Peggy Sue Got Murdered

by Tess Gerritsen

"I'll be honest, Mayor," said Ed with a tired sigh. "She always was."

  All afternoon, Adam waited for M. J. to call. A nice supper to hash things out between them-that's what they needed. He was optimistic enough to make dinner reservations for two at Yen King. There he could make it clear that he was on her side, and that he intended to see more of her. But as the day wore on toward five o'clock, there was still no phone call. During the interminable board of directors meeting, he kept glancing at the door, expecting his secretary to come in with a message. At last a call did come in, but it wasn't from M. J. It was from his butler, Thomas.

  "Dr. Novak returned the Mercedes," said Thomas. "I've just spoken with Regis Motors."

  "Yes, she said she was going to buy a car today."

  "The reason I'm calling, Mr. Q., is to tell you she paid for the Mercedes rental. The entire bill."

  "But the bill was supposed to be sent to me."

  "Precisely. And they explained it to her. But she insisted on paying it herself."

  "They should have refused her payment."

  "The staff at Regis tell me it was quite impossible to change her mind."

  What was going on with that woman? Adam wondered as he hung up. Just last night, she'd seemed pleased about the car. There had been no question that the rental was his gift. Why her sudden insistence on paying the bill?

  He reached once again for the phone. It suddenly seemed very important that he hear her voice, understand what was going through her head. He dialed, only to get her answering machine. In frustration he hung up without leaving a message.

  At five-thirty, he left Cygnus and drove north. The Bellemeade turnoff was right on his way home; he decided to pass by M. J.'s house, on the off-chance he could catch her.

  There was no car in the driveway, no answer to his knock on the door. He got back into his car and decided to wait a few minutes. The minutes stretched to a half hour. This is crazy, he thought. There he was, sitting in his car, waiting for some woman to appear. He hadn't behaved like this since he was a teenager.

  Scratch that. I haven't behaved like this, ever. But here I am.

  It was unexpected, this attraction he felt for her. The first time they'd met, he'd thought her pleasant enough to look at-all that black hair, those sea-green eyes. But the world was full of attractive women; he'd been married to one. M. J. wasn't particularly stunning. He'd seen her at her very worst, bruised and tattered in a street fight. Still, she had something he'd never seen in a woman before. Strength. A knack for survival. Heart.

  That was it. Heart.

  Maybe he had finally gotten over Georgina's death. Or maybe he'd just been waiting for a woman like M. J. to come into his life.

  If only she'd appear in her damn driveway.

  Forty minutes had passed. He was about to give up and go home when he spotted a gray Ford coming around the corner. M. J. was behind the wheel. She pulled into the driveway.

  At once he was out of his car and moving toward her. She stepped out, holding a bag with Hop Sing Take-out printed on the side.

  "M. J.!" he said. "I tried calling you-"

  "I was out all day." Her tone was matter-of-fact and none too warm. She started toward her front door with Adam right behind her.

  "I thought we were having dinner," he said.

  "Were we? I must have forgotten." She unlocked her front door.

  "Why don't we go out for some good Chinese food?"

  "I happen to like Hop Sing," she snapped, stepping through the door.

  Determined not to be shut out, he followed her inside, into the kitchen. "I don't understand what's happened-"

  "I understand perfectly, Adam. If Cygnus were my company, I'd block the investigation, too."

  He shook his head. "I didn't block any investigation."

  "I mean, think of the PR disaster. The headlines. 'Cygnus manufactures killer drug.'"

  "You think I'd go that far to protect Cygnus?"

  "Haven't you?" She set the take-out bag on the counter and began to unload the contents. "Look, I'm starving. I'd like to eat this before it gets-oh, damn."

  "What?"

  "I left the fried rice in the car." She spun around and headed back out the front door.

  He was right on her heels, following her across the lawn. "I made a reservation," he said. "Come on, let's go out."

  "No, thanks." She reached into the car and retrieved the second take-out bag. "Tonight, I'm a solo act. Dinner. A hot bath. And absolutely no excitement of any kind." She turned away from the car.

  Just then a deafening blast shook the house. She felt the sting of flying glass as she was hurled backward by the violent pulse of the explosion. She landed on her back, in the grass. Chunks of wood, flakes of asphalt tile rained down on her.

  Then, like a gentle snowfall, a cloud of dust settled slowly from the sky.

  9

  M. J. was too stunned to make sense of what had happened; she could only lie on her back in the grass and stare dazedly at the sky. Then, gradually, she became aware that someone was calling her name, that someone was brushing the hair from her eyes, stroking her face.

  "M. J. Look at me. I'm right here. Look at me." Slowly, she focused on Adam. He was gazing down at her, undisguised panic in his eyes. He was afraid, she thought in wonder. Why?

  "M. J.!" he yelled. "Come on, say something." She tried to speak and found all she could manage was a whisper. "Adam?"

  The tension in his face melted into a smile. "Thank God. You're going to be all right…" He bent down, pressed kisses to her forehead, her mouth. "Just lie still. Everything's going to be fine…"

  Through her confusion, she heard the sounds of running footsteps, shouting voices, calls of "Is she okay?"

  "What happened?" she asked.

  "Don't move. There's an ambulance coming-"

  "What happened?" She struggled to sit up. The sudden movement made the world lurch around her. She caught a spinning view of bystanders' faces, of debris littering the lawn. Then she saw what was left of her house. With that glimpse, everything froze into terrible focus.

  The front wall had been ripped away entirely, and the inner walls stood exposed, like an open dollhouse. Shreds of fabric, couch batting, splintered furniture had been tossed as far as the driveway. Just overhead, an empty picture frame swung forlornly from a tree branch.

  "Jesus, lady," murmured someone in the crowd. "Did you leave your gas on or something?"

  "My house," whispered M. J. In rising fury she staggered to her feet. "What did they do to my house?"

  Then, as if there hadn't been enough destruction, the first flicker of fire appeared. Flames were spreading from what used to be the kitchen.

  "Back!" shouted Adam. "Everyone back!"

  "No!" M. J. struggled forward. If she could turn on the garden hose, if the pipes were still intact, she could save what little she had left. "Let me go!" she yelled, shoving at Adam. "It's going to burn!"

  She managed only two steps before he grabbed her and hauled her back. Enraged, she struggled against him, but he trapped her arms and swung her up and away from the house.

  "It's going to burn!" she cried.

  "You can't save it, M. J.! There's a gas leak!"

  The flames suddenly shot higher, licking at the collapsing roof. Already the fire had spread to the living room, had ignited the remains of her furniture. Smoke swirled, thick and black, driving the crowd back across the street.

  "My house," M. J. sobbed, swaying against Adam.

  He pulled her against him and wrapped his arms tightly around her as though to shield her from the sight and sounds of destruction. As the first fire trucks pulled up with sirens screaming, she was still clinging to him, her face pressed against his shirt. The roar of the flames, the shouts of firemen, seemed to recede into some other, distant dimension. Her reality, the only one that mattered, was the steady thump of Adam's heart, the unyielding support of his arms.

  Only when he gently released her and murmured something in her
ear was she wrenched unwillingly back into the real world. She found two uniformed men gazing at her. One was a cop, the other had an Albion Fire Department patch on his jacket.

  "What happened?" asked the cop.

  She shook her head. "I don't know."

  "She'd just gotten home," said Adam. "We went inside, came back out again for a minute. That's when the house blew up. She caught the worst of it. I was standing behind her-"

  "Did you smell gas?"

  "No." Adarn shook his head firmly. "No gas."

  "You're sure?"

  "Absolutely. The fire started after the explosion."

  The cop and fireman looked at each other, a glance that M. J. found terrifying in its significance.

  She said, "It was a bomb. Wasn't it?"

  They didn't say a word. They didn't have to. Their silence was answer enough.

  It was after midnight when they finally pulled into Adam's driveway. They'd spent two hours in the ER getting their cuts and bruises tended to, two more hours in the Bellemeade police station, answering questions. Now they were both on the far side of exhausted. They barely managed to stumble out of the car and up the front steps.

  Thomas was waiting at the door to greet them. "Good heavens, Mr. Q.!" he gasped, staring in horror at Adam's torn suit. "Not another brawl?"

  "No. Just a bomb this time." He raised his hand to cut off Thomas's questions."I'll tell you all about it in the morning. In the meantime, let's get Dr. Novak to bed. She's staying the night."

  "Would that be, er…" Thomas paused delicately. "In the guest room?"

  The question hung unanswered, like a suggestive perfume.

  Adam looked down at M. J. and saw her dazed expression. He realized that she was poised on the edge of collapse, and more vulnerable than he'd ever seen her. Tonight is not the night, he thought. Not if I care about her. Which I do.

  "The guest room will be fine," he said to Thomas.

  Thomas nodded, utterly unruffled. "I'll prepare the room," he said, and went up ahead of them.

  Slowly Adam guided M. J. up the stairs. Her body felt so small, so fragile under his arm. It was a word he'd never thought would apply to M. J. Novak-fragile. But that's how she felt to him that night, climbing each step as though it were an impossible hurdle. Perhaps the blast had done more damage than he'd realized. This wasn't the M. J. he knew, the woman whose courage he'd held in awe. This was a woman who needed him.

  He pulled her closer, felt those old masculine instincts stir to life. Not just desire-that had always been there-but something new. Protectiveness.

  He helped her up the last step, and down the hall. By the time they reached the south guest room, Thomas had already turned down the covers, placed fresh towels on the dresser, and closed the drapes. "I'll see to your room now, Mr. Q.," said Thomas, and discreetly withdrew.

  "Come. Into bed with you," said Adam. He sat her on the covers, knelt down to take off her shoes.

  "I'm such a mess," she murmured, staring down at her clothes.

  "We'll clean these in the morning. Right now, you need some sleep. Can I help you off with your clothes?"

  She looked up at him with a faint expression of amusement.

  He smiled. "Believe me, my intentions are purely honorable."

  "Nevertheless," she said, "I think I'll manage on my own."

  So the old M. J.'s still in there, he thought, meeting her quiet gaze. Even a bomb blast can't kill that spirit.

  He sat down beside her on the bed. "It's gone too far," he said. "Doing your job is one thing, M. J. And I admire your persistence, I really do. But now it's turned ugly. This time you were fortunate. But next time…" He stopped, unwilling to finish the thought.

  She looked at him, her eyes wide and bright with the threat of tears. "At least-at least I can be certain of one thing," she said softly.

  "What's that?"

  "You were there with me, and trying to get me to go out. Obviously you had nothing to do with it."

  "How could you even begin to think I'd-"

  "I couldn't help it, Adam! This has me so confused. I don't know who to believe, to trust. I wonder about Ed, about Sampson, about all the people I ever ticked off. And they must number in the thousands. But I don't wonder about you anymore. Because that bomb could have killed us both."

  He gave a sheepish laugh. "I'm glad to hear there's a silver lining somewhere in this mess. Now you'll trust me one hundred percent."

  "Ninety-nine point nine percent."

  Smiling, he gently touched her face. "The ever-suspicious M. J. Novak. Will you trust me to keep you safe tonight?"

  She nodded.

  "Good. Because I will." He took her face in his hands and gently kissed her on the forehead. "I'm right in the next room if you need anything," he said, and rose to leave.

  "Adam?" The name was said softly, so softly he might almost have imagined it.

  He looked back. "Yes?"

  "You're not at all what I thought."

  "I take it that's a compliment?"

  "The very best."

  For a moment they gazed at each other, each of them seeing things they'd never seen in the other's eyes before.

  He turned off the light. "Good night, Mariana Josefina," he said. Then he went downstairs to call Lieutenant Beamis.

  M. J. was still asleep when Adam rose the next morning. He had glanced in on her several times during the night, just to reassure himself that she was safe, that she was really there in the next room, that she was more than just some lingering ghost of a dream. And there she was, snug in the sleigh bed, her hair a black thicket against the pillow. Quietly he sat down in the chair beside her.

  Sunlight winked through the curtains, the beams dancing around the walls and the polished furniture. He'd forgotten how charming this guest room could be, how lovely it looked in the morning light. Or perhaps it never had been this lovely before; perhaps, with this woman sleeping beside him, he was seeing the room's charm for the very first time.

  There was a knock on the door. He turned to see Thomas poke his head in.

  "I thought perhaps she would like some breakfast." whispered Thomas, nodding at the tray of food he was carrying.

  "I think what she'd really like," said Adam, rising to his feet, "is to be allowed to sleep." He followed Thomas into the hall and softly closed the door behind him. "Did you collect her clothes?"

  "I'm afraid they're quite beyond repair," Thomas said with a sigh.

  "Then would you arrange to have some things sent up to the house? She'll probably need her entire wardrobe replaced. I doubt anything survived the fire."

  Thomas nodded. "I'll put a call in to Neiman-Marcus. A size six, don't you think?"

  With sudden clarity, Adam remembered how slender she'd felt against him last night, climbing the steps to the guest room. "Yes," he said. "A six sounds about right."

  Downstairs, Adam lounged about the dining room, sipping coffee, picking at his breakfast without much appetite. He listened with amusement as Thomas made phone calls in the next room. A complete wardrobe, Thomas said. Yes, undergarments as well. What cup size? Well, good heavens, how should he know? Thomas hung up, and came into the dining room, looking distressed. "I'm having a problem with, er… dimensions."

  Adam laughed. "I think we're both out of our depth, Thomas. Why don't we wait until Dr. Novak wakes up. She can give them a better idea of her, uh, dimensions."

  Thomas looked relieved. "An excellent idea."

  They heard the sound of tires rolling over gravel.

  Adam glanced through the window and saw a blue Chevy pull up in the driveway. "Must be Lieutenant Beamis," he said. "I'll let him in."

  He was surprised to find both Beamis and Shradick waiting at the front door. Apparently they came as a matched set, even on Saturdays. They were even similarly dressed in strictly nonregulation golf shirts and sneakers.

  "Morning, Mr. Q.," said Beamis, pulling off his sunglasses. He held up a briefcase. "I got what you wanted."
/>   "Come in, please. There's coffee and breakfast, if you'd like."

  Shradick grinned. "Sounds great."

  The three men sat down at the dining table. Thomas brought out cups, saucers, a fresh pot of coffee. Shradick tucked a napkin in his shirt and began to adorn a bagel with cream cheese. Not just a dab here and there, but giant slabs of it, topped with multiple layers of lox. Beamis took only coffee, heavily sugared-a favorite energy source, he said, from his patrolman days.

  "So what do you have?" asked Adam.

  Beamis took several files from the briefcase and laid them on the table. "The files you asked for. Oh, and about the explosion last night-"

  "Not a gas leak?"

  "Definitely not a gas leak. Demolitions went over what was left of the house," said Beamis. "It appears there was a pull-friction fuse igniter, set off when the front door opened. The igniter gets pulled through a flash compound, lighting a sixty-second length of fuse. That in turn leads to a blasting cap. And a rather impressive amount of TNT."

  Adam frowned. "A sixty-second fuse? Then that explains why it didn't go off right away."

  Beamis nodded. "A delay detonator. Designed to blow up after the victim is in the house."

  "They aren't fooling around. Whoever they are," Shradick added, around a mouthful of bagel.

  Adam sat back, stunned by this new information. Until now he'd hoped for some simple explanation. A faulty furnace, perhaps; a natural gas leak whose odor he hadn't detected. But here was incontrovertible evidence: Someone wanted M. J. dead. And they were going to extraordinary lengths to achieve that goal.

  He was so shocked by the revelation that he didn't realize M. J. had come down into the dining room. Then he looked up and saw her. She seemed swallowed up in one of his old bathrobes, the flaps cinched together at the waist. She brought with her the scent of soap, the sweetness of shampoo. Gone was last night's look of defeat; this was the M. J. he knew, back again. She glanced around the table at Beamis and Shradick.

  "You heard what Lou said?" asked Adam.

  She nodded. Then she took a deep breath. "So I guess it's time to face the facts. Someone's really trying to kill me."