by Sandra Brown
“How is Mandy?”
He gave a dismissive shrug. “She’s fine.”
Avery frowned doubtfully.
“Okay, not so fine.” He stood again and began pacing the length of the bed, his boot heels making crescent impressions in the carpeting. “Mom says she’s still having nightmares. She wakes up screaming nearly every night, sometimes even during her nap. She moves around the house like a little ghost.” He extended his hands as though reaching for something, then closed them around nothingness. “Not quite there, you know? Nobody’s getting through—not me, not the psychologist.”
“I asked Zee to bring her to see me. She said you had told her not to.”
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t think it would be a good idea for her to come when I wasn’t here.”
She didn’t press her luck by asking why. It might spark another argument she wasn’t yet equipped to handle. “I miss her. Once I’m at home, she’ll do better.”
His skepticism was plain. “Maybe.”
“Does she ever ask for me?”
“No.”
Avery lowered her gaze to her lap. “I see.”
“Well, what do you expect, Carole? You only get back what you give.”
For a moment their eyes clashed, then her hand came up to her forehead. Tears filled her eyes. She cried for the child who hadn’t had enough of her mother’s love. Poor little Mandy. Avery knew how it felt to be deprived of a parent’s attention. That’s why she justified pretending to be Mandy’s mother when, initially, she had felt Mandy would profit from being told of Carole’s demise immediately.
“Aw, shit,” Tate said beneath his breath. He crossed the room and lightly rested his hand on the top of her head. His fingers worked their way through her stubby hair until the pads were gently massaging her scalp. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. Mandy’s going to get better—much better.” After a moment, he said, “Maybe I should go.”
“No!” Her head snapped up. Tears still drenched her eyes. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
“It’s time I did.”
“Please stay a while longer.”
“I’m tired and cranky from the trip—not good company.”
“I don’t mind.”
He shook his head.
Valiantly, she masked her immense disappointment. “I’ll see you out then.”
She reached for her cane and placed her weight on it as she stood up. But her nervously perspiring hand slipped on the crook and caused her to lose her balance.
“Christ, be careful.”
Tate’s arms went around her. The manila envelope fell from her lap onto the floor, but neither noticed. His arm supported her back, and his strong fingers aligned with her ribs beneath the soft weight of her breast.
As he inched her toward the bed, Avery clung to him, curling her fingers into the cloth of his jacket. She deeply inhaled his scent—clean but outdoorsy, fragrant but masculine, with a trace of citrus. His strength permeated her and she imbibed it like an elixir.
She acknowledged then what she had avoided acknowledging during the long, torturous days he had been away. She wanted to become Mrs. Rutledge so she could be close to Tate. Based on the misery she’d felt during his absence and the joy she’d experienced when he had entered her room, that was no less valid a reason than the others. At least, it was just as strong.
He eased her onto the side of the bed, and gingerly touched the thigh of her injured leg. “That was a multiple fracture. The bone’s still not as strong as you’d like to think.”
“I guess not.”
“We were right to decide you should stay here until after the primary. All that activity would be too much for you.”
“Probably.”
Her reply was qualified, because when Zee had told her that had been the decision reached without her consent or consultation, she had felt abandoned, like a family embarrassment that had been hidden away, out of the public eye.
“I can’t wait to come home, Tate.”
Their heads were close. She could see her new face reflected in the pupils of his eyes. His breath wafted over it. She wanted to be held. She wanted to hold him.
Touch me, Tate. Hold me. Kiss me, she wanted to say.
For several heartbeats he seemed to be considering it, then he pulled back.
“I’ll go now,” he said gruffly, “so you can rest.”
She reached for his hand and clasped it as tightly as she was able to. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For… for the flowers and… and for helping me back to bed.”
“That’s nothing,” he said dismissively, pulling his hand free.
She made a wounded sound. “Why do you always refuse my thanks?”
“Don’t play dumb, Carole,” he whispered testily. “Your thanks don’t mean anything to me and you know why.” He said a curt good-bye and left.
Avery was crushed. She had hoped for so much more out of their reunion. Her fantasies of it hadn’t been anything like the grim reality. But what could she expect from a husband who obviously didn’t care a great deal about his wife?
At least he hadn’t detected her lie. From a professional standpoint, she was still on firm ground.
She returned to the chair and picked up the envelope, pried open the metal brad, lifted the flap, and shook the contents into her hand. Her wristwatch was no longer ticking—the crystal had been shattered. A gold earring was missing, but it was no great loss. The item that was most important to her wasn’t there. Where was her locket?
Then she remembered. She hadn’t been wearing her locket when the accident had occurred. Carole Rutledge had had it.
Avery slumped against the chair, lamenting the loss of that treasured piece of jewelry, but she roused herself immediately. She would mourn the loss later. Right now, she had to act.
A few minutes later, a nurse at the central station glanced up from the keyboard of her computer terminal. “Good evening, Mrs. Rutledge. Did you enjoy your visit with your husband?”
“Very much, thank you.” She handed the nurse the envelope. “I have a favor to ask. Would you please mail this for me tomorrow?” The nurse read the address Avery had printed on it. “Please,” Avery pressed, before the nurse could ask any questions.
“I’d be glad to,” she said, though she obviously found it a strange request. “It’ll go out in the morning’s mail.”
“I would rather you not mention this to anyone. My husband accuses me of being too sentimental as it is.”
“All right.”
Avery handed her several folded bills, pilfered from the generous allowance Tate had left with her before his trip. “That’s enough money to cover the postage, I believe. Thank you.”
That represented another severance with Avery Daniels. She returned to the room assigned to Mrs. Carole Rutledge.
Twelve
In stocking feet, Irish McCabe went to his refrigerator for another beer. He pulled off the tab and, as he sipped the malty foam from the top of the can, inspected his freezer for dinner possibilities. Finding nothing there that was a better option than hunger, he decided to do without food and fill up on beer.
On his way back into the living room, he picked up the stack of mail he’d dropped on the table when he had come in earlier. While idly watching a TV game show, he sorted through the correspondence, culling junk mail and setting aside bills.
“Humph.” A puzzled frown pulled together salt-and-pepper eyebrows when he came across the manila envelope. There was no return address, but it bore a local postmark. He unfastened the brad and wedged his index finger beneath the flap. He upended the envelope and dumped the contents into his lap.
He sucked in a quick breath and recoiled, as though something foul had landed on him. He stared at the damaged jewelry while his lungs struggled for air and his heart labored in his chest.
It was several moments before he calmed down enough to r
each out and touch the shattered wristwatch. He had immediately recognized it as Avery’s. Gingerly he picked it up and tentatively investigated the gold earring he’d last seen decorating Avery’s ear.
Quickly coming to his feet, he rushed across the room to a desk that he rarely used, except as a catchall. He pulled open the lap drawer and took out the envelope he’d been given at the morgue the day he had identified Avery’s body. “Her things,” the forensic assistant had told him apologetically.
He remembered dropping her locket into the envelope without even looking inside. Up till now he hadn’t had the heart to open it and touch her personal effects. He was superstitious. To paw through Avery’s belongings would be as distasteful to him as grave robbing.
He’d had to empty her apartment because her landlady had insisted on it. He hadn’t kept a single thing, except a few photographs. Her clothes and all other usable items had been donated to various charities.
The only thing that Irish had deemed worth keeping was the locket that had identified her body. Her daddy had given it to her when she was just a kid, and Irish had never seen Avery without it.
He opened the envelope that had been in his desk all this time and dumped the contents onto the desk’s littered surface. Along with Avery’s locket, there was a pair of diamond earrings, a gold bracelet watch, two bangle bracelets, and three rings, two of which comprised a wedding set. The third ring was a cluster of sapphires and diamonds. Together it added up to a hell of a lot more than Avery’s jewelry, but it wasn’t worth a plug nickel to Irish McCabe.
Obviously, the pieces belonged to one of the other crash victims, possibly to one of the survivors. Was somebody grieving its misplacement? Or had it even been missed?
He would have to check on that and try to get it back to the rightful owner. Now, all he could think about was Avery’s jewelry—the watch and earring that had been delivered today to his post office box. Who had sent them? Why now? Where had they been all this time?
He studied the envelope, searching for possible clues as to its sender. There were none. It didn’t look like it had come from a municipal office. The printed lettering was rickety and uneven, almost childish.
“Who the hell?” he asked his empty apartment.
The pain of his grief over Avery should have been blunted by now, but it wasn’t. He dropped heavily into his easy chair and stared at the locket with misty eyes. He rubbed it between his finger and thumb like a talisman that might make her miraculously materialize.
Later, he would try to solve the mystery of how her jewelry had become switched with that of another crash victim. For the present, however, he only wanted to wallow in the morass of his bereavement.
* * *
“I don’t see why not.”
“I told you why not.”
“What would be wrong with me going down to Corpus Christi with you when you go later this week?”
“It’s a business trip. I’ll be busy setting up rallies for Tate.”
Fancy’s mouth drew into a petulant pout. “You could let me tag along if you really wanted to.”
Eddy Paschal looked at her from the corner of his eye. “Guess that gives you your answer.”
He switched out the lights at campaign headquarters. The property was located in a shopping center and had previously been a pet store. The rent was cheap. It was a central location, easily accessible to just about any point in the city. About its only drawback was the remnant odor of caged pets.
“Why are you so mean to me, Eddy?” Fancy whined as he used his key to secure the dead bolt.
“Why are you such a pest?”
Together they walked across the parking lot to his parked car, a serviceable Ford sedan that she privately scorned. He unlocked the passenger door and opened it for her. As she got in, she brushed the front of her body against his.
As he rounded the hood on his way to the driver’s side, she noticed that he’d recently gotten a haircut. The barber had clipped his hair too short. Topping her list of Eddy “redos” was his car. Second was his barber.
He slid in behind the wheel and turned on the ignition. The air conditioner came on automatically and began filling the interior with hot, humid air. Eddy made a concession to his fresh-out-of-the-bandbox appearance by loosening his tie and unbuttoning his collar button.
Fancy went considerably further than that in her quest for comfort. She unbuttoned her blouse to her waist, then fanned it open and shut, providing Eddy with an excellent view of her breasts if he chose to take it, which she was peeved to note that he didn’t. He was maneuvering the car through the intersection and up the entrance ramp to the freeway.
“Are you gay, or what?” she demanded crossly.
He burst out laughing. “Why do you ask?”
“Because if I gave away to other guys half of what I give away to you, I’d spend all my time on my back.”
“To hear you tell it, you do anyhow.” He glanced at her. “Or is that just so much talk?”
Fancy’s blue eyes fairly smoked, but she was too clever to lose her temper. Instead, she curled up into the car seat with the sinuous laziness of a cat and asked slyly, “Why don’t you find out for yourself, Mr. Paschal?”
He shook his head. “You’re an incorrigible brat, Fancy, know that?”
“I should,” she said breezily, pulling her fingers through her mass of dark-blond curls. “That’s what everybody tells me.” She leaned toward the air-conditioning vent, which was blowing out frigid air now. She held her hair up off her neck and let the air blow against her skin, which was dewy with perspiration. “Well, are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Gay.”
“No, I’m not.”
She sat up and angled her body toward him. Her hands were still holding her hair up off her neck—a pose that emphasized her breasts. The cold air had made her nipples hard. They jutted against the cloth of her shirt. “Then, how can you resist me?”
Congested freeway traffic had been left behind and they were now heading northwest toward the ranch. Eddy’s gaze roved over her slowly, taking in all the alluring details. It gave her satisfaction to watch his Adam’s apple slide up and down as he swallowed with difficulty.
“You’re a beautiful child, Fancy.” His eyes rested briefly on her breasts, where the dark impressions of their pert centers could be seen beneath her shirt. “A beautiful woman.”
Gradually she lowered her arms, letting her hair fall loosely around her face and onto her shoulders. “Well, then?”
“You’re my best friend’s niece.”
“So?”
“So to me that means you’re off limits.”
“How prudish!” she exclaimed. “You’re a Victorian, Eddy, that’s what you are. A throwback. A stuffy prude. Ridiculous.”
“It wouldn’t be ridiculous to your Uncle Tate. Or to your grandfather or father. If I laid a hand on you, any one or all three of them would come after me with a shotgun.”
She reached across the seat and ran her finger up his thigh, whispering, “Now, wouldn’t that be exciting?”
He removed her hand and pushed it back across the car. “Not if you’re the target.”
She flopped back in her seat, annoyed, and turned her head to gaze at the passing scenery. That morning she had deliberately left her car at the ranch and hitched a ride into San Antonio with her father, planning all along to stay late and finagle a ride home with Eddy. Months of subtle invitation had gotten her nowhere. Since patience had never been one of her virtues, she had decided to step up the pace of her pursuit.
Buck, the bellhop, had lasted less than a month before he had become possessive and jealous. Then the man who had come to spray the house for cockroaches had ended up in her bed. That affair had lasted until she had discovered he was married. It wasn’t his marital status that bothered her so much as his postcoital guilt, which he morosely discussed with her. Remorse took all the fun out of fucking.
Since the exterminator the
re had been an assortment of partners, but all had simply been diversions to occupy her until Eddy surrendered. She was getting tired of waiting.
Indeed, she was getting tired of everything. The last three months had put a real strain on her generally good disposition. There had even been times when she had envied her Aunt Carole all the attention she was getting.
While Fancy was spending interminable hours stuffing envelopes and taking telephone polls in that noisy, crowded, stinky, tacky campaign headquarters, with people who could get off on a ten-dollar contribution, Carole was being waited on hand and foot in that posh private clinic.
Mandy was another thorn in her side. As if the little brat hadn’t always been spoiled rotten, it was even worse now since the plane crash. Just last week Fancy had been sternly reprimanded by her grandmother when she had yelled at her young cousin for eating all the Oreos.
In Fancy’s opinion, the kid was off her beam. Her hollow, vacant eyes were damn spooky. She was turning into a zombie and, in the meantime, everybody kissed her ass.
Her daddy had gone positively ape shit when she had gotten her most recent speeding ticket, and he had threatened to take away her car if she got another. He even warned that she would have to pay the fine out of money she earned herself. Of course her daddy’s threats never panned out, but his shouting had really gotten on her nerves.
She couldn’t believe the fuss everyone made over that primary election. You would have thought her uncle was running for fuckin’ president the way everybody had carried on about it. He had won by a landslide, which had come as no surprise to her. She couldn’t understand why they had paid a political analyst big bucks to predict the outcome a week before the election, when she could have given it to them months ago for free. Her uncle’s smile made women cream their jeans. It didn’t matter what his speeches were about; women would vote for him on the basis of his looks. But had anyone asked her? No. Nobody asked her opinion about anything.
Things were looking up, however. Now that the primary election was out of the way, Eddy wouldn’t have so many distractions. His mind would be freer to think about her. She had been optimistic of a successful seduction when she had first launched the project. Now she wasn’t so sure. He’d eluded her charms more adroitly than she would have guessed it was possible for a man to do. As far as she could tell, he wasn’t even close to the breaking point.