The girls started watching the film rental while she and Mike went out to the kitchen.
“Tell me more about your house,” she said.
“Not much to tell. Fifteen years ago, I bought two acres of land and slowly set about clearing them. With the help of my brother, who’s in the contracting business, I had a proper foundation laid plus plumbing and electrical work put in. Then I set about building a house. It took quite a while, but I enjoyed the manual labor, found that it relaxed me.
“Five years ago, I was wounded in a shoot-out following a liquor store robbery. The recuperation period was one of the things I always remember with special pleasure. In the mornings, there was the sonority of the birds. I watched a robin building her nest and then hatching her eggs in the crabapple tree outside the bedroom window. And there was the sense of peace and stability I felt watching the kids play in the backyard as the sun set through the woods.” He stopped as if embarrassed. “Hey, you don’t want to hear that kind of stuff.”
“I really do,” she said. “I like knowing things about you.”
“I feel the same way about you,” he said, stroking her cheek and then kissing her lips.
Weird how the barest brush of his lips made her shiver with longing.
* * * *
Later, while Mike checked his calls and the girls watched the movie, Kim looked around the downstairs area of the house by herself. No, she hadn’t imagined the good karma in this place. Mike’s rock-hard steadiness was ingrained here. How could any woman want to leave a home and family like this one? She had to wonder what kind of person Evelyn Gardner was.
Kim returned to the living room. Evie came toward her. “Your bag was ringing. I pulled out your cell phone and answered it for you. Hope that was okay.”
“Yes, thank you. I always forget about it.”
Evie handed over the phone and Kim checked the caller I.D. “Hi, Ma. How are you?”
“Just fine, dear.”
“How’s Florida?”
“Hot and humid.”
“Same here.”
“You phoned earlier.”
“I just wanted to say hello.”
“You usually phone on the weekends.”
“I’m off this week.”
“You should have told me. I would love to have you come down for a visit. You know that.”
“I’ll come down this winter if that’s all right.”
“Any time you like.”
“I’ll phone you again soon.”
“Good.” So much was always left unsaid between herself and her mother. She regretted that. It was always that way between them.
When Kim finished the call, she looked up to find Evie studying her, a question in her eyes.
Of the two girls, Evie reminded her more of Mike in manner and appearance.
“Thanks for getting that for me,” she said to the girl, “I wouldn’t have wanted to miss my mother’s call.”
“She asked for Karen Reyner. I wasn’t sure she wanted you. If that lady’s your mom, how come she doesn’t know your name?” Evie stared at her with a puzzled expression.
“It’s complicated,” Kim said.
Evie rolled her eyes. “That’s what adults always say when they don’t want to answer questions.”
“I don’t mean to treat you like a child.” Kim sat down heavily on the couch. “At a certain point in my life, I decided to re-invent myself. I wasn’t very happy and I wanted to be a different person. So I legally changed my name. It was a symbolic act. My mother and I disagreed about it. She’s never accepted it.”
Evie was thoughtful, solemn, her gray eyes owl-like. “I was named for my mother. Eve is the short version of Evelyn. She was a rotten mother. I’d really like to change my name too.” There was a mist in the girl’s eyes and an edge of bitterness in her voice.
Instinctively, Kim reached out. Evie sat down beside her, letting Kim place an arm around her. “I don’t pretend to know why your mother left or how she could, but I will tell you this much. It had everything to do with her and nothing to do with you.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Tears welled over Evie’s eyes. She rubbed at them with a fisted hand.
Mike found them sitting together when he entered the room. “Lousy movie?” he asked.
“Sort of,” Evie agreed. “Jeanie likes it though. The humor’s childish, on her level.”
Mike looked at his watch. “Time for you and your sister to start getting ready for bed.”
“Dad, I’m older than Jeanie. I should get to stay up later. Besides, it’s summer vacation.”
“Don’t you have camp tomorrow morning? Jean may just be a camper, but you’re a junior counselor. That means responsibility. You need to be sharp, at your best, well-rested.”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” Evie said, exasperation dripping from her mouth like acid. “You don’t fool me. You just want some alone time with Kim.”
He gently swatted her bottom. “That too, smart girl.”
After he’d hugged both girls, gotten them to go upstairs and settled down for the night, Mike seated himself on the couch beside Kim.
“You have a very good relationship with them,” Kim observed.
“Glad you think so. It can get a little hairy at times.”
“At least they know you love them.” She thought of Carl Reyner and shuddered inwardly.
“Evie was right. I do want to be alone with you.” He took her hand and kissed the palm.
“To woo me?”
“How does that work for you?” He gave her his sexy smile, then put his arm around her.
“So what happened today with your homicide case?”
He looked at her from the corner of his eyes. “You’re not going to make this courting stuff easy for me, are you?”
“I’m many things, but definitely not easy.”
“Tell me about it. Okay, I’ll give you a nutshell summary of my day.”
She listened attentively as he described the questioning of Cheryl McNeill, April Nevins and Sonny Blake.
“So what do you think? Any flashes of intuition as to who might have killed Bradshaw?”
Kim was pensive. “I don’t have those kinds of powers. Sometimes I see things other people don’t, just like you do. Mostly, I just put things together. Ms. McNeill sounds like she might have a motive. A woman scorned. Yet she claimed he intended to marry her and had apologized for his infidelities. This April Nevins…she sounds like a troubled individual. But if she dropped your victim as she claimed, then she really wouldn’t have any motive either. Sonny Blake. Obviously he was physically able to move a body on his own and he would have had the opportunity, but what possible motive would he have? This is frankly perplexing.”
“Maybe I can manage to arrange for you to meet the people who were directly involved with the vic. Are you willing?”
Kim worried her lower lip. “Won’t Detective St. Croix object? She might resent my interference.”
“We’ll see. In the meantime, I don’t want to waste the time we have together talking shop. I plan to champion my cause.”
“Which is?”
There was a wicked gleam in his eye. “I intend to persuade you how much you want to be the significant lady in my life.”
“Do I?”
He rubbed his thumb erotically across her palm. “I’m convinced you do.” He kissed each finger of her right hand, playfully nipped her thumb, then licked it.
She laughed. “Are you going to try to seduce me?”
“Good thinking.”
He kissed her on the lips, and the earth went out of orbit. Being close to him was the definition of spontaneous combustion. Mike slipped his hand around the back of her neck, angled her head, his mouth returning to hers. His tongue outlined her lips, then provocatively urged her mouth open. Their tongues touched, dueled and joined. His mouth was hard and soft at the same time. She heard the pounding of his heart as he pressed himself against her. She buried her hands in the waves of his
hair. As the kiss became deeper and more passionate, desire burned in her body. She ached for him.
He pulled back. “Let’s continue this upstairs,” he urged in a husky voice. “Stay over tonight.” He kissed her again as if to seal the deal and counter any possible argument on her part.
“With the girls upstairs, I don’t think I’d feel comfortable. I’d feel depraved.”
“Well, I’m feeling deprived.” He leaned over and kissed the nape of her neck.
“I have to think about it.”
“You’re too uptight. Let me give you a massage,” Mike said.
“I’ve never had one,” she admitted.
He gave her a heavy-lidded smile. “I’m not the only one who’s been deprived. And a little depravity wouldn’t hurt you either. Let’s go upstairs. I’ve got magic hands.”
“I’ll just bet.” She put her arms around him and held tight for dear life. Mike Gardner did have quite a way about him; she had to concede that. His raw, masculine essence was hard to resist. When they were together like this, she stopped thinking, lost in passionate feeling.
And then her cell phone started to ring. She tried her best to ignore it.
“Damn all phones to perdition.”
“I’ll just shut it off.”
“And have you worry about who was calling? No, Kim, you answer it. Then shut it off for the night.”
She clicked the phone on as the third ring vibrated.
“Hello, Kim. How are you?”
“Don?”
“The one and only. I was reading Byron and immediately thought of you. ‘She walks in beauty like the night/Of cloudless climes and starry skies;/And all that’s best of dark and bright/Meet in her aspect and her eyes.’ See what I mean?” Don’s melodic baritone was seductive. He certainly did justice to the poet, and then some.
“I’m flattered,” she said. Uneasily, she noted Mike’s eyes narrowing.
Don Bernard’s suave, cultured voice insinuated itself into her ear. “I dropped by the library today to do some research for an article I’m writing. When I asked for my favorite reference librarian, I was told you were on vacation. I hope I’m not phoning too late, but I was wondering if you’d care to go the theatre with me this weekend, or any evening this week, for that matter, while you’re free.”
“I’ll have to get back to you.”
“Of course. Bad time?” Don’s voice was knowing.
She glanced at Mike, who definitely looked none too happy. “You could say that.”
As she disconnected, Mike was studying her. “Professor Bernard, I presume?”
She sometimes forgot how perceptive Mike was. She nodded her head with an almost imperceptible motion. Mike was frowning deeply. He looked formidable, too much the tough cop for her taste. Gone was the tender, teasing lover. His eyes were dark gray thunder clouds ready to burst with a dangerous electrical charge.
“Think maybe I ought to have a talk with Bernard.”
Kim rarely lost her cool, but this was too much. “Leave Don alone.”
“What I ought to do is shoot him—nothing lethal, just give him a warning not to poach.”
“Mike, don’t even joke about that.”
“Who said I was joking?”
She stiffened. “That’s it. Take me home or I’ll call a cab.”
“Fine, let’s go to my car. I just can’t believe you’d consider encouraging that guy anymore.” He grabbed his car keys in an angry motion.
“Don is a friend. A person can never have too many friends. And I’ve known him longer than I’ve known you.”
“But not as well—or have you forgotten?”
No, she hadn’t forgotten anything. “You don’t have any cause to be jealous.”
“Is that right?”
“I hate you acting this way.”
He wasn’t even looking at her now. “I had an unfaithful wife. I don’t ever want to deal with something like that again.”
“If and when I marry a man, I won’t cheat on him.”
* * * *
They didn’t do much talking on the drive back to her apartment. How had things gone so wrong between them? She hadn’t wanted bad feelings to exist, hated confrontations of any sort. Yet she must face the fact that they were two very different people and just might want very different things. She admitted, at this moment, she was pretty much confused about what she did want out of life—and possibly who.
FIVE
Bert was dreaming about Alva; there was a smile in her friend’s brown velvet eyes. Then suddenly, Alva was gone. A feeling of panic took over. Where was she! Where was Alva? Why had Alva disappeared? Bert looked everywhere but couldn’t find her friend. She was seized by the conviction that something terrible had happened.
The dream ended where it always ended. Bert woke up that morning gulping air, and for a moment or two wasn’t certain where she was. Her breath came in short jags, the sense of grief and pain washing over her anew. Her three-year friendship with Alva had been the best thing that ever happened to her. Now her life was empty and lonely again; she was out of place and out of time.
She envisioned Alva, wishing her friend was here, her usual smile on her face. Bert never understood how she managed it, particularly since so many of Alva’s patients were terminal. But she had a relaxed outlook on life, an optimism that was infectious.
Life was so ironic. It made no sense at all. If anything, she should have been the one to die first, not Alva. She was in a dangerous line of work. Alva should have survived. A good woman like Alva was really needed in this screwed up world. Bert saw Alva clearly in her freshly laundered white uniform, a smell of spring lilacs perpetually about her. It should never have happened. She still couldn’t believe it; a living nightmare. Bert clenched her fists, raging at the injustice of life, desolate in the awareness of her own inability to change things. At least police work gave her a sense of purpose.
* * * *
She and Gardner met the Wallings that evening and proceeded to examine two more of the puzzle parts. It was strange how Gardner’s analogy seemed to stick in her mind. Bert didn’t want to like or respect the guy, but she had to concede, however grudgingly, there was something about the older cop that another professional couldn’t help but admire.
Martin Walling greeted them warmly, if not over-enthusiastically, with a sweaty handshake. He was fat and short—several inches shorter than his wife. His ruddy complexion implied that he might make an agreeable drinking companion, and it seemed like there was more hair in his mustache then on his head.
“We want to help the cops all we can,” Walling said. “Rick was a good friend of ours. The damn bastard that murdered him ought to be strung up by the balls.” He quickly turned to his wife. “Sorry, honey. I know I shouldn’t talk that way in front of you, but I feel very strongly about this.”
His wife’s expression seemed either indifferent or just detached.
“How long did you know Mr. Bradshaw?” Gardner asked.
“Ever since he came east.”
“And Mrs. Walling?” Gardner turned to the lady, but it was her husband who answered.
“Joan’s known him for maybe five months. Right, honey?”
Mrs. Walling glanced from Bert to Gardner with suspicious eyes. “I suppose,” she replied. Her bored, indifferent expression made Bert wonder.
“Say, would you folks like a drink or something?”
“No thanks, Mr. Walling,” Gardner said. “Could we just sit down and talk for a few minutes?”
“Sure thing, I’ll just turn up the air-conditioning. I’m sweltering. Since both Joan and I go to work every day, no one’s around, so Joan says it’s more sensible to keep the cooler off until we get home. Keeps the electricity bills down.”
“You’re a practical woman, Mrs. Walling,” Gardner said with an easy smile that showed a dimple in his right cheek.
“Very practical,” Walling responded, and turned down the thermostat.
Bert was struck
by the vulgarity of the room’s decor. She was no interior decorator, but the garish reds and purples dominating the color scheme were a little bit much, even by her uncritical standards.
Walling observed her looking around. “Place is something, isn’t it? Bet you couldn’t help noticing my favorite painting, right? Do you like it?” Walling pointed to an oil painting of a half-naked Spanish dancer on a background of black velvet set in a heavily gilded baroque frame. “Those gypsy gals really know how to turn a man on. Every time I look at it, I get horny.” Walling winked at Gardner, who did not bother to respond. “Yeah, that picture really set me back a bundle. Hell, it’s an original. I spent a fortune decorating this room, and you know what? Joan hates it! She says it’s loud and tasteless. What do you folks think?”
Joan Walling went up a notch in Bert’s opinion.
“Did Mrs.Walling have input in making the selections?” Gardner inquired.
“After my first wife and I split, I moved out and rented this apartment. When Joan and I got married, she was still living at home with her folks. Imagine that? So naturally she moved into my place. I can’t afford to redecorate just now, but any time Joan wants to do it herself from her salary, she can go right ahead.”
Mrs. Walling shot a sharp look of annoyance toward her husband, which didn’t seem to disturb him in the slightest. Clearly his skin was thicker than a rhino; maybe his brain as well. He just kept right on talking. “I can’t get Joan to part with a cent of her earnings. She won’t even buy decent clothes for herself. She earns more than I do, but all she does is squirrel her money away. Myself, I believe in women’s rights. A woman shouldn’t depend on a man to support her. I admire a liberated woman. I think it would be just fine if a woman wanted to support me.”
“Be quiet, Martin! You’re making an ass out of yourself. The police didn’t come here to discuss our personal lives.” She turned to Gardner. “You’ll have to excuse Martin. He tends to ramble on aimlessly. He also exaggerates everything. That’s the way salesmen are. They love to talk and tell stories. He suffers from diarrhea of the mouth and constipation of the brain.” She glared at her husband, but he chose to ignore her.
The Drowning Pool Page 5