Page 92 of It Happened on the Lake

J oel straightened his tie and studied his reflection in the mirror. The lighting wasn’t great in this hotel bathroom, and that was probably why he was looking older than his years, or older than he should have been.

His once-blond hair was graying slightly, and along with crow’s feet fanning from the corners of his eyes, he noticed the beginning of bags under his eyes, bags that he didn’t want to check out too closely.

Joel had a meeting scheduled with Lou Arista later this afternoon, and he was nervous.

He was hoping the Portland attorney would understand that he had a good reason and case that he should receive a cut of his wife’s—no, make that his ex -wife’s inheritance.

Joel and Harper had an unwritten agreement that when Harper inherited, Joel would receive a good share of it.

Millions, he figured, though he wasn’t sure of the figure and hoped the attorney would at least supply him with an estimate of what the estate was worth.

He saw dollar signs. Lots of them.

Unfortunately, though, he didn’t have a prenuptial agreement.

A little fact he’d neglected to nail down.

But he’d married Harper, raised her child as his own, helped Harper through school, and aided her in finding employment.

While it was true he really hadn’t supported her financially, he’d been her emotional support for years.

Harper was a trust fund baby, and her checks had done more than supplement the family income.

Those quarterly installments had kept them afloat and made it possible to live a very nice, if not overly indulgent lifestyle.

No Ferraris or Porsches, but Volvos and Toyotas and Fords that were dependable if not flashy.

But now that she’d inherited . . .

Joel figured he was entitled to, if not half the value of the estate, then at least a third. He’d even settle for a quarter, though he wouldn’t show his cards in his first meeting with Arista. But he would see how the lawyer reacted when he mentioned he might have to find his own attorney.

He checked the view of the city, late afternoon settling in, the day gloomy as he stared through the high-rises to the river and sprawling city beyond. So, if he didn’t blow it, today was the day he’d been waiting for, the moment his ship would come in.

If he played his cards right.

Which he hadn’t. Midlife had come along, bringing with it the requisite crisis in the form of Melanie Jallet, a student of his at the community college.

She’d flirted, he’d responded, and though he cared for Harper, really cared for her, he’d strayed.

His marriage to Harper had about played out anyway.

Dawn had been nearly off to college herself.

He considered her his child, and he’d been glad to do all the daddy things as she’d grown up, but now she was out of the nest.

Harper had divorced him.

Melanie was insisting on marriage and threatening to leave him for good. In fact they were currently broken up, and he wasn’t sure that they’d get back together.

Either way, he needed the money.

Damn it, he deserved the money. Earned it. He’d bailed Harper out when she’d been at her lowest. From the first time he’d heard about the Dixon fortune from Trick in that little house in Almsville, Joel had set his sights on getting a part of it.

Now was the time.

With a final adjustment to his tie, he was satisfied. He had a little time and thought he’d stop off for one drink at his favorite rooftop bar, then walk the five blocks to the offices of Arista, Bartlett, and Connors.

After slipping into his coat, he grabbed his briefcase and took the elevator down to the lobby. Outside the day was cool, rain threatening again, but he didn’t have to pop his umbrella.

Pedestrians crowded the rain-washed sidewalks, cars were parked nose-to-tail along the curbs, and the traffic was thick, tires humming, engines rumbling, conversation buzzing around him as he walked the few blocks.

He was a little claustrophobic in the throng of bustling city-dwellers, and more than once he had the uncanny feeling that he was being followed.

He’d even looked over his shoulder a couple of times but had seen no one who was obviously tailing him. He was just uptight. That was all. His nerves about the meeting with Arista were getting the better of him.

He dashed into the lobby of the older building, pressed the call button for what had to be the slowest elevator west of the Mississippi, and waited impatiently, tapping the toe of one polished shoe.

Come on, come on.

He watched the elevator dial move at a snail’s pace as the car slowly descended. Once it opened and a woman in a long coat and beret walked out, he was in. Alone, he rode the old car slowly to the rooftop without stopping at any of the floors in between, thank God.

Good. Maybe he was getting lucky.

As he expected, the small bar was nearly empty at this time of year. It was enclosed with sliding doors that opened to a wide patio. The tables that graced the area were now stacked to one side, awaiting summer and happy hours when he expected the rooftop would be alive with the after-work crowd.

Now two women were just finishing their glasses of wine and gathering their purses. They settled their tab with the bartender, a young guy Joel didn’t recognize who seemed bored with his job.

Joel ordered a double bourbon, neat, and knocked it back.

Liquid courage consumed, Joel was about to leave when he saw a familiar face—older, but one he recognized—in the mirror over the bar.

Trick Vargas, dressed in a gray suit and open collar, got off the elevator.

His hair was darker and cut into a thick mullet.

He wore oversized, wire-rimmed glasses with shaded lenses, a low-rider beard covering his jaw. But he was definitely Vargas.

“Hey, man,” he said with a smile. “Long time, no see.” He clapped Joel on the back. “What’re you doing in Portland? I thought you moved away. Wasn’t it somewhere in California? Maybe the Bay Area?”

“Moved back a while ago,” Joel said, not elaborating.

“Me, too. I was down in Arizona. Scottsdale. Buy you a drink?”

“I’m in a bit of a hurry,” Joel said. It wasn’t really a lie. “Got a meeting.”

“How about just one?” Trick offered. “For old times’ sake. Come on. Let’s catch up.”

Joel checked his watch. He guessed he had ten minutes to spare.

And he didn’t want to get to the attorney’s office too early.

Didn’t want to appear too eager or, worse yet, desperate.

“Just one,” he said, and Trick ordered another double for Joel as well as one for himself.

They sat at the bar, and when the drinks came, they clicked glasses and took long drinks.

Conversation flowed surprisingly easily, Joel thought, surprised because he’d always been a little wary of the drug dealer.

As he was finishing his drink, Trick said, “I heard you married Harper Reed.”

“Divorced now. But how’d you know?”

Trick grinned, showing off that overlapping front tooth. “I’ve kept up. You scored big.”

“As I said, divorced. I messed up.” He left it at that, didn’t want to think about how close he’d come to inheriting a goddamned fortune, only to have blown the whole deal by thinking with his damned cock. “But I’m going to see if I can get things right. Seeing the attorney today.”

“That’s the spirit. You gotta work for what you want, man. Hey, bartender, another round.”

“Oh no,” Joel said. “I’ve gotta run. And I can’t be plastered.”

“Just one more,” Trick cajoled and leaned closer. “I hear you have a kid.”

“I do.” He was proud of her. Always had been. A stellar student and good athlete, Dawn was a great kid. Lately she’d stumbled a bit, gotten in with the wrong crowd and started dressing like she was going to her own funeral, but he figured she would snap out of it.

He had a picture of Dawn in his wallet and fumbled for it as two new drinks appeared.

Where the hell was that photograph? “It’s her senior photo,” he explained, not looking up as he searched for it.

“She’s in college now. U of O. My old alma mater!

Doin’ great, too. Has her own apartment just off campus.

” He shuffled through the pictures and cards, absorbed in the process, and when he finally came up with the picture, he traded the head shot for a short glass in Trick’s hands. “Oh, thanks. Here she is.”

He slid the photo across the bar.

“Pretty,” Trick said, eyeing the photo. “Real pretty. She’s down in Eugene?”

“Yeah.” He pointed at the picture where Dawn was looking seriously at the camera, her hair dyed black, her makeup pale, several necklaces draped around her neck.

Her eyes were over-accentuated with black liner and mascara.

“Dawn is kinda into the Goth thing, but hey, she’s young. We were all into something at her age.”

“Weren’t we?” Trick agreed. “Speaking of which—” He lowered his voice but the bartender had stepped behind a curtain leading to a back room. “—I’ve got a little coke.” His eyebrows arched over the rims of his shaded glasses. “Thought you might use a bump.”

“Nah.” Joel held up a hand. It was tempting but dangerous. “Those days are over for me.”

“Seriously?” Trick wasn’t buying it. “Maybe you could use a little something for the meeting you have to go to. You seem pretty uptight about it.”

Joel considered. What could it hurt? Trick was right. He could use a shot of bravado in dealing with Arista. Besides, back in the day, coke had been his go-to drug.

“Uh, I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I should be clearheaded.”

“You will be, man. When have I ever steered you wrong?” Again, the confident smile. Back in the day Trick had been a supplier, and the drugs he’d peddled had always been good. Trick reached into an inner pocket of his jacket and flashed a tiny packet.

“Okay, fine.” Joel could use something to bolster him. And the added benefit would be that Trick would leave him alone. Joel could get rid of him.

“Outside,” Trick said and pulled a pack of cigarettes from an inner pocket. “Let’s go out for a smoke.”

If the display was for the bartender who had reappeared, it didn’t seem to matter. The guy was caught up in taking some kind of inventory, so Trick and Joel slipped outside and around the corner to a covered area where there were ashtrays and a few stools.

Joel felt a little off. His legs were a little wobbly. No, make that a lot wobbly. And he had trouble focusing. What the hell?

“Over here.” Trick was shepherding him to the edge of the smoking area. “Want one?” Trick said, shaking the pack so a couple of Marlboros poked out.

“No. Gave them up, too. A long time ago. Oh wow.” Joel stumbled over some electrical cords as Trick lit up.

Man, he was dizzy. “Maybe I . . . maybe I should sit . . .” His mind was spinning so fast, he grabbed onto Trick’s arm to keep from falling. “What’s the matter with me?”

“Nerves,” Trick said, cigarette clamped between his teeth. He held Joel up with surprising strength.

“Not nerves. I just feel . . . feel bad.” He had to steady himself on the railing.

“Wow, what was in those drinks?” And the second the words were out of his mouth, he knew.

He looked into Trick’s eyes but couldn’t see through the shades and curling smoke.

His own vision was too blurry. “You little fuck,” he whispered, just as Trick smiled again, his overlapping tooth exposed over the cigarette. “You did this!”

“You must’ve graduated summa cum laude from the university,” Trick said with a humorless chuckle. Quick as a cougar striking, he lifted Joel off his feet.

“What? Hey, no!” Joel scrambled to right himself, but he couldn’t control his limbs.

And it was too late. He was unable to stop Trick from hoisting him to the top of the rail. “Sorry, pal,” Trick said. “But I gotta run. Got business in Eugene. And this is a helluva lot faster than the elevator. Adios.”

He pushed with enough force to send Joel hurtling over the railing, headfirst down the fifteen stories to the crowded sidewalk below.