Catherine beamed at Evelyn while Will rolled his eyes. He’d told Catherine his mother eavesdropped on phone calls whenever she got the chance. “Won’t you sit down with us, Mrs. Addison?” Catherine asked.
“Well…” Evelyn pretended to think it over. “I believe I will. I’ve been doing last-minute Christmas shopping and I didn’t know how tired and hungry I was until I walked in here.” Catherine scooted over, but the tall, forty-pounds-too-heavy Evelyn shoved in beside Will, who looked as sad as if he’d lost his last friend in the world.
“How is Marissa, Catherine? I’ve been
so
worried about her.” Evelyn frowned and tried to look as if tears were about to appear in those heavily made-up dark eyes. “Some people thought I’d be upset she couldn’t cover our Christmas party for the newspaper, but of course I wasn’t. All I cared about was Marissa’s welfare.”
Will rolled his eyes again.
“She’s fine, Mrs. Addison. She had a close call—they pulled her from the car just before it rolled into the river—and she was in quite a bit of pain over the weekend, but she’s all right now.”
“Well, that’s marvelous,” Evelyn said absently. “Is she back at work?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, wonderful! That she’s well enough to work, I meant.” Catherine felt pinned to the booth by the woman’s probing eyes. She leaned forward. “Tell me something in confidence, Catherine. Working on the paper, has Marissa heard anything new about Tonya Archer’s death? I can’t believe she was murdered! She was known for being a bit loose for a while, but then she straightened up and married Andrew Archer, of all people. Anyway, Tonya’s murder right after Buddy Pruitt’s gives me chills!”
Catherine was saved from answering by the waiter stopping at their booth. Evelyn ordered tonic water with lime and asked for crackers immediately because she felt a bit nauseated. Oh, and could she also have a large glass of water with extra ice? And she’d
love
to have one of those delicious chocolate treats they gave you when you left. Maybe two, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.
Will sighed and ordered another martini.
Chapter 12
1
Marissa waited until around three o’clock before calling Susan Montgomery. When Marissa introduced herself, Eric’s mother hesitated before saying, “Hello, Marissa.” No How are you? No It’s nice to hear from you. When Marissa explained that she was calling about the Friends of the Library auction and reception and would like to do an interview, Susan’s voice grew even stiffer.
“Marissa, I’m really not good at things like interviews. I’m sure someone else would be better—Irene Hagarty, perhaps. She’s our treasurer—”
“I know,” Marissa lied. “That’s just the problem. The story would have so much more impact if you—the president of the Friends of the Library—could speak about how much the library means to the whole town and all your goals for an institution that benefits everyone.”
Susan hesitated and then still balked. “I’m simply shy, Marissa. You know that about me. I’m not an articulate speaker—”
“You’re much more articulate than you know. Besides, you will have me to edit for you. What if I promise to show you the article before we run it? That way you can omit anything you’ve said that you’d rather not have in the newspaper or add anything you’d like to add since we did the interview? The story will be just the way you want. That’s your privilege as the president. Won’t you please do this, Mrs. Montgomery? For the library?”
Marissa knew she’d backed the woman into a corner. If she said no, she’d sound as if she didn’t really care about the organization—she just liked being president of a civic group. Marissa could almost hear Susan’s mental battle before she said resignedly, “All right, Marissa. Could you come to my house around two o’clock tomorrow? We want to get news of the event into the paper as soon as possible.”
“Oh, thank you so much, Mrs. Montgomery. I really appreciate this.”
“You’re welcome. And Marissa,” Susan added dryly, “you haven’t lost your touch for talking anyone into anything.”
Marissa hung up, her face burning red at Susan Montgomery’s knowledge of how Marissa had manipulated her, but she had to smile. At least she’d pulled off something that could help Eric and her learn more about Gretchen’s last summer.
At five fifteen Marissa felt she’d done less work than anyone else at the
Gazette,
but she’d completed everything assigned to her. Eric had said to meet him at five thirty, so she knew she should be on her way. She glanced at Hank Landers, who was working frantically, and felt guilty that she couldn’t help him. When all of this was over, she’d try to take more than her share of the load, she told herself as she put on her coat and headed outside toward her rental car.
Within five minutes after she’d pulled into a parking spot half a block away from police headquarters, Eric came loping out, jacket pulled high around his neck, head bent, looking neither right nor left. He hopped into Marissa’s car, turned his back to the passenger window facing the sidewalk, and looked affronted when she burst into laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“You are just about the most suspicious-looking person I’ve ever seen. What’s the matter? Did you slaughter everyone at headquarters before you made it to the getaway car?”
He gave her a look of heavy patience. “Do you realize you are involved in this case?”
“I do.”
“Do you know everyone in headquarters—hell, half the town—knows we were engaged?”
“I didn’t know, but it’s good to get accurate statistics.”
“Well, for one thing, I am not allowed to become personally involved with a material witness.”
“Material witness! Eric, you know whoever caused my wreck was swathed from head to toe in a disguise. I didn’t see what he really looked like!”
“Nevertheless, you’re considered a material witness and I repeat, I’m not supposed to become personally involved with you.
Especially
romantically. And if people see me with you, that’s what they’ll think—that we’re…”
“Romantically involved.”
“Yes. I’m trying to prevent trouble at the worst, embarrassment at the least.”
“All right. I’m sorry I laughed. I didn’t know all the possible trouble that could come of our discussing the case outside of headquarters.”
“Don’t say ‘discussing the case’!” Eric nearly shouted, looking appalled.
“I thought that’s what we’re going to do.”
“We are, but we’re not going to tell anyone.”
“Okay. You can count on me, sir.”
Eric picked up on the hint of laughter in her voice and gave her a stern look. “I mean it, Marissa. What we’re doing could be a serious breach of procedure.”
“I
get
it, Eric. Stop worrying. No one is paying any attention to us.”
Eric was reaching for the door handle when someone pecked on Marissa’s window. They both jumped as if they’d been shot and whipped around to see Jean Farrell. Marissa rolled down the window.
“I don’t have a lot of time and I wanted to speak with both of you,” Jean said. “I’m so glad I found you together.”
Marissa knew both of them looked pink faced and guilty, but the fact that they were together in Marissa’s car didn’t even seem to register with Jean. She looked at Marissa. The woman’s pale eyes were red rimmed from lack of sleep and her cheeks were sunken. “I know you’re thinking I look dreadful, Marissa.”
“No, I—”
“Yes, you were and yes, I do. But I don’t think Mitch can last much longer, and I want him to know that I’m there,” she said firmly. “‘In sickness and in health,’ you know.”
“But you need help, Jean. You’re absolutely worn-out.”
“She’s right,” Eric added.
“I know when I’ve reached my limit and I finally got someone,” she said, addressing both Marissa and Eric. “A nice male nurse starts tomorrow. He’ll come every morning at nine and stay until early afternoon. I have someone with Mitch now, but she’s adamant about leaving by six thirty.”
Eric frowned. “Don’t you think you need someone full-time?”
Jean sounded reluctant. “Well, you know how tight the insurance companies are these days. I’m grateful for the nurse a few hours a day. I asked my neighbor to come this afternoon because I had a few last errands to do. Frankly, I don’t think Mitch can hold on much longer. I’ve asked him to let me send him to the hospital, but he wants to die at home. We’ve lived in that house all our married life. We had our little girl, Betsy, there with us for three precious years.”
Jean swallowed hard and began rubbing her hands, which bore scars from a lifetime of working outside and refusing to wear gardening gloves. A scar on the palm of her left hand was the worst, and she kneaded it vigorously. “I just can’t drag him off to some sterile-looking hospital room with none of the things he loves around him.
“Marissa, Mitch loves you and Catherine and Eric so much and you love Mitch,” Jean went on.
“Oh, we do,” Marissa said through her own tears.
“Mitch wants to see all of you. He asked if I’d delay his morphine dose tomorrow evening and the three of you could make a short visit. Do you think you three could come together? I don’t want to string out the visits over two or three evenings—it would be too hard on him and there might not be time.”
Marissa took Jean’s cold hand. “Of course I can come, and I know that even if Catherine has plans she’ll change them.”
“I’ll bring Catherine and Marissa if they’ll let me,” Eric said. “What would be a good time?”
“Six thirty? I usually give Mitch some morphine at seven, but I know he can hold off for at least half an hour.” She smiled and squeezed Marissa’s hand. “Thank you, my dears. I hope you don’t feel like I’m stalking you, but I just happened to see you pull up to the police station, Marissa, and Eric run out to the car. It was my chance to tell you this in person. I know how much seeing you will mean to my dear Mitch.”
2
Although darkness had fallen, Marissa parked her car three spaces away from Eric’s. He carried the big bag with the barrel of fried chicken and all the side dishes up to the second floor, where he unlocked his door and almost shoved her inside. Then he shut the door, drew shut the draperies, and turned on a lamp.
Marissa hung her coat in the closet and looked around the small living room with its gray carpet, eggshell-colored walls with no pictures, navy blue couch and one chair, bare coffee table, small television, and an end table bearing the only lamp in the room.
“Gosh, Eric, you went wild decorating this place, didn’t you?” she asked dryly. “All these colors, knickknacks, paintings, framed family pictures, so much furniture—it makes me dizzy. And exactly how close do you have to sit in front of that television before you can see anything? Would two feet be stretching it?”
“There’s a television show on Saturday mornings where two people visit homes for sale and tell the owners how crappy their houses look and that’s why they won’t sell. You should audition for the show. You’d be perfect.”
“Well, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I was just—”
“Giving your opinion, for which I didn’t ask, by the way.” Eric set the bag of food on the small kitchen counter. “Will you deign to eat here, Miss Interior Design?”
Marissa tried to smother a grin, sensing that beneath his teasing Eric
was
just the tiniest bit insulted. “Your apartment might not win awards for interior decorating, but it’s so clean you could eat off the floor.”
“How gracious of you to say so. Would you care to prove what you claim?”
“No, tonight I think I’ll try to act like a lady, not like Lindsay.”
“She seemed like a lady to me.”
“She has lapses.” Marissa looked at Eric’s tired face and his slightly slumping shoulders. She opened the refrigerator door. “Ah, beer! Thank God!” She took out two cans. “Why don’t you get out of that uniform, take your shower, drink your beer, and then we’ll eat. You look like you’ve been run over by a truck.”
“You just can’t turn off the charm tonight, can you?” Eric asked, although he was beginning to grin. “When is it I’m supposed to drink my beer, ma’am?”
“Before or after you take off the uniform, in the shower, after the shower—whenever you like.”
“And what will you do if I decide to lounge in a bubble bath and drink my beer slowly, like nectar from the Gods?”
“I’m certain you keep plenty of bubble bath around here, not to mention exotic oils. And this beer can looks like a container for honey mead, so just go to it. I’ll watch TV. We can dine when you’ve finished your nightly beauty ritual.”
By now the grin had deepened his dimples—the dimples she’d once found irresistible. “You make a great handmaiden, you know it?”
“Ah—I’ve always wanted to be a handmaiden, never having to think, getting to wear gossamer gowns with a wreath of flowers on my flowing locks, always at my master’s bidding, being his lover whenever he wants me. Yes, I think it’s the career for me.” Marissa realized that Eric’s grin had lessened and her own voice had slowed and deepened slightly. She forced a laugh. “Go take your shower, Chief Deputy, so we can eat. I’m starving.”
“So am I,” he said huskily as he turned and walked into another room, closing the door behind him.
Marissa stood staring at the door, trying to push down an almost irresistible impulse to follow him, take off the uniform piece by piece, lie down with him on the bed, run her hands through his soft hair the way she used to, encircle his lips with tiny kisses—
“Oh God,” she whispered. “I won’t let this happen again. I
won’t.
”
With that she popped open a can of beer, took a gulp, turned on the television, and forced herself to concentrate on a game show, not the gorgeous naked man in the next room.
3
“First of all, I’d like to know if you’ve found out anything about the moonstone ring left on Gretchen’s grave,” Marissa asked, sitting on the floor with a plate of chicken, coleslaw, mashed potatoes and gravy, and a beer in front of her on the coffee table. She’d always liked eating this way. Eric had opted to sit in the chair.