She shakes her head slowly back and forth. “I don’t understand. He knows you. Your name. He was here last weekend.”
My forehead scrunches. “He shows up at this bar and you automatically think he’s screwing around with someone here?” I gesture to the empty room. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but when the weather’s not so shitty, we get pretty packed in here.” I pause a moment, then say, “He may be cheating on you. He may even have met them here, but you have no reason to assume it’s me.”
She raises one eyebrow. “If he had just come to this bar, I would agree with you. But I found this.” She pulls out her phone and taps on the screen, then turns it to face me. I step closer to get a better look. It’s a picture of one of our bar napkins with my name, phone number, and home address. “This is where you live, right? I did a little…research. You live there with a few other people. And according to the travel history on his car, he’s been there too.”
My mouth drops open in shock as my mind spins, trying to understand what is happening right now. “There’s no reason he should have been to my house.”
We stare at each other, and I see the first signs on doubt creep into her features. She was so sure her assumptions were correct until now.
“What’s your name?” My question takes her by surprise.
“Camille.”
“Camille. Call him. Get him on the phone and put it on speaker. Let’s ask him why he has my name and number and address and why he’s been to my house when I’ve never met him in my life.”
She looks stunned. “What?”
I’m pissed. How dare she come in here, hurling accusations at me likethis. “You heard me. Let’s not screw around. We’re gonna get to the bottom of this.”
She stands up abruptly, almost knocking her stool over. “I’m not calling him. I can’t. He can’t know I’m here.”
I’m shaking my head. “Oh, no. You came in to get some answers so let’s get some answers.”
The color drains from her face, and I feel a little bad because she’s clearly scared at the thought of him finding out she’s here. But not bad enough to let this go.
“Look, I’m not trying to get you in trouble, but I’m also not going to be accused of something I haven’t done. It’s clear your husband is up to no good and it somehow involves me, so wearegoing to ask him about it.”
Camille pulls her purse close. “I made a mistake coming here. I obviously misunderstood.”
“And I’m misunderstanding why he has my name and personal details! Why he’s been to my house!”
Camille runs a hand through her hair. “I must have seen work information and assumed it was personal. I believe you when you say you don’t know him. This must have something to do with one of his cases. I’m so very sorry for bothering you.”
My spine straightens when she mentions his cases.
“You think this is because of a case?” Because there’s only one case my name would ever be associated with and it’s an old one. “Does this have anything to do with Paul Granger?” Paul was convicted ten years ago, but in his recent letters he’s told me he’s trying to appeal his case.
“Who did you say?” she asks, her voice just above a whisper.
“Paul. Granger.”
If I thought she looked pale before, it was nothing compared to what she looks like now.
My head tilts to the side while I study her. “I’m guessing my name didn’t ring a bell, but it’s clear Paul’s did.” She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes get big, so I push a little further. “Maybe you should do a quick search and see how we’re connected.”
We’re both startled when the door opens again. Deacon steps inside and glances from Camille to me and back at Camille. It’s obvious he’s walked into a tense situation.
He shuts the door and moves closer to the bar. Deacon is one of my housemates and can be very intimidating, especially if you don’t know him.
Camille takes him in then takes a step back.
He’s a big guy, but there’s a natural look to his size. Muscles that come from work, not working out. His dark hair and tan complexion are a gift from his mom, who came here from Cuba when she was just a little girl. He works for his cousin, Chris Ricci. I know Chris owns a few bars, I know Chris is a bookie, and I know there’s a lot more I don’t know when it comes to Chris and his business endeavors. I’m not even sure what the extent of Deacon’s job duties are, but picking up on comments he’s made, I’m convinced collections is a big part of it.
Deacon usually swings by near closing to offer me a ride home so I don’t have to walk, especially on nights like tonight when the weather is so bad.
“Aubrey, you good?”
I give him a quick nod. “I’m good.”
