Unsightly Bulges Read online

  “Does he preach against homosexuality?” I asked.

  “Of course he does!” Dale said. “I said he was a passionate man of God, didn’t I? He preaches against all sin. He’s not afraid to speak the truth and that gets him branded a criminal.”

  I actually felt kind of bad for him. “Well, it doesn’t necessarily say he’s a known criminal. They’re just looking for people who’ve gone on record as being opposed to homosexuality.”

  “Well, yeah, maybe. But then you’d have to put, like, 98 percent of the world on that list.”

  Viv chewed her lip. “Maybe a little less than that,” she offered. “What else is on that list?”

  “Nothing, except this note scribbled at the bottom – Macon fellow? No. Macon follower? I think it says Macon follower.”

  “What Macon follower?”

  “I don’t know, that’s just what it says at the bottom.” I turned the paper her way and showed her the hand-written note at the bottom. “It just says ‘Macon follower,’ and a question mark.”

  “Matt Macon,” Dale said, and hit the back of the seat like he’d just solved the entire mystery. “The DJ. Yeah, he’s good.”

  I remembered him then. A couple of the comments I’d read the night before had referenced Macon, too. He was something of a local AM Radio Rush Limbaugh. His shtick was loud, opinionated, and superior. He talked a lot about how the current administration was ruining the country and how we’d all be talking Chinese, Spanish or Indian soon, depending on what rant he was on.

  We’d had to listen to Matt Macon every afternoon at Flo’s Bow-Wow Barbers when I first started working there. Flo’s BFF Lucy had groomed dogs for Flo practically since she opened the shop, and by the time I came to work there, she was a squat little old lady with a bun on her head, cutting doggie hair and seeing government conspiracy theories around every corner. She was a big fan of Macon. I was sad when her arthritis got so bad she had to retire, but not too sad. I moved up the career ladder from dog bather to dog groomer, and the radio dial moved from AM talk to FM classic rock.

  “I don’t know which one makes me madder,” Dale said, scowling out the window. “That they have my church on that list, or they have Matt Macon on there. Is he really supposed to be responsible for what his listeners do? Seriously? What happened to personal accountability?”

  “I don’t think they’re saying he might be responsible. Probably it’s just more of a criminal profiling thing, you know? Like, the killer probably attended this church. Probably listened to Matt Macon. It’s a way of narrowing down the list of who they’re looking for.”

  Dale raised an eyebrow at me. “Well, then according to Channel 11, I’m the killer, because you can check both those boxes off by my name.”

  I tried for a sympathetic look, but I doubted it was very convincing.

  “Frigging liberal media,” he grumbled.

  We drove in silence for a few minutes, and I tried to think of a way to get rid of Dale. I couldn’t very well use the same excuse I’d used the night before.

  I looked over my shoulder at him. “You tired?”

  He shrugged.

  “Bathing dogs is more physically demanding than most people think,” I said.

  He gave a little sneer. “If you say so. I’ve probably had a dozen jobs in the last six months that were more physically demanding than that.”

  I nodded, but inside I was thinking, A dozen jobs in the last six months? Maybe he meant six years. But still, maybe I didn’t have to worry about him working at Flo’s for very long.

  If nothing else, I could tell Bobby that Dale went to church with the snake handlers, listened to Matt Macon, and had been seen at the scene of the crime.

  “How fast are you driving this thing?” Dale asked, leaning up to look at the dash. “Do you even know what all those bells and whistles are for?”

  “I know what I need to know,” Viv said. “When that light comes on, it’s time to get gas. When that one comes on, it’s time to check the oil. When lights flash in the rearview mirror, it’s time to hit the pedal to the metal!”

  She and Dale laughed, but I didn’t find it particularly funny.

  “I’ll bet you never got this baby up as fast as she can go,” Dale said, sitting back and shaking his head. “What a waste of power.”

  Viv set her jaw. “You ever been all the way down Bond without stopping at a single red light?”

  “Viv, no. He does not need to see how you can make the length of Bond Road without stopping at a single red light.” Bond was notorious for its excessive traffic lights, and I’d already experienced one of Viv’s escapades playing chicken with them. The only way a person could make it down the entire length of Bond without stopping at a red light was if they were 1) color blind and 2) willing to sacrifice a dent or a traffic ticket for the cause of bragging rights and 3) just not that bright. It was that simple.

  “No way could you make that happen,” Dale said. “I might could do it, because I have drag racing experience. But no way do I believe you could do that.”

  “Dale, hush,” I said, for once not worrying if I sounded rude.

  “You know what I’m thinking?” Viv said. “We could cover more ground if we split up.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief and said a short prayer of gratitude for Viv’s ADD. I started to agree with her, but then stopped. What if she wanted to split up so she could get rid of me, and then she and Dale could drag race down the busiest street in town?

  I mentally debated which scenario I would hate more – if Dale and Viv had a legendary life experience and shared memory without me, or if they died in a fiery crash without me? Both possibilities felt equally bad.

  “That’s a good idea,” Dale said. “I can take the church since I know them. They’ll open up to me, tell me things maybe they wouldn’t let be known with all of us there, you know?”

  Viv nodded. “Excellent. Salem and I will find this ex-girlfriend.”

  I looked at her, surprised.

  “We look more professional together,” she said. “What did your boyfriend call us? Cagney and Lacey?” She shrugged. “When we’re together, we probably look like cops.”

  “Sounds like a great plan to me,” I said. Perhaps a little too enthusiastically. I remembered my sleepless guilt-stricken night and reined it in a little. “I mean, it sounds very practical. A sound way to get the goals accomplished. Then we can meet back up and compare notes.”

  It turned out that the Church of the Word was way on the east side of town, but Dale happened to know that on Tuesdays, the pastor played dominoes downtown. Viv and I dropped him off there. I tried very hard not to let my joy show as I waved goodbye.

  “It’s too bad we can’t all three stick together,” I said, just to let it be known that I was okay that our duo had turned into a trio – even though I wasn’t. “But this is more efficient.” I patted her on the shoulder. “Good thinking, Viv.”

  Viv gave me a weird look, because, well, that was awkward. Neither of us were big patters. “Well, Dale is a great guy and all, but I have a feeling we’re going to need to use some finesse with this girlfriend. Tiptoe around some stuff, you know. And he doesn’t strike me as the tiptoeing type.”

  I wanted to laugh and say, “He tiptoes about like a two-ton obnoxious elephant with an annoying personality.” Instead I cocked my head like I was considering. “You could be right. We all have our strengths and weaknesses, I suppose.”

  We looked Desiree’s office up on Viv’s phone, but decided not to call first. It was getting close to six o’clock. “We’ll just pop by and see if she’s still in the office,” Viv decided. “If we call first, she might leave to avoid talking to us.”

  “Blackwell, Jordan and Shaw” said the sign on the side of the building. he was a partner. I let Stump run around and relieve her bladder in the judicial ivy outside the building, then picked her up again. She settled against my hip with a lazy, satisfied groan.

  The front door wasn’t locked, s
o Viv and I stepped quietly inside. The small vestibule led into a larger reception area; it was empty at the moment. Hallways branched off each side of the reception room, and I leaned to peek down the left one. I saw a female figure – just going by the dress and the hair, she was somewhere midway between my age and Viv’s – heading toward a back door. What appeared to be two restrooms and a break room were in between us and the back door.

  I motioned for Viv to stay quiet, and I eased toward the hall on the right side. There were three closed doors with name plates, and one open door. We moved quietly toward the open door, and I felt a spike of triumph when I recognized the girl at the desk as the girl I’d seen in earlier stories about CJ Hardin.

  I put on my most non-threatening smile. “Desiree Shaw?”

  She jerked her head up, eyes wide. “Yes?”

  Viv stepped around me, taking over. “We’re sorry to bother you so late. You’re probably getting ready to leave for the day.”

  She stood and brushed her hands against her skirt. She was tall and thin, with hair and face like a cross between the girl next door and a super model. I was instantly aware of the smell of Furr-Ever Lovely cologne on me and wished I’d at least thought to brush my hair before I left Bow Wow Barbers.

  “Not at all,” she said with ease. She glanced at Stump, but didn’t seem ruffled by this strange group that had appeared at her door. “What can I do for you?”

  Viv reached into her handbag and I realized with horror that she was about to hand her one of those awful business cards she’d had printed. “Discreet Investigations,” they said, in pink lipstick font. A pair of handcuffs dangled along the edge, as if they’d been tossed aside after someone’s magical night of S&M.

  Desiree accepted the card and, although one neat eyebrow rose a fraction, her smile stayed in place and she nodded to us.

  “We know this is probably a very difficult time for you, following the news of the death of CJ Hardin. We apologize, but we’re investigating that crime and it’s necessary for us to ask some questions. Do you have just a few minutes?”

  Her composure slipped a little and she swallowed and drew her bottom lip in a bit, as if she was biting it on the inside.

  “I – well –“

  That was all Viv needed. She sat in a chair opposite Desiree’s big desk and pulled out a pad. “We’ll be quick,” she promised.

  Desiree looked at me in question, and I gave an apologetic smile and sat, too. I gathered Stump neatly in my lap. “Sorry about the dog,” I said. “I’ll keep her right here.”

  Desiree looked hopelessly between the two of us, then toward her door, but, evidently finding the whole situation merely weird instead of threatening, she sat, too.

  “Okay, then.” Viv flipped through her notebook as if she was finding a list of pre-made questions. She looked up at Desiree, her pen poised over the pad. “Were you a beard?” she asked.

  “Viv!” I said. Good grief. So much for finesse.

  “It’s okay.” Desiree gave a humorless laugh. “It’s what everyone is thinking.” She sighed and swept her hair back, collapsing for a moment into her chair. Then she took a deep breath and sat forward again. “To tell the truth, I really don’t know.” She got a far-off look in her eye, then shrugged, her eyes sad. “I honestly don’t know. Maybe.”

  Viv and I looked at each other. Already this was more information than either of us had hoped for.

  “Not knowingly, of course,” Desiree said. “Not intentionally. I had no idea.” But then she stopped, her brow furrowed. “I had no idea,” she said again, softly. “Not really.”

  “Not really?” Viv asked, for once going for subtlety.

  Desiree was silent for a long time, and I waited for her to realize that two complete strangers were asking probing questions she had no real reason to answer. Then she shook her head, as if to clear it. “I don’t even know anymore. I mean, this time last week everything in my world made perfect sense. I had a job I loved, a boyfriend I loved, friends, family, a nice home...then CJ told me...told me...” Her voice got thick and she stopped.

  “He told you he was gay, before he told everyone else?”

  She nodded. “He told me, then we went together to tell his parents.”

  “Why?” Viv asked, incredulity in her voice. I wanted to know the same thing, but I would certainly have tried to be more sensitive about it.

  Desiree didn’t care, though. She was lost in her own train of thought. “I just...he needed me. And he had been so good to me. I was in shock, and he asked me to go, and I said yes, because I always said yes to CJ. He was just...the kind of person you said yes to.” She shrugged helplessly. “That makes him sound manipulative or controlling, and he wasn’t. He was sincere. He was authentic.” Even as she said it, she looked truly confused.

  “You had no idea?” Viv said again.

  “Maybe. I mean, looking back now, of course, I see things.”

  “Like?”

  “Like, he never said anything about homosexuality, at all. The topic comes up, you know, especially the last year or so. I mean, everyone’s got an opinion, right? We’d discuss it in Sunday School, or sometimes with friends, and he was perfectly, absolutely silent. CJ wasn’t one to be controversial, of course. He’s the – was the peacemaker, always. But he never said a word about homosexuality, ever. Whether he supported marriage equality...” She shrugged. “Nothing.”

  In sympathy, I guess, I shrugged, too. “I wouldn’t feel bad if you missed that sign.” I was fairly certain Frank was straight but if he had a side on the issue, I’d never heard it. I wasn’t his girlfriend, but we probably spent as much time together as many married couples.

  “And he wouldn’t propose. I could tell it bothered him when people joked about us dating for so many years. At first, school was the reason we were waiting. We needed to get through school. Then of course it was residency. Very demanding. Then...well, then nothing. We both had good jobs. Things were going well. I brought it up a couple of times, and he just kind of joked about it. Like, everyone knew we were going to end up together, we were meant to be. Then he’d say, let’s get this next thing out of the way. A big project at work, or a holiday, or someone would be sick and he couldn’t think about wedding planning just yet. I offered to do all the planning myself, of course, but he said he wanted to be a partner. I really believed he meant it.”

  She looked like she was going to cry, so I steered the conversation back a bit. “How did his parents react when he came out?”

  She gave a little shrug. “They were great. Well, at first they were shocked, of course. At least his dad was. From the way his mom reacted, I think she might have suspected. But...but they loved CJ. They loved him. And they knew what kind of challenges he was about to face. After their initial shock, they were in his corner, absolutely.”

  “Why do you think he took so long to come out?” I asked. “I mean, with that kind of support, wouldn’t it make sense that he would be confident enough to do this earlier?”

  “I’ve asked myself that a thousand times over the last week. Why keep it going for so long? I mean, CJ is a tough guy. Very disciplined. And everyone likes him. He’s that guy who’s friends with everyone. You should have seen him at the hospital. He could talk to the senior administration and the guy serving stew at the lunch counter in exactly the same way. He was himself, everywhere he went. Relaxed, funny, compassionate, engaging. And with the kids? God, his way with the kids was legendary. He was so perfect at what he did. He was so perfect, period. And I think that’s why.”

  She stopped and swallowed, then pulled a couple of tissues from the box on her desk. “He was afraid of not being perfect anymore. He’d always been, you know? From the time he was a kid, he was Cyrus Hardin’s son, Old Jerome Hardin’s grandson, the star basketball player, the honor student, the most popular guy. Everything he did, he did with perfection. He knew he was well regarded, he knew people were watching him, and he did his best to live up to every expectation of h
im. He had to be perfect. Either to live up to the expectations, or to make up for being gay. Maybe a little of both.”

  “What a hard way to live,” I said without thinking.

  Tears spilled over Desiree’s eyes and she nodded, wiping at them. “I know. I keep thinking that, too. And I keep wondering if I was part of that. My family and his have been friends for...well, forever. Since the founding of Lubbock, almost. I was a couple of years behind him in school, but we were involved in a lot of the same extracurricular things. I was salutatorian of my class. My volleyball team won state. I wonder if he looked at my resume and that’s why he dated me. I helped him maintain that perfect image.”

  Again, she looked confused. “At this point, I’m questioning everything, you know? I believed him. I believed every word. But is that because...because he seemed sincere, or because...well, why wouldn’t I? Why would I suspect he was lying to me? He had nothing to gain from lying to me, not that I was aware of. Why would I question his sincerity?” The look she gave us was beseeching.

  I looked at Viv. Desiree kept circling back to their relationship, which was understandable. But I was beginning to think that relationship had very little to do with our goal of finding out who killed the guy. Viv and I were imminently unqualified to help her with her relationship woes.

  “Desiree, I hate to bring up a painful subject, but do you mind telling us about Marky?”

  That snapped her back to the moment. “That creep?” She ripped a couple more tissues from the box and blew her nose. “I don’t have much to say about him, except I can’t stand him.”

  “Where did he and CJ meet?”

  “At a Hope for Home event. Marky is militant about Friends of Joshua, of course. I’m sure you’ve picked up on that. CJ was aware that part of Hope for Home’s money went to that charity, but it had always been kind of a backburner thing, to my understanding. There weren’t any Friends of Joshua Houses in Lubbock or even near here. But then Marky came and wanted to set up a Friends chapter here, wanted to establish a bigger presence. Which was fine. CJ was fine with it, but also aware of the implications. He’s lived here all his life. He knows what a conservative area this is. Sometimes it’s hard enough to convince people that they’re not building houses for people who are just too lazy to get jobs and work for a living.”