and suggested we check into it.”
“We did not have an argument.”
“That’s not what his wife said.”
“I was there, too, officer; Remy never argued with the man. I’m sure everyone at the party would agree.”
“Except Mrs. Hartley,” Dean replies, and both officers nod their heads arrogantly.
The cold air charging in through the open door, chills my bones, and the sight of their guns sets my stomach off. But I notice Soter has the same effect on them, before Officer Dean continues, “What was the incident about?”
“I don’t know. I was sitting on the porch, talking with a group of people I also didn’t know, and this guy put a gun to my head.”
“Mr. Hartley, put a gun to your head?”
“Yes. His wife didn’t mention that?”
“No. What did you say to him?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“What were you arguing about, when he put the gun to your head?”
“I told you before– there was no argument.”
Shuffling his feet, Dean appeals, “So what happened next?”
“Another guy, I also didn’t know, ran out of the building and took the gun away from Daryl.”
Dean shakes his head, then asks, “When was the last time you saw Mr. Hartley?”
“That evening.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“Yeah, he stumbled off the porch and into the woods after he was disarmed. That was the first, and the last, time I saw him.”
“A guy you don’t know puts a gun to your head, for no reason at all, and you don’t call the police?” Gower asks smugly.
Squeezing the door jam, Remy’s knuckles turn purple as he replies with ultimate reserve, “What exactly would you have done?”
A skeptical look is Gower’s reply before he states, “Mr. Beroe.” Before obviously changing tactic, he adds, “we’ll be in touch.” The two men walk down the porch steps and get back into their cruiser.
Closing the door, Remy heads back to his glass of wine and chopsticks.
“What was that all about?” I ask anxiously, noticing Soter still on alert until their patrol car pulls out of our driveway.
“I have no idea. Who knows? A guy like that could be dead and lying in a ditch somewhere, frankly.”
“My thoughts exactly. But why do you think his wife told the police that story?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even think she was there. I don’t remember anyone following him into the woods. Do you?”
“No! This is ridiculous! That guy threatened to kill you!”
“No. No, he never threatened me verbally.”
“Rem, he had a gun to your head!” raising my voice, Soter sits on my foot. To calm him, I purposefully lower my voice, “They were treating you like you had attacked him.” My arms fly up in the air.
“Yup,” with that eloquent response, his phone rings. Standing up, he takes the call and walks away, ending our conversation . . . just like that.
“It’s okay, Soter,” I tell myself, patting his head nestled into my thigh. “You want a treat?” I collect the Chinese food cartons, and we head into the kitchen.
Once the food is put away, I throw a folded blanket on the floor at the foot of our bed, and Soter takes to it, like an old habit. If only men were so pliable.
After changing into my flannel nightgown and sleeping pants, I grab the coconut body cream from my side table. The nightly ritual of rubbing the almost greasy lotion on my feet and hands, relaxes me, and the coconut is a welcome terpene, reminiscent of Costa Rica. Pulling warm fuzzy socks on over my new suppleness, I pick up Gyles Brandreth’s Oscar Wilde Vampire Murders and snuggle in with my headlamp. I really need to buy some bedroom furniture.