Part 20 (1/2)

At eight-thirty I pulled into Rose's apartment complex in Hyde Park. I had her address written down on a piece of paper and found her building without trouble. Her blue Nova was parked in front, and I parked two down.

I left Buster in the car with the windows rolled down. Rose's unit was on the second floor, and I took the stairs, feeling apprehensive. It had been a while since my wife and I had seen each other, much less had a real conversation.

A copy of the Tampa Tribune Tampa Tribune was stuffed into her mailbox. I pulled it out, then knocked. Rose answered in her white nurse's uniform. was stuffed into her mailbox. I pulled it out, then knocked. Rose answered in her white nurse's uniform.

”Surprise,” I said.

The resounding slap my wife delivered across my face had every ounce of venom in her body.

”You stinking b.a.s.t.a.r.d!”

She raised her arm to strike me again. I grabbed it in midair.

”I didn't sleep with Melinda Peters. Or Joy Chambers.”

”Let go of my arm,” Rose declared.

”You have to believe me.”

”Let go.”

I obeyed, and she slammed the door in my face.

”Don't you want your newspaper?” I asked.

”No,” she shouted through the door.

”It has my picture on the front page.”

”Lucky you.”

”Yours, too.”

The door opened, and my wife s.n.a.t.c.hed the newspaper out of my hands. I got down on one knee and looked up into her face.

”I swear to you, Rose. I didn't sleep with them. You have to believe me.”

Rose stared at me impa.s.sively. She looked no different from the day we met. Small-boned and perfectly proportioned, with toffee-colored skin and big round eyes. She was waiting tables in Fort Lauderdale while going to nursing school, and I was six weeks on the force. In my face she'd seen my daddy's Seminole genes, and mistakenly thought I was part Mexican. We'd started dating, and ten months later Jessie was born.

”A woman would not say those things unless they were true,” she said.

”This woman did,” I said. ”They're not true.”

”You'd better not be lying to me, Jack Carpenter.”

”I didn't drive all this way to lie to you.”

Rose scrutinized the newspaper to make sure her picture wasn't on the front page, then went inside. This time, she didn't slam the door in my face, and I followed her.

Rose's apartment was a one-bedroom with furnis.h.i.+ngs purchased from secondhand stores. My wife made enough money to spruce the place up, but instead she sent a monthly allowance to Jessie that I wasn't supposed to know about.

”You want a cup of coffee?” she asked.

”That would be great,” I said.

I cleared off the coffee table in the living room while she brewed a pot. Sitting on the table were five hand-carved wooden boxes, which Rose had owned since I'd known her. Each box had a drawing of a skeleton and contained a belonging from one of her dead relatives. A b.u.t.ton from her grandfather, a lock of hair from her grandmother, and other keepsakes from her aunts and uncles. The boxes were part of Dia de los Muertos, or Day of the Dead, a religious holiday celebrated in Mexico each year. In my wife's faith, not to remember the dead was considered a disgrace.

I handled the boxes gently as I placed them on the floor. Rose entered the room holding two steaming cups, and sat down beside me.

”Why did you come so early?” she asked.

”I wanted to catch you before you went to see the lawyer,” I said.

We drank in silence. My eyes drifted around the apartment. Hanging from the wall was the family photograph that also sat on the night table beside my bed. It was a painful reminder of our past.

”You've lost weight,” she said.

”Almost twenty pounds,” I said.

”You look like you did when we met. Lean and tan and . . .”

”And what?”

She wouldn't let the word come out of her mouth.

”You look the same, too,” I said.

”No, I don't,” she said.

”You look beautiful.”

”Why did you really come, Jack?”

”Because I love you and don't want to lose you.”

Her cup hit the saucer hard. ”Then why haven't you come for me? Why stay in south Florida and let people destroy your reputation? I love you, too.”

”I know you do.”

”Then why haven't you come for me?”

I moved closer on the couch and put my hand over hers. ”Because I can't leave until I figure out how Simon Skell killed those women. If I do that, he stays in prison. If I don't, he goes free. I must resolve this. Then I'll come back to you.”