She shook her head. “Jordan, my point is that the hippies of years gone by became the yuppies of today. Men and women who slept in parks extolling the virtues of the stars became the ones who drove the BMWs to work in their three-piece designer suits. Keith got lost in the transition. Everyone learned that drugs were dangerous, that life was precious. Keith just didn’t give a damn.”
“You’re still defending him.”
“Jordan, he’s dead! I can’t help but defend him. Look how many bands have existed, and how many bands exist today, how many artists have been a part of how many different bands! Remember the ones who started out before us. Look at the drug deaths—Janice Joplin, Jimmy Hendrix, Jim Morrison. Fame and fortune could be had, but there were traps to fall into. Keith fell into one. In a way, the rest of us did exactly the same thing.”
Jordan shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Damn it, the rest of us were not perfect!”
“No, but we had some sense of responsibility.”
“He was your best friend.”
“Yeah, oh, yeah. And I dug him out of trouble time and time again.”
“You sound so bitter!”
“I am. He taunted me about everything; yet when he really needed help, he didn’t come to me.”
“Jordan, he was always asking me to pave the way for him to come to you—”
“Yeah, he liked to use you, all right. I never really knew the truth of what was going on between the two of you.”
Again, that very bitter edge was in his voice. Kathy gritted her teeth, angered, but she determined to remain calm and cool. “You didn’t want to talk about it ten years ago. What the hell kind of an accusation is that now.”
“It’s not an accusation,” he said quietly, his eyes lowering. He looked at her again, lifted a hand awkwardly. Shrugged. “I wonder why, Kath. I was confident, even as a kid. Assured. I knew where I wanted to go, knew I wanted to go with you. Keith had the ability to make me strangely insecure.”
“And you’re still wondering if I slept with him?” she demanded flatly.
“Kathy—”
“I’m telling you now, Jordan, with nothing to gain and nothing to lose. There was never anything between us.”
“That might be true—”
“Might? You idiot, you’re dating Shirley Temple and my life has been my own for a decade, so why the hell would I be lying to you? And you have your nerve! You were the one who practically wore women as if they were scarves dangling off your shoulders!”
“The hell I did!”
“The hell you didn’t. And you dare say something to me like that ‘might be true.’ I—”
Kathy broke off abruptly, hearing a car coming around the curving driveway.
“They’re home!” she gasped, forgetting the argument as a strange sensation of panic seized her. There stood Jordan, his robe barely tied, and here she was, hair a tangled mane and the oddest sensation of guilt descending on her. Thank God she had bought tailored-type nightshirts. But the little buttons at the top of this one were half-open, and it wasn’t exactly the outfit one would sit around in with an ex-husband, especially when the ex-husband was wearing nothing but a terry. Not only that, she felt as she might have when they had been teenagers, madly in love, dating for two years already, and fooling around but still doing so very secretly since their parents would have been shocked at that point. At first she’d feared that someone could just look at her and know she’d been having sex. Wild, wanton, undeniable sex, of sex, because they’d been young, discovering, and certain then that they were as destined for one another as Scarlett O’Hara and Rhett Butler, Anthony and Cleopatra—which mightn’t have been such a misconception since those pairings had ended badly.
She leapt up, staring at Jordan.
“What do we do?” she gasped.
“About what?”
“About what... we did?”
He arched a brow to her and replied with an edge. “Worried about Jeremy? Kathy, he won’t know if you don’t choose to tell him.”
She wasn’t sure why she felt so hostile. “You won’t tell my sweet young thing if I don’t tell yours?”
His eyes narrowed. “Something like that.”
“I wasn’t worried about Jeremy, I was thinking about my daughters.”
“Do you mean our daughters?”
She ignored that. “I don’t want them to think—I don’t want them to begin to hope...”
“Kathy,” he said, and now there was a strange, almost gentle twist to his voice, “they will not know. Just sit. I’ll make coffee—”
“Yes, coffee. I’ll make coffee. Oh, sorry, it is your house now—”
“Kathy, please, by all means. You do make better coffee. Let’s get to the kitchen. That will be better than them seeing you flying up the stairs like the cat who ate the canary.”
She made a face at him, dashing for the kitchen behind him just as she heard a key twisting in the lock.
A second later, the foyer was filled with soft laughter as the foursome who had gone out partying on the beach returned. By the time the group reached the kitchen, however, following the light and the sounds coming from it, Kathy had an almond-flavored decaf brewing and Jordan had set bread, mayo, mustard, sandwich meat, and cheese out on the table.
“Hey!” Alex said delightedly, slipping up behind Kathy to give her mother a hug. “You guys have been talking, huh?”
“Actually,” Jordan said, staring at Kathy. “We’d both gone to bed.” He smiled pleasantly. “We seem to have gotten the urge to raid the kitchen at the same time. Jeremy, how did you like the wild side of South Beach.”
“Great, it was great,” Jeremy said, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I’ve never seen so many different people, not even in New York. Young people, old people, girls in short-shorts, women all wrapped up in serapes, people in suits, cut-offs. They moved liked a herd down the sidewalk. And the music was great. It was like a feast for the senses.”
“A feast for the senses,” Jordan repeated. Kathy, leaning against the kitchen counter, felt warm. She realized he was staring at her again, but she didn’t know whether he mocked her or meant the words in a nostalgic way.
Miss April wasn’t here tonight. But she was coming. And things were even more disturbing now. Kathy still couldn’t believe that Keith had been murdered. She could have argued Jordan on the point all night.
But if she paused to remember how her name had sounded, whispered over the phone...
She jumped as she suddenly heard a ringing.
“Just the phone,” Angel said lightly.
“At this time of night?” Bren murmured.
“Tara might be calling in,” Alex said, staring at her father.
“I’ll take it,” Jordan said, returning his daughter’s stare as he crossed the kitchen to answer the phone. “One way or the other,” he told her firmly, “it is probably for me.”
Alex made a face and moved out of the way.
“Coffee’s done, Mom.”
“So it is. Who’s having some?”
“Decaf?” Jeremy asked.
Kathy nodded and began to pour. Angel and Bren passed cups around, Alex dug into the refrigerator, determined on milk instead. Kathy was dying to walk over to Jordan herself with a cup to find out who was on the phone and what he was saying.
Probably Miss April. If she listened in, she’d just be hurting herself. No denying that Miss April was coming and coming soon, still Kathy didn’t think she was on the phone right now. Whoever it was had something to do with the crank phone calls Jordan had been receiving.
She managed to casually bring a cup of coffee over to him, but even as she did so, he handed the phone to Bren. “I’ll take it in the living room. I can’t hear in here.”
“Sorry, Dad,” Bren said. “We can be quieter.”
“Don’t be silly. Just hang up after I pick up; will you?”
“Thanks,” he told Kathy, taking the cup from her and walki
ng on out to the living room. A second later, Bren must have heard her father’s instructions to hang up because she did so.
She smiled at her mother, slipped an arm around her. “It’s so good to have you here, Mom,” she whispered to her. “Thanks for coming!”
Kathy nodded, hugging her daughter back, wondering what Bren would think if she were to snatch up the phone and listen in on Jordan’s conversation.
But Alex suddenly breezed by to give her a kiss and a whisper, “Thanks, Mom. See, you two can get along like old friends. This is so good.”
Ummm. Good. The night was wonderful so far. She’d just discovered that sex with her ex-husband was as natural and life-sustaining as breathing, the stunningly beautiful and very young woman he usually slept with was due back momentarily, and Jordan was convinced that Keith had expired because of a murderer’s calculated acts. At the very least, Jordan was receiving crank phone calls.
Kathy leaned against the counter, sipping her coffee, realizing that it was around three in the morning and that more had happened in her life since midnight than usually went on in a year these days.
She discovered suddenly that Jeremy had come to stand next to her, shoulder to shoulder, against the counter. Concern etched his handsome face, but he smiled as he asked softly, “Everything okay?”
Kathy nodded. “Fine.”
“It’s a great vacation for me,” he told her. “Honest to God, Kathy, that is the wildest place I’ve ever seen. And I speak as a born and bred New Yorker!”
Jordan returned to the kitchen as Jeremy spoke intimately against her ear. Kathy met his gaze, but nothing in his cool green eyes or hard countenance gave away his thoughts.
“Who was it at this hour, Dad?” Alex asked. She was seated at the table with Angel, and the two of them had been head to head, laughing over something that had happened that night.
He started to speak. He was going to say it had been Tara, Kathy was certain, but he didn’t. This was one of those times when she did seem to know Jordan very well. Tara would have been the right lie, but Tara might come and blithely let everyone know she hadn’t called.
“One of the musicians playing with us,” Jordan said.
“At this hour?” Bren said.
“You know musicians,” her father told her.
He was lying, Kathy knew. He’d called the police—or someone—about the phone call to have them check on the number from which the call had originated. The police—or someone—had called him back.
“I suppose,” Bren agreed, blithely ignorant of any undercurrents. She yawned and stood. “I give up, guys. I can’t stay awake any longer.” She patted Angel and her sister on the head, hugged and kissed her father, her mother, and gave Jeremy a hug as well. Kathy should have been elated. Bren’s weary instinct to kiss a good friend good night certainly gave credence to Kathy’s relationship with Jeremy. Just as her own very close friendship with him made them look intimate now.
Somehow, though, she was just uncomfortable. She almost hated Jordan for it. If he hadn’t come to New York, she wouldn’t have come here. If she hadn’t come, she wouldn’t have gone to bed with him, if she hadn’t gone to bed with him, she wouldn’t be feeling now as if...
As if she at least wanted the magic of waking up beside him one more time.
She wouldn’t be wishing she could really come back. That she’d forced the issue when she’d had the chance. Maybe that she hadn’t run away. That she still had him. She had almost gift wrapped him for the Tara Hugheses he had had over the years.
“Yeah,” Alex said, rising. “I guess I’m beat, too. ’Night, guys.” She, in turn, kissed everyone good night, pausing by her mother. “Last copout, Mom. You’ve got to vacation with us from now on, okay? You see, you’re still awake. You didn’t go to bed. You should have come with us tonight.”
Kathy blinked. Ah, there was the irony. She did go to bed. “I should have,” she agreed.
Jordan made a slightly choking sound over his coffee.
“Jeremy, your things are up in Dad’s office. It’s as nice as any of the bedrooms and is next to Mom. Want me to show you?”
“Yes,” Jeremy said, apparently forgetting for the moment that he might want to appear to go up with Kathy.
“Shall I make sure we’re all locked up?” Angel asked Jordan.
“Yep, thanks, Angel. I’ll take a walk around the premises myself once I go out.”
“Good night then,” Angel said.
Jordan stood by the table; Kathy still leaned against the counter. They looked at one another, listening to the footsteps as the others went up the stairs, to Angel locking the front door, setting the alarm.
“Who called?” Kathy asked.
“Mickey.”
“Dean?” she asked, frowning. Mickey was a good friend. They’d gone to Miami High together, graduated in the same class. Mickey had helped them through the inquest, the red tape, the pain when Keith had died.
“Mickey Dean,” Jordan agreed.
“And?”
He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared at her.
“You don’t believe in my fears and concerns. So why are you questioning me now?”
“Because I happened to answer the phone!” Kathy said with aggravation. “Because I now know what you’re thinking, and because someone is playing a hoax—or something—on you.”
He was silent a minute, still watching her.
“Isn’t Muscleman going to miss you?”
“Jordan, answer me.”
“Whoever called did it from a phone booth.”
“A phone booth where?”
“South Beach.”
“South Beach!” she gasped. “But that’s where the girls were tonight!”
“It wasn’t the girls!”
She shook her head wildly. “That’s not what I mean. They could have been in danger. Maybe they were being stalked. Maybe whoever called was following them and knew you weren’t with them, maybe even knew that I was here and that I wasn’t with—”
“Calm down! You’re the one convinced that these are just crank calls, that Keith’s death was a tragedy, nothing more.”
“Jordan, I don’t like any of this. It doesn’t make any sense. But there are all kinds of lunatics in the world. We can’t let the girls go out and that’s that.”
He arched a brow at her. “Kathryn, remember, you finally came here because your oldest daughter is about to become twenty-one. You’re going to ground her now?”
“I want to talk to Mickey,” she said stubbornly. “And I don’t want them out anywhere tomorrow.”
He shrugged. “We can take the boat out tomorrow. That will keep everyone together. For a day. And we can go out with Mickey tomorrow night alone for dinner. No, we can’t.”
“Why not?”
“What could you possibly tell Jeremy?”
She waved a hand in the air. “Something. I can think of something.”
He arched a brow. “Interesting. You’ve got him that much under heel?”
“Jordan, my relationships are none of your business.” She frowned.
“Just trying to keep this one afloat for you,” he said.
“I can keep things afloat myself, thank you. What about the child?” she asked sweetly.
“Which child? Bren or Alex?”
Kathy sighed. “Neither. I’m talking about Tara.”
“Funny, Kathy, funny. Think you might be just a little bit jealous of her age?”
“Not when I have Muscleman at my side,” she replied sweetly. She wanted to bite her lip, take back her words. Too late. She had been catty. And she’d gotten what she deserved. A save-play had been all that was left to her.
She shook her head, setting her cup in the sink, moving industriously about to pick up the sandwich meats and set them back in the refrigerator.
“How do we go out with Mickey and make sure they stay safely home?”
“The girls aren’t in any danger.”
&n
bsp; “Why?”
“They were little kids when Keith died.”
“Not so small. He died right after Alex’s eleventh birthday. Bren was nine.”
“Kathy, they’ll stay home if you ask them to. You haven’t realized that the little sweethearts think they can put Humpty Dumpty back together? They’ll be a pair of chattering-magpie matchmakers if they think we’re going out alone together.”
“We’ll tell them we’re going out with old friends. We can’t—”
“We can’t what?” he demanded.
“We can’t give them false hopes,” she finished softly.
Her eyes lowered. Strangely, she felt his remain upon her. She could almost feel them pierce her like a ray of heat.
“Right,” Jordan said. “Well, thanks, this is all picked up. I guess I’ll make a few rounds and then go to bed. Good night.”
She looked up at him again. Good night. She suddenly felt chilled, miserable. Well, they were adults. Divorced. A long time ago. She’d stepped back into his house, and just like a fool, into his bed. Passion—nature—sated. They were adults. Mature adults. The little indiscretion was over. Good night. She needed to be just as cool and casual about it.
“Yeah. Good night,” she told him. Good. Cool, casual. She turned and headed quickly out of the kitchen.
But she paused then, turning back. He was standing exactly as she had left him, not even looking out after her.
“There’s one thing about Keith’s death you haven’t brought up.”
“What’s that?”
“Motive.”
“What?”
“Motive. Think about it. Who could have possibly wanted to kill Keith? Why would anyone have murdered him?”
“Motives aren’t always that easy to see.”
“Right. You guys could be passionate about your music. But he wasn’t killed in the heat of passion or anything like that. If he was murdered, someone thought it all out carefully. Knocked him out with his own drugs, burned the guest house to the ground. Someone was really angry with him.”
Jordan shrugged. “Hell, I was furious with him half the time.”
“That’s right. You two were the best of friends. You loved each other, and you hated each other. You might be one person with a motive,” Kathy informed him.
For All of Her Life Page 14