Part 14 (2/2)

”I can understand that,” she murmured.

Hal lifted his head, his eyes intent. ”Does anyone else know?”

Careful, Annie.

”Just Max.”

He whirled around, stepped toward the mantel. One hand swept out, knocking off a half dozen books. When he turned back to face her, he was breathing heavily.

She braced herself. If he took one step toward her, she'd pull out the mace. Surrept.i.tiously, she flicked off the safety guard.

”G.o.ddammit.” Hal spoke jerkily. ”She left town. That's all there was to it.

Lenora left town.”

”People said you'd been fighting.”

His head wobbled on its thick neck. He no longer looked like everybody's nice guy. He looked like a fighter who'd taken one punch too many. ”Elliot got that wrong, the sorry b.a.s.t.a.r.d. There wasn't anybody to see. We were at the cabin in the mountains. No neighbors for miles, but she'd been into town a lot, picked up guys, like she always did. I went fis.h.i.+ng, and, when I came back, she was gone. No note. Nothing. Some b.a.s.t.a.r.d came by and got her.”

There was nothing good-humored about that pudgy face now. It was twisted with remembered pain and hatred.

”You say Lenora went away. Surely you've heard from her since then?”

Hal smoothed out his face, evened his breathing. ”No reason for her to get in touch. I'd told her, one more man and we were through. One more and that was it.”

”Where was the cabin?”

”Near Tahoe.” He moved restlessly, rubbed his hands against his thighs.

”Have you ever told Kelly any of this?”

”I don't want Kelly to know.” There was a plea in his eyes. ”And it doesn't matter, not for the two of us. I got a divorce in Tijuana. I'm all finished with Lenora.”

”Where did you meet Lenora, Hal?”

”What the h.e.l.l difference does it make?” Hearing the edge in his voice, he said, ”In St. Louis. At school. But what difference does it make? It's all over with her.” He forced an ineffective smile. ”Annie, this was all no big deal. And it's been over for ages.”

”Sure, Hal. I just wanted to hear it from you, not the way Elliot had written it.”

Hal's eyes bored into hers. ”What did he say about Lenora?”

”That n.o.body's seen her in years.”

It was quiet for a long moment. Annie could hear his breathing, see the pulse pounding in his throat.

”h.e.l.l, Lenora's having a ball somewhere. Like she always did.” But his eyes were so empty.

”Sure,” Annie said again. ”Sure.”

As she walked down the path toward the Porsche, Annie wondered how hard it had been to dig a grave miles from that lonely cabin.

They took the container of Kentucky Fried Chicken to the beach. Max looked suspiciously at each piece as Annie emptied the barrel onto a paper plate.

”Perhaps we aren't compatible,” he mourned, setting up camp chairs from the Porsche's trunk. Trickling sand through her fingers, Annie thought of Mary Roberts Rinehart and a trip she had made in 1925 into the desert near Cairo. At night her party rested in tents decorated with scenes from tombs. Oriental rugs covered the sand in their dining and bedroom tents. Dinner included soup, appetizer, roast with .vegetables, salad with quail and dessert. Then fruit, Turkish coffee and candy.

Gourmet picnicking. Max would have fit right in.

”I love Quarterpounders, too.”

He winced.

Annie bit into the lushly crusted half-thigh, half-breast while Max turned an oddly shaped piece around uncertainly.

”Was this chicken double-jointed?”

”It provides variety-and surprise,” Annie retorted, mouth full.

With an air of incalculable bravery, Max began to eat.

By meal's end, they had admitted to irreconcilable culinary tastes.

Max liked sus.h.i.+.

Annie adored fried pies. Peach, not cherry.

Max admired nouvelle cuisine.

Annie was pa.s.sionate about Texas chili.

Max detested pretzels.

Annie loathed quiche.

Then they walked, hand in hand, up the beach, stopping to look at sandpipers' tracks, turning over a sh.e.l.l-encrusted piece of driftwood and skirting the tendrils of a Portuguese man-of-war.

It was great fun, but it couldn't last.

Already Annie was looking ahead. ”Time to get back to the fray,” she said brightly. ”Sherlock Annie continues in relentless pursuit of wrongdoers.” Her voice was lighter than her mood. It was a good deal more fun to read about bearding suspects in their lairs than to track them down.

”That's a girl. And, remember, I'll be there, if you need me.”

Just like Tommy and Tuppence. Sort of.

Twelve.

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