Bellmare

Aubrey woke with a start. Her heart was whispering against the dip in her throat, and she could taste salt on her lips. The window was slightly propped and she could hear the water that was a few feet away. The air was sticky like only the South could muster. She had pushed the quilt away from the four-post bed at some point and clenched the cool side of the pillow like a vice.

She had forgotten about the dull ache in her abdomen until she stretched. Her damp fingers moved straight to the fresh scar above her hip as she hissed out a string of profanities. The low altitude wasn’t aiding the pain, and neither was the scent of coffee and bacon wafting from downstairs. In fact, it made her stomach turn even harder.

It took her a few moments to gather her surroundings. She wasn’t used to the small room with the cherry-stained floors. Everything in her apartment back home, what was once her home, was shiny and new. She made enough so that it could be this way. There was floral wallpaper on the walls here, once white and vibrant had faded to a dingy golden-yellow. She squinted hard at the colors and waited for a hand to press against the plaster, but it never did.

The mattress was lumpy but better than the one at the hospital, and she supposed since they were in the Deep South now, the food would be better too. There was a small bookshelf in the corner that contained a few novels that were just as dusty as the mostly empty closet. Aubrey Posen was grateful for her own room. She was grateful that they rolled up in the dead of night and that if she truly wanted to, she could remain locked away behind this door for eternity.

Instead, she pulled herself up and took a look at the large closet that had been carved into the bedroom unnaturally. It hadn’t been there when this place was first built, whenever that was. It had been filled with clothes that were as bright as the wallpaper. She cringed at the floral button-downs and pastel blouses. They were nothing like the dark blazers and silk tops she would dawn in court. Sophisticated and sexy- it captured the attention of her audience but demanded authority.

Charlotte must be reserved. The file that she had thumbed through last night presented her as a small-town girl who married her high school sweetheart. Someone that was involved in bake sales and homecoming courts. Aubrey didn’t have time for that when she was in high school- but this Charlotte Cohen did.

She grabbed the closest thing to normal that she could find, a plain white t-shirt and a pair of jeans. The fabric pressed uncomfortably against the wound on her knee, but she ignored it, the ghost pain that Sammie said would be there. Just a phantom.

Aubrey took a deep breath before walking down the stairs of the old farmhouse. She would do the same when she was younger- steel her nerves and control her heart rate before presenting a mask at the dinner table. She would go through her day, and the itinerary for the next while shoveling peas onto her fork without dropping a single one. This was no different.

Grady was gulping down a large glass of orange juice when she finally walked into the kitchen. He smiled tiredly at her. There was an extravagant plate of food in front of him, complete with runny eggs and two strips of bacon. He had already bitten into the corner of a piece of toast slathered in bloody jam.

Agent Beca Mitchell hummed a small tune at the stove. A towel was strung over her shoulder, slightly damp as she pushed another egg around a skillet. She didn’t look up at the new footsteps. Instead, she shoveled the food onto a plate and placed it at a chair adjacent to the man already eating.

She looked different in the daylight, almost domestic compared to the cold exterior she presented the night before. Still, Aubrey eyed her apprehensively, trailing her stare across the flannel she wore and the regulation gun that was hidden by its stripes.

“You hungry, princess?” She chided.

Aubrey frowned but had to admit, that roadside burger that she scarfed down the day before had long since worn away. She could feel her stomach clench with hunger. The scent of coffee was making her mouth water. She nodded, and let out a tight sigh.

“Well, dig in. We have a lot to talk about before Detective Marshall has to head back to Quantico.”

The woman grasped her dark colored mug from the counter and sat in the only available seat. Aubrey didn’t question why she wasn’t eating, or if she already had. Instead, she settled in and took a small bite of the maple bacon that had been cooked to perfection. She wondered if they taught that at an academy.

Grady wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Did you get a chance to read through the file, Aubrey?”

“I did. I suppose I should have done it a lot sooner.”

“It’s a lot to take in. Any questions?”

“No” She swallowed the sweet taste on her lips and let out a shaky sigh “From here on out I’m Charlotte Cohen. I along with my wife Georgia Cohen moved from Washington to open up a small flower shop here in town. The weather is warmer here. We met in high school, went to different colleges, and reconnected five years ago. It took two for her to propose.”  

Agent Mitchell laughed into her cup “Quite the memory on this one.”

“You’ve got all the facts, now you just have to act the part. I know how hard it’s going to be to adjust to all of this but consider it a little mini vacation. Enjoy a simple life without trials, and reporters, and high-security facilities.”

Beca looked over the brim of her mug. She was drinking straight black coffee and it made Aubrey’s stomach turn. She would overload hers with sugar and cream and enough calories to make it not taste so bitter. But then again, everything is bitter these days.

“This town is small, smaller then you’re used to. There’s already talk about the two of us.”

“Isn’t that the opposite of what we want?”

“Technically. Some local buzz is nothing to worry about. This place's main export is fish, I doubt anyone keeps track of the news, and if they do, it’ll be easy to squash.” Beca said.

Aubrey wasn’t sure if she believed the detective or not, but her words were strong. That was one of the first things that she learned in law school; if you’re confident enough in your arguments, anyone will follow you.

 She broke the soupy yolk of the egg on her plate and watched as the dark yellow color soaked into the toast. “When do you think you’ll catch him?”

The two agents grew uncomfortably quiet. It was the type of silence that Aubrey dreaded. She lifted her eyes from the plate just in time to see a sparing glance between the two. Grady had folded up his napkin and covered the half-eaten plate of food while Agent Mitchell stared at the grounds floating at the bottom of her cup.

“It’s a bit more complicated than just catching him, I’m afraid. The Galloway family has a strong pull in New York, and after the news broke about your… death, things got even more complicated. Our usual connections are tight-lipped. We don’t have a case against him, not with either charge. Everything is circumstantial.”

“So that’s it, then?” She raised her eyebrows, suddenly not hungry. “Christian gets to walk free while I’m stuck in this place?”

Agent Mitchell bit her bottom lip and said nothing. There was an angry stare on Aubrey’s face that could shatter glass. It wasn’t directed at her, not like it had been last night. Her job was plain and simple; protect the girl. There was nothing said about catching her killer.

“We’re trying our hardest to make it safe for you to go home, I promise you that. But there is an empire to disassemble.” Detective Grady Marshall stood from his chair, not wanting any part in the rest of the conversation. “I need to get back to Georgia. I’m a phone call away if you two need me. Other than that, you each need to behave and blend in. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” Beca grumbled.

Aubrey just nodded. The discussion had been put to bed. They sat in a labored silence until they heard the engine of his car start and the gravel crunch under a set of new tires. The lawyer pushed the golden goop around her plate until it covered most of the porcelain.

            Aubrey got to see more of Bellmare later that afternoon. There was more than one slim road that leads in and out of the small port town. It looked dingier in the daylight, and somehow, charming. They were close enough to Main Street that they could walk into town with minutes to spare. Though, it was hot enough to melt steel. 

She hadn’t exactly grown comfortable with Agent Mitchell, her blood still boiled with each snarky comment she made. But the breakfast had helped, and so did the pained look she shot her when the situation was laid out quite plainly; Beca with her wife in this show and the curtain wasn’t going to close for a long time. Maybe, just maybe, she could be civil.

They walked in silence towards the main row of shops that she had seen briefly on the way in. According to the papers, this is where their floral business would be. Right now it was half finished because the agency had thought of everything. They were supposed to be charming, to blend in while they struggle to hang lights and paint the walls.

“What made you want to become a cop?” Aubrey asked as they reached the end of the drive.

“I can’t talk about that.”

“Oh, come on, no one is in earshot.”

“What if they were?”

She took this job too seriously. That’s what Aubrey decided in a matter of seconds as they continued their journey. She supposed that this was protocol, and that she had no room to talk. She had never done anything with her life other than follow the dream board she made with construction paper and tacky glitter.

She would curl up in the corner of her sofa and eat greasy noodles, and look at the case files spread across her table because she had an early morning repeal meeting with a judge. She took her job seriously too, but that was before she felt the sharp bite of the lead and the angry touch of death.

Beca let out a steady sigh “Name one thing about me?”

“I don’t know anything about you, that’s why I was trying to make small talk.”

“Not what I meant. Name one thing about Georgia?”

Oh. Maybe her months in the hospital had made her lose her edge, or maybe it was the condescending way Beca narrowed her eyes or maybe, just maybe, the way her jaw curved and her hands found her front pockets despite nothing but a warm wind.

Aubrey shrugged her shoulders “you’re my wife.”

“That’s an obvious one. What’s my favorite color?”

Aubrey stopped short at one of the mailboxes. There was an iron fence that shielded green grass and a paved walkway lined with flowers. A pier stretched out beyond the Victorian, it’s fingers gripping the water. There wasn’t a boat- instead, there was a woman lounging on the stained wood. She arched her neck and stared back at the pair with curiosity.

Part of her had stopped because of the incredulous question. But she had shelved the real reason back into the deepest reaches of her mind. It was a certain type of guilt and distain that came with what had happened. The same pang of despair that rocked her when Beca suggested the walk into town instead of the truck. She needed a break from the subtle burn and the pain.  

“How am I to know that?” Aubrey asked, crossing her arms over her chest. The woman just raised her eyebrows. “Fine, then. Yellow?”

“what about me screams yellow?”

“Incessant and loud.” Aubrey shot back.

They two of them stood at the end of this drive, glaring at one another in a stinted position. If they had just taken the car into town, this wouldn’t be a discussion. Aubrey was set to flick on whatever radio station they got, but nothing was left to them now.

“Excuse me, ladies?”

Aubrey snapped her jaw shut; the woman who soaked up whatever sun the day had to offer had made her way to the end of her drive. She gripped the iron gate and wore a simple smile on her face. Neither of them could get a good look at her eyes, but even as they hid behind darkened glasses, they could tell that she was stunning.

She was older, and had slipped on a sheer cover over the one-piece suit that she wore. Her wild red mane was tamed in a hairband and her perfectly manicured nails tucked whatever fly away strands there were, behind her ear.

Beca quickly dropped her look of distaste “Hi, I’m so sorry if we disturbed you. My wife and I were just having a little disagreement about what to get at the market. Isn’t that right, dear?”

Please. It took everything in her not to stiffen when the shorter woman looped her arm around her waist and rested her fingers against her hip. Beca smelled like leather oil and oil books. There was a bit of coffee on her breath, and she supposed it was somewhat comforting.

“Right, it’s so hard to choose these days.” Aubrey lied through her teeth. She extended a hand. “I’m Charlotte. This is Georgia.”

“Georgie, please.”

The stranger took both of their hands. She had a weak grip, somewhat timid as she finally lowered the glasses. “Nice to meet you both, Hannah Beale. Are you new in town?”

Beca nodded and adjusted her hand as it rested lazily around Aubrey’s midsection. “Just moved in the other week. We’ve been pretty trapped with home repairs, we’re just now getting into town.”

“Well, you’re going to love our sweet little paradise. If you don’t want to cook tonight, you could always stop by Copper Time Grill.” She beamed, another sad smile “It’s covered in lights, hard to miss.”

The two women thanked her and apologized once more for the trouble before pulling apart and heading the rest of the way towards town. Aubrey’s mind was racing, and maybe her stomach was a little too. Hannah had a certain type of pain hidden behind her eyes, the kind she had seen in clients and families alike. Beca must have sensed it too.

“Don’t even think about it.” She grumbled, putting her hands back into her pockets.

“Think about what?”

“I’m not stupid.” Beca stopped again, this time at a crosswalk as a car idled by “I’ve been in this business for a long time and there’s grief in that one. It’s not your job to find out why.”