Part 10 (1/2)

”Not even to get them to confess,” he said. ”Just to have something to do with our hands. We're all trying to quit smoking, so... oh, and when we're on stakeout?” He lowered his voice. ”We pee in empty mayonnaise jars.”

”I always wondered about that. Why not mustard? Why not some other condiment? Salsa or chutney or something like that?”

”Wide mouth.”

”Makes sense,” she said, her lips curving, cheeks flushed. For a moment they were silent, just looking at each other. Jordan pointed at the wall. ”Where'd you get all the art?”

”Those?” She looked fl.u.s.tered. ”They're mine. I mean, obviously they're mine, I didn't steal them.” She laughed a little shrilly. ”I painted them.” She lifted her mug. ”This, too.”

Jordan looked at the mug, which was heavy, cream-colored glazed ceramic. On one side was a small bouquet of flowers-daffodils, maybe?-tied in a painted ribbon. ”You...” He groped for the terminology. ”You do pottery?” That wasn't right-throw pottery, that was the word he'd been looking for.

Addie shook her head. ”Oh, no. Not the mug. The picture on it. The flowers. I painted them.”

He looked at them more closely. ”Nice.” Addie made a face, with the corners of her mouth lifted and her eyebrows raised. ”So that's what you do?” Jordan asked. ”You're an artist?” He pointed at the pictures on the walls.

She waved the word away, looking embarra.s.sed. ”I do greeting cards, mostly. The occasional mug. I did a spoon rest once. That was a real highlight.”

He polished off his doughnut and tried to keep from sighing in grat.i.tude as the carbs landed in his belly and the sugar hit his bloodstream. ”This is great,” he said. ”You're saving my life.”

”Wow,” she said. She probably blushed easily when she was fl.u.s.tered or, Jordan bet, when she was turned on. She'd turn a pretty rosy color, pink from her throat to her chest, with her pupils dilated and her hair spread out as she tossed her head against the pillow... ”You're easy.”

”Don't tell, okay?” He looked down, remembering why he'd come here, and that it wasn't to chat up friendly single women and eat their doughnuts. ”Your brother,” he began. ”Have you heard from him lately?”

”Thursday. I saw him Thursday, for Thanksgiving. What's wrong?” The worried look was back.

”Does he live here?”

She shook her head. ”Jon's at a place called Crossroads. He moved there when he turned twenty-one. Why? Did something happen?”

”Was he at the reunion last night?”

Her hands twisted in her lap. ”I can't-I mean, I wasn't there, either-but I can't imagine he'd want to go, and if I didn't take him, he wouldn't have any way of getting there.” She paused, clearly deciding how much to tell him. ”Jon didn't have a very easy time in high school.” She looked off into the distance, fingers twining and untwining. ”My brother was in a car accident when he was fifteen. The two boys in the front seat died, and Jon was hurt pretty badly. He had brain damage. Short-term memory loss, seizures-not for a while now, but he had them pretty regularly when he was a teenager-and some personality changes.” She sighed. ”Medication helps, but he could be-he can be-a little strange.”

”Everyone's strange in high school,” said Jordan.

Addie Downs seemed surprised to hear it. ”You think so?”

”You should have seen me. I had such bad acne, it looked like someone taped a sausage pizza to my face.”

She smiled faintly, still looking troubled. Jordan fought the urge to reach for her, to touch her hand, even as a cool, removed corner of his brain inquired What, exactly, do you think you're doing?

”Were you home last night?” he asked her.

”I had a date.”

”How'd it go?”

She gave him her wry half-smile. ”About as well as high school.”

”Would you mind telling me his name?”

Addie put half a bagel on her plate. ”Only if you tell me what's going on.”

”We found a man's belt and some blood in the country club parking lot. We're trying to find out who they belong to and make sure no one got hurt.”

Lines bracketed her mouth as she frowned. ”I could call Jon and make sure he's okay.”

”Was anyone in high school particularly bad to him?” Jordan asked casually. ”Anyone he would have wanted to get back at?”

Addie looked surprised. Then she narrowed her eyes. ”You think Jon hurt someone?” Her voice was rising; that pretty flush was tinting her cheeks and her neck. ”Jon would never do anything like that.”

He kept his own voice low. ”Ma'am, we're trying to figure out who that belt belongs to and if that person is injured. We're not accusing anyone of anything.” Adelaide Downs was glaring at him, cheeks pink, eyes flas.h.i.+ng, righteously p.i.s.sed.

”He used to take things out of lockers sometimes,” she said. ”Somebody told you that, right? That's why you're here. You think Jon did something.”

”n.o.body thinks Jon did anything,” Jordan protested. ”All we're trying to do right now is make sure everyone's okay. Jon included.”

”I'm sorry,” she said. Her hands were balled into fists, like she was going to sock him. It was charming, even though he was certain she didn't mean for it to be. ”Have you ever been to the high school?”

”Cla.s.s of 1987,” Jordan volunteered.

Addie appeared not to hear him. ”It's four stories high. There were boys-I never knew which ones, exactly-they'd take Jon's backpack and drop it down the stairwell. Four stories down. If it had ever hit someone, it could have really hurt them. They'd take off running, and the teachers on the first floor would find the backpack with Jon's name on it. He'd get in trouble because he wouldn't say who'd done it.” She took a deep breath. ”You can understand why I'm a little overprotective.”

”I understand,” he said. More than that, he admired it. He wondered if he'd been the one with problems, what his own brother would have had to say if the cops had come knocking. Sam probably would have thrown him to the wolves without thinking twice-would have driven the cops to his door, if it came to that. ”It would help,” he ventured, ”if we knew where your brother was last night.”

”Working.” Addie snapped the lid on the tub of cream cheese and wiped off the b.u.t.ter knife with a napkin. A cloth napkin. Her cheeks were still pink. ”He works Tuesdays through Sat.u.r.days at the Walgreens on Lower Wacker. He's been there for fifteen years. He always works on holidays so that the people with families can spend time with them.”

”Sounds criminal,” said Jordan. Addie didn't answer. ”I'm kidding,” he said. Not even a hint of a smile flickered across her face.

”You can probably talk to the manager, or check his time cards, or something.” She set the knife down. ”Look, I know in the movies and on TV it's always the guy with mental problems who does it, but believe me, my brother wouldn't hurt a fly.”

Jordan stood as Addie got to her feet, then bent down for the tray. ”Let me help you.”

”No, I've got it.”

For a minute, they were face-to-face, each of them gripping one side of the tray, so close their noses were almost touching, so close he could smell her lemon-and-sugar scent, until Addie let go. ”I can give you the number of the house where Jon lives, and his boss's name and number at the drugstore,” she said. ”They'll be able to tell you where he was last night.”

”Appreciate your help.” He handed her the tray. She carried it into the kitchen, and came out a minute later with a slip of paper and handed it over. ”Anything else?”

”Your date last night,” he said. ”I'm sorry, but I need a name.”

”Matthew Sharp.”

”And where did you go?”