Graded in Red

Chapter Eight

I opened the front door and there Jake stood. He looked apprehensive about being here. I felt apprehensive with him being here too, so at least we had that in common.

Jake cleared his throat, "Hey Mags. How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay, a little bit of a headache. Want to come in?" I stepped aside to let him in.

"I just needed to ask you some more questions. I didn't want you to have to come down to the station. You know how everyone talks here, I don't want word getting around." Jake sat down on my loveseat, while I sat on one of the bar stools.

"Jake, people are already talking. My mother was even down here asking me what happened at Cindy and Scott's place. Marvin Gaye sure had it right about the grape vine." I took another swig of my coffee, it had reached room temperature and was acidic in flavor. I needed another cup if I was going to have to go through this again.

"Want some coffee? I need some more to get through this day." I nodded over to my tea kettle and the freshly cleaned French Press.

"I'd love some. Thanks Maggie. Mind if I get started?" He asked.

"Sure, Shoot." I grabbed the coffee grinder and pulsed some of the beans until they were perfect and waited for the water to boil.

"I want to start out by saying that I don't think that you did it. Killed Bridgett, I mean. I know that it is what everyone's thinking and maybe I even implied it last night, but I wanted to be transparent and let you know that you're not high on MY list of suspects."

The way that Jake put the emphasis on the word 'my' made me think that although I wasn't on his list of suspects I was high on someone's. I told him as much while the tea kettle started whistling, signaling that the water was ready to pour.

"Well, my superior believes that I need to exhaust all avenues of suspects. I can't exempt you just because I know you didn't do it. So I have to prove that you didn't. I need to ask you some questions to do this. I know that I am the last person that you want to talk to, but I need to do this, Mags." He was out of breath by the time he was done and I could tell that he was nervous because he was wiping his hands on his pants.

"Don't call me Mags, you don't get to fein friendship now!" I stated angrily. Jake had the awareness to look embarrassed that I softened my tone, "You really believe me? That I didn't do this?" I was stunned. I didn't see this coming.

"What?! No, Maggie. Remember when we were kids and were riding our bikes down the street and a blue bird fell out of its nest and died? You cried for a week. I just don't see you killing someone, even a person like Bridgett. I know you had a past with her, with me, everything. I know you didn't do this." When his eyes met mine, I felt a spark that I hadn't felt in a long time. Actually, it was ten years ago, when I last felt this I pushed it aside, reminding myself of what had happened, not what 18 year old me had wanted to happen.

"Before we dive into questions, let's clear the air," I said, exhaling a slow breath.

Jake froze for a moment, his demeanor shifting. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, an evident nervousness that brought an unexpected sense of satisfaction. But I reminded myself to remain composed; I needed to approach this maturely. "Sure, yeah. We should talk."

Pausing, I didn't anticipate Jake being so open and prepared to have this conversation. "You hurt me a lot, Jake," I began cautiously. "I thought I had moved past it, but what you did... It broke my heart. We were friends, Jake. Friends don't do that to each other."

There was an uncomfortable silence hanging between us. I could see he struggled, his eyes never quite meeting mine. I tapped my fingers on the counter, allowing the weight of the silence to settle.

"Why did you do it?"

Jake let out a sigh, his gaze shifting to his empty coffee cup. "I was an idiot. There's no better way to put it. No real excuse."

"But there's a reason, right?" I persisted.

"I was dealing with a lot with my dad back then. I needed attention. When I asked you to prom, I meant it." He raised his eyes, a sense of regret evident in them. "But Bridgett... She happened. She was popular, going places. When she said she'd go to prom with me, I just went along. I didn't think it would hurt you. We were just friends. It was supposed to be a friendly thing."

His dismissal of our relationship stung. I hadn't confessed my feelings for him back then. I thought his invitation to prom was an unspoken declaration of mutual feelings.

"I see," was all I could muster, waiting for him to continue.

"I had no idea what Bridgett and her friends planned. I didn't know they were going to target you. When I saw what was happening, I was horrified."

"But you didn't stand up for me," I said softly, recalling that painful memory. "You let it happen."

"I know! I'm sorry!" Jake paced back and forth in my tiny apartment. His apology seemed genuine, laden with remorse and regret. "I was mortified at what I did to you. I was blind to her manipulations. I can't make it right, Maggie. I can only apologize and show you I'm a different person now."

His words lingered, and I realized he was right. We were different people now. I was ready to forgive, not forget, but to start anew with Jake. Trust might take time to rebuild, but I was willing to be friends.

"Okay, what do you want to know?" I finally asked, as I prepared some coffee. "I've just returned, and I'm not privy to much. I already shared everything from Murphy's; it was my only contact with her since prom. I didn't even know she was in town."

"That night at Murphy's, did you see anyone with Bridgett? Someone that looked out of place?" He got his notepad out, the one that he had from last night. It looked nearly full with his chicken scratch handwriting, I wondered if anyone else had to read his writing, or if he transferred the notes he made into the computer for a report.

"Umm, I remember a guy at the bar when I first saw her. They looked to be having a heated discussion, he grabbed her arm, and she argued with him. One moment they looked like they were going to be at each other's throats and the next they were sticking each other's tongues down their throats. It wasn't the most pleasant sight." My stomach flip flopped just thinking about it.

"What did this man look like? I need you to really concentrate." He asked while not taking his eyes off of the notepad on his lap.

I closed my eyes, not only trying to ease my headache but also to focus in on what I saw. "He has greasy blonde hair, about shoulder length. He was caucasian and about average build. I couldn't see too much because I was on the other side of the bar, but I think he might have worked with his hands. I remember there being a mark left on Bridgett's arm, like oil or grease." I sighed, "That's all I can remember. I'm sorry. I hope that it was useful."

"Extremely useful. I'm going to stop by Murphy's to see if she remembers anyone with this description. You sit tight, I'll let you know what I find. I'm not letting this get pinned on you Mags. I promise." With that Jake squeezed my shoulder with his hand and I walked him to the door.

Of course, I didn't tell him one crucial fact. I do remember the name of the company on the back of the greasy man's jacked. It was a phoenix the saying around it stated, "From ashes come great cars." I remember my dad talking about a scrap yard that opened up about 5 miles outside of Broken Arrow's city limits. I wanted to make sure that I had something before I told Jake, it would only look like I'm pointing fingers if it didn't pan out.

I knew where I was going after I showered and got ready. I was going shopping, scrap yard shopping. Maybe I would find a killer deal, the killer.