Page 91 of Identity Unknown
“It’s just a miracle that things weren’t ever so much worse.” Dorothy takes a sloppy sip of her drink. “Dana-fucking-Diletti narrowly escaped. We’ve all been hearing about it ad-fucking-nauseam, her near-fucking-death experience. Never mind the pilot is fucking dead. Not near-dead. But dead-fucking-dead.”
CHAPTER 33
Dorothy insists on following me upstairs as I carry my Manhattan. The pumpkin pine flooring gleams a deep orange in the glow of caged copper sconces mounted on paneling. Rain drums the slate roof, the wind moaning around the eaves.
She holds her tequila in one hand, the other on the railing. I know what she’s going to do, and she starts in as we reach the top landing.
“Where were you yesterday and last night?” she asks in a hushed voice, bending close, ice rattling as she takes another sip. “No one can hear us, Kay. Now you can tell me the truth. I promise not to let the others know.” She zips her lips.
“There’s nothing to tell, Dorothy,” I reply as we follow the hallway past antique maps of the Chesapeake Bay that make me think of diving earlier today.
“It’s just the two of us, sis. It’s always been just you and me. So tell me.” Dorothy rubs my arm.
“I had to take care of a case at a military installation—”
“Shhhh!” she interrupts. “You were in Oz before that. Because your old beau Sal Giordano was dropped out of a UFO in that tacky theme park Lucy was so wild about.”
I pretend I didn’t hear her comment about Sal being my old beau. Dorothy is saying a lot of things she may not remember come morning. She’s going to have a wicked hangover and isn’t done yet. We pass the upstairs guestroom’s open doorway, and I see my sister’s and Marino’s bags on top of the made bed.
“I’m glad you’re staying over.” I look at her drink.
“I know much of what’s on the internet isn’t to be trusted.” She’s slow and unsteady walking in her green slippers. “But it’s being said that we shouldn’t try to contact aliens if this is what happens. I’m dispirited. Feeling downright existential, and I didn’t before.”
“I don’t think it wise for you to pay attention to what you’re seeing on social media,” I reply.
“Of course I’m going to fucking pay attention to it!” she protests. “I’m a fucking award-winning influencer!”
“That you are, Dorothy. That you are.”
The main bedroom at the end of the hall has a view of the river and not a whole lot of privacy when my sister is staying here. I walk in and she’s right behind me, ice rattling in her tequila, smelling like a tequila bar.
“Come on, pretty please?” she coaxes as I walk into the bathroom. “Sisters trading secrets just like the old days.”
“We never traded secrets, Dorothy.” I’m in front of the sink talking to her through the doorway. “In fact, I didn’t really have many secrets. Not like you did.”
“And now that’s all you’ve got. Bloody secrets.” She hovers in the doorway, staring past me at the mirror while fussing with her short platinum-blond hair. “I need to know where you and Pete were. It’s only fair you tell me since the two of you were together all night.”
“I was with Bentonall night. Not Marino, and you know that to be the case. I believe the two of you were on the phone a good bit.” I take the drink out of Dorothy’s hand and set it down on the sink countertop. “Maybe you’ve had enough for now.”
“Oh, don’t you go narcin’ on me, sis.” She reaches past me, retrieving her drink, taking another swallow. “I don’t need one of your lectures right now. I’ve had enough of them from my husband. He told me what a rotten time he had in Atlantic City. He thinks I’m selfish and doesn’t believe I’m really being stalked.”
“Hopefully you aren’t being stalked. Has anything else happened?” I ask, and she shakes her head no.
“Obviously, he said those things when he was upset,” she goes on. “We’re fine now, the air cleared. But is it true? I simply won’t have any peace until I know.”
“Iswhattrue?” I sit down on the toilet lid and take off my boots as Dorothy gets increasingly tipsy.
“Was Sal Giordano abducted and killed by aliens? Not so long ago it would be laughable to suggest such a thing. It would beWar of the Worldsscience fiction. But not anymore with constant sightings all over.” She dramatically sweeps her arm like a game show host. “Including stories about aliens killing people. Is that what happened? I have to know.”
“It’s highly unlikely.”
“Highly unlikely?” she exclaims in horror. “Meaning it’s possible?”
“I certainly hope not,” I reply. “But is that what I think happened to Sal? Hell no. He didn’t have that kind of encounter.”
“Oh.” Dorothy’s face is stricken as if I’ve given her awful news. “Well, in some respects that’s a damn shame.”
“I would think it’s a good thing if we don’t have to worry about extraterrestrials abducting and killing us.” I take a swallow of my drink.