Part 11 (2/2)

”So, these other guys are like your set-up, right? I mean, they set me up with the general questions and talk to you and then you come in with more specifics.”

”Well, they wouldn't appreciate being described like that.” Obviously it was time to come clean. She wanted to guard her a.s.s just in case this private investigation came up down at the station, and that meant she didn't want anybody to be able to say they had been duped into cooperation. ”To tell the truth, Carla, this is kind of a private project that I'm working on. I'm not a.s.signed to the case-in fact, I'm on vacation right now.”

”Huh. That's funny.”

”What?”

”Well, I was sure that they were working with you.”

”Why?”

”Because they asked if you had already been here, and what you had been doing at the bar.”

Wonderful, thought Alison. She was bound to hear s.h.i.+t about this one way or another. ”What did you tell them?”

”I told them we were doing a hot f.u.c.k scene in the bas.e.m.e.nt.” She caught sight of Alison's aghast face and said hastily, ”No, no, I was just kidding. I told them the truth, that we had talked inside and I asked you to go down to the bas.e.m.e.nt with me because Maggie told us not to go out alone. That's okay, isn't it? I mean, leaving out the s.e.x part?”

”Fine with me,” Alison a.s.sured her. ”I don't think you should lie if they ask you directly-you'll get caught. But I don't see how what we were doing has any bearing at all on what happened.” Somehow, until that very moment, it had not occurred to her anyone would want to know about the storeroom, and the thought of explaining to either detective made her blanch. And her dad was worried about her coming out! She had been so upset by that picture that she had entirely forgotten the original question and might have left without an answer had it not been for Carla's tenacity.

”Well, I'll tell you the same thing that I told them,” Carla had said. ”I do know her. I don't know from where, but I'm sure I know her. Knew,” she amended.

”Casually?” Alison queried. ”From a bar? A party? Softball team?” Where else did d.y.k.es get together? ”A camp out? A rally? Did you work on a project together? Date her roommate?”

Carla shook her head. ”Nah, nothing like that. I know I've seen her more than once, and I know I've talked to her. I'm sure of that. I just can't remember where.”

Since that had seemed to be that Alison had given her a card and told her to call if she remembered.

She was getting crabby-low blood sugar again-by the time she arrived home and grabbed a bottle of orange juice out of the fridge before rewinding her answering machine.

”Officer Kaine,” began the first message, ”I would like you to call me at the station as soon as possible. This is Sergeant Obrachta.” s.h.i.+t. She bet that one had to do with b.u.t.ting into cases to which she was not a.s.signed. Well, it was after five, and she was supposed to be on vacation. She could sit on that one.

”Alison, why didn't you call me back? Are you coming to the soccer game?” That was Stacy sounding annoyed. She must have been the faraway voice that had woken her. Alison glanced at the clock. The game was starting about now-she could catch most of it if she hopped in the car right away. The thought of watching Stacy handling the ball again was appealing. The message went on, ”If you miss it we're going to Peony's afterwards.”

Another message. She had been a popular girl tonight. She didn't recognize the voice, which sounded slightly hysterical. ”We need to talk to you right away. Please call us right away!” The caller hung up without leaving a name. Well, that was helpful. Oh, another message by the same person. ”That was Beth and Denise at 377-8976. Call us as soon as you get in.” Alison reached for the phone, but there was one more message on the tape.

”Alison? This is Carla. I've remembered where I know that woman from.”

The soccer players, at three tables pushed together in the back of Peony's, were talking quietly so they would not disturb the Scrabble and card players.

Carla stalled at the door, and Alison was forced to take her by the arm and practically shove her through. ”You look fine,” she said, though in truth, despite a scarf wrapped around her head, she looked just as ghastly as she had earlier. Carla was not at all rea.s.sured.

”Remember, it's this or being home alone,” Alison warned. That was the threat with which she had gotten Carla out of the house to begin with. When Alison had returned all of Carla's roommates were still gone, and Carla was so nervous she was having trouble talking coherently. Earlier, perhaps, her near brush with death had not sunk in, and locking the door had seemed caution enough. Darkness, however, had brought her fear back full force and when Alison had suggested she come with her to the coffeehouse, it had overcome her vanity.

Conversation did not quite stop as they entered, but there were a lot of sideways stares and an excited buzz was left in their wake, though Alison suspected it was not so much about Carla herself as it was about the murders. On both the bulletin board and the front window were posters put out by the WAVAW group, urging d.y.k.es to watch out for themselves and one another. There was a table of gay men playing Pictionary near the entrance, and Alison noticed whenever any single woman left they offered to escort her.

She saw Stacy's dark hair at one of the end tables and steered Carla that way. Four of the soccer players were playing Boggle, but the others were merely sitting, exchanging a single sentence now and then. They looked, Alison thought, exhausted, as if all they wanted was to be lying in a hot tub at home, but were simply too tired to make the effort to get going. Liz, who was facing the door, saw them approach, and poked Stacy, who had her head almost down on the table.

”So why didn't you call me back?” Stacy demanded in a cross voice as soon as Alison was close enough to hear. ”I would have appreciated knowing if you were okay.” She eyed Carla in an unpleasant way and asked nastily, ”Bring your own date?”

Carla did not help matters by pointing and saying, ”Hey, that's her!” in a loud and pleased voice, like a child trying to perform her best. When Alison, foolishly hoping that ignoring her would make her shut up, did not respond, she nudged her and tried again. ”Hey, that's the woman in....”

”I know, I know,” Alison muttered hastily through her teeth. ”Now shut up!” The other soccer players watched with interest as Stacy's eyes narrowed to ill-humored pinpoints.

Luckily at this moment Carla spotted a friend at the other end of the table. She started around the table, but Alison pulled her back and, giving her arm a good pinch, hissed into her ear, ”Remember what I told you!” Despite the heartfelt rea.s.surances Carla had given her in the car, she had some misgivings about her ability to keep their talk confidential if that had been an example of her idea of discretion.

”So?” Stacy asked again.

”Don't pay any attention to her,” Liz said, shaking the cubes. ”She's an absolute b.i.t.c.h. We got stomped and she's mad at everybody. We thought feeding her would make her better, but it hasn't worked so far.” Alison sat down cautiously. ”There was a reason I didn't call,” she said. She told the whole story of the dream and the voice. Stacy was the only woman at the table from whom she did not either draw a smile or cluck of sympathy. Alison felt her anger rising. She had come by out of courtesy; she didn't need to be treated this way. She needed someone to whom she could talk about the disturbing information given to her by Beth, and who would wait patiently while she heard Carla out. Obviously she had been wrong in thinking Stacy might be that person. Well, Mich.e.l.le and Janka would be home. She tried to catch Stacy's eye-one last chance-but she looked away with a little sneer.

Fine. f.u.c.k that. She didn't need it in her life, not even for the hottest woman in the world. She was past the stage in her life where she actively courted unhappiness, calling it excitement or romance.

She stood abruptly.

”Nice seeing you,” she said to the team in general. ”Sorry about your game-better luck next time.”

As she bent to pick up her sweats.h.i.+rt Liz said under her breath, ”Good for you! Don't let her give you that s.h.i.+t!” She did not look at Stacy again.

Carla was at the far end of the table, obviously telling the story of the incident, for she was smas.h.i.+ng her head back into an invisible a.s.sailant energetically. Alison hoped it was the only part of the last night's activities she felt compelled to mime. She stood a few feet away to let her finish. She deserved at least that much for coming out into the dreaded public eye.

A woman sitting near the middle of the long table caught her eye and nodded. She leaned across and asked, ”Did you get your poster? I stuck it in your purse, but I thought maybe in all the confusion....” Oh, okay, she was the whistle woman from the Rubyfruit.

”Yeah, I did. Do you need any help distributing those?”

”Let me take your number.” She rummaged in her pack and then pa.s.sed a pencil and the stub of a sales receipt to her. ”We've really been working hard to get these fliers out to every lesbian organization that we've been able to think of, plus leafleting certain target areas and women we know individually. I think we probably have things covered. But if something comes up, can we call you?”

”Wait a minute.” Another voice interrupted them. Alison had not really paid attention to the woman sitting next to the first. It was none other than Trudy, the team captain, who had been turned away talking to the waitress, but who had by now turned swiftly to face Alison. ”We don't want her help,” Trudy said, speaking to the woman next to her rather than Alison herself. We don't want her politics muddying ours-S/M”

Alison leaned so far across the table that her face practically grazed Trudy's dessert plate. ”Do you see that woman over there?” she asked in a voice of barely suppressed rage, flicking her chin in Carta's direction. ”That woman is alive because of me.”

The whistle woman looked a little chagrined but Trudy tightened her lips contemptuously. ”For what?” she asked. ”So you can beat her black and blue later? Well, I'm certainly impressed.”

Alison was so angry that for a moment she said nothing. When she finally spoke her words were short and jerky. ”Talk about woman hating! I have never hurt and I don't ever antic.i.p.ate hurting anybody to the degree that you are trying to hurt me right now!”

”Nonconsensually, incidentally,” put in one of the forwards who was sitting two chairs down, but following avidly.

”And you are totally getting off on it,” Alison jerked out. ”At least I'm honest about what I do.”

She had no idea what might have happened next, for Carla, in a rare burst of sensitivity, practically jumped the table to take her arm and steer her towards the door.

Ten.

Alison was glad to see there were still lights on in Mich.e.l.le and Janka's apartment. It was not just that she wanted to share Carla's interesting information. She needed a sounding board, and who better than the two women already involved in her investigations of the Crusaders? She fumbled just a little with her key. She had been so angry after leaving the coffeehouse that she had raged five minutes in the car. Then Carla had pulled out a joint and persuaded her to take two hits, which had been enough to put things back into perspective, or at least dull the pain a little. f.u.c.k Trudy, and f.u.c.k Stacy, too. She had more important things to do.

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