Lemonade

Jones looked at his partner. "I'm sorry, Mr. Portelli, that's all we have right now. You have our cards if anything happens or you hear from your wife. We'll keep in touch." The detectives stood up to leave but Doug remained seated.

Marcia Geoffrian walked them to the door and waited until they drove away. "What are you going to do?" she asked him. The man looked devastated.

"I honestly don't know." He tried to stand up. "Coffee or something?"

"No, thanks, I've got to get going and write this up. They're not the only ones who can record conversations." Marcia patted her pocket and tried to smile. "Don't worry... hopefully, they'll find your wife soon enough and she'll explain everything... everything. Let me know if you plan on divorcing her and I'll make an appointment for you with John Stevens."

"I... I'll let you know... Jesus Christ, I don't deserve this." He started to cry, ashamed at his emotional breakdown in front of her. "I just don't know... damn it! I guess I will have to, there's no way I can get past this. Thank you for being here."

Marcia left and when her car had driven far enough down the street, Doug turned off the porch light and went to bed.

His life had been turned upside down. He wondered what he would do if his wife suddenly appeared and begged for forgiveness. No chance of that...

**********

Doug took the rest of the week off and stayed in the house. Jones had a plainclothes car keep watch on the house but they saw nothing out of the ordinary happening at Portelli's, not even a pizza delivery although a nursery truck had delivered seven lemon trees to the house across the street.

Inside, Doug walked around the house, stopping every now and then to look at their wedding picture hanging on the wall. Terri looked so virginal in her long white dress, he so gloriously happy in his powder blue tuxedo. He touched the frame, running his finger down its side. A tear slowly made its way down the side of his cheek and hung on his face for just a moment before falling to the floor.

"Oh, Terri, how could you?" He leaned his head against the wall, his palm flat on the plaster.

He reached up and took the photograph down and smashed it under his heel.

Pierce's phone conversation with the detectives that Tuesday gave Doug the alibi he needed for Saturday and although neither Jones nor Phillips could find another suspect, Portelli no longer was their 'person of interest.'

At first, he called Jones every day, sometimes twice a day but as the weeks went by, his calls slowed to every other day and then finally once a week.

And then, a break finally came across Phillips' desk and she immediately called Jones over.

Jones walked around his desk to hers. "Whatcha got?"

"Look, I've been trying to match up any missing men who might have disappeared at the same time as that guy's wife and this showed up. Look at this. This guy, Timothy Ricci, disappeared right about the same time as Terri Portelli did. Nobody caught it because he was a college student and he fell through the cracks."

"Let me see that." Jones took the paperwork back to his desk and quickly read through it. "You may have something, here. Where did they find his car?"

"That's just it; it was in his space the whole time. It was his landlord, wondering where the rent was. He went into the apartment and found quite a smell."

"Dead body?" he asked.

"No, rotten food and just plain mustiness and a couple of nickel bags... he called the police but nobody put two and two." She was excited. It was the first lead in a very frustrating case.

"What's the connection? He lives in Santa Monica."

"They found a couple of photographs and it rang a bell with somebody over there, an officer named, don't laugh, Clarence Peabody, and he called us and here's the paperwork. Want to take a ride?"

"You bet. Let me get my coat."

A quick canvas around the complex quickly proved that Terri Portelli was a frequent visitor at Timothy Ricci's apartment. Jones started to wonder if the woman ever spent any time at home with her husband.

"She was really sticking it to that poor bastard of a husband. How much are we going to tell him?" Phillips looked at her partner, waiting for a response.

"The least we can, I think," Jones said. "He's already been screwed over enough. It still doesn't answer the question as to where the two of them are, though. Do you think they ran away together?"

Phillips shook her head. "Nah, the money's still in the bank and she was getting hers steady anyways. Why take off? Whatever happened, happened to the two of them in her car. They're both dead, that I'm sure of it."

"Susan, I don't think we're going to be able to figure this thing out. The thing's gone cold."

"Don't give up. We just found out about this guy, didn't we? Something else will turn up, just you wait and see. We just need to alert the media and get this guy's picture out there." All they had, though, were some pictures of the missing couple and a driver's license photo.

Jones pulled out his cell. "Mr. Portelli, this is Detective Jones. We've come up with some new information regarding your wife's disappearance."

"You're kidding. Have you found her, is she all right?"

"No sir, I said we had some new information, not that we've found her. We've found the man she... the man..."

"She'd been sleeping with. OK, Detective, you can say it. I've come to accept my wife was unfaithful. You're not going to find her, are you? She's run away with this guy?"

"No, sir, we think they're both dead. He was a college student. He had no money to run away and both cars have been accounted for. If they had taken a plane somewhere, we'd have found that out, already. We think there were drugs involved."

"A college student? Shit, I'm not that old, I'm only thirty-four. What'd she need a college student for? Ah, never mind. I'm sorry, Detective, but this has opened old wounds again. I thought I could live with the fact that she cheated on me but..."

"He hung up on me," Jones said, sheepishly. "I should have expected something like that. Well, let's get Gonzales to get these pictures on the air."

Doug watched the news that night, seeing the man who had taken the wife he had worshipped from him. Realistically, he knew his wife was to blame for everything that had happened and had happened to her but it still hurt as if he had done something wrong.

Sitting next to him was his brother-in-law, Peter. "Well, I guess that's that. If everybody didn't know it before, they sure as hell know it now. Sorry, man... at least I didn't have my whoring wife laid out on TV." He took another drink of beer, emptying the can.

"Thanks," Doug said. "Another beer?"

"Nah, three's enough. You get the check for the car, yet?"

"Yeah, it came last week. It took them long enough, considering the police report and all. Damn insurance companies. Fucking car was almost brand new."

"I'm going to bed." Peter got up, unbuttoned his shirt and headed to the guest room.

"I'll see you in the morning, then," said Doug, turning back to the television. He changed the channel just in time to see his wife's and her lover's picture again. He turned off the set and headed to bed, himself, cursing the woman he had pledged his love to just a few years earlier.

The whole God damned city now knew what she had done to him.

**********

Susan looked up as Al lowered his mouth to hers. She wanted to kiss him, to feel the sensual pleasure of his mouth, his hands, his hard, powerful body. She realized she was letting her common sense leave her mind as quickly as she accepted his touch. Sleeping with your partner was severely frowned upon by the LAPD.

Slowly, he brushed his mouth against hers, lightly, lovingly, from one corner to the other, the contact a mere whisper of the wet heat growing between her legs.

Susan closed her eyes and though she'd die from pleasure. Sensations washed through her in a heated rush, leaving her trembling as it washed through like the waves on the beach. She was hot and wanting more. She opened her eyes, looking at him. He kissed her again, his look an unmistakable message.

Susan parted her lips, wanting whatever he would give her. She threw all caution and the hard lessons of life to the wind.

She came willingly into her partner's arms, pressing her cheek against the curve of his neck, her arms around his shoulders. "I'm not going anywhere," Al said. "Susan, I want you so much," he sighed against her ear.

Shutting her eyes, she smelled his scent. He brushed his mouth along her jaw, then trailed hot, moist kisses down the side of her throat. She dug her fingernails into his back, enjoying the sheer joy his body gave her.

She met him in an openmouthed kiss that tasted of danger and heat and freedom and love. He stared. He lowered his mouth to her breast. With a prayerful love, he kissed on breast, and then the other until she ached for him in a way she never ached before.

Susan's fingers touched Al there and he moaned under his breath. One kiss led to another, deeper, hotter, wilder. His hand moved down the curve of her hip to the velvet smoothness between her thighs... into her most intimate heat.

His fingers played lightly, there as his tongue danced in her mouth. Pleasure flooded through her, bringing her blood to a boil. She pushed against him, her hip brushing against his hardness.

She dragged her mouth away from his to cry out, but suddenly his fingers ceased their teasing and came to rest against the opening she waited for him to enter. He deepened his touch and intense pleasure exploded within her like a fiery furnace on high and then he plunged into her again and again until her very soul merged with his in a scream loud enough to wake the dead.

Susan lay in bed, her hands cradling her head as she stared at the dimly lit bedroom ceiling. Did Al already puzzle it out and keep it to himself? That possibility caused her to wonder if he had made his own vigilante justice choice before. Should she cautiously re-open cold cases on her own time?

She looked over at her lover, lying on his side, lightly snoring. She had already broken enough rules in the last week to end her career, what was one more?

She reached out her left hand and touched him, there. Even flaccid, it amazed her just how it worked. His ability to bring her ecstasy in bed as he made love to her was beyond belief.

**********

The next evening, there was a strong banging knock on the door and as Doug answered, Mrs. Kittrell walked in carrying a large covered pan, and a pitcher of lemonade. "Good evening, Doug. How are you today?"

"About as well as can be expected, I guess, ma'am. My, that smells good. What have you brought me?" He took the pitcher and followed her into the kitchen.

"Thank you," she said. "How many times have I told you to call me Chantelle, darlin'?" Even though Doug had considered her the old lady that lived across the street, she was only in her early forties and had taken a shine to him. "I brought you some lasagna, tonight. I hope you like Italian."

"I... I like everything you've done, Mrs... Chantelle. You're a fantastic cook."

"Oh, Doug, you're just hungry. That's your stomach talking."

"I was wondering," he started, "if you'd like to go, maybe, to dinner with me tomorrow or the next day? Sort of a thank you... that is, if you're interested."

"Why, Doug, tomorrow would be just fine. Say, seven o'clock?"

"Yes, ma'am, uh, Chantelle, that would be fine. Would you like to stay for dinner with me?" Doug looked at the woman in a different light. She was only a few years older than he and he had started noticing how well she had taken care of herself. Besides, his miserable wife was gone

Chantelle kept the conversation light, still hearing the disappointment in Doug's voice as they talked about everything except his missing wife. Tomorrow night, she determined, she would have a nice evening with him, with dinner at a nice restaurant and dessert in her bedroom. She smiled at him, wondering if he knew what she had planned for him.

That night, when she walked home, she went to her backyard and looked at her little citrus grove. Digging the hole deep enough for the first tree had been the problem but after that, everything went so much easier. Doug had been so blind and just needed some help from a guardian angel.

When life gives you lemons, she giggled, make lemonade.