by Jodi Thomas
When he got to the apartment, he let himself into Lilly’s place, planning to leave the muffin he’d carried all over downtown on her breakfast tray, but he found Lilly watching old movies. She had her leg propped on a pillow atop the coffee table and seemed surrounded by food. Cookies to the left, chips to the right.
She motioned him in as if she didn’t want to miss anything happening in the movie.
With one glance Mark recognized Pillow Talk, one of her favorites. He handed her the bag and plopped down beside her, jostling the bowl of chips. “I’ll sit through this one more time with you, but I’m not singing the songs this time.” He ate the chips that had escaped the bowl.
She laughed. “Hush, or I’ll make you watch both versions of An Affair to Remember.”
Mark held up his hands.
She opened the sack. “A muffin!” Lilly squealed as if she’d been starving for days.
“I picked it up at a new little place downtown.”
Lilly took a bite and mumbled, “Get us a couple of beers, will you.” She rubbed the cast on her leg, silently explaining why she didn’t move.
“Muffins and beer?” Mark raised an eyebrow. When she didn’t comment, he added, “You don’t keep beer in your refrigerator.”
“I know.” She grinned. “You do.”
He didn’t argue. He walked over to his place and returned with two beers. Opening one, he handed it to her, noticing that all that remained of the muffin was a few crumbs on her pajamas.
He sat back down. “I met a woman tonight.”
Lilly clicked the mute button. “Oh?”
Mark smiled. “It’s not what you think. She’s a waitress in that new little café downtown. So shy, she wouldn’t even look at me, but there was something about her. I guess she’s pretty enough, but not the way I’d ever be interested in even if I was looking. Just something about her. Something that drew me.”
“What did she smell like?”
“What?”
Lilly looked at him carefully, reading him as easily as she did one of her books. “Were you attracted to her?”
Mark shook his head, then decided not to lie. “Maybe a little. But not like I want to ask her out or anything. More like I just felt good being near her, even though we only said a few words.” He leaned his head against the back of the couch. “Funny thing, I think she felt it too. There for a minute, she could have moved away, but she didn’t.”
“Were you close enough to smell her?”
“No,” he admitted. “Why do you keep asking?” Mark had figured out days ago that Lilly usually had a reason for her questions.
Lilly picked muffin crumbs off her chest. “I read somewhere that we are attracted, and repulsed, by people according to how they smell. Not perfume or anything, but the base smell every human being has. Some say even with all the dating games we play that we still pick out partners by smell.”
Mark laughed. “So, you’re telling me I was drawn to her smell. If that were true, I should have gone ape over the chubby little cook who smelled of warm blueberry muffins and butter. In fact, the whole place smelled like muffins. Must be why they named it Midnight Muffins. Maybe the singles bars have it all wrong. We should just hang out at bakeries and sniff each other.” He grinned, proud of his own joke. “Like that kind of thing matters.”
Lilly pressed her lips together as she always did when sizing up how much money he had in his pocket for a bet. He showed no surprise when her next words were, “Want to bet?”
Mark knew the drill by now. He emptied his pockets and counted out seven dollars and twenty-three cents. She rummaged in her bag and dropped the same on the table. They’d bet on everything from the weather to ball games. It might be a vice they both loved, but Lilly insisted they always limit the wager to change. The only time Mark won was the bet on how many olives were on his sandwich. He’d eaten enough subs to make an educated guess.
“All right, what exactly are we betting on?”
Lilly thought. “I have to depend on you to be totally honest here.”
Mark agreed.
“You have to get close enough to this woman to smell her. Really smell her. If you’re attracted, I win, if you feel nothing, you win.”
“Fair enough.” He had no idea how he’d get that close but he’d try. “I can tell you right now I won’t fall for her because of her smell. I’m guessing all that will happen is that I’ll want to order another muffin.”
“One sidebar, please.”
“Stop using my language.” He laughed, deciding he’d talked far too much about his work in the dozen dinners they’d shared.
“Okay. One more point. I get a muffin every night until you get close enough to smell her.”
“That’s blackmail.”
“Have to set terms or you might drag this bet out indefinitely. I also have to factor in that beard of yours. She may not let you get close enough to her for a good smell if she thinks you’re one of the homeless.”
Mark scratched his chin. “Maybe she’ll like it.”
“Slim chance, but I’m still willing to risk my money.”
They shook on the bet. Mark cleaned up the empty beer bottles and headed toward the door. “I’ll be by to cook breakfast tomorrow morning.”
“Sounds good.” Just as he stepped into the hallway, she added, “Thanks.”
Mark smiled as he walked to his door. He should be thanking her. Lilly kept him sane. She’d filled some lonely hours, and the trouble with her husband had given him something to work on at the office. He’d spent a week finding out all he could about her third husband. If she had to have a divorce, Lilly only wanted her money back on a car she’d left behind. Mark figured he could do better than that. Especially since the husband wanted out to marry a woman half his age.
He walked into his apartment and found Tres already claiming half the bed. Mark undressed in the dark and wondered why he hadn’t mentioned to Lilly that the woman’s name might be Mary. Lilly followed the progress of his nightly walks, knowing that he looked for clues he’d probably never find.
So, why hadn’t he told Lilly about what Randell had suggested?
Simple, he decided. He didn’t want anyone else near him in danger. Startled, Mark realized he was already buying into Randell’s theory.
Twenty-Eight
Riding home with Tuesday, Blaine didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to, Tuesday could carry on a conversation with herself.
Blaine kept asking herself why she hadn’t run to Mark and held him to her. He was the only man she’d ever loved, the only person she had ever allowed herself to believe in. Everything she’d done since the bombing had been to protect him or to find him. And when he walked into the café, what had she done? She’d ignored him. She’d done everything she could to walk differently, talk differently, so that he wouldn’t see his wife when he looked at the waitress.
Once, she’d almost got up her nerve enough to touch him, but Randell came in and fear won out.
Miller probably figured she wasn’t sure of Mark. He may have thought she believed that somehow Mark and Winslow had planned her death, but that wasn’t it at all. Despite all her talk and dreaming, a coward still lived in her skin. She wasn’t ready to face what he’d say about her change, about the baby, about how she believed one of the partners was trying to kill her.
When she got home, Blaine sat beside the doctor’s bed and told him a different kind of story. A true story.
In his kind way, the doctor took her hand and said, “If you love him, believe in him. I think in this life it must be better to be fooled by a dishonest man than doubt an honest one. In the first case, you are the only one who is hurt. In the second, it destroys you both.”
She smiled, loving the old doctor’s logic.
Blaine worked the following three nights, listening for the bell over the door. Business grew, but the only person she wanted to see walk through the entrance was Mark.
He looked so different with a beard. Not
like the powerful lawyer at all, more like a young college professor. He’d lost weight. His longer hair made him seem younger, almost as he had been when she’d first met him.
As Blaine scrubbed the tables an hour before opening, she wanted to cry. That was nothing new, she’d cried herself to sleep every night since she’d seen him and had said nothing. Fighting tears seemed a normal state for her lately. Dr. Early had assured her that it was nothing unusual during pregnancy but she knew it was far more.
She hadn’t lost faith in Mark, she’d lost faith in herself. The father of her child had passed within a few feet of her without even knowing her. He’d tipped his wife of ten years for pouring him a cup of coffee and she’d taken the money.
But the memory of how sad Mark appeared saddened her most. As if he suffered deep inside. Her husband looked as though his heart was breaking.
Why had she thought he could take the punch of her death and then disappearance without feeling the blow? Maybe because he hadn’t reacted to his parents not being there. Maybe because it hadn’t seemed to matter to him if he saw her most nights. First school and then work had always been so much more important to him. She’d lived with that fact from the beginning. He’d canceled dates to study, broke dinner plans to work, backed out on vacations when an interesting case came up.
She always thought of herself as an extra in his life. He loved her, and only her, Blaine felt sure of that. But she saw their marriage as something that made Mark’s life easier, not something necessary for his survival.
The Mark she saw three nights ago who sat at the bar and told Tuesday he was married hadn’t been the same man she left the morning she headed for the clinic. He continued to wear his wedding ring and appeared to suffer from her absence in his life.
Blaine scrubbed the table harder until the wood shone. She’d always protected him, seen after him. Only this time she’d let him down. In protecting him, she hadn’t been able to stop the hurt, the loneliness she heard in his voice. She’d made her choice the morning she’d decided not to go home. Now she realized that either way might destroy her husband. If she’d run home that first day, the bomber might have gotten to them as easily as he had Frank Parker. Now, alone, Mark didn’t look to be thriving. She may only have traded a quick death for a slow one.
She stood, suddenly feeling a pressure in her side a few inches from her scar.
The odd pain came again, stronger.
“Miller!” she cried, folding over in pure joy. “Miller!”
The big man stormed out of the back at full speed. “What? Did you see the bomber?” He was around the bar and at her side in seconds. “Where?”
He looked from the windows to her. “Mary! Are you hurt?”
Blaine laughed. “No.” She waved him away with one hand while the other touched her middle. “I’m sorry to have panicked you.”
He came close, clearly not believing her. “What is it?”
She reached for his hand and placed it over her stomach. “My baby moved.”
Miller folded into a chair without removing his hand from her slightly rounded abdomen. “Really?” He looked worried and nervous at the same time. “Is that normal? Should I call the doc? What if it happens again?”
Blaine placed her hand over his. “Don’t worry. I’m not asking you to deliver it. I just thought you’d want to feel it kick.” She didn’t add that she had to share the news with someone. The life growing inside her became more a part of her each day.
They both stood very still a moment, before Miller whispered, “I feel something. Like a little fist knocking from inside.”
Tuesday rounded from the kitchen with the first load of muffins. “What’s all the shouting about?”
“Miller thinks he felt my baby move.”
Tuesday set down the muffins. She showed only a slight interest. After all, it related to nothing in her world. She pulled off a pair of dark-framed glasses she wore to accessorize her checked blouse and leaned on the counter to watch.
When nothing happened, she returned to her work, forgetting her glasses worn only because she thought she looked more intelligent in them.
“Should I talk to him?” Miller asked, still concentrating on Blaine’s abdomen. “After all, he’s pushing me.”
The big man wrinkled up his face as if he were witnessing an alien invasion. “He must know I’m on the other side. Maybe he’s trying to communicate.”
“All right.” Blaine smiled down at Miller. The man’s wonder more than made up for Tuesday’s indifference.
“Right there. He pushed against my hand again.” Miller leaned closer to Blaine’s middle and yelled, “Now, you behave yourself. Don’t go giving your momma no trouble or I’ll thump you a good one when you get out.”
Tuesday squealed and came around the bar, her hips making tables wobble as she moved toward them. “Stop talking to the little guy like that. You want him to think he’s going to be abused?” She shoved Miller aside and placed her hand on Blaine’s tummy.
Blaine realized her abdomen had become public property.
“This is how you talk to babies.” Tuesday leaned down to belly-button level. “Hi, you little darling. Goooo goo a byyyy byy, my little lovey-love. Gooo goo, my goochi goo.”
“Stop that,” Miller growled. “He’ll think there’s something wrong with his hearing.”
Blaine laughed so hard tears ran down her cheeks. She didn’t hear the door’s bell but the sudden rush of hot air drew her attention.
“You folks open yet?”
Blaine could do no more than stare at the cop. Randell. He had given up his raincoat and suit jacket in favor of a short-sleeved shirt. Without the coat, his gun, radio and handcuffs on his belt were in plain view. Blaine fought the need to back away. She’d been as close as she ever wanted to be to the man that night in the rain.
Miller reacted much the same, but Tuesday played hostess. She rushed toward the new customer, blocking Randell’s view of the others.
“We’re not open yet, but I’ve got some coffee made if you’d like a cup, Officer.”
“It’s detective, miss. Detective Randell.” He tugged on his belt as he pulled in his stomach. “A cup of coffee would be mighty fine.”
She motioned Randell over to the counter and pointed to a seat as she reached for the cups. “We were just talking about my friend’s baby, trying to agree on how we should talk to the little fellow before he’s born.”
Randell accepted the coffee and glanced in Blaine’s direction.
“You got any kids, Detective?” Tuesday drew him back. “Maybe you could give us a little advice.”
“No kids, no wife.” Randell lifted his cup to Blaine. “But wish you the best with yours, ma’am.”
Blaine slipped on the black-framed glasses Miller handed her and tried to remember to breathe. Randell wouldn’t recognize her. Chipper had told the cop about her the first time she’d gone to the shelter, but she’d changed a great deal since that day. He might have noticed her at the bus stop the night of the stabbing, but with the rain and her sweatshirt hood pulled up, he couldn’t have had much of a look. He’d even been in once before for a coffee and hardly looked at her.
Miller glanced at Blaine with worried eyes as he vanished into the kitchen.
“Thank you, Detective.” Blaine barely got out the words before Tuesday interrupted.
“No wife, huh? Well, you’ll be wanting to try one of my homemade muffins. They flat melt in your mouth.” She smiled. “I was hoping someone would drop by early. I’ve got a new one called strawberries and cream. I could really use someone to sample it and tell me what they think.”
“I’m your man,” Randell volunteered and they both laughed as if he was extremely witty.
Half an hour later the cop was still talking to Tuesday and she was giggling at everything he said. She’d patted him on the arm so many times Blaine wouldn’t have been surprised to see a bruise. Randell had tried three muffins and claimed he’d have to taste the
rest, taking it on as his personal quest.
Tuesday patted him again so hard his elbow knocked against the wood of the counter with a thud, but he didn’t seem to mind.
He asked Tuesday all kinds of questions, but since the girl wasn’t a watcher of people she didn’t have many answers, which in no way stopped her from talking.
Blaine stayed close enough to listen. Chipper had been right, he still searched for the woman who’d stumbled into the shelter the day after the bombing. Thin, blond, tall, looking as if she’d been hurt. He seemed to think the person might have worked at the clinic and been there during the bombing. He told Tuesday that this was his first big case and even if he had to live on the streets he planned to find the man who’d killed those people at the clinic.
Blaine found it hard to believe that the woman he described had been her. With flat sneakers she wasn’t so tall, and thin was no longer a word that fit with her, though she was far from fat. She knew her hair had changed her looks the most. When it had been long and blond that was all most folks saw when they looked her direction. Her stylish cut had always left bangs almost covering her eyes. Now her short brown curls made her eyes seem darker. Or maybe it was the lack of a tan. It had been a month since she’d spent time in the tanning salon where she’d been painted over in much the same way as if she’d been run through a car wash. The little time she’d spent in the sun these past weeks had freckled the bridge of her nose.
When Randell told Tuesday about a group of boys who were harassing businesses downtown, the girl acted terrified until he promised to keep a special eye on her place so nothing would happen.
Tuesday looked as if she would have kissed the man if the counter hadn’t been between them.
Blaine glanced over at Miller who stood by the kitchen door, watching through the pass-through. The big man looked as though he might throw up. He didn’t like the idea of her being this close to the cop any more than she did, but the idea Tuesday had settled in for a flirt probably bothered him more.
When Blaine squeezed past Miller, he mumbled, “It’s like watching two water buffalo mate.”