Paul had said patients wanted security and peace. He’d added that even though the building had cost more than they’d figured, it would pay off in the long run because people were willing to pay for ambience, even in an oral surgeon’s office. Patients really wanted ambience in a plastic surgeon’s office, he’d added, laughing.
A gust bent the umbrella ribs inside out as she stepped into the colonnade and walked down the mosaic hall of muted creams and browns and rusts to the east side and the door to Paul’s suite of offices. Here, no sounds intruded. The quiet was almost total, marred only by the steady pattering of rain on the roof tiles and the leaves of the plants and trees.
Despite the quiet and privacy provided by the expensive building, a drift of movement past the columns caught Molly’s eye. Suddenly uneasy, she stopped, her hand resting on the doorknob. The hairs on her arms rose as she turned toward the grounds of the courtyard and tensed, listening.
The leaves of the hedges lifted in the wind, turned, settled. The tall, pale trunks of the royal palms gleamed, their branches rattling, clicking.
Shadows and shapes, nothing more.
A sheet of rain slanted in and splashed her ankles.
Detective John Harlan had made her aware of how vulnerable she was. Even after her parents’ murders, Molly had never thought of herself as a potential victim.
Now, thanks to John Harlan, she did.
Molly hunched her shoulders. She had a sudden vision of an enormous target painted on her back. She didn’t like the sense that someone was out there, watching her, following her.
A tree branch lifted. She turned quickly at its fluttering motion.
There was nothing out there, of course.
Flattening the umbrella back into shape on its metal frame, Molly closed it and twirled most of the water off before dropping it into the enormous porcelain vase inside the office, to the left of the heavy, carved-wood door.
Annie Doublee looked up as rain and wind blew in. “Hey there, Mizz Bouler!” she said. Her perfect teeth opened in a perfect smile, wide and generous. “Oops. Mizz Harris. Sorry. I forget. Habit.” Annie wrinkled her perfect oval face. With her narrow nose scrunched up in embarrassment, her enormous and brilliant blue eyes squinting in awkwardness, Annie still looked irresistibly adorable.
Even Molly thought so. Paul certainly had, for a month or two, anyway.
The sheer impact of all that perfection stunned Molly every time she saw Annie.
Unfortunately, Annie was bright. She was also funny, winsome and nice in an age when niceness was undervalued. Worst of all, Molly liked her. “Hey, yourself, Annie. Paul in?”
“He has a patient right now.” Annie rolled her eyes.
Molly couldn’t help smiling. “Oh.”
“Oh isn’t the half of it.” Annie rolled her eyes again, mischief shining across her translucent skin. “She’s divorced, rich and her root canal needs the doctor’s immediate attention.” Annie grinned. She should have looked childish, silly, goofy. She did. She also looked stunning.
Watching Annie, Molly decided that Harlan might have been right. The universe was irrational. In a rational world, Annie would have been vain, mean, spiteful. Molly sighed. “Any chance I can see him for a few minutes, Annie?”
“You know you can. He always has time for you.”
“Without throwing his schedule out the window, I mean.”
Annie thumbed down the appointment sheet. “Sure. The wisdom tooth’s not due for another forty-five minutes. If Mizz Root Canal can tear herself away, he should have half an hour free.” Annie’s face softened. “You know it wouldn’t matter. If you needed to see him, he’d make the time, Mizz Harris. He really would.”
“I know.” Molly sank onto a pale blue Italian-leather chair. Paul would do almost anything for her. He’d been her friend all her life and her husband for five years. He’d seen her gap toothed and flat chested. She’d suffered with him through a squeaky voice and acne.
But they should never have gotten married. That failure still made her cringe.
“I’ll buzz him.” Annie swiveled to the intercom button and pushed it. When she turned back to Molly, she was smiling. “He’s overjoyed. He’ll be right out.”
The leather creaked as Molly shifted position. It had only been a branch she’d seen. That was all. Nothing else. Only a branch, gray in the rain, moving with the wind.
The door to the inner office swung smoothly open. Paul’s broad, genial face was creased with concern. “Now, you call me at home if you have any problem, hear?” He patted the root-canal on the shoulder. “Take care, now.”
Molly knew his concern was genuine. So was the amiability. So, too, was the pleasure in his eyes when he saw her. “Hey, hon,” he said, ambling over to her. “Come on in.” He wrapped one big arm around Molly and squeezed her to him. “Where you been hidin’? I’ve missed you. And why didn’t you call me about Camina? What a mess, hon. You okay?” His questions tumbled around her.
His patient glanced once at Molly, frowned and walked to Annie’s desk, where she conversed for a few seconds with the receptionist. Courtesy of the custom-ordered acoustical design, their voices were hushed.
Leading her to his consultation room, Paul kept his arm draped over her shoulder until she sat down on the sofa. “What happened with Camina, hon? I heard about it on the late news last night.” He picked up the coffeemaker from the low credenza next to the sofa. “Want some?”
“Sure.” She’d forgotten to eat in her rush to leave the house. She’d made a decision, and she hadn’t wanted to waste time with food. “What else do you have? Any crackers?” she said, casting him a pleading glance. “Please, please say you have crackers.”
His sideways glance was teasing. “You can have anything I have, hon.”
Molly shook her head. “You never change, do you?”
“Nah,” he said, clearly unrepentant. “I was always hot for your bod, hon, you know that.” He lifted the cover of a plastic container. “Pecan pie?”
“Lord, no. Sugar coma.” Molly made strangling noises.
He lifted another cover. “Tomato bread?”
“Terrific. I’m starved.” Molly broke off a piece of the bread as he handed it to her on a small china plate. “Your patients take good care of you,” she said, chewing slowly. “This is wonderful.”
“Not as wonderful as some other things I could name.” He sat on the edge of his desk, a big, furry teddy bear of a man smiling affectionately at her, his dark brown eyes teasing and warm.
It had been a while since food had tasted this good. She held out the plate. “More? Please?” She was starving suddenly. A quick memory of an altogether different kind of hunger gleaming in John Harlan’s eyes made the plate tremble in her hand.
Paul edged off the desk, sliced another piece of bread and eased it onto her plate. He settled on the arm of the sofa. “So you’re not here to throw me to the floor in a wild, passionate assault?”
Mumbling around a piece of tomato bread, Molly said, “Not this time.”
“More’s the pity, hon. So, what’s up?” He grinned, his mustache quivering at the ends. “Besides me?”
“You’re incorrigible,” Molly grumbled, biting into the bread.
“I know,” he said, preening. “It’s my charm. It’s why you married me. I could always make you laugh.”
Under the teasing, Molly detected a wistful note, but that was Paul, too. Settling the plate in her lap, Molly brushed her fingers together over it, watching the crumbs fall onto the blue-and-green china. “No—” she shook her head slowly, remembering back to their impulsive decision to elope “—it was because you were my best friend and because you were the sweetest man I’d ever met.”
“Hell. And I always thought it was because you couldn’t keep your hands off me,” he said mournfully.
His words oddly echoed Harlan’s, and Molly jumped, a buzz running over her skin. The plate rocked on her knees and she handed it back to Paul. “Why did we
decide to elope that night, Paul? Who brought it up first? Me? You?”
“It was that fifth glass of champagne at your cousin’s wedding. Put us both in the mood, is all I remember. Seemed like a good idea. I sure thought so.” He took the plate, his stubby fingers gripping the plate carefully. Despite his awkward-looking hands, he was amazingly dexterous. His patients raved about his gentle touch. “It should have worked, Molly. Why didn’t it?” His amiable face creased.
Molly rested her head on the heavily upholstered back of the sofa. “You know why, Paul.”
“But, honey, that’s just the way I am.” He was bewildered. “You knew that when we eloped.”
“I did, didn’t I?” Molly sat up. “But you know what, Paul? I thought you’d be faithful to me. Foolish, wasn’t I?”
“I tried, Molly. Really I did. For two years.” He looked sheepish. “Really.” He nodded earnestly, like a small boy trying to convince himself and everyone else he hadn’t thrown the ball through the window. Paul could have stolen the crown jewels, had them falling out of his pockets and still denied the theft.
“Was it so difficult to be faithful to me, Paul?” Molly held herself still. She hadn’t come to see him to thrash out the breakup of their marriage, but the answer had become important to her during the last year. She’d found out about his affairs, filed for divorce, and they’d never discussed the issue. She, because she felt stupid and gullible. And Paul? Well, Paul had never liked to confront unpleasantness. They’d remained friends, but friends with a wall of history and hurt between them, that wall turning their friendship into a habit, no longer the real thing.
Had she missed the friend more than the husband? The thought sliced through her, pain following it. “Was it something I did, Paul? Didn’t do? How did I fail? Tell me.”
He tugged the end of his mustache. “It was me, hon. I’m just not…” He stopped, distressed.
She knew him, after all. “Just not a one-woman man,” she said, amazed at the lingering power of the old pain.
He nodded, his hands dropping to his sides.
“And I’m very much a one-man woman.”
“Hon, I’m a heel. I admit it.” He smiled, trying to charm her, meaning it, too. He patted her hand.
“Yes, you were.”
“But, hon, it’s like that old snake story—you know the one.”
Brushing a crumb off her skirt, Molly shook her head.
“Sure you do, hon. The lady sees the poor ol’ frozen rattler and is going to pass him by, but the snake begs her and pleads with her to help him. She won’t, of course, because he’ll strike her, but he promises not to. So she picks him up, tucking him into her bosom so he’ll stay warm, and carries him home, where she wraps him up next to her fire. After he’s all thawed out and cozy, he rears up and strikes her, and she can’t understand why he’s done this. He replies, ‘But you knew what I was when you picked me up.’ That’s me, Molly. I don’t seem to be able to change what I am.” He shrugged, the same concern she’d seen on his face earlier there once more. “But I tried. I swear on my momma’s grave, I tried to be different for you. I was the one who failed, not you, hon.” His mustache quivered.
Molly looked deep into his earnest, easygoing face. “Maybe you did, Paul.”
“Of course I did, hon. I loved you. I still do.”
“But you couldn’t be faithful.”
“No, hon, I’m a weak and sinful man,” he said mournfully. “Lord love me, but I’m a lost lamb.”
Molly grinned. She couldn’t help it. His expression was so woebegone that she couldn’t help seeing the whole absurdity of the situation. “Well, it’s not my business anymore, Paul, but I hope you’re a cautious, safe lamb, if you know what I mean. Your life-style isn’t, uh—”
“The most careful?”
“Well…” Molly shrugged, affection moving her when she’d never expected to feel any for him again.
“Hey, hon, I’m always careful. And very, very safe.” His grin was naughty. “I have the tests to prove it.” When she smiled, reservations unspoken, he added, his little-boy attitude gone, “I have a living to make, and, trust me, I’m damned careful.”
Molly did. Paul had planned on being a millionaire by the time he was forty. He hadn’t been able to stay faithful to her, but he’d never betrayed his youthful goal. Underneath all the expensive Italian leather and decorator-subtle blues and greens of his glossy office, Paul Bouler was still that young boy from the wrong side of the tracks who didn’t ever intend to look back.
“You remember when I dropped that worm down your pants during eighth-grade graduation?” Molly remembered his pants had been an inch too short for his shot-up-overnight body.
“Damn sure! And I got even by dumping punch over your new perm.” He chortled. “Lord, but that was the frizziest pink head of hair I ever saw, hon!”
They’d been able to forgive each other over the years. “Maybe we should have stayed friends, Paul. Maybe we weren’t ever meant to be lovers. Partners.”
Taking her hands between his, Paul rubbed her knuckles. “I’d like to be friends again, Molly. I’ve missed you.”
Imitating Annie, Molly rolled her eyes.
“In my own way, hon, really,” he added earnestly. “I know, I know—” he threw his hands heavenward “—I’m incorrigible. But you love me, too.”
“In my own way,” Molly said, understanding at last, “I guess I do.”
The failure had been hers, yes, but it hadn’t been a failure of character or will. She had mistaken youthful hormones and friendship for love. Not a tragedy, but it could have become one had she stayed with him as his wife. Paul was right. He wasn’t a man who could stay faithful to one person. The hurts and losses of his childhood had scabbed over, and he was perfectly happy—in fact preferred—skimming cheerfully along life’s surface. And he had always made her laugh, no matter what.
But she needed more than laughter. She needed someone who would cherish her because she was as important to him as breath itself.
She’d always yearned for something else. Something that went taproot deep with another person. An emotional connection that left roots and branches twined inseparably. That kind of linking would never have been possible with Paul.
With the lamps shining on Paul’s oak desk and the smell of fresh coffee in the air, Molly was more at peace than she’d been in a year. She liked having Paul around, liked having his bulky body next to her, his arm draped casually across her shoulders. Most of all, she liked having her friend back.
As they sat and sipped coffee, feet close together on the round table in front of the sofa, Molly felt the tension inside her uncoiling, floating through her as smooth as the cream in her coffee. She hadn’t realized how lonely she’d been. She’d dived into grief and stayed underwater so long she’d forgotten there was another world if only she’d swim toward the light. Not budging from her side, Paul seemed equally content, stealing a nibble from her plate and laughing when she slapped his hand. They’d been lovers, after a fashion. They’d been husband and wife. And now they were friends again.
He was so relaxed she would have thought he didn’t have another appointment for the whole afternoon if she hadn’t talked with Annie.
Nibbling on a fourth slice of bread, Molly finally plunked the remnants back onto the plate. He had a schedule to keep and she shouldn’t take up any more of his office time. “I need your help, Paul.”
“Sure, hon.” He cuddled her closer. “Whatever you need. Does this have anything to do with Camina?”
“In a way.” Molly noticed her skin didn’t hum the way it had when John Harlan had merely glanced at her, his gold eyes making her edgy and frightened. She’d had enough tension during these past months to last her a lifetime. Leaning her head companionably on Paul’s broad shoulder, Molly decided there was something to be said for cuddling, after all. And unlike John Harlan’s edgy awareness Paul’s warm brown eyes and teasing comments didn’t make her feel as if she’d ste
pped off the edge of a riverbank with no bottom in sight. She’d vote for cuddling any day, especially with a teddy bear.
“God, I couldn’t believe she was murdered. Awful.” He tugged the ends of his mustache. “What happened?”
“She was stabbed with a butcher knife. One of mine from the house.”
“Sh—” He gripped her shoulder. “God almighty.” His fingers dug into her flesh. “What a shock for you.”
She started to tell him that she was a suspect, that she’d been having strange, out-of-consciousness incidents. Started to tell him about the times she’d woken up on the floor of her kitchen. “You don’t know the half of—”
“Do the police know who ‘dun it’?” Paul looked at her intently, anxiety pulling his thick eyebrows together, the teddy bear cuddliness gone. Too intense.
His fingertips bore into her shoulder and she wriggled loose, momentarily uncomfortable. “No.” Molly stood up, straightened her skirt, fiddled with her pearl ring. Loose, it stayed with the pearl turned in.
“Who’s high on the list of suspects? They talked with you, I guess. Right? They don’t think you killed Camina, do they?” He grabbed her hand and squeezed it.
The prongs holding the pearl in her ring dug into her palm where she’d cut herself, been cut—who knew which? She sure didn’t.
In that instant, Molly changed her mind. She didn’t want Paul knowing how terrified she’d been. He was her friend, yes, but he was also a hybrid, thanks to their divorce. He was an ex-husband, and divorced wives shouldn’t lean on ex-husbands. There was a certain dignity involved. Pride. He could be her friend, but for the time being, they’d have to recement even that relationship.
“Listen, I’ll tell ’em I was with you all night long. You need someone to vouch for you, and I’m your man.” His grin was roguish. “I won’t let ’em put you behind bars, honey.” He was still holding her hand. “Nobody’s threatening that, I hope?”
Lover in the Shadows Page 11