скачать книгу бесплатно
Abby tried to be fair. “Pretty seriously, I think. He listened to me. Come on, Meg. You’ve never had reservations about his work, have you?”
“No...” her sister said grudgingly. “I just... Oh, I feel useless. I hate it!”
Abby leaned against the fender of her car. “Meg, you’re having a baby in a few weeks. What could be more productive?”
Her sister took a few audible breaths. “You’re right,” she finally said. “I know you’re right. This is what I want to do. But I’m not used to twiddling my thumbs!” The last came out as a cry.
“I know, I know.” Abby did her best to be soothing. Oral back-patting. “Renee’s worried you’re going to have twins.”
This sigh had an exasperated note. “I’ve gained a normal amount. All women in their ninth month look like walruses wallowing on the beach. At least, all women whose babies are probably going to weigh eight or nine pounds.”
“It’s you Renee’s worried about. She doesn’t want to lose you again.”
“She told you that?” Meg sounded surprised.
“I pried it out of her.”
“That’s not like you.”
Stung, Abby asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You usually avoid any emotional issues,” her sister said bluntly. “I’d have expected you to make an excuse to avoid having that kind of conversation with Renee. Not push for it.”
“She was crying!” Damn it, why feel hurt? Meg was right; Abby usually did evade sticky, weepy situations. There was nothing wrong with that. She just wasn’t good at them.
“You mean, you walked in on her crying?”
“No, we talked about you, and then I suggested that maybe she wasn’t worried about twins, she was scared of losing you, and—” Abby stopped. Swallowed. “I care.”
Her sister’s voice softened. “I know you do.”
“Anyway, you might talk to her.”
“Okay. Sure.” Meg paused. “Why don’t I call Ben, too?”
Quickly—too quickly—Abby said, “No, I’ll do that. You’re on maternity leave. The case is mine, anyway. I’ll let you know if he’s learned anything.”
Feeling grumpy, she had to get in the car and hunt through her leather folder to find Ben Shea’s card. Why hadn’t he gotten in touch with her? Why was she having to beg for information?
His cell phone was either turned off or he was out of the area, a mechanical voice informed her. Voice mail told her Ben Shea wasn’t available. “But leave a message!” the chirpy canned voice encouraged her.
Abby did, short and to the point. “Call me,” she said tersely.
He did. An hour later. She was back in her office, writing up a report on the mom-and-pop grocery incendiary fire.
“Shea, here. Don’t have much to report,” he said.
“Sorry I didn’t get to you sooner.”
Considering they had dated the night before, she thought that was pretty brisk. How are you? Hope you had fun last night, would have been nice. This was not the way to get the girl, Abby thought derogatorily.
Of course, maybe he didn’t want to get the girl.
Which was fine with her.
“Nobody paid any attention to the traffic?”
“One guy heard a motorcycle pass about the right time. He was shoveling manure behind the barn, couldn’t see the road, but he admitted that his dream is to buy a Harley-Davidson when he retires. He figures he and his wife can see the country on it.”
For no good reason, Abby was diverted from the point. “What’s she think of that?”
“Not much, from the rolled eyes I saw in the background.”
She snorted. “Why would he expect anything different? Who wants to stare at a man’s back for hours every day?”
“You’d want to be the one gripping the handlebars, wouldn’t you?” An odd tone infused his voice.
“Darn tootin’ I would.” Abby wasn’t ashamed to admit it. Why should men get all the fun while women went along for the ride?
After a brief pause Ben mused, “Seems a shame. The guy looked so wistful.”
“We all have dreams.” And she didn’t want to talk about ones that were doomed.
“Yeah, well, the point here is, he noticed the growl of the motorcycle because it triggered a brief fantasy of him eating up the miles on a hog. The one he heard wasn’t a Harley—something smaller, less powerful.”
“And easier to lift into and out of the bed of a pickup truck.”
“You got it.”
“So now what?”
“Unless forensic evidence shows us something—and I’m betting it won’t—we’re out of luck. You know that.”
“Until something else happens,” Abby said slowly.
“If it happens.”
“If,” she agreed.
“I don’t like it.” Shea was silent for a moment. For the first time he sounded human, even intimate. “I’m sorry, Abby. I wish there was more I could do.”
“No. No, that’s okay. I know there isn’t. I was just hoping...”
“Would you have dinner with me Friday?” he asked abruptly.
A rush of relief disconcerted her. She just didn’t like feeling rejected, Abby told herself.
Perversely, she didn’t say, “Yes. Please.” She didn’t tease or flirt. Oh, no. Those were ways to land the guy. She didn’t want to land this one.
“Last night wasn’t a great success,” she said instead. “I could tell that wasn’t your scene.”
“Friday night, it’ll be my choice.”
“Which is?” she asked, immediately suspicious.
“Haven’t decided yet. What do you say?”
Her eyes narrowed. “How about you decide first.”
“What, you’re a coward?” he mocked. “I won’t take you skydiving, if that’s what scares you.”
“I took skydiving lessons a couple of years ago. Not much scares me.”
“And here I thought you’d say, ‘nothing scares me.’”
Just like that, anger blossomed in her chest like a water balloon smacking down on the pavement. “You don’t think much of me, do you? Why did you ask me out in the first place?”
He was silent so long, she almost ended the call. The anger spread down to her fingertips, burning as it went.
When Shea did speak, the timbre of his voice had changed; the mockery was gone, leaving something quiet and too solemn in its place. “I think I would like you, if you’d let me get to know you.”
“What do you call last night?” Abby asked tartly.
“Did we exchange ten words?”
“We were supposed to be having fun.”
“My eardrums still hurt.”
“Like I said, I could tell it wasn’t your scene.” She sounded brittle, even to herself. “Which suggests we don’t have much in common.”
Anger to match hers sparked in his voice. “I’d say we have a hell of a lot in common. We do the same kind of job. We have to live with having seen things other people never do. We care about the same things. We both live alone, isolated partly by our jobs. We probably shop at the same goddamn grocery stores. We could exchange recipes.”
She was fighting a losing battle; she could feel it. But “stubborn” was Abby’s middle name. “That’s one more thing we don’t have in common. I’d have to tell you my favorite microwave dinners.”
“You don’t cook?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“I like to cook. See? We’re made for each other.”
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. “All right, all right,” Abby conceded. “Just let me know whether to wear shorts or a strapless dress, okay?”
“I will.” Amusement played a bass note in his slow, deep voice. “As soon as I decide.”
“But tell me one thing, will you?” Get it out front, she decided.
“Sure.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Shea echoed. Although he asked, “What do you mean?” he sounded wary, which meant he’d guessed.
“Why me? Why are you so determined? Is it just the challenge?”
Again he was silent for a long moment. Again his voice had changed, although this time she couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking. “No. I like a challenge. But...no.”
“What, then?”
“You’re beautiful.”
“No more so than plenty of other women. Most of whom are easier to get along with than I am.”
“You look lonely.”
“Lonely?” Abby gave a derisive laugh. “You’re seeing things.”
“I don’t think so.”
“And if I am? So what?”
“I thought we might...connect. That’s all. Do we have to analyze our relationship already?”
She let out a sigh he wouldn’t be able to hear. “No. I just wanted to find out whether it was my charm that had gotten to you.”
“That was it,” he agreed.
“Friday,” she said. “Call me before then.”
ABBY HAD A LATE DINNER: a spinach salad and microwave penne pasta. Afterward she tried to read, but found her attention wandering. TV seemed like an idea, but nothing on tonight grabbed her. Using the remote control, she turned the television off just as her telephone rang.
“Abby, Scott here,” Meg’s husband said. “I’m up at the ski area. Just leaving. I need you to look at something. Can you come?”
“Up to Juanita Butte?”
“I’m sorry. I know it’s late.” He sounded grim. “But I really think you need to see it”
A chill stirred the hair on her nape. “What is it?”
“I’d rather you see for yourself,” Scott repeated.
“Is this something like the fire?”
“Yeah. But uglier. Or maybe it just got to me personally, I’m not sure.”
“All right.” She was already slipping her feet into canvas sneakers. “Don’t move. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
The clock on the dashboard said 9:04. Here at midsummer, night was just settling, the first layer like purple gauze, the next denser and darker.
