Brazen Virtue

by Nora Roberts

  No, Eileen hadn’t known Kathleen well, Grace thought. Perhaps no one had. “The phone,” Grace repeated as she sat back. “I guess we could say the phone’s the core of it all. I know how your business works. Kathleen explained it to me, so there’s no need to get into all of that. Tell me, do any of the men who call ever come by here?”

  “No.” Eileen rubbed at a headache just above her eyes. She hadn’t been able to get rid of it completely since she’d read about Mary Grice in the papers. “We don’t give out our address to clients. Of course, it would be possible for someone to find us if they were determined, but there isn’t any reason for it. Even potential employees are screened before they’re given the address for the personal interview. We’re very careful, Miss McCabe. I want you to understand that.”

  “Did anyone ever call asking questions about Kathy—about Desiree?”

  “No. And if they had, they wouldn’t have gotten any answers. Excuse me,” she said quickly as the phone rang.

  Grace sipped her coffee and listened with half an ear. Why had she come? She’d known that there would be very little, if anything, she could learn that the police hadn’t. A few missing details, a few pieces; she was groping. Yet this was it. This tiny, unassuming office was the key. All she had to figure out was how to turn it.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Peterson, Jezebel isn’t on call today. Would you like to talk with someone else?” As she spoke, Eileen punched a few buttons on her keyboard, then read off the monitor. “If you had something specific in mind … I see. I think you’d enjoy speaking with Magda. Yes, she is. I’m sure she’ll be glad to help you. I’ll arrange it.”

  When she hung up, Eileen shot Grace a nervous glance. “I’m sorry, this is going to take a few minutes. I wish I could help but—”

  “It’s all right. I’ll wait until you’re finished.” Grace lifted her cup again. She had a new idea, and one she intended to move on right away. She smiled at Eileen when the business was completed. “Tell me, just how do you go about getting a job here?”

  ED WASN’T IN THE best of moods when he pulled into his drive. He’d spent the better part of the day kicking his heels in court, waiting to testify in the appeal of a case he’d worked on two years earlier. Ed had never had any doubt about the guilt of the defendant. The evidence had been there, the motive and the opportunity. He and Ben had tied it up in a bow and handed it to the DA.

  Though the press had made the most of it at the time, it had been a fairly simple investigation. The man had killed his wife, his older and wealthy wife, then had scrambled to make it look like robbery. The first jury had deliberated less than six hours and had come back with a guilty verdict. The law said the defendant was entitled to an appeal, and that justice could drag its heels. Now, two years later, the man who had willfully taken the life of the woman he’d promised to love, honor, and cherish was being portrayed as a victim of circumstance.

  Ed knew the man had a good chance of getting off. It was on days like this he wondered why he bothered to pick up his shield every morning. He could take the mountains of paperwork with little complaint. He could put his life in jeopardy to protect society. He could spend hours in stakeouts in the dead of winter or the height of summer. That was all part of the job. But it was becoming harder every year to accept the twists he confronted in the courts of law.

  He was going to spend the evening putting up drywall, measuring, cutting, and banging until he forgot that however hard he worked, he would lose every bit as often as he would win.

  Clouds were coming in from the west, promising an evening rain. His plants needed it, here and in the little patch he’d cultivated in a community garden a couple of miles away. He hoped he’d have the time over the weekend to check on his zucchini. As he climbed out of the car, he heard the steady hum of a lawn mower. Glancing over, he watched Grace push a trail up and down the small yard in front of her sister’s house.

  She looked so pretty. Every time he saw her, he found himself content to simply watch. The little breeze that helped blow in the clouds caught at her hair so that it danced erratically around her face. She wore earphones attached to a portable stereo she’d hooked in the waist of her jeans.

  He’d meant to take care of the lawn for her, but now he was glad he hadn’t had the chance. It gave him the opportunity to watch her while she worked, while she was unaware of him. He could stand there and imagine what it would be like to come home every day and find her waiting.

  The tight knot of anger he’d been carrying with him loosened. He walked toward her.

  With vintage Chuck Berry blasting in her ears, Grace leapt when he touched her shoulder. Holding the lawn mower with one hand and her heart with the other, she smiled up at him. She watched his mouth move as “Maybelline” danced in her head. Her smile turned to a grin. She got such a kick out of looking at him, at the kind, even soft eyes in the strong face. He’d have made a perfect Mountain Man, Grace decided, living alone, living off the land. And the Indians would have trusted him because his eyes wouldn’t lie.

  Maybe she should try her hand at writing a historical, a western—something with a posse and a hard-riding, straight-shooting sheriff with a red beard.

  After a moment, Ed slipped the headphones off and let them dangle around her neck. Grace reached up to run a hand over his beard. “Hi. I didn’t hear a word you said.”

  “I noticed. You know, you shouldn’t play that thing so loud. It’s bad for your ears.”

  “Rock’s no good unless it’s loud.” She reached down to her hip and shut it off. “Are you home early?”

  “No.” Because they were both shouting over the roar of the mower, he pressed down the idle switch. “You’re never going to be able to finish this before the rain.”

  “Rain?” Surprised, she looked up at the sky. “When did that happen?”

  He laughed and the hours spent in court were forgotten. “Are you always oblivious to what’s happening around you?”

  “As often as possible.” Grace checked the sky again, then the remainder of the lawn. “Well, I can hit the rest tomorrow.”

  “I can take care of it for you. I’ve got tomorrow off.”

  “Thanks, but you’ve got enough to do. I’d better put this thing around back.”

  “I’ll give you a hand.” Because he seemed to want to, Grace relinquished her hold on the mower to him.

  “I met Ida today,” she began as they walked the chugging machine to the rear of the house.

  “Second house up?”

  “I guess. She must have seen me around back; she came down. She smelled like a cat.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “Anyway, she wanted me to know that she’d had very good vibrations about me.” Grace picked up a tarp when Ed stopped the mower at the corner of the house. “She wondered if I’d been at Shiloh—the battle of.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “I didn’t want to disappoint her.” After draping the tarp over the mower, Grace flexed her shoulders. “I told her I’d caught a Yankee bullet in the leg. And that even today I occasionally walk with a limp. It satisfied her. Do you have any plans for tonight?”

  He was learning to twist his thoughts with hers. “Drywall.”

  “Drywall? Oh, that ugly gray stuff, right? Can I give you a hand?”

  “If you want.”

  “Have you got any real food over there?”

  “I can probably dig up something.”

  Remembering the asparagus, Grace took him literally. “Hold on a minute.” She dashed into the house just as the first drops of rain began to fall. She ran out again carrying a bag of potato chips. “Emergency rations. Race you.” Before he could agree, she took off in a dead run, amusing him by agilely taking the fence with a one-handed leap. He caught up with her three yards from his back door and surprised them both by sweeping her up in his arms. Laughing, she kissed him hard and quick. “You’re fast on your feet, Jackson.”

  “I practice chasing the
bad guys.” As the rain fell steadily, he pressed his mouth to hers again. It was sweet, and so much sweeter as he heard her murmured sigh. Her face was damp wherever his lips touched. Cool and damp. It seemed she weighed nothing at all, and he could have stood there for hours. Then she shivered so he drew her closer to him.

  “Getting wet.” He made a dash for the back door, then regretfully put her down beside him to draw out his keys. Grace walked inside and shook herself like the family dog.

  “It’s warm. I like warm rain.” She dragged both hands through her hair. It sprang back in the wild disorder that suited her. “I know I’m going to spoil the mood, but I was hoping you might have something more to tell me.”

  It didn’t spoil it, because it was expected. “It’s moving slow, Grace. The only lead we had was a dead end.”

  “You’re sure the congressman’s kid’s alibi holds up?”

  “Like a rock.” He put on the kettle for tea. “He was front row center at the Kennedy Center the night Kathleen was killed. He’s got the ticket stubs, his girl’s word, and another dozen witnesses who saw him there.”

  “He could have slipped away.”

  “Not enough time. There was an intermission at nine-fifteen. He was in the lobby sipping lemonade. I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head. Leaning against the counter, she drew out a cigarette. “You know the really terrible thing? I find myself wishing that this kid I’ve never seen is guilty. I keep hoping his alibi will fall apart and he’ll be arrested. I don’t even know him.”

  “It’s human. You’re just looking for it to be over.”

  “I don’t know what I’m looking for.” A sigh slipped out. She didn’t like the plaintive, fragile sound of it. “I wanted it to be Jonathan, too, because I knew him, because he—it doesn’t matter,” she decided as she flicked on her lighter. “It wasn’t either one of them.”

  “We will find him, Grace.”

  She studied Ed as steam began to shoot through the spout of the kettle. “I know. I don’t think I could go on doing the ordinary things, thinking about what I’ll do tomorrow, if I didn’t know.” She took a long, steadying drag. There was something else she was thinking about, something that couldn’t be avoided. “He isn’t finished, is he?”

  Turning away, he measured out tea. “It’s hard to say.”

  “No, it’s not. Be straight with me, Ed. I don’t like being shielded.”

  He wanted to shield, not simply because it was his vocation, but because it was her. And because it was her, it wasn’t possible to shield. “I don’t think he’s finished.”

  She nodded, then gestured to the kettle. “You’d better fix that before the water boils away.” While he took out mugs, she thought about what she’d done that day. She should tell him. The tug on her conscience was sharp and impatient. It wasn’t easy to ignore. She would tell him, Grace reminded herself. As soon as it was too late for him to do anything about it.

  She walked over to poke into his refrigerator. “I don’t guess you have any hot dogs.”

  He shot her a look of such genuine concern she had to bite her lip. “You don’t really eat those?”

  “Nah.” She shut the door and hoped for peanut butter.

  They worked well together. Grace polished off most of the chips as she tried her hand with a hammer. She’d had to argue with Ed first. His idea of letting her help had been to sit her in a chair so she could watch. He’d finally relented, but kept an eagle eye on her. It wasn’t so much that he was afraid she’d screw up, though that was part of it. It was more that he worried she’d hurt herself. It only took an hour for him to see that once she dug her heels into a project, she handled herself like a pro. She might have been a bit sloppy with the joint compound, but he figured it would sand down. The extra time that took him didn’t matter. It might have been silly, but just having her there made the work go faster.

  “This is going to be a great room.” Grace rubbed at an itch on her chin with the back of her hand. “I really like the way you’re shaping it like a little L. Every civilized bedroom should have a sitting room.”

  He’d wanted her to like it. In his mind he could already see it finished, down to the curtains on the window. Priscillas in blue, tied back so the sun would stream in. It was easy for him to see it, just as it was easy for him to see her there.

  “I’m thinking about putting in a couple of skylights.”

  “Really?” Grace walked over to the bed, sat down, and craned her neck. “You could lie here and watch the stars. Or on a night like this, the rain.” That would be nice, she thought as she looked up at the unfinished ceiling. It would be lovely to sleep, or make love, or just daydream under the glass. “If you ever decided to take your trade to New York, you could make a fortune remodeling lofts.”

  “Do you miss it?” Rather than look at her, Ed busied himself taping a seam.

  “New York? Sometimes.” Less, she realized, than she’d expected to. “You know what you need over there? A window seat.” From her perch on the bed, she pointed to the west window. “When I was a little girl I always thought how wonderful it would be to have a window seat where you could curl up and dream.” She rose and flexed her arms. It was funny how quickly unused muscles got sore. “I spent most of my time hiding out in the attic and dreaming.”

  “Did you always want to write?”

  Grace dipped into the bucket of compound again. “I liked to lie.” She laughed and smeared the mudlike mixture over a nailhead. “Not big ones, just clever ones. I could get out of trouble by making up stories, and adults were usually amused enough to let me off lightly. It always infuriated Kathleen.” She was silent for a minute. She didn’t want to remember the bad times. “What’s that song?”

  “It’s Patsy Cline.”

  Grace listened a moment. It wasn’t the kind of music she would have chosen, but it had an edge she liked. “Didn’t they make a movie about her? Sure they did. She was killed in a plane crash in the sixties.” She listened again. The song sounded so alive, so vital. Grace wasn’t sure if it made her want to smile or weep. “I guess that’s another reason I wanted to write. To leave something behind. A story’s like a song. It lasts. I guess I’ve been thinking more about that lately. Do you ever think about that, about leaving something behind?”

  “Sure.” More lately as well, he thought, but for different reasons. “Great-grandchildren.”

  That made her laugh. Compound slopped onto the cuff of her sweater, but she didn’t bother to wipe it off. “That’s nice. I guess you’d think that way, coming from a big family.”

  “How do you know I have a big family?”

  “Your mother mentioned it. Two brothers and a sister. Both your brothers are married, even though Tom and …”—she had to think back a moment—“Scott are younger than you. You have, let’s see, I think it’s three nephews. Made me think of Huey, Dewey, and Louie—no offense.”

  He could only shake his head. “Don’t you ever forget anything?”

  “Nope. Your mother’s holding out for a granddaughter, but no one’s cooperating. She’s still hoping you’ll give up crime and join your uncle’s construction firm.”

  Uncomfortable, he picked up a piece of corner bead and began hammering it in. “Apparently you two had quite a conversation.”

  “She was auditioning me, remember?” He was blushing, just a little, but enough to make her want to hug him. “Anyway, people are always telling me intimate details of their lives. I’ve never known why.”

  “Because you listen.”

  She smiled, considering that one of the greatest compliments. “So why aren’t you building condos with your uncle? You like to build.”

  “It relaxes me.” Just as the Merle Haggard number playing on the radio now relaxed him. “If I did it all day every day, I’d be bored.”

  She caught her tongue between her teeth as she slopped compound down a seam. “You’re talking to someone who knows just how boring police work can be.”

&n
bsp; “It’s a puzzle. You ever do jigsaws when you were a kid? The big twenty-five-thousand-piece jobs?”

  “Sure. After a couple of hours, I’d cheat. It would drive everyone crazy when they found out I’d torn off the end of a piece to make it fit.”

  “I could spend days on one and never lose interest. Always working from the outside to the core. The more pieces you put in, the more detail; the more detail, the closer you are to the whole picture.”

  She stopped a moment, because she understood. “Didn’t you ever want to go right for the heart of it and the hell with the details?”

  “No. If you do that, you’re always searching for the loose ends, that one elusive piece that ties it all up and makes it right.” After tacking in the last nail, he stepped back to be sure he’d done the job right. “There’s a tremendous satisfaction when you put in the last piece and see the full picture. This guy we’re after now—we just don’t have all the pieces yet. But we will. Once we do, we’ll shuffle them around until everything fits.”

  “Do they always?”

  He looked down at her then. She had the damn compound smeared on her face, and her expression was so earnest. Ed rubbed his thumb over her cheek to remove the worst of it. “Sooner or later.” Setting down his tool, he framed her face in his hands. “Trust me.”

  “I do.” Kind eyes, strong hands. She leaned closer. She wanted more than comfort, needed more. “Ed—” The banging on the door downstairs made her shut her eyes in frustration. “Sounds like we’ve got company.”

  “Yeah. With luck I can get rid of them in five minutes.”

  Her brows arched. There was an edge to his voice that pleased and flattered her. “Detective, this could be your lucky day.” She took his hand so that they walked downstairs together. The minute Ed opened the door, Ben pulled Tess inside.

  “Christ, Ed, don’t you know people could drown out here? What were you—” He caught sight of Grace. “Oh. Hi.”