Free Dark Waters (The Jeff Resnick Mysteries) by LL Bartlett Page A

imperfection when I suddenly realized Brenda stood before me, waving her hand before my eyes.
    “Hey, pay attention to me,” she ordered none too kindly.
    I shook myself. “Sorry. I was lost in thought.”
    “You seem to be lost in more ways than one these past few days,” she said tartly, her expression fierce. “You haven’t made an appearance in almost two days.”
    I shrugged and shoved the chalk back into my pocket. “I’ve had a lot on my mind — and a lot on my plate.”
    Her penetrating glare seemed to cut right through me.
    The buzzer went off on the dryer, and I opened the door, pulling out the chocolate brown towels and washcloths, piling them onto the top of the washing machine.
    “I understand you have a problem with my houseguests.”
    “I don’t have a problem.”
    “You haven’t been at all friendly to Da-Marr.”
    I wasn’t sure how to respond to that statement, and continued to fold my laundry.
    “You never told me about the people who mugged you,” Brenda said.
    My gaze remained on the bath towel I folded. I didn’t want to be having this conversation.
    “Were they black?”
    I didn’t say anything. My silence was answer enough for her.
    I could feel her anger building.
    “I’m sorry, Jeffy, this black face just doesn’t rub off. And I can’t take responsibility for what other people of my race do, just the way you can’t for those white boys who steal their parents’ guns and blow people away in schools, movie theaters, and coffee joints.”
    “I didn’t ask you to take responsibility.”
    “And you can’t blame Da-Marr for what happened to you.”
    I folded the last washcloth, gathered up everything, turned, and walked away.
    “Don’t ignore me — and don’t stalk off in a huff.”
    But I did leave without another word. I didn’t understand exactly what it was I felt, but I knew I couldn’t discuss it with her.
    I trudged up the stairs, emotion swelling within me once again. It was fear — and even worse — the growing fear of having to face that fear.
    I hadn’t yet arrived at a place where I was ready to deal with it. And after my experience with Dr. Krista Marsh, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to explore what I felt with any kind of so-called qualified health professional. And I’d never get past the guilt I felt for the pain I’d caused Grace Vanderstein at Krista’s manipulation.
    The rain was just a drizzle as I crossed the driveway for my apartment. Brenda’s car was still among the missing, and Richard’s was gone, too. Had Brenda loaned her car to Evelyn? Aw, who cared?
    I trudged up the stairs to my apartment and let myself in. Herschel was waiting for me behind the door and gave a yowl. “No treats right now, buddy.” Instead, I dumped the laundry basket on the breakfast bar and headed to the bathroom. I grabbed a dose of my migraine meds and downed it with some water, and then stood for a long time before the medicine cabinet’s mirror studying the haunted expression on my face, wondering what I should do next. I didn’t have to work that night, but I didn’t want to be alone, either. And I certainly wasn’t prepared to spend another evening with Evelyn and Da-Marr, even to placate Brenda.
    The truth was, I loved Brenda. In fact, I felt more for her than a brother-in-law should. Why couldn’t she understand what that beating at the hands of a couple of young thugs had cost me? Okay, typical macho things like maybe my manhood. Eighteen months later, I still had these stinking, often crippling headaches, and probably always would. That limited my ability to work, to support myself. I was dependent on Richard and his generosity, and I hated it.
    No, she couldn’t understand all that those punks had taken from me. And I could never begin to tell her, either.
    I wandered into the living room and stood there for a few minutes, soaking in the silence. When I had one of my skull-pounding headaches, silence was a welcome respite, but right then I