''Did you get the key from Matthew?'' Archer asked, as Josie reached Grace McCreary's doorstep.
''No. I want to keep him out of the loop on this,'' Josie answered.
''Smart.'' Archer put his shoulder to the wall and checked out the door. ''These places are wired. I don't want to jimmy the locks and have the cops back here any time soon.''
''No problem.'' Josie dug in her pocket and held up her prize. ''I still have the key Grace gave me when I picked up her clothes for court. I forgot to give it back.''
''Convenient.''
Archer knocked once. Twice. The third time he looked at Josie. She put the key in the lock. It turned. She pushed. The deadbolt wasn't on and the door swung open. They didn't move; they didn't speak. They waited, hoping to catch a glimpse of Grace moving fast as she hid, to pick up the sound of Grace breathing hard, cowering in a shadowy corner. There was nothing. The house was a tomb shrouded in early evening darkness. Archer went in and found a light. Josie walked past him.
''You didn't really think she'd be here, did you?'' Archer asked as he closed the door.
''I did,'' Josie muttered as she checked the place out. ''I thought she might be sitting here in the dark twirling that damned ring of hers. Hiding in plain sight. Slowly cracking up while the rest of us get sanctioned by the court and Babcock spends a thousand man hours chasing ghosts.'' Josie shuddered. ''It feels so sad in here. Lonely.''
''Let's see what we can find,'' Archer suggested.
Josie nodded. The table, the couch, the pictures on the wall were as they had been. She took off for the kitchen.
''I just don't see Grace being that kind of nuts, Jo.'' Archer followed as far as the dining room, stopping to check out the artwork, the upholstery on the high backed chairs, the gleam of the dining room table.
''She's not exactly normal,'' Josie answered. ''She's carrying something big inside and she's pathological about keeping it right where it is.''
''That gives her issues. Crazies curl up in a fetal position when they get stressed or they lose control. You see it in how they live.'' Archer gestured toward the neat-as-a-pin living room.
''Struck out on both counts. That means issues, not a nut case.'' Archer dragged a finger along the countertop of the kitchen. ''God this place is clean.''
''She's on trial for murder, Archer. That's sort of an out of control thing. She attacked Matthew. She's got so many faces I feel like I'm watching a carousel,'' Josie said as she poked around the kitchen.
Grace's place wasn't just clean, it was picture perfect. The kitchen was set up for a make-believe life. Four knives, four forks, four spoons. Four plates, four cups, four bowls. Josie found two pots and two pans. Everything was brand new. There were no coupons or notices or magnets on the refrigerator. She shut the cabinets, stepped back and shook her head.
''This is pitiful. A whole family destroyed, and for what? For what?'' Josie mumbled as she put her rear against the counter. She crossed her arms, turning the question over in her mind. When the silence stretched and Archer didn't respond, Josie looked his way. He had a painting off the dining room wall and was running a hand over the back looking for something amiss, preferring to feign interest in his futile exercise rather than looking at Josie and seeing he was wrong.
''What's on your mind?'' she asked.
''Just wondering how bad you're feeling for McCreary?''
He hung the painting back on the wall and gave her his full attention. He looked at her with those dark brown eyes, that rugged Irish boxer face of his.
''You shouldn't wonder,'' Josie assured him.
''So there's nothing to you and him?'' Archer asked.
''No. Nothing.'' Josie answered.
''Didn't think so,'' he replied.
''I can tell you what happened. That night Grace is talking about, I mean,'' Josie offered.
''No need, Jo. No need at all.''
That was it. Josie walked past Archer letting her hand trail down his arm until she could take his hand and hold it tight for a second before they separated again. Archer pivoted and followed her to the living room. He was drawn to the phone and the answering machine. He punched a few buttons; opened a drawer in the small table. ''No messages. No notes on the pad next to the phone, none in the drawer.'' He hit star sixty-nine on the telephone and held the receiver to his ear. ''Last number called is a machine. Man's voice. No personal message''
''Run it down with the phone company,'' Josie directed.
Archer replaced the receiver then methodically picked up the framed pictures. He fiddled with the backings searching for Grace's hiding places and her secrets. Josie looked down the hall and saw Grace's big bed through the partially opened door. It was still made. Absentmindedly she picked up the book on sisters and opened it to the fly leaf.
''Did you see this?'' she asked and Archer joined her, looking over her shoulder but giving the book little notice.
''Yeah, I saw it.''
''Well, at least we know what Michelle thought of Grace.'' Josie traced the inscription. I couldn't love you more – M. ''Maybe Matthew was right, Archer. Maybe those two women were lovers.''
''It was a figment of his imagination, Jo,'' Archer scoffed. ''He was ticked off because he wasn't the center of the ladies' attention, that's all.''
''I've known him a long time. Matthew wouldn't have been jealous of their friendship,'' Josie objected. ‘He's not that way. He doesn't like clingy women.''
''But he likes to string ‘em along. This book?'' He reached around Josie and pointed to the inscription. ''That isn't Michelle's handwriting. Matthew wrote that and Grace sucked up the party line. That's why it hurt her so bad when he let loose on her last night.''
''Jesus,'' Josie breathed.
''And, it's not new. It's just well cared for. Look at it the copyright date. Look here,''
Archer pointed to the little numbers in the front of the book. ''First printing. Grace was a teenager when it came out. I'd bet it's been out of print for a lot of years so that book's got nothing to do with Michelle McCreary. Maybe there was a lover in this whole mess – might have been Michelle's and it might have been Matthew's – and Grace might be protecting one of them, but all this book proves is that Matthew knew how to pull Grace's chain.''
''Then why would Matthew suggest they were lovers?''
''Maybe he hates women. Maybe he's the nut case.'' Archer regretted that in the next second. Gently, he took her shoulders and pulled her close, not minding that the book was between them. He put his lips to her hair. ''Sorry. Didn't mean it, babe. I know he still means something to you.''
Beneath his lips, Archer felt the shake of her head. But the gesture wasn't that of denial, it was one of disbelief. She pulled back, taller than Archer by an inch she lowered her forehead to his.
''Maybe he told me things I just wanted to hear, huh? Maybe he was always a politician,'' she murmured.
''No, I think he just has more to protect. Folks get strange when the thing they want is threatened. McCreary knows that whatever went down with Grace could cost him this election.''
''I'm sick of them trying to spin things,'' Josie said miserably, raising her head, putting her hands on his waist, staying close to the man she trusted. Archer chuckled softly.
''I hate to defend him for sure, but he's not a cop or a lawyer and neither is Grace. They're just people trying to make themselves look good. They probably have a whole hell of a lot of skeletons, Jo. They want the closet door closed. Happens everyday.''
''But I told them. I was clear that they needed to tell me the truth.''
''They heard,'' Archer insisted. ''They just didn't believe it. Denial's a powerful thing.''
''Matthew should trust me. Maybe that's what's making me crazy,'' Josie said and Archer understood. He had been there. It wasn't fun.
''People get ashamed, Jo. They hide some little thing because they would be embarrassed if anyone knew about it. Then the white lie snowballs and it's huge and dirty and picking up all sorts of crap. They don't know how to stop. . .''
Archer never finished his thought. His cocked his head, the scar over his eyebrow shined smooth and pale against his suntanned skin as it caught the low light. Beneath Josie's fingertips his muscles tightened. They had been wrong.
They weren't alone.
Josie gave Archer room. His hand went under his shirt to the holster at the small of his back. Holding the gun high Archer paused long enough to look at Josie then headed for the half opened bedroom door.
CHAPTER 35
Archer was within a foot of the bedroom door with his back, his butt and the back of his head against the wall. His legs were spread, feet planted firmly on the white carpet. He cursed himself for not having checked out the entire place the minute they walked in. Now, from this vantage point, through the partially opened door, he could see clothes on the floor, a bag on the bench at the foot of the bed.
Archer adjusted his grip on his gun. The bedroom was too silent; it felt like someone was there. Suddenly Archer was disturbed. Josie was inching down the hall. One look stopped her. She put her purse down slowly and held out her hands to show her good faith. She would do as she was told but if Archer's first line of defense failed, Josie would be ready. They held their gaze a second longer before he kicked the door open wide and went in low, cutting the room into quadrants, rotating as he got a quick read. Archer disappeared from Josie's sight and a split second later she heard:
''What are you doing here?''
That was her cue. She was in the bedroom a minute later. There was a bag on the upholstered bench at the end of the bed. Clothes were flung toward it as if it would pack itself. Michelle's formal portrait and her wedding picture still hung in the niches on the far wall but Matthew's portrait was on the ground, the glass shattered, the picture crumpled under the heel of a shoe.
Josie stepped over the clothes. Together she and Archer filled the doorway of Grace's amazing closet. He had holstered his gun. There was no danger here and there was no Grace McCreary. Tim Douglas cowered in the corner, half hidden by Grace's gowns.
''Get up,'' Josie ordered.
Diffidently Tim pushed at the dresses, tossed aside the jacket he had pulled over his feet. Shamefaced he crawled on all fours, standing only when he was well clear of Grace's clothes. Tim slunk past them and sank onto the little bench beside the overnight bag. His shoulders slumped; he put his head in his hands.
''Oh, shit,'' he moaned then slid the bag onto his lap and cradled it like a baby. His head shook in little bursts of disgust directed more at himself than at them. Josie's eyes went to Archer. Tim Douglas wasn't exactly what he expected either.
''Do you drive a dark blue SUV?'' Archer asked.
Tim nodded and moaned again as Archer sat down next to him, taking up way too much space. Tim scooted away so Josie settled herself on the other side to make sure they had his full attention.
''Is Grace all right?'' she asked.
''Yes,'' he answered.
''Okay, then, listen up here, Tim,'' Archer said. ''Josie was dancing damn fast this morning but the judge wasn't entertained. Now there's a warrant out for Grace's arrest. When they find her she's going to jail unless Josie can prove she isn't a fugitive. To do that, we're going to give you to Babcock and tell him you kidnapped her. Then you'll go to jail.''
''Oh, God. I didn't do that. I swear.'' Horrified, Tim looked from Archer to Josie and back again. ''I was just trying to help.''
''Then I suggest you tell Josie everything she wants to know starting with, where in the hell Grace is?''
Tim's shoulders jerked, his jaw twitched. He touched his glasses before shoving that shock of light hair off his forehead. It fell right back down over his brow as if to underscore that he had no control over anything anymore.
''I knew this wouldn't work,'' he began miserably. ''I followed her home like Matthew told me. I saw her drive into her garage but then she didn't put the door down or get out. I went to see if she was okay. She was crying really hard. That was weird because Grace was always so in control. I got in her car. She kept saying crying and saying Matthew hated her. She couldn't believe he would throw her away like garbage. And why did he find her and bring her here if he really didn't want her around?'' Tim shrugged. ''Man, I felt so sorry for her.''
''Are you two lovers?'' Josie asked.
''No. We're friends and we were about the only two people in that whole damn zoo of Matthew's campaign who are decent. Our only problem was we tried to protect everyone all the time and Matthew is at the top of the list. She goes out on a limb for him because she thinks Matthew really cares.''
''Then he knows what happened to Michelle?'' Josie asked.
''I didn't say that. I'm just saying he isn't the man everybody thinks he is. He's not the man I thought he was,'' Tim admitted. ''I'm just saying, in general, Matthew's out for himself and everybody gets screwed because of it.''
''You?'' Archer suggested.
''Sure, but I can't complain. I made my money off being around him and if he does well then I'm solid in this business. But Grace and Michelle were personal and Grace got the raw end of every deal.''
''How so?'' Josie stood up. She pulled up an upholstered chair so she could see Tim full on while he talked. Archer, got up too and leaned against the bureau.
''Grace came here and she looked like such a rich bitch. I thought it was a huge mistake bringing her back. Turns out she was quiet and nervous about everything. Grace was just. . .'' Tim put up his hands as if he could pluck the right word out of the air. ''Grace was just so grateful to be with Matthew and I thought he was the greatest guy in the world right then.
''The first time he brought her into the office he introduced her to everyone and told stories about how great she was as a kid. He would put his arm around her and hug her and Grace just beamed.''
''They're as tight as I've ever seen two people,'' Josie murmured.