Part 9 (2/2)
”f.u.c.k you, Stauffer.”
”Yeah, you're not my type.” Dan stared at the man until he started to back away. ”Pull the door shut while you're at it, will you?”
As soon as the door had closed, Dan spun back and forth a few times in his chair. He needed to contact Maris, have her come in, but what in b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l was he going to say to her? He couldn't act as if none of it had happened-not the incident in the stone circle or the confessions in her motel room, not the incendiary s.e.x. They'd both needed the latter, he understood that, but he should have kept it in his pants. And afterward-G.o.d, he hated himself for speaking those words despite the truth of them. Even in the dark, he could see the hurt in her eyes, the shock.
Forget the unexplained bond, the flash of hope in which he foolishly thought she might be the perfect partner because she understood where he had been. Forget the comfort, the intrigue, the heated l.u.s.t. Unless he could prove otherwise, she might end up his prime suspect for the murder of Alva Mabry. He had not only literally slept in her bed, he'd slept with her. Too mild a term for what had pa.s.sed between them, lightning hot and just as fast, but even if it had been drawn out and taken all night with declarations of adoration and lasting fidelity, would he be any less culpable for his part in it? Of course not.
She had asked him to tell her he wasn't ashamed of what they had done. He could have said no. He should have said no. Why couldn't he lie to her? In many of their conversations, he'd hedged, danced around the truth, but he couldn't lie. Not outright, not even to save her pain. Because she only asked him what she already knew with that d.a.m.ned ”sight” of hers. It wasn't exactly fair, now was it?
And it sure as h.e.l.l wasn't convenient.
Dan lifted the receiver, cradled it under his ear, determined to get this conversation over. He yanked open the drawer for another glance at her phone number and punched the digits on the keypad before whipping the drawer shut. After several rings, her voice mail picked up.
”If this is Dan, go f.u.c.k yourself. Anyone else, please leave a message.”
s.h.i.+t! Grateful he hadn't taken Jamie up on his offer to make the call, Dan tried to compose himself enough to leave a message for her. At the sound of the beep, he was forced to rush his message and ended up prefacing the whole thing with the words ”I'm sorry” and, following the plummeting realization it was too late to take the sentiment back, added ”for inconveniencing you, but I need you to come to the station at”-he glanced at the clock-”eleven this morning for fingerprints and a few questions. Please be prompt. Don't make me come get you.”
Oh, for the love of G.o.d, why had he said that? He slammed the phone down, only to have the receiver bounce across the blotter and drop behind the desk. Cursing, he jumped up and, after several attempts, retrieved it by the cord.
A light tap sounded at the door.
”Come in!”
The door opened wide enough for a face to peer in. ”You okay?”
Sally, the newest police clerk. She looked half his age and probably wasn't much older than that. She'd been making eyes at him for the past month. Well, he wasn't interested in any of what she was offering. Or any woman, period. Enough was enough. ”I'm fine. Dropped the phone.”
”Good. There's someone here to see you.”
”I don't want-”
Before he could finish his sentence, the door swung open. Maris walked in, thanked the girl sweetly, and pushed the door shut. She turned to face him, holding up her cell phone. He heard his voice coming through it. After a second, she hit a number to replay the message, and then did it again and yet again, looping ”I'm sorry” like an inane apology.
”You are an insane person,” he said.
”You don't really believe that.” She slipped the phone into her purse.
He sighed. ”No, I don't. Sit down.”
She sat in the chair where she'd been seated the first time he'd met her. Was that only yesterday in the wee hours of the morning? Yes. Yes it was. Therefore, the little leap of his heart at the sight of her face was inappropriate. Perhaps he was the insane one.
”I need to take your fingerprints.”
”So I heard.” She nodded in the direction of the cell phone sticking up from the pocket in her purse.
”Where were you when I made that call?”
”In the lobby. You said yesterday that you needed me to come in.”
”Yes, I did. I said other things, too, and yet you came anyway.”
”Well, you apologized after all.” She grinned.
He broke into laughter, but sobered after a moment , experiencing a gut-wrenching urge to apologize for real. Maybe even cry a little. G.o.d, what was wrong with him?
”Maris, I don't know what to do.”
”About what?”
”About us.”
She tipped her head to one side. ”Is there an us'?”
”It feels like there is.” He spun his chair and leaned forward, hands folded between his knees. ”Which is absurd. That's not an insult, just reality. It's been twenty-four freaking hours, give or take, and I don't know you-”
”You know me.”
He shook his head. ”I don't. It feels like I do, but I don't. And I...” He stopped, staring down at his clasped hands at the scar on his thumb from a slippery blade when cleaning fish with his father their last time out on the ocean. He glanced back up. ”I have to ask you this question, Maris. I have to.”
She nodded encouragement, the expression on her face wary. ”Go ahead.”
”Did you kill your aunt? Did you poison Alva Mabry?”
A transition took place in her eyes. He couldn't tell if those gray orbs displayed disbelief or guilt or some other reaction he couldn't figure out since her facial expression didn't alter at all. Had she practiced for this moment? He didn't want to believe something so cold about her, but he had to take a step back and view the situation from an investigative standpoint, without prejudice or sentiment.
She shook her head. ”Why would I do that?”
”Don't answer a question with a question, Maris. It doesn't bode well for your innocence.”
”Ouch. Fine.” She s.h.i.+fted in her chair. ”Tell me why you think I did. What motive are you trying on for size? The whole estate thing you threw at me yesterday? Do you know for fact there is anything to be gained financially from her demise? And why would I suddenly decide to come back to Alcina Cove and kill my ninety-three-year-old aunt? Time was on my side, and it certainly wouldn't be worth the risk if I wanted to make sure I profited from her death.”
He stared at her, mouth dropping open, at a loss for a response.
”Besides,” she went on, ”I loved my aunt. Not the way I did as a child, but the fondness, the loyalty, the memories I had of her-not all of them perfect, of course-didn't fade completely. I had no reason to harm her. I came here because she needed me. I just didn't know why.”
He tightened the twisted grip of his fingers between his legs. ”You still haven't answered my question.”
Tears glistened abruptly on her lashes. She blinked them away. ”I did not.”
Dan threw up his hands. ”Is that your answer, or are you just agreeing with my statement?”
”You're an a.s.s, Detective Stauffer.”
<script>