Polkacide (25 page)

I cursed him every way I
could think of, really letting him have it. He shouted back at me
with curses of his own, one after another. It was the first time
we'd ever had a fight so extreme, so laden with
profanity.

We burned every bridge, and
then we scorched the earth around them, too. It was the kind of
exchange a couple doesn't come back from, ever.

And even as it was happening, the
tears kept coming.

In the end, he hung up first. It took
me a minute to realize he was gone, as I plowed through my latest
tirade.

And when I did figure it
out, I felt incomplete. Cheated in more ways than one. Because
having the satisfaction of being first to hang up would've made me
feel a little better. As sad as that sounds.

I felt the urge to hurl my
phone against the wall, but I settled for pitching it on the bed,
instead. I kept pacing back and forth, propelled by a restless
tumult I couldn't control.

Too much had happened for
one day, for one person. I felt overloaded in every way, to the
point of collapse.

So much had happened, I was
having trouble processing it all. From Father Speedy's surprise
meeting at Polka Central to Peg's death threat to the loss of my
club and boyfriend, I'd been pounded from all sides. My life had
changed profoundly in the short time since I'd woken up that
morning.

Just like that, almost
everything was different. Polkapourri was back in New Krakow,
unless Father Speedy found a way to sabotage it. My lies about
moving the festival to Valhalla had been dispelled by another set
of lies.

Peg's life had been
threatened, probably by the same person who'd killed Dad.
Disregarding the danger, she'd driven off to find the killer on her
own.

Then, in the course of one
terrible phone call, I'd lost both my business and my boyfriend.
Two of the things that had defined my life in L.A. had gone up in a
puff of smoke. If I went back there now, I would be without a home,
without a man, and without a dream. All of a sudden, there was
nothing left for me on the West Coast.

I'd never imagined, when I'd gotten on
the plane in California to travel East, that I was saying goodbye
to my old life for good. But that was exactly what I'd
done.

All I had left now was in New
Krakow.

Chapter 35

As I stomped across the
room, my thoughts roiled with regret and sad nostalgia for the life
I'd lost...also superheated hatred for my ex-boyfriend. I hated him
for his gutlessness, his cheating, his lousy timing. I hated him
for carpet-bombing my perfectly good life into oblivion.

I hated myself, too, for not
picking up on any of the clues that must have been there. For not
seeing it coming. For not stopping it somehow.

And I hated myself for
letting it upset me, for letting him get to me. He didn't deserve
my sadness
or
my
anger. He didn't deserve
any
claim on my emotions after what he'd
done.

I was better than
that.

It was time to get hold of
myself. Stopping in my tracks, I drew a deep breath and let it out
slowly. Then again, and again. I forced myself to calm down in
spite of the overload.

But then I spun up again in no time.
It was just too much to handle, especially on the heels of Dad's
murder. I couldn't seem to get my arms around it all.

The next thing I knew, I was
snatching up my purse and digging for the cigarette Ellie had given
me in the back yard at Bonnie's place.

I expected it to be crushed or broken,
but it came out fine, not even creased. I ran it under my nose and
inhaled deeply, relishing the familiar smell of the tobacco.
Nothing like it in the world.

Now
this
would make me feel better, at
least for a little while. I knew it for a fact. It was good to have
that one thing to depend on.

I also knew I'd feel bad
later for giving up all the progress I'd made. Quitting hadn't been
easy in the first place; it had taken many false starts and some
very real withdrawal pains to get it right and get this
far.

But that all seemed awfully
unimportant as I rolled the cigarette between my fingers. As I
imagined how good it would taste and smell and feel. It was just
like an old friend rushing to the rescue in my hour of
need.

I found my lighter in the
bottom of my purse and went outside. It was the tail end of dusk
out there, with a pale gray light slowly giving way to the
encroaching blackness.

Closing the door behind me, I stepped
into the parking lot and leaned against the driver's side of my
car. I could barely resist the temptation to light up the cigarette
immediately.

My last defenses tried to
wrestle back the urge, but I could feel them weakening. After the
kind of day I'd had, it was harder to imagine
not
smoking.

Smoking was the one last thing I could
fall back on, a reliable constant in a changing world. I wasn't
going to deprive myself of it, not now, when I needed it
most.

I lifted the cigarette to my
mouth. It felt so natural as I slid it between my lips, so
right
. Then I raised my
sky blue lighter, automatically fitting my thumb to the striker
switch.

One last moment of doubt made me
hesitate. What if this was my last chance to stay on the wagon?
What if I never managed to quit again? Was I doomed to suffer from
lung disease like Baba Tereska, maybe even die from
cancer?

Then again, what did it matter if my
life was in the crapper like it was now?

I flicked the lighter to
life, and a steady yellow flame appeared. As I gazed at it,
however, I glimpsed two smaller, greenish glows out of the corner
of my eye, under a car across the parking lot.

When I snapped off the
lighter and looked in their direction, the glows vanished. Though I
hadn't seen them clearly, I thought they might have been cat's
eyes. Ghost's eyes, maybe?

But I didn't see him scoot out from
under the car or zip across the lot. He might have been watching
from afar, but he seemed to have no intention of coming closer.
Even he was letting me down today.

Better to focus on something more
dependable.

I switched on the lighter again. No
one could blame me for this; others had done far worse after days
like the one I'd just had.

The familiar ritual fell
smoothly into place. I tipped my head to one side and brought the
flame to meet the tip of the cigarette. Then, I sucked on the
filter, drawing in fire and air so the paper and tobacco started to
burn.

After that, I inhaled
deeply. For the first time in six weeks, my lungs filled with
smoke.

That part alone was enough
to make me groan with pleasure. The smell and taste of it were
heavenly; the ritual itself was soothing and exciting all at once,
even before the nicotine kicked in.

Closing my eyes, I breathed
out through my nose. As that first lungful emptied out, I felt the
nicotine start to take effect. Since I'd been clean of the drug for
weeks, it hit me harder than normal, leaving me lightheaded and a
little dizzy.

In other words, it was glorious. I
inhaled again, savoring the feelings washing through me...glad to
be focusing on something other than the disaster area my life had
become.

Opening my eyes, I gazed contentedly
at the darkening sky. How many times before had I smoked just like
this, outside at nightfall, bathing in the crisp evening air as the
warm smoke filled me up inside? How many times had a cigarette made
me feel better?

I smiled.
Too many to count.

So what if Dad was gone and
Luke had left me and the club had failed? At least I could count on
this moment of simple comfort to keep my problems at
bay.

I tapped off an ash and took
another pull on the cigarette. It was actually making me
feel
stronger
. How
could I have
forgotten
?

So what if I'd given up in the face of
adversity? So what if I'd surrendered to my addiction?

The shame I felt in my heart was a
small price to pay for the overall relief and well-being flowing
through me.

Chapter 36

Soon after I'd finished that
cigarette, I wanted more...but my cravings couldn't overcome my
exhaustion. I walked into my room, planning to grab my car keys for
a drive to the nearest convenience store. Instead, I sat down on
the bed with my phone to put a call-block on Luke's number and
ended up asleep in a matter of minutes.

I made up for lost time the
next morning, though, and stopped at a convenience store on my way
to work. I bought two packs of my favorite brand of cigarettes and
tucked them into my purse. Mission accomplished.

Now
I was feeling like a full-fledged smoker again.

By the time I pulled in at
Polka Central, it was six o'clock on the dot...and I was the first
one there. Peg's car wasn't there yet, which worried me, but maybe
she was just running a little behind. It didn't necessarily mean
she'd gotten herself in trouble hunting the killer.

For now, I continued with
business as usual. I opened the front door with the key Peg had
given me, then marched inside and switched on the lights at the
stage-right breaker box. The few lights that still had working
bulbs hummed to life throughout the place.

Next, I headed straight for
the back door alcove, opening a pack of cigarettes on the way. As I
peeled off the cellophane wrapper and tore open the foil flaps with
practiced ease, I felt like I'd never stopped being a smoker at
all.

I had a fresh one in my
mouth by the time I reached the door. I lit it with one hand while
I used the other to crank open the eye-level deadbolt and push the
bar to release the latch.

The door creaked as I gave it a
shove...then stopped dead. I pushed again, and it wouldn't move any
further.

"What the heck?" When I put my
shoulder into it, I felt a little give. The door budged a few more
inches, but that was it.

I leaned into it even more,
pushing still harder to no effect. The door just wasn't going to
open another inch for me. Whatever was blocking it was heavy, dead
weight.

I let it fall shut and
backed away, breathing hard from the exertion. It was only then I
noticed I'd stepped in something and was leaving tracks.

The light in the alcove was
pretty dim; the overhead lamp was one of those with a dead bulb. I
could see the prints of my sneakers stamped on the floor in what
looked like an inky substance, but I couldn't make out the color or
consistency.

Good thing I had a portable
light source at hand. Crouching, I flicked my cigarette lighter to
life above one of the prints, trying for a better look before the
flame started to singe my thumb on the switch.

I lowered and tipped the
lighter, getting it as close as I could to the sneaker print.
Leaning down, I stared past the flame at the glistening lines and
loops left behind by the sole of my shoe.

And I saw that they
were
red
. Whatever
I'd stepped in was
deep
red
. Deep red and
sticky
.

Gasping, I jumped to my feet. "Oh my
God!" Along the way, the cigarette fell out of my mouth, and I
dropped the lighter.

Because the mental math was adding up
to a nightmare.

Backpedaling, I bumped into
the wall. I stayed there a moment, gaping at the door, wondering
what was behind it.
Who
was behind it.

Whose
blood
did I have all over my
sneakers?

I hated to find out, but I had to
look. I had to know.

Even though I thought I knew
already. Because I only knew of one person who'd gotten a death
threat the day before and set out to find a killer on her
own.

Heart hammering, I moved
toward the door. I felt like I was caught in a dream, drawn to see
a terrible thing against my will. The anticipation was
grueling.

But I had to do it.

Taking hold of the bar, I pushed the
door open as far as it would go. When it met the blockage and
stopped, I took a deep breath, trying to steel myself for what was
coming.

Then, I wedged my shoulder
in the opening. I squeezed my head halfway through the gap,
exposing one eye, and looked down.

And cried out. I couldn't
stop myself. The sight of a human body crumpled on the blood-soaked
ground was too much of a shock.

Even though it wasn't the body I'd
expected.

Whatever had happened to
Peg, she wasn't dead outside the back door of Polka Central. This
was someone else, someone I wouldn't have thought would turn up
with a bullet in his head.