Sketch Me If You Can (29 page)

“I get it. Don’t worry, I get it.” She headed to the refrigerator for a cold beer.

Zeke was there first. He watched as Rory twisted the cap off the bottle and took a long, satisfying drink. She couldn’t remember having ever been quite so thirsty before. She didn’t even miss the lime.

“Now,” she said, “you’ve got some explaining to do. I believe you said you couldn’t leave this house.”

“I don’t get it either,” he said. “I never could before, but one minute I’m listenin’ to Grace Logan leavin’ a message on your machine and the next thing I know, I’m standin’ between you and Conti.”

“What did Grace say in her message?”

“That she remembered it was Conti that Gail had gone to see the day she died.”

Rory wondered how much she would have believed the message if she’d heard it before the events of that evening. She probably would have dismissed it as the faulty memory of an aging mind. So much for the reliability of her instincts. Even now, some perverse part of her was mourning the loss of what had seemed like such a promising relationship. No way, she chastised herself, no way was she going to waste the energy of a single “if only” on that psychotic bastard.

What mattered now was figuring out how Grace’s message might have unlocked the door behind which Zeke had been imprisoned for more than a hundred years. She went over to the counter where the message machine’s red light was blinking. When she pressed “play,” she heard Grace saying pretty much what Zeke had already told her. Certainly nothing that sounded like a “eureka!” moment.

She looked up at him. “What were you thinking when you heard that?”

“I guess I was thinkin’ that if Conti killed Gail and Mac, then you were goin’ to be next.”

“So you were worried about me?” Could the answer be as easy as that?

“I suppose.” Zeke shrugged as if he didn’t see why that made any difference.

“Were you ever worried about Mac?”

“A time or two.”

“And you’re sure you weren’t able to leave here to help him?”

“That’s not exactly somethin’ I would have forgotten.”

“No, I guess not,” she said. So if her theory was right, Zeke must have assumed that Mac could take care of himself but that she couldn’t. She told herself to take the high road and let it go for now. Old beliefs die hard, and Zeke had been lugging his around for decades. Their time would be better spent trying to figure out just how much concern was required to purchase him another “get out of jail free” card. But even that would have to wait until she’d had some sleep.

She rinsed out the beer bottle for the recycle bin, said good night to Zeke and headed for the stairs. He was waiting for her outside her bedroom door.

“By the way, you’re welcome,” he said.

Rory sighed. Apparently she wasn’t going to get that sleep until he’d finished with his personal agenda. “Okay,” she said wearily, “exactly what is that supposed to mean?”

“Most folks would at least say ‘thank you’ if someone saved their lives.”

So that was it. She should have seen it coming. “Sorry to rain on your parade, Marshal, but you didn’t save my life. I had everything under control. If anyone should be thanking you, it’s Conti. My shot probably would have killed him, if you hadn’t interrupted things.”

“From what I could see, you were backin’ away and he was gainin’ on you.”

“He wouldn’t have been gaining on me once I fired that bullet into him,” Rory said tartly.

“Killin’ a man ain’t so easy. I have my doubts about whether you could have followed through.”

“The bullet in the bedroom wall says differently.”

“I’ll tell you what, Aurora,” Zeke said, “you go right on believin’ that you didn’t need my help tonight, if that’s what makes you happy.”

Rory turned away, on the verge of stalking into her bedroom and slamming the door on his smug face. But she stopped in her tracks. In some important ways it had been a good day, and he had played a part in it, too good a day to let it end with anger.

“Look, I don’t want to argue with you,” she said, a bit of apology in her tone. “I . . . I mean
we
caught Mac’s killer today. Why don’t we just say that everything worked out for the best and not muddy it up with egos?”

The arrogant curl of Zeke’s lips slowly unfurled into a smile. “Now, darlin’, that’s a deal I can live with. It sure has been a mighty fine day.”

R
ory left police headquarters in Yaphank carrying a cardboard box of her personal effects. She was dry-eyed and calmer than she’d expected to be. Leah walked beside her carrying a second box, her eyes glassy with unshed tears, her jaw clenched against any further demonstration of emotion. She’d done her best to champion Rory’s cause, but the captain had been immovable. Rory would have to face a disciplinary hearing. Rather than put herself through such an ordeal, Rory had decided to hand in her resignation. For sometime now her work to hand in her resignation. For sometime now her work as a sketch artist hadn’t fulfilled her needs either as an artist or as a detective. She’d tried to make Leah understand that there was no point in staying in a job that she no longer wanted. With no choice in the matter, Leah had finally accepted her friend’s decision and given up the crusade.

Rory had no regrets. It was a perfect time to leave. The case against Vincent Conti was being wrapped up with little trouble. When his attorney tried to have the charges against his client reduced in exchange for the identities of the men he’d hired to kill Mac, the district attorney politely declined. Rory had given the police the name and address of Stuart Sanford, the hit man who was already a frequent flyer in the justice system, and he in turn had quickly rolled over on his partner.

Going through mug shots, she’d also been able to identify the man who’d interrupted her first date with Vince, and he had quickly spilled the names of the other dealers Vince had supplied, among them one Matthew Andrews, aka Andy.

Rory would have to testify at Conti’s trial with regard to the charge of attempted murder. Anything she could do to put Conti away in prison for the rest of his life or to have him dispatched to a more permanent hell was just fine with her. It was the least she could do for Mac.

When the two women reached Rory’s car, they put the boxes in the trunk and hugged one another. There was no need for words. The hug said it all.

Back home, Rory stowed the boxes in the study to go through at another time. Then she went down to the kitchen. The light on the message machine was blinking. Probably her mother or her aunt calling again to offer solace and financial help until she found another job. Rory appreciated their support, but she wasn’t as upset about it as they seemed to think she should be. Thanks to Mac and her own cautious spending, she had enough in the bank to meet her needs for a while. She hadn’t told anyone yet, but she was toying with the idea of starting her own PI firm. Mac had done it and so could she. In fact, she had the added advantage of being a sketch artist. It had helped her solve this case and she had no doubt that it would help her clear future cases as well. The prospect of being her own boss and taking on only the cases she wanted to pursue appealed to her.

The lights flickered. “Did you hear your messages yet?” Zeke’s disembodied voice inquired while he was still in the process of materializing.

Rory was taken aback and a little annoyed that he hadn’t first asked how things had gone at headquarters today. He’d been a remarkably good sounding board when she was weighing the pros and cons of her options. Based on that, she expected him to be more interested in how she was doing then in whatever messages were waiting on the machine.

“What’s the big hurry? I’m not punching a time clock anymore,” she said to remind him. The last thing she needed was a ghost with short-term memory loss.

He ignored the hint. “That phone’s been ringin’ all day. You need to listen to the messages.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, feeling a bit resentful, as if a best friend had forgotten her birthday. When she looked at the recorder, she was surprised to see that seven messages were waiting for her. The first was from a man she didn’t know. He’d read the article in
Newsday
about how she’d found the killer behind two deaths that had not even been deemed suspicious. When he’d heard on the news that she’d resigned from the police force, he wanted to hire her. The other six messages were all variations on the same theme.

“You’re famous,” Zeke said, beaming with the pride of a mentor whose protégé has found success.

Rory was relieved that he hadn’t started a downward spiral into dementia. He’d just been impatient to share the good news.

“I can’t believe it,” she said, trying to absorb everything. In a single day she’d lost her job and hit the ground running with a slew of potential clients for a new firm she had yet to establish. As it all sank in, dozen of thoughts were clamoring for her attention at the same time. She’d have to rent an office, buy another computer, a fax machine and a copier. Have a phone line brought in. Find out about liability and malpractice insurance, and the pros and cons of setting up a corporation. She’d call Mac’s attorney Lou Friedlander in the morning, once her thoughts weren’t quite so scattered.

“You okay, darlin’?” Zeke laughed, enjoying her wide-eyed incredulity.

“I’m better than okay, just a little shell-shocked. I hardly know what to do first.”

“You should probably call back the folks who left those messages.”

“Yes, I know. But what will I tell them? There’s so much to do.”

“Those that can’t give us a week or so will have to find themselves another investigator. As I see it, we can’t handle seven new cases at the same time anyway.”

“We?” Rory repeated.

“We’re partners, ain’t we?” he asked, looking like a kid who’s just been told that he can’t keep the puppy that followed him home. It was an expression that seemed out of place on his rugged features.

Partners? Rory hadn’t really thought about it. She’d assumed that Zeke would be there to continue offering advice and providing another perspective. Even if she hadn’t needed his help to arrest Conti, she wasn’t fool enough to believe that she would have solved the case so easily without him. So what was she worried about? They were already partners in fact, if not in name.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, of course we’re partners.” It seemed like the right moment for a handshake, but since that wasn’t an option, she just nodded firmly.

Zeke smiled and inclined his head in a little bow of thanks. “Now we just need to talk about how I’m goin’ to be compensated.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Rory said. “What in this world could possibly be of any use to you?”

“You can take over
my
case.” His words were immediate and to the point, as if he’d had them in mind for a while, perhaps ever since he first met her.

“But you told me that Mac never made any progress with it. Why do you think I can turn up anything useful if he couldn’t?”

“I ain’t askin’ you for a guarantee of success,” he said evenly. “I’m just askin’ you to make the effort.”

“Okay,” she conceded, unable to come up with any other reason to deny his request. “As long as you understand how difficult, no, make that impossible, it’s going to be.”

“Yup, I got that,” he said, satisfied with her terms. “So what are we goin’ call this new outfit of ours?”

“I don’t know. We should probably keep it simple,—something like ‘McCain Investigations.’ ”

Zeke was frowning and rubbing his chin. “Don’t I get a mention?”

“It’s going to be a little awkward if someone asks to meet you,” she pointed out.

“You’ll tell them I’m a silent partner.”

Rory suppressed a groan. If only that were true. They’d been partners for all of two minutes and they were already arguing. Given their relationship up to this point, why was she surprised?

“Fine.” She sighed. If this arrangement had any chance of working, she was going to have to pick her battles, and adding his name to the title wasn’t a fight worth having.

“McCain and Drummond it is.” She tried to sound happier about it than she felt.

“Well now,” he said, “seein’ as how I’m the one with seniority and experience, I was thinkin’ more along the lines of ‘Drummond and McCain.’ Sounds stronger that way anyhow.”

Rory took a deep breath and counted to ten. She should have known that if she gave him an inch, he’d take a yard and consider it his due.

“Haven’t you ever heard of compromise?” she demanded, fairly certain that if the monks of Tibet had been haunted by Zeke, not even they could have remained calm and serene.

Zeke’s voice rose in counterpoint to hers. “What’s the use in compromisin’ when I know I’m right?”

“
That
is exactly the problem. You’re always sure you’re right, even when you’re not!”

“No siree. There’ve been times I’ve been wrong and I damn well knew it.”

“Really!?” Rory said, digging her heels in for a fight. “It must have been a couple of centuries ago, because it hasn’t happened since I’ve known you.”

Zeke wagged his head in exasperation. “You surely are one cantankerous female.”

“Well, that’s just fine,” she shot back at him, “because you’re the most frustrating, obstinate man I’ve ever met.”

As they stood there glaring at each other, Rory was already second-guessing the wisdom of this enterprise. Time alone would be the final arbiter, but she was fairly sure that no stranger partnership had ever existed. For as long as it lasted, it was going to be one hell of a ride.