Part 24 (1/2)

Maureen got up, kicking off her shoes, and padded across the room to her CD player. She picked up a handful of discs and began to shuffle through them. ”What do you like?” she asked.

”I don't know. Jazz. R&B.”

She held up a disc. ”Do you like Allen Toussaint?”

”Never heard him.”

She popped the disc in. ”He's from New Orleans.” Quirky rhythms and a plaintive voice filled the room.

Phil nodded. ”I like his sound,” he said.

Maureen sighed and sat back down on the love seat, closing her eyes. All of a sudden, Phil knew exactly what she was going to say.

”This was Mark's favorite,” she said.

Phil set his beer bottle down on the coffee table and stood up.”Well, I think I'll be going.”

”What's the hurry?” she asked.

Phil gazed at her, curled up in the corner of the love seat, her cheeks pink from the wine, her coppery hair unruly, her silk s.h.i.+rt parted just far enough to reveal a hint of cleavage. He sighed. ”You're a beautiful woman, Maureen.”

”Thanks,” she said. She patted the seat beside her. ”Why don't you sit back down. I wouldn't mind hearing more.”

”No, I'd better split.”

”You worried about mixing business with pleasure?” she asked.

He wanted to tell her the truth. He wanted to say that he could understand now why she never dated. How many men would be willing to put up with her monologue about another man? Not just another man-a married man who had dumped her long ago. For a brief moment, the thought flickered through his mind that maybe Keely Weaver was right. Maybe Maureen was persecuting Mark's family out of spite.

”It's probably a bad idea,” he said. ”You and I work very well together. I don't want to mess that up.”

She looked up at him innocently. ”Why would that mess it up? It might make it more . . . fun!”

Phil felt a little exasperated with her. Surely he didn't have to explain. ”I'm sure it would be fun,” he said without enthusiasm.

”You're just not tempted,” she said, sounding injured.

”I'm very tempted.” He knew he was not a convincing liar, and he wondered how believable he sounded. All he could think about was getting out of here.

She stood up in her stocking feet beside him and leaned against him so that he could feel the curve of her breast through the thin fabric of her blouse. ”Oh, come on, now, Detective, don't be stodgy.”

She smelled like vanilla, and her white, freckled skin was dewy. For a moment, his senses were overcome and he lost track of why he had decided to go. She looked so . . . willing, and he entertained the thought that maybe she was just lonely and hadn't had another man since Mark Weaver. Maybe their lovemaking would be so exciting that she would forget all about Mark Weaver.

She picked up his hand and entwined her fingers with his, then gave his hand a gentle tug. ”Come on,” she said. ”Sit down.”

Phil's resolve wavered. He certainly seemed to have her attention now. She was gazing at him as if she had never really seen him before. Maybe it was just the wine going to her head, he told himself. Maybe he could stay for just a few more minutes.

The shrill ring of the phone made him jump.

”Ignore it,” she said. ”I should have turned that thing off.”

Phil had been called out to crime scenes too many times to ignore a ringing phone at night. ”No,” he said, disentangling his hand from hers.”You know you'd better get it.”

”You're probably right,” said Maureen. She headed toward the phone, which was hanging on the kitchen wall.

Phil stood up. ”Where's the bathroom?” he said.

”It's just off my bedroom,” she said, pointing to the dimly lit room beyond the living room. She picked up the phone and turned her back on him. ”h.e.l.lo,” she said. Suddenly, she frowned as she listened to the caller. ”Wait a minute,” she said. ”Slow down. Who did you hear this from?”

Phil exhaled and walked into her bedroom. It was a bower of laceand flowers, lit only by a small bedside lamp with a pink silk shade. As he crossed the room, Phil wondered if he was going to end up in that bed tonight. He knew he shouldn't-Mark Weaver or no Mark Weaver, getting involved with her would not be a good idea. He could hear the familiar sound of her ”work” voice coming from the other room, loud and angry, although he could not make out the words. He wondered what the call was about.

He pulled the door open, expecting to walk into the bathroom. Instead, he realized that he had opened the door to her clothes closet. It was a large, deep closet, and the light came on automatically when the door opened. There were racks of clothes and shoes, but the most conspicuous item, hung facing out, as if for easy access and display, was a long, cream-colored satin-and-lace wedding gown with a train that puddled on the floor. He stared at it, taken aback by the sight. The sleeves were unb.u.t.toned and hung limp, and the neck had makeup stains along the edge of the lace.

Why does she have a wedding dress?he thought.Has she been married before?The dress was not new. Obviously, it had been worn. He lifted the satin hem and saw that it was gray and watermarked, as if she had worn it around outside, letting it drag along wet gra.s.s or pavement. But he was sure she had never been married. He would have heard about it if she had. Suddenly, a sickening thought came to him. It must be the dress she had been planning to wear when she married Mark Weaver. She still had it after all these years. And judging from the looks of it, she must have done more than try it on to admire herself in the mirror. She must have worn it, even though there had been no wedding.

”Hey,” she cried out angrily.

Phil dropped the edge of the dress as if it were hot.

”Does that look like the bathroom?” she demanded.

”Sorry,” he mumbled. ”Opened the wrong door.”

”Get out,” she said. ”Get out of my things.”

Phil backed out of the closet, avoiding her gaze. She slammed the door to the closet. He suddenly felt an overwhelming pity for her, mixed with revulsion. He wondered how he was going to be able to look her in the eye again.

”Look, Maureen, I'm sorry. It was an accident. I wasn't prying-”

”Oh, shut up,” she said.

Phil flinched at her words. ”It's late,” he said stiffly. ”I think I'd better be going.”

”You're d.a.m.n right,” she said.

27.

Keely opened the hall coat closet and pulled Abby's little corduroy jacket off a hook on the door. They had to get ready to go downtown to see Lucas. Yesterday, after her meeting with Dr. Stover, Keely had torn Mark's closet apart, but she had not been able to find the money he claimed to have hidden in the house. In the midst of her search, she had remembered the smoky quartz bracelet, but she hadn't found that either.

She had finally decided that she would have to tell Lucas that she needed to cash a bond for five thousand dollars. If he asked her why, she was just going to tell him. She was ready to pay for Wade's information, whatever it might be.

But just as Keely was shrugging on her coat, she stopped. She hadn't considered the hall closet. Mark had a couple of jackets in here, too. And his boots. She quickly riffled through his jacket pockets, then looked down at the boots and athletic equipment on the closet floor. There were tennis rackets leaning against the wall, golf clubs that he'd never used, an a.s.sortment of snow boots, and an old pair of cowboy boots. Snakeskin cowboy boots. Keely got down on her knees and reached into the closet, pulling out one boot and then the other.Where in the world did he get these?she thought. She'd never seen him wear them. Then she remembered Lucas and his love of all things from the West. He'd probably given them to Mark for a birthday or something, and Mark hadn't had the heart to throw them away, although it looked like they had never been worn.

Nestling the boots in her lap, Keely reached into one, and then the other. The second try was the charm. Her heart lifted.Got it,she thought. Carefully, she wiggled the wad of money, secured by a rubberband, out of the toe of the boot, and then sat back again on her heels and stared at it. It was a bundle of cash, all right. Keely riffled through the large bills, realizing that she must be holding several thousand dollars. Quickly, with trembling fingers, she counted. Three thousand dollars. It wasn't the whole amount she needed, but she felt sure that Wade would be willing to talk when he saw it.Oh, thank you, darling,she thought, closing her eyes.Bless you.

Keely heard the sound of a car door slam and quickly stuffed the money into her pocket. She tossed the boots into the back of the closet, then scrambled to her feet. After picking up Abby from her playpen, she went to the door.