Sketcher in the Rye: (11 page)

“Visiting a guy friend in D.C.,” she said dismissively. “He'll vouch for me.”

Rory couldn't help thinking that Zeke would vouch for her too, even if it meant perjuring himself for eternity. “I'll need his name and contact number.” She tore a page out of her notepad and passed it, along with her pen, to Lacey.

“The police already talked to him,” she said as she jotted down the information. “They seemed satisfied with what he told them.” Her tone made it clear that she considered Rory a petty annoyance with no official clout and that she was only talking to her as a favor to her father. She handed the paper and pen back to Rory.

“When was the last time you saw Matthew?” Zeke asked, after catching Rory glaring at him.

“Probably the day he left on vacation.” She thought about it for a moment. “Yes, my father was taking him to the airport. I didn't see him after that. Is this going to take much longer? I'd like to get to the gym before lunch. It takes a lot of work to keep one's body in the right kind of shape,” she added, with a sly smile at Zeke. Somehow the marshal managed to be exempt from her disdain.

“Not much longer,” Rory said, struggling to maintain a professional demeanor. Miss Harper might know how to enthrall men, but Rory was willing to bet she had few, if any, women friends. “To your knowledge, did Matthew ever have trouble with anyone at Harper Farms?”

“Not that I saw, but I'm not there all the time. And to be honest I didn't pay much attention to him when I
was
there. You'd be better off asking my dad or the department managers.”

“What do you think of his mother?”

“Anya? She's a nice woman, the type who works hard and is content to remain in the background. She adored her son, but then most mothers love their offspring, even after they turn out to be axe murderers.”

What a strange thing for her to say. “Did Matthew ever show any tendency to be moving in that direction?”

Lacey laughed. “No, Ms. McCain. I was just indulging in some hyperbole.”

“Then I think we're done,” Rory said. She tossed the pad and pen back into her purse, thinking that she'd really like to smack the arrogant expression off Lacey's lovely face. Rising, she plucked her coat from the other chair. Lacey and Zeke got to their feet too. “Thanks for your cooperation,” Rory said, choking back the sarcasm that was trying to hitch a ride on her words.

“Please give us a call if you think of anything else that could be useful,” Zeke said as Lacey led them to the front door. He was lagging behind Rory, and when they reached the entry, he stopped directly behind her.

“I won't hesitate for a second,” Lacey assured him. She extended her hand to Rory for a brief, businesslike shake, but Zeke was out of range. She would have had to knock Rory aside to reach him. Well played, Rory thought, relieved that he'd remembered his unique disabilities when interacting with the living. He dipped his head at Lacey in his charming Old West fashion. She looked a bit disappointed but compensated with a dazzling smile that somehow managed to leapfrog over Rory and land directly on her intended target. The marshal had an extra bounce to his step on his way back to the car. But seconds after they drove off, he disappeared from the passenger seat without so much as a good-bye.

Chapter 12

When Rory walked into the living room, she found Hobo lying upside down on the couch, the fur on his belly riffling in the breeze. Breeze? She glanced at the windows, which she'd locked shut at the first cold snap of the season. They were all still closed. Then she realized what was happening. Zeke was giving Hobo belly scratches with carefully calibrated fingers of energy. A moment later he blinked into view on the couch beside the dog.

“Why did you run off?” she asked, shedding her coat as she sank into the armchair the marshal usually occupied.

“Thought I'd conserve my energy. I suspect I'm goin' to be needin' it the way this investigation is goin'.”

Or you were hoping I'd have time to forget I was annoyed with you. An old argument that wasn't worth resurrecting. “So, what was your take on Lacey Harper?” she asked amiably, proud of herself for rising above her pique.

“I don't think she did it,” he replied.

“And you're basing that on . . . ?”

“Murder is messy business, and based on how meticulous she is about her home and her person, I don't believe she's got the character for it.”

“In other words, you don't think a killer can be beautiful and tidy?”

“That's not what I said, darlin'. Don't go twistin' my words around. Are
you
sayin' you think she killed him?”

“I think she's as good a suspect as anyone else, and she certainly didn't say anything today to change my mind. In fact, I found her callousness about Matthew particularly troubling. I'm surprised you didn't.”

“It seems to me that a guilty person would make an effort to sound bereaved, while an innocent person might be naive enough to admit her true feelin's. There's no crime in dislikin' someone.”

“Naive?” Rory repeated. She knew her voice had an edge to it. “Miss Harper is anything but naive. She's a conniving, conceited little—” She stopped herself before the epithet cleared her lips. So much for her determination not to lose her cool during this discussion. “I'm sorry,” she said after taking a deep breath, “but I'm completely baffled by the way you've chosen to overlook what she said and how she said it simply because she came on to you.”

Zeke's brow knotted. “‘Came on to me?' What is that?”

“She flirted with you. I assume you know what that means?”

“Course I do.”

“Did you notice that while she was batting her eyelashes at you, she was treating me like a pesky gnat?” The phone rang before the marshal could respond. Rory thought she heard him breathe a sigh of relief when she jumped up to answer it. The closest extension was in the kitchen. She'd been meaning to buy another one for the living room, but there were always half a dozen more important errands to see to.

The caller was her mother wanting to discuss Thanksgiving. Rory decided her dialogue with the marshal could probably benefit from the perspective of time anyway. They were miles apart in their reactions, and they weren't going to resolve the question of Lacey's guilt or innocence no matter how long they spent dissecting the interview. Eventually, when the investigation was complete, one of them would prove to have been right about her. Rory was confident she would be vindicated, and she didn't mind biding her time until that day.

“Turkey, stuffing, candied sweets, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, creamed spinach and those little rolls you like so much,” her mother said, ticking off the menu items. “Am I forgetting anything?”

Rory laughed. “Stomach pumps?”

Arlene went on as if she hadn't heard the remark. She'd never subscribed to the belief that less was more, especially on the holidays. “Oh, and dessert of course. I'm thinking pumpkin pie, apple pie with ice cream and something with chocolate.”

“Mom, there are only going to be the four of us. Five if you count Hobo. I know he eats a lot, but you're going to have leftovers until Easter.”

“Actually we're going to be seven with Hobo,” she said. “Cousin George will be down from Syracuse. He's flying to London the next day. And Helene asked me to invite Dr. Aaron. He's new in town and doesn't have family nearby. But I guess you already know that since she said you and he met for dinner.”

Oops. Rory realized she should have mentioned the date. Her mother shouldn't have to hear about things secondhand from Helene, no matter how close the sisters were. “Yes, we met. I'm sorry I didn't call and tell you about it,” she said. “I've been so busy with work and all. . . .”

“Details please,” her mother said, gracefully letting her off the hook.

Rory was still trying to corral her wits after hearing about the extended guest list. Cousin George was no big deal. He flew in and out of their lives whenever he was on his way somewhere else. It had been hard for Rory to develop a true sense of him from these abbreviated visits. In fact, his name only summoned up images of a man with his mouth full of food, since her mother insisted on preparing an elaborate spread, even if George was just stopping by for fifteen minutes. Family affected her that way. But Aaron was the shocker. Rory was going to have to talk to her aunt about respecting boundaries. Although it was a generous and very “Helene” thing to do, having Aaron share Thanksgiving with them was definitely rushing things. She didn't want him to think she was behind the invitation, fast-tracking him to a more serious stage in their relationship. Meeting the family and sharing holiday celebrations were supposed to happen eventually, not after one casual date.

“Are you there, Rory?” her mother asked when the silence stretched on for too long.

“To be honest, there's not much to say. We had dinner and talked. He seems like a nice guy. But you'll have a chance to judge for yourself in a couple of weeks.”

“Right, that reminds me—any chance you can stop by before then?”

“Why, what's up?” Her mother rarely made such requests, especially when she knew Rory was busy with a big case.

“I wanted to show you what I found when I was cleaning out the attic. Tell you what—come by for a quick lunch one day, half an hour tops. I'll make grilled-cheese sandwiches and tomato soup.”

“I haven't had that in ages,” Rory said, the thought of it stirring up a kettleful of warm memories. It had been her favorite lunch when she was a child. She decided there was no good reason why she couldn't carve thirty minutes out of her day, even if the attic treasure was only an excuse her mother was using because she missed her daughter's company. “How's tomorrow at noon?” she asked.

“Great. I'll have the soup heating and the sandwiches ready to go into the skillet the moment you walk in. Do you still like it on rye bread with a little butter in the pan so it gets all crunchy on the outside?” Her mother sounded like a kid who'd just been promised a pony for Christmas.

“Is there any other way?” When Rory hung up her feelings were all in a muddle. Although she was looking forward to lunch the next day, she felt guilty for not making time to see her parents more often. After all, they only lived fifteen minutes away. Thanksgiving was also weighing on her mind now that Aaron would be there.

“Somethin' wrong?” Zeke asked popping up a few feet away.

“No,” she said, with a weak attempt at laughter, “just my mother in full Thanksgiving mode.”

“I've never attended a modern Thanksgiving,” he said. “I believe I'll tag along.”

Rory's heart dropped to somewhere around her ankles. Leave it to the marshal to pick
this
Thanksgiving to indulge his curiosity. “But won't it be hard for you to see all that food and not be able to enjoy it?” she asked, hoping to put a kibosh on his plans.

“It might have troubled me back a hundred years ago, give or take a few. Now I'm only interested in observin' the event, gettin' the feel of what it's like to be part of a family's festivities again.”

“Even though you'll have to stay out of sight?” She was running out of ammunition.

“Don't worry. I know the cans and can'ts.”

She was down to the last round in her clip. “But you'll have to behave—I mean not even one tiny misstep. This is my last Thanksgiving in that house, and I intend to be left with good memories. I
need
to be left with good memories.”

“I wouldn't have it any other way,” he assured her.

Rory would have liked to take him at his word, but she couldn't—he didn't know that Aaron would be there too. Maybe it would be better to say something now instead of springing it on him at the last minute. That way he'd have time to get over his objections or choose not to come at all. “I just found out that we're having a couple of unexpected guests this year,” she said. “Cousin George will be there, and apparently Helene invited your favorite pediatrician.” She saw the marshal's jaw harden and swore she heard his teeth grind against one another. His mastery of sound effects was increasingly impressive, but she could have done without them at that moment.

“Your family lookin' to marry you off?” he asked tightly.

“Are you absolutely sure you're not from the Dark Ages?” she teased. “Okay, look,” she went on when it was clear he couldn't be jollied out of his mood. “The poor man has nowhere to spend the holiday, so my aunt took him under her wing. There's no other agenda involved. And for the life of me, I don't understand what you have against Aaron, since you don't even know him.” She was trying to keep the growing exasperation out of her tone, but some of it seeped through anyway. “Bottom line, if you can't handle being around him, you can always stay home.”

“I can handle anythin' you throw at me,” Zeke groused.

“Do I have your word that you won't slash his tires again or do anything else I might consider unacceptable?”

“I've already given you my word about behavin', and nothin's changed in that regard.”

“Good,” she smiled. “It's all settled then.”

“I suppose it is,” he said, sounding composed but far from happy. “I believe I could do with some rest.” His image flickered for a moment before dissolving. Rory sank onto one of the kitchen chairs, thinking she could do with some rest too. From everyone. She was still sitting there, with her elbows on the table and her head in her hands, when Hobo ambled in from the living room. He sniffed at his empty food dish; then he came to sit down next to her, plopping one big paw on her thigh and mewling a plaintive request for dinner.

Rory glanced at her watch. “Oh Hobo,” she said, pushing back from the table. “I didn't realize what time it was. Your dinner will be ready in two minutes.” She was actually glad to have a mundane task to occupy her thoughts. As she went about adding water to his kibble and cutting up the chicken, it occurred to her that dogs were a lot easier to live with than men, alive or dead.