"I love you. I miss you. And I'm sorry I'm a girl spy. Sometimes, especially when I'm with you, I want to run a home, cook for you, wash your socks——"
"Cut it out. Not today," I growled. "Or I'll fly down there and drag you back by your long, dark hair. Which is the color of my true love's hair."
"Sure. Ed?" The pause was an important one. I could tell.
"I'm not going anywhere."
"I know it's not going to make a difference—or anything—but Freddy never did make it—I stopped him while he was undressing. Just never thought I could swing that chair with only one good arm, I guess. Just thought you ought to know. You have the right——"
"Okay. Sure. I'm glad you told me."
"I'm glad." She paused again. "How's Melissa?"
I sighed. "Never better. And you're going to drive me straight into her arms again. If you keep up this routine——"
"That sounds pretty good to me. She's great, Ed. Wish I knew her better—"
"When am I going to see you again? That's all I want to know."
Her tone brightened. "Another reason I called. I'll be back in New York in ten days. Word of honor. I'll call you as soon as I get in. Time enough then to talk it all over. And talk it out. Okay?"
"I got a choice—Felicia, I love you."
"Me, too," she whispered. "Good-bye now. You be a good boy and watch yourself." She hung up, and I could have cried in frustration. I kicked the desk instead, banged my fists against the far wall, and started walking around in circles. I was one hell of a confused character. How can any man be in love with two girls at once? It didn't make sense, it was counter to all the rules of intelligent, reasonable thinking. I figured I must have been seven kinds of an idiot. An aging sex maniac who no longer could think properly.
But then Melissa Mercer came back from the bank, trooping in through my door, her face shining, and her lovely eyes glad to see me again, as they always were. She was as breathtakingly beautiful as ever.
And I had the answer to my question.
It was easy.
Just like the Mets finally coming into their own, I guess it was all preordained.
You just can't beat the mills of the gods.
Little Miss Murder Page 17