Crazy for You Read online

  “Yup,” Max said, obnoxiously cheerful. He started to whistle, and Nick thought about killing him.

  “I gather you got your wife back?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Max said, and then he got a little less cheerful. “Uh, that reminds me.”

  Nick felt suddenly wary. “What?”

  “You want to buy a drive-in with me?” Max asked with studied innocence.

  “No,” Nick said and headed for the Ford in the last bay.

  “Nick,” Max said.

  Nick stopped and closed his eyes. “Why would I want to buy a drive-in?”

  “Because I told Darla last night I’d already bought it, and I called this morning and the damn thing is a hundred and twenty thousand, and I could use a co-signer.”

  Nick turned to him. “You told her you bought the drive-in?”

  “Hey,” Max said. “It was the smartest idea I’d had in a long time.” He turned thoughtful. “It worked, too. The sex was great.”

  Nick stared at his brother. He wasn’t joking. “You bought an abandoned drive-in so you could have sex with your wife?”

  Max shook his head. “This wasn’t just sex. I saw God again. A hundred and twenty thou is a small price to pay.”

  Nick snorted. “Yeah, as long as I’m paying half.”

  Max scowled at him. “Yes or no?”

  “Yes,” Nick said. “But only for Darla.” He shook his head and then had to laugh. “A drive-in.”

  “Hey, we might make some money off it,” Max said.

  “Only if we show Sorority Sluts in Heat to minors.”

  “I’m not proud,” Max said and picked up the next work order.

  Fifteen minutes later, from under the hood of a Chevy, Max said, “Thanks.”

  “No sweat,” Nick said.

  “Was that Max dropping you off?” Debbie said to Darla when she got to the Upper Cut.

  “Yep,” Darla said. “I moved back in last night. He bought me a drive-in.”

  “That dump out on the old highway?” Debbie blinked at her. “Why?”

  “To get me back,” Darla said. “Isn’t that the most romantic thing you’ve heard of?”

  “I’d rather have roses,” Debbie said.

  Bill sat in the weight room, ignoring Bobby and thinking about Quinn. Now that baseball was over, he could see her more, work on the house.

  “You dumb ox,” Bobby said in his face. “You’re not even listening to me. I lie to a cop for you today, and then you do the most piss-poor job of coaching I’ve ever seen in my life. We’re not even going to the regionals.”

  “Leave me alone, Bobby.” Bill got up. “I have things to do.”

  “We lost that game on coaching,” Bobby spat. “You fucked it up. This is your fault.”

  “I don’t care.” Bill flipped off the lights in the weight room and turned for the door. “Hell, it’s just baseball.”

  “Just baseball?” The BP almost lost a lung, he screamed so loud, and Bill laughed at him. What a twit. Quinn had been so right.

  “Funny, huh?” Bobby got up close, in his face. “I’ll tell you something funny. I was here last night, checking the stage door because that bitch you’re so obsessed with is incompetent.” He stopped, fuming. “She threatened me and she’s incompetent.”

  “She’s not incompetent,” Bill said. “She’s careless sometimes”—she let Nick touch her—“but she’s not incompetent.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Bobby rounded on him, sneering. “Well, I came back to check the stage door last night, it was unlocked because she’s incompetent, and when I came in, I saw her. And you know what she was doing?”

  “Bobby, I don’t care,” Bill said. “Get out of my face.”

  “She was fucking that mechanic.” Bill flinched, and Bobby’s voice went low and evil. “Up against the wall, like a whore. Right there on stage. I watched them. While you waited out in the lot like the dumb ox you are, that slut—”

  Bill backhanded him. It was easy, like swatting a fly, and when Bobby didn’t get up, Bill nodded and left.

  There was one thing he owed Bobby for, he thought as he packed his clothes into his matched suitcases. If what he said about Quinn was true—which it probably wasn’t, Quinn was a good person, she wouldn’t do that, she was probably just kissing Nick, which was bad enough, and then Bobby with his dirty mind came in, he was glad he’d hit Bobby—well, it was time he moved in. It had worked before, just moving his stuff into her apartment a little at a time, and she hadn’t objected, Quinn wasn’t difficult, so he’d just move his clothes in, and then he could move the furniture later.

  Really, he didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before.

  But when he was on her front porch and he’d unlocked the front door, it still wouldn’t open. The key turned in the lock, but the door wouldn’t budge. And when he went into the side yard, the broken window was fixed, with a piece of wood nailed across it so even if he broke it again, he’d still have to get through the wood.

  It was like she was trying to keep him out. He felt his temper rise and calmed himself. It was just a mistake. She wanted him in there. She’d realize that when he moved in.

  If he could get in.

  He left his suitcases on the front porch and went to the back door, a little worried about trying it with that damn dog around, the dog would bark and bring the neighbor, the dog would scare Quinn, but while he was standing in the backyard, he heard her shower start—her bathroom window was open, if it wasn’t on the second floor he could climb through—and he realized that Quinn at least wouldn’t hear him or the dog as long as she was in the shower. And she took long showers. Sometimes he’d stand in the bathroom just to see her come out of the shower, toweling her hair, so beautiful, so round—

  He picked up a piece of broken concrete from near the step—the first thing he was going to do once he was moved in was clean up this yard, it was a disgrace—and smashed the window in the back door. Then he reached through and turned the key in the lock—so careless of her to leave the key in the lock with the window right there—and then when the door still wouldn’t open, reached in and felt around until he found the deadbolt. She was trying to keep him out. Silly thing. He threw the deadbolt and opened the door.

  The dog was there, of course. He walked to the front door with the damn thing yapping behind him, and opened it, turning the key, throwing the deadbolt she’d thought would keep him out, and then he turned and grabbed the mutt before it could scoot away, holding it away from him while it shrieked and peed, and then he took it out on the front porch and threw it as hard as he could into the front yard.

  It rolled once and lay still.

  Good riddance. He picked up his suitcases from the porch and took them upstairs to his bedroom to unpack.

  Quinn’s afternoon with the police had been less than productive. She’d filed her complaint, explaining what happened to Frank Atchity, who looked at her without much sympathy but without any antagonism, either. Just the facts, ma’am.

  “What I’d like to do is talk to Bill again,” Frank had said. “He’ll be back from the game this afternoon. I’ll give you a call then.”

  “Can I get a restraining order or something until then?” Quinn said. “I really don’t want him near me. He scares the hell out of me.” She thought of Bill looming over her the night before and shivered in spite of herself. “It’s like he’s living in a different world. He really thinks we’ll get back together, even though I keep telling him no. I mean, I moved out and bought a house. How much more can I do?”

  Frank’s voice had a little more sympathy this time. “I’ll get a judge on the restraining order. You go on home, and if he comes over, don’t let him in.”

  “He has a way in,” Quinn said. “We don’t know how, we think maybe the basement, but he got in to do all that sabotage. We put on new deadbolts, but—”

  “You just relax,” Frank said. “We’ll get this handled one way or another this afternoon. We’re talking about the coach here.