Chapter 9

SUNDAY, JUNE 28

As we crossed the river, as was necessary to take the “scenic route” back home (and I will admit, that Audi was great to drive on mountain highways) Greta asked me, “What’s the deal with you and Jenny Raab?”

“There is no deal with me and Jenny Raab. It may be that the young lady has a crush on me.” I figured Louise must have ratted me out at brunch.

“That’s not the way we heard it,” Greta persisted. “We heard that you and she were cuddled in the back-back seat of Stan’s Suburban while you were driving around town.”

I sighed. “We weren’t cuddled and the ride was roughly six minutes.” I looked at Greta and I asked, “So what’s the deal with you and Jenny Raab?”

From behind me, Emily said, “She is cute, Gary. We could understand if...”

I caught her eye in the rear view mirror. “You, too?”

Then I had another thought. I said, “And maybe Louise is just a bit infatuated with Jenny, too.” I paused, then said, “Maybe the three of you should invite Jenny to a girls night out, see what happens.”

There was silence for a moment, then Em said, “You wouldn’t mind?”

I gave her a frown in the mirror. “Of course I’d mind. This sounds like a group of predators selecting its next victim. What’s this all about, anyway? Are we looking at someone you feel would add to our marriage, or are we just looking for a little fun on the side? Because at her age -- What is she, twenty-two, twenty-three? -- she’s most likely in it for the romance mode and would crash hard if things didn’t turn out.”

Greta shot back, “If she’s in in that mode, why’s she sniffing around you? You’re not exactly eligible.”

“Maybe she’s sniffing around me because she knows I’m a safe guy to test her appeal on. You know that’s what young women do.”

“Not just young women,” Emily said. Then she grinned and added, “I thought you were safe, after we first met.”

I smiled into the mirror, making sure it reached my eyes, then waggled my eyebrows. “There you go,” I said. “If I were to go after Jenny, it would be an unfair advantage. To turn my charm and sex appeal loose on her would be tantamount to a crime against humanity.”

“The way your mother raised you was a crime against humanity,” Greta groused. My mother had died when I was in college; Greta had never met her. She had only my stories and recollections to go on, and those were highly selective. I suspect Greta was referring to the way in which I had learned to argue from my mother, a technique I practiced with my Mom from a very young age. I’ll put it this way: I learned by losing.

I said, “Look, you guys, everyone seems a bit feverish over Jenny Raab. And I’ll admit, I wouldn’t mind seeing her stretched out naked on a bed. But I’m not into sport fucking; I never was, and you already knew that. So what’s your issue here? Seriously. What is your goal with Jenny?”

Silence reigned for the next couple miles.

Finally, Greta said, “You really know how to take the fun out of life.”

“That begs the question, sweetheart. A little while ago, you were prepared to see us, me or the two of you, approach Jenny socially for some unspecified purpose. What did you see happening? Or, more to the point, what did you want to happen?”

She turned toward me and, noticeably angry, said, “I wanted to crawl up between those thin, shapely legs, spread her swelling pussy lips, and run my tongue up over her sweet cunt and nibble on her little clit, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

After a long moment, I said, “Greta, my love, why the anger?”

“Because I’m pissed at myself,” she said, with vehemence. “It’s the same old thing that got me into bed with Phil. I got this warm buzz in my head, this ‘What would it be like?’ glow that simply eclipses other concerns. For that matter, it’s how I first got together with you. It just turned out that you had that radioactive warmth that was banned by the Geneva Convention, but I found out too late.”

Emily said, “You mean how he sort of sucks your entire vulva into his mouth, then gently chews on it, all the while stroking your G-spot?”

Greta aided, “Or how he whispers your fantasies into your ear while he strokes your clit?” She glowered at me, accusingly. “Of course, he has other appealing traits, outside the bedroom. But if he’s not a crime against humanity, at least he’s a crime against woman-ity.”

Into the resulting silence, I said, “Did I ask you to stop?” I said. “Please, continue to list my faults. I feel justly chastised.”

“Can we be serious, for a minute?” Emily asked.

I said, “Sure. About what?”

Greta turned in the seat to look back at her.

“Well, this issue with Jenny brings up a wider topic: are we a closed group? Or would our marriage expand to other people?”

“Wow!” I said. “Save for my puerile reference to Jenny, I’ve never even thought of that, not seriously, anyway.”

“What?” Greta demanded. “You thought you were our be-all and end-all and that we’d never want another man?”

“Greta, I don’t think that sort of perspective will add to the discussion,” Emily admonished, in her gentle way. “If we’re to discuss this frankly, then maybe the brainstorm rule should apply: no negative comments.”

“That wasn’t a comment, it was a question.”

“Do we want to have this discussion, or not?” Emily asked, in a neutral tone.

After a pause, Greta said, “Okay, you’re right. That was snarky. But, to be honest, I never thought about it, either.” Then she chuckled. “For that matter, I never thought about having you in our marriage.”

Em said, “I think that came about as a surprise to all of us, to one degree or another.”

“It did seem to come out of left field,” I said. “But it was always an ideal that I believed in, the expansion of love. I reckon, by the same token, I would not automatically rule out opening our marriage to other partners, though, frankly, the idea scares me.”

“What are you afraid of?” Emily probed.

I shrugged. ““I’d be afraid that you’d like another guy more than me.”

Greta said, “Don’t you think that’s how I felt when I found out about Emily?” Then she added, “Come to think of it, how did you manage to live knowing about my affair with Phil for nearly a year? Why didn’t that scare you?”

I shook my head, and grimaced, thinking about Phil Amundsen, Greta’s former boss and lover, for whose murder I had been arrested. “Because I felt Phil was unworthy of your love. I decided that, if you were to finally choose Phil over me, then you weren’t the smart woman I thought you were, and I’d be better off without you. At least, that’s what I told myself. In a closer analysis, it wasn’t a situation that had any easy answers. If I interfered, both our home life and our work life could be destroyed. I love you and didn’t want either of us to have our lives demolished. As it was, I almost went to prison over it.”

Greta said, “Maybe you’d have got the needle. That would have been a great story to tell my next husband.”

Emily asked, “Have you already picked out your next husband?”

“What? No. I was just deflating Gary’s balloon a little.”

Emily said, “Perhaps. But might you be minimizing it because of your role in things? Besides, the only rule we have in this conversation is to not denigrate the others’ comments.”

“Like you just did to mine?”

“Like you, I’ll plead that it was just a question, and definitely not intended to be snarky. I will say, love, that you seem to be feeling a bit defensive this afternoon. You need to relax and trust us enough to know we love you and cherish you, with all your faults, the same as we do for each of us. None of us is perfect, but our pledge was to always work things out.”

“Like in The Mexican,” I said.

“What Mexican?” Greta asked.

“The movie, with Brad Pitt and Julia Roberts and James Gandolfini. Winston asks Samantha, ‘When two people love each other, really love each other, but they just can’t get it together, when do you get to that point where enough is enough?’”

“Never,” Emily said.

Greta sighed and said, “Never,” though without certainty. Then she sniffed and turned toward the passenger side window. Greta hates to cry. It seemed that Em’s assessment had hit the mark.

I reached over and put my hand on Greta’s shoulder. Emily leaned forward to add her hand to mine.

Still facing the window, Greta said, “I can’t believe you two just don’t dump me. I’m always waiting for the axe to fall, so I’m bitchy to you.”

“Why would we do that, Greta?” Emily asked.

Greta turned to face us. “Because I’m worthless to this relationship. I bring nothing to it except a big pair of tits.” She hefted her breasts dismissively.

Emily placed her hand on Greta’s forearm, which Greta was resting on the seatback, as Greta had turned in her seat. Emily said, “I know you’re not just fishing for compliments, Greta. I think you’re expressing your own feelings of inadequacy, all evidence of your capabilities and contributions to the contrary. But I think you have correctly identified those feelings as the cause for your defensiveness, which likely leads to the occasional less-than-helpful reaction in our conversations.”

“I think she’s right, Greta. Those are your feelings, so we can’t simply dismiss them as if they were nothing,” I said, then added, “But to go on record, it’s definitely not the view we have of you.” I shook my head, “Most folks feel inadequate, to a greater or lesser degree. Me too, and I reckon Em has her self-doubts.”

Greta gave me a skeptical look. “When have you ever felt inadequate, Gary?” she demanded.

I sighed, and began to list, “Besides worrying you and Emily might find another man you would prefer more than me? And then there was the first time I asked you out. The first time I kissed you. The first time we had sex. When I asked you to marry me. The first time I took Emily’s hand. The first time we kissed. The first time we had sex. And a whole bunch of times in the last year or so, having to do with the two of you, with work, and all the other shit that’s happened. For that matter, I feel like a stupid kid whenever I get together with Tate.”

“Bull crap. I’ve never seen you shrink away from anybody or any situation.”

I nodded, then shook my head, showing a knowing smile. “That’s because I’ve got a routine that I use. When a situation looks overwhelming, I think to myself, ‘Oh, shit, this isn’t going to be any fun at all.’ Then I tell myself, ‘Well, bub, sometimes you eat the bear, sometimes the bear eats you. There’s no getting around it. We’ll just have to see if we can figure this out as we go along. Might as well get to it.’ Then I just grit my teeth and jump in. And that’s pretty much the long and short of it.”

Emily asked, “And that’s what you were thinking when you first approached Greta and me?”

I chuckled, caught off base. “A variation, more along the lines of, ‘If you don’t do this, you’ll regret it forever.’”

Emily looked at Greta and said, “That’s got to be a man thing. I can’t imagine dealing with life that way.”

“Not in my dreams,” Greta agreed.

“I’m not so sure, my dears. What do you do when the shit hits the fan? Emily, how did you approach your conversation with Greg when you told him about our intended group marriage? Greta, you had to take the bull by the horns when you told Phil it was over.” Greg Iverson is Greta’s legal husband. He is a renowned sports psychologist, author, and research professor at a major university in Seattle. He also happens to be gay, a fact he keeps under wraps, with Emily his willing beard. Greg believes his sexual orientation would hurt his acceptance among the mostly male athletes and coaches in the sports to which he devotes his attention. I was inclined to agree.

Emily said, “I was nervous, not a nervous wreck, because Greg’s a pretty practical guy. But I didn’t sleep much the night before.”

“Same here,” Greta said. “Though so much seemed in flux right then, that it was just one piece of a larger mess.”

“Okay, then, my point is that you face tough situations and you work your way through them, and almost always successfully. You’ve been doing it for years. You know what your limits are, too, so you’re not going to try to deal with something beyond your ken, though you do stretch the envelope. Simply put, you do the same thing I do, except you don’t manage it with the same terminology.

“Where I say, ‘This isn’t going to be any fun,’ you’re more likely dwelling on the uncertainties and the pile of work that may be involved. I say to myself, ‘Sometimes the bear eats you,’ meaning the situation could go pear-shaped and there’s not a damn thing I can do to prevent it, beyond the level best I’d be bringing to the table.

“I’ve looked at my history and realized I’ve handled lots of threatening problems in the past. Usually I figure them out one piece at a time, not the whole mess all at once. Sure, a few times I’ve screwed the pooch, but I’m only human. Shit can always happen; I just accept that going in.”

Greta said, “So you’re saying the difference is because you’re aware of the process, you don’t get so nervous?”

“Pretty much. You do gain some confidence when you realize you’ve been solving tricky problems probably back to high school.

I took a quick glance at each of them, Em seen in the mirror. “Really, my loves, think about it. Other than your liaison with Phil, Greta, when was the last time either of you made a bad decision about something important or faced a problem you couldn’t handle? Greta, we just dealt with that mess with Burt over the bakery, and you put some tricky moves on in that with barely a second thought.”

Greta said, “In hindsight, our whole relationship fiasco, last year, was something we repaired and came out with having something even better. So, yeah, I see your point. Certainly each of us had to pull our weight in that one.”

“I see what you’re saying, Gary,” Em chimed in. “We actually have organizing protocols of which we’re not conscious, likely the first of which is that we have the nerve to try things even though we’re apprehensive and intimidated.”

“Exactly. And here’s Greta demonstrating that first principle by participating in a group relationship even though it intimidates her. But you haven’t thrown in the towel, Greta. Instead, you’ve trusted us with your feelings.”

She said, “Pull over, Gary. I need a group hug right now.”

We had lunch at a winery whose trade name -- Mount Emily Vineyards -- had caught our attention on an earlier trip. Their menu emphasized local products and the wines, of course, were their own. To be honest, my preferred wine is Coca-Cola. But if I drink actual wine, I will order a white zinfandel, the wine for people who don’t like wine. Plus, its blush color will allow it to be served in place of a definitive red or white, at least to my loose standards.

The ladies had indulged in several glasses of wine, while I had limited myself to only one, so I found myself behind the wheel again as we continued toward home.

After a few minutes, Emily said, “I think we need to answer the question we asked this morning: are we open to additional members?”

Greta, who was in back, groaned. “I wanted to take a nap.”

Emily said, “Greta, I think this is important. We need a common understanding before one or more of us make invalid assumptions and bring us pointless grief.” Then, with a gamin smile, she added, “Or miss out on some fun.”

“Now that you put it that way, I probably couldn’t sleep anyway.”

“Well, like I said, I’m not opposed to the idea,” I began, “but I think we’re going to have to have some ground rules.”

“Love can’t be ruled,” Greta said.

“I’ll grant you that. What I’m talking about is how we handle it in our relationship.”

Emily said, “Could we just change focus for a minute? I’d like to propose a nomenclature change. I think we should refer to our relationship as our personal partnership or, simply, our partnership, for short, and that we are each a partner.”

“What brought that on?” Greta asked.

“I wanted a terminology that was more specific to us than just calling us a relationship. Even more, referring to us as a marriage can be confusing to others, since I am not legally married to the two of you, while, at the same time, I remain legally married to Greg. More precisely, under the general partnership agreement we signed in April, we are, quite literally, partners. So I’d like to suggest we use that term.”

“Suits me,” I said.

“Yeah, I think I like that better, too,” Greta said. “I always seem to stumble around deciding how to refer to us. Personal partnership seems to be a good fit.”

“So where were we?” I asked.

“Ground rules for expanding our partnership,” Emily said. “I believe you had the floor, Gary.”

“Alright. I’m trying to think how I want to put this. Ah, let’s try this, maybe for rule number one: Prompt, open honesty.”

After a moment, Emily said, “I’m guessing that what you mean is, as soon as one of us becomes aware of a serious attraction to someone, we immediately disclose that to the other partners.”

Greta asked, “You mean like Jenny?”

I said, “Maybe. The attraction should be of such a type that you would consider that person as a potential partner for all of us, and certainly before you make any sort of a move to involve yourself with that person.”

“What sort of move?”

“Any sort of move.”

“Like flirting?”

“If it’s beyond the scope of your normal flirting with other folks, then yes.”

Emily added, “That would include long looks into the other’s eyes.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Any time you feel inclined to start treating someone else special, we need to alert one another.”

“Then the others should accept that report without reproval,” Greta said.

“That would be essential,” I agreed. “We can’t be jumping down each others’ throats if we expect to freely share deeply personal feelings.”

“Okay,” Greta said. “What else?”

I sighed. “This is a tricky one: In order for someone to be considered for partnership, each of us would have to like them. A lot.”

Emily said, “That may be difficult. We were extremely fortunate that we each were attracted to the others. That seems like it might be a rare thing.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” I said. “I have an example, but it’s just an example, not a proposal, right? Just an example.”

“The Plummers,” Emily said.

“Chet and Lindsey,” Greta added.

“Huh,” I said. “I was thinking of the mayor and his wife, but your examples are good, too.” That got the groans I was expecting. I said, “More seriously, Greg is practically a junior member of this partnership now.”

Emily said, “Alright, there are people all three of us like. So maybe it’s not so far-fetched.”

I nodded. “What I would note, though, is that all of those relationships developed over time from shared interests and concerns. None of them were rooted in a crush or eroticism.”

“Like with Jenny,” Greta observed.

I said, “Ah, don’t sell Jenny short. She may be sexy, but she’s also a nice, intelligent, and capable young woman. None of us would have given her a serious thought if she were otherwise. I think the real problem is that she’s at least twelve years younger than us. And, according to the latest research, she’s likely still developing an adult brain.”

“That condition never held you back, Gary,” Greta jibed. That got a laugh from Emily.

Ignoring the goading, I said, “What I meant was that Jenny lives in a different socio-intellectual world. Whereas the others we mentioned are of contemporaneous attitudes, interests, and concerns.”

Greta said, “Yeah, I knew what you meant.”

I glanced at each of them, again. “One question I have for us is: Are we recruiting? In other words, are we actively looking for more partners?”

Emily looked back toward Greta. I could see Greta shrug in the mirror. Em said, “I’m not, and I agree that Jenny would probably not be a good match. I think we have plenty on our plates as it is. We’ve only been at this a few months. This discussion shows that we’re still working the bugs out.”

Greta asked, “Did you have any more ground rules?”

“No. I only came up with those two as we were talking. Mostly, when I thought about it, I’d get hung up on wondering if I could tolerate sharing you with another man.”

Greta said, “Except that you already have.”

I looked at her and shrugged.

(Sunday, June 28)

MONDAY, JUNE 29

Monday morning at 07:40 I was walking over to building two to see Chet, figuring that, if the mountain wouldn’t come to Mohamed, then -- But that thought stopped me, right in the middle of the window-walled bridge that connected buildings two and three. Whatever purpose I had in seeing Chet was instantly forgotten.

Just because Nick Durkee had an alibi that he spent that long weekend up at Fossil Creek Reservoir, it didn’t mean that Evelyn didn’t go up there to see him rather than going to the VFW brat roast in Leaufroide. She might have told her mother that just to cover her real intent. It could also explain why she had dressed up, the reason she left earlier than necessary, and the fact no one reported seeing her around Leaufroide after she left Limekiln.

I turned on my heel and headed back toward my office, where I tapped-in Tate’s extension on the county phone net.

“Sure,” he said, after hearing my suppositions, “but none of them reported seeing Evelyn up there.”

I said, “You mean that Nick, the prime suspect, didn’t say she was up there, nor did Nick’s only brother, nor did Marty August, recently charged with a felony, nor did August’s buddy, whoever that is? None of them said that they’d seen Evelyn in the vicinity of August’s cabin? Then I guess it proves she wasn’t up there.”

“Do I pick up a soupcon of sarcasm?”

“Thus belying Louise’s claim that you’re not very sensitive.”

“Hmph. The trouble with your theory is that it has no substance. Sure, it’s possible, but so are a lot of other things possible. For instance, you haven’t established an alibi, yet.”

“Neither have you.”

“I was with Louise.”

“How could she tell?”

I did my usual Monday morning management-by-walking-around tour. All anyone wanted to talk about was the possibility of leaving the county’s administration and going private. I started to write down the questions they had. I began to gain a greater appreciation of the complexity and sheer administrative orchestrating that would be necessary if we did choose to make that move. By the time I got back to my office, I was already regretting that I’d suggested the notion of going private.

Denny Kelly, though not a manager, per se, had nonetheless been one of my stops that morning. And, as it turned out, he had been the only one with a constructive suggestion. I had stopped in the bakery first thing to get some goodies to share as I went walkabout. In the course of packaging a dozen brownies for me, Denny mentioned that he thought we should get an espresso machine.

My memory immediately served up the image of a second hand Brazil Caffe Professionista commercial-grade espresso maker I’d seen at the restaurant supply warehouse on Friday, in Kingston. I’d looked it up online while I was there, because I had no idea what the things cost, though I’d heard that Brazil Caffe machines were highly regarded. On the web, the best price I could find for a new Professionista model was $799. The used one at the warehouse had a tag that said $199 plus a 90-day guarantee.