Read Online I Don't Like Where This Is Going by John Dufresne - Free Book Online

insanely jealous and controlling. She couldn’t or wouldn’t leave him. When I asked her what she got out of this malignant relationship, she said she got the chance to love someone. When I asked why she had come to therapy, she said to make herself worthy of Ron. Not in so many words, but that was the gist. She jumped, but he pushed. Her grandmother died a month later. I may be the only person alive who remembers Tristina, thinks about her. I still see Ron around Melancholy. He has a wife and two adorable daughters and a steady job at Home Depot. He grew up. Good for him. Tristina did not. I want to make sure Layla’s notforgotten. Maybe I think this . . . this investigation is my shot at redemption.
    â€œYou’re so Catholic.”
    â€œLapsed.”
    â€œThe most dangerous kind,” Bay said. “Maybe we did see a suicide.”
    â€œI could live with that, but I have to be sure.”
    Bay smiled. “You’re going to get us in trouble, you know that.”
    â€œMaybe Blythe can be saved. Layla didn’t give up on her sister. We shouldn’t give up on her.” What I was thinking was how I gave up on Cam and how you don’t need a god to know that you must atone for your sins. “So now it’s also a rescue mission.”
    â€œAnd here’s something else for you to worry about. We’ve got sixty thousand honeybees in the eaves of our house.”
    â€œThe hum!”
    Bay drew a deck of cards out of his cargo vest pocket—he was dressed, apparently, as a fly fisherman for this evening’s round of poker, all the better to distract his opponents—and shuffled them.
    I said, “How did you find them?”
    â€œI saw the honey melting down the wall out back.”
    â€œDid you call the landlord?”
    He nodded. “I had Arthur, the bee guy, out for an assessment.” Bay spread the cards in front of him on the bar. “He told me that all honeybees in Las Vegas are Africanized.”
    â€œThat’s not good.”
    â€œOne sting won’t kill you, but fifteen might.” Bay told me to pick a card, any card.
    I slid one card halfway out of the deck, slipped it back in, and chose another. He flipped the spread deck over, so I could see they were ordinary playing cards. He turned my card over: a joker. The little jester in motley clothes and belled shoes held a fool’s scepterand strutted across the back of a flying honeybee. Bay said, “The TV reporter.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œHe knows about her death—he found out who she was. Call him.”
    â€œDo you remember his name?”
    Bay found the Channel 14 website and showed me a photo of Elwood Wingo. He said the bee removers would be by in the morning. “Arthur likes his coffee black. And you can take the car home. I’m playing through the night.”
    AT HOME I GOOGLED Kiernan Carlisle and found her 2008 obituary. I learned that she was “a loving sister, daughter, aunt, and friend to all that knew her,” that she was “unique, special, intelligent, and compassionate,” and that she was “taken too early.” I was not told how she was taken. I found out how in a related article from the Lincoln Ledger out of Star City. She had been strangled in her own condominium in Las Vegas. Police were investigating. A neighbor who knew Kiernan “about as well as anyone can know an exotic dancer,” and who requested anonymity, said, “I’m going to get me a gun permit tomorrow.”
    THE BEES HUMMED like a Tesla coil. I made a small pile of Kitty Yums for Django by the kitchen table. He ran across the kitchen and slid into them. Back on the Internet I learned that jumping from a high place was only the seventh most effective way to kill yourself, just after stepping in front of a train and just before exsanguination. I read my book ( To the Wedding ) till I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I got into bed, put on my sleep