Chapter Two
Melody
I step out of my car in front of the Rook’s Roost and pause. Above me, the sky glows a deep violet, slashed with brush strokes of orange and scattered streaks of red piercing wispy white clouds, leading to a bright, blazing ball that’s slowly subsuming beneath the horizon of the Pacific.
The air drips with brine that tickles the inside of my nostrils, clean and brisk and if I strain my ears, I can hear the seabirds caw at one another and the crashing sound of the changing tides.
I never planned on putting down here in Rockaway Bay; it’s small, it’s a stopover, it’s far from anywhere. But it’s beautiful.
I saw that sunset when I stopped here on my way to somewhere new and I just knew that this was the place. I’d settle here and I’d make it work.
At least I got half of it right.
“You all right, Mel?” Alice asks.
“I’m fine. The sunset’s beautiful tonight, isn’t it?”
She nods, snaps a picture on her phone, and then motions for me to hurry up and stop staring.
My phone buzzes at me — Alice Meraux has just posted a new photo.
I give it a like.
“Come on, happy hour’s almost over.”
We hurry through the parking lot of the Rook’s Roost, even though we really have no reason to hurry. The bar’s owner, Jim Bishop, hasn’t charged us full price in ages.
Inside, the bar is everything a dive bar aspires to be. It’s dark, but inviting, and every bit of wood shines with the polish of decades of use. It feels like the kind of place that’s been around as long as Rockaway Bay’s been a town, like civilization just sprung up around it, lured by the promise of cheap cocktails and tasty beer.
“The usual, ladies?” Jim says before the door’s even shut behind us.
“Thanks, Jim,” I call out.
We smile and wave to the locals that we recognize, and by the time we’re at the bar counter Jim has my drink — an extra strong mojito — done and Alice’s strawberry daiquiri in the works. The air fills with the scent of fresh berries as Jim fires up the blender, and my eyes light up and my mouth waters at the scent.
Grinning, he hands a few extra berries to Alice and me.
“They’re in season. Got a nice batch of these just this morning from a buddy of mine. He’s got a whole mess of ‘em growing on his property.”
They’re sweet and tart and succulent.
“Jim, for my next round, gimme a daiquiri, too.”
He winks at me. “You got it,” he says, handing the two of us our drinks. “And these, ladies, are on the house.”
“You’re kidding. Come on, Jim, we’re not that poor,” Al says. “Well, we are, but we have pride.”
He laughs. “Business has been real good, lately. The other night, all the firemen came in here after their bbq, and those boys can drink. Plus, last night, Doc Anderson came in before he skipped town for his annual trip to Pebble Beach and bought the whole house a round. Twice.”
“Well, we’re still going to tip you. Generously,” I say, now even more determined than ever to deny just how poor I am.
“Ladies, you just drink your drinks and let this old man enjoy the fact that he’s treating the two prettiest women in town, ok?”
I sip my mojito and blush a bit.
“Thanks, Jim,” Al says.
The two of us wander through the bar to find a table. It isn’t as easy as it usually is — the summer crowds are starting to come through, people stopping over on their way to somewhere else on the Oregon coast. Portland, Salem, Coos Bay, Cannon Beach.
“Sit down, girls,” our friend Alanna calls out, beckoning to Al and me from across the room.
She’s got a cigarette pinched between two fingers and a man wrapped around another.
We join her at her booth. It’s her and her man on one side, sitting so close together you could probably cram another two people in, and Al and I on the other.
I’ve never seen this guy before, but, then, I could say that every night I run into her.
“Alice, Melody, I’d like you to meet Bruce,” Alanna says, gesturing to each of us with her cigarette. “Bruce is new in town,. He’s stopping over on his way to a Cardiologists conference in Portland.”
“Hi, nice to meet you ladies,” Bruce says, holding out his hand.
“Nice to meet you, too,” I say and shake his hand awkwardly. Al does the same.
He seems nice enough. His brown eyes are kind, his smile’s genuine, and he’s got a nice crop of brown hair on his head, though it’s cut in a slightly-unflattering way for the shape of his head.
Bruce is also about twenty years Alanna’s junior and, as smart as he might be, he’s in way over his head with her.
“Be a darling and get us another round, would you?” Alanna says and Bruce dutifully hops up out of his seat. The second he’s up and headed towards the bar, Alanna breaks out a shark-like grin. “Do you see the ass on him? It’s all muscle — he played football back in college.”
“You are insane,” Al says, though her eyes drift after Bruce. “But you’re also correct.”
“It’s not insane. We’re both entirely honest with each other about what we want and expect. We’re consenting adults,” she says. “To be fair, I do have a slight feeling this one might become a bit clingy tomorrow morning.”
“You’ve told him this is going to be a one night thing, right?”
Alanna gives me a look that can only be defined as the physical embodiment of duh. “Of course, Melody. But I don’t think he realizes what kind of epiphany he’s going to have tonight. In which case, I just want to give the two of you fair warning that, should he decide to get clingy, I might skip town for a while.”
Alice and I both shrug.
“What do you even do for a living that you can just skip out when some guy gets inconvenient?” Al asks, eyebrow arched.
“I get by,” Alanna says, pondering the glowing end of her cigarette.
“Are you a spy?” I say.
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
Al snaps her fingers. “I’ve got it! She’s a serial killer.”
Alanna scowls. “I am not.”
“It makes perfect sense,” I say.
“What the hell? How?”
Nodding, Alice continues on explaining her theory. “Think about it. I’ve never seen Alanna with the same man twice. Not once. She goes home with them, they disappear, and somehow, she has enough money that she can go off for stretches at a time and she never has to work a real job. Obviously, she’s killing these men and stealing their assets.”
“Probably harvesting their organs, too. Or maybe she’s eating them. That’s why there’s no bodies,” I add.
“You monster,” Alice gasps.
“I am not a serial killer,” Alanna practically shouts, just as Bruce returns to the table, carrying a pint of beer and a glass of white wine. “And I am not a cannibal.”
“Alanna?” Bruce asks, looking entirely befuddled. “What are they talking about?”
“Nothing, darling,” she says.
Al takes the glass of wine out of Bruce’s hands and takes a sip. Her eyes shoot open wide. “Chianti! I knew it! Run, Bruce!”
Bruce stays put. But only because he looks too confused to know just how the hell to react.
My eyes narrow and I give him a stern look. “Mister, you are one wrong step away from having your liver eaten with a side of fava beans.”
Alice and I both do the Hannibal Lecter creepy sucking noise.
Bruce starts backing away.
Alanna stands up. “They’re joking, darling. It’s just a silly game.”
Al and I share a profoundly frightened look before looking at Bruce.
I nod, reluctantly. “Yes. Whatever she says.”
“Please don’t hurt us, Alanna. We don’t want to end up like the others,” Alice says.
“Argh, I could kill you two,” Alanna growls.
“Alanna-bil the Cannibal,” Al and I say in unison and we scramble out of our seats, with Bruce following right behind us.
We get about ten feet before we stop and Bruce about runs into my back, pushing between Al and I and heading on towards the exit.
I reach out and grab his hand and plant my feet hard to bring him to a stop.
“Dude, we were just messing with you,” Al says.
Bruce looks unsure.
“She is not a killer cannibal,” I say, patting him on the arm and using the same voice I use with a reluctant animal. I call it my Alpha voice. It works. “Be a good boy, go back to the booth and enjoy your date.”
“Yeah, go get laid, dude,” Alice adds.
Bruce, almost reluctantly, heads back to sit next to Alanna. Al and I wave to her to say we’re sorry, before we get our own places at the bar.
“She is going to eat him alive,” Al says, sucking up the last drops of her daiquiri. “She’ll probably skip town again, too. Bruce is totally a clinger.”
I nod. “Do you know what she really does for a living?”
Jim plunks a second set of strawberry daiquiris down in front of us and I tuck into mine right away. It’s delicious, and sweet, and creamy, and boozy. Perfect.
“Nobody knows,” she says, shaking her head. “She just showed up one day when I was in high school, and settled in like she’d lived here forever. I’m not even sure Alanna is her real name.”
“Maybe she is a killer,” I say, almost whispering, despite the fact that Alanna’s on the other side of the noisy bar.
“No way,” she says, affecting a posh accent. “Killing is beneath Alanna Greco, darling.”
There’s a rap-rap on the bar right next to me and I look up to see Jim, holding his phone in the crook of his shoulder, while stirring two martinis with his free hands.
“Yes, Sheriff Dawes, she’s right here,” he says, telling me with his eyes that I better pay attention. “Both of them are here. Uhuh, yes, I’ll let them know.”
Al and I are both staring at Jim while he finishes mixing the drinks and then hangs up the phone. The man doesn’t hesitate and doesn’t mince words, either.
“You both need to get back to your clinic, right now. Someone’s been stabbed.”