Deeply, Desperately (13 page)

Some kids didn't mind talking to strangers. And talking and talking.

A peek in the phone book gave us an address for Shannon. She lived in a rundown duplex in a neighborhood of other rundown houses, cracked sidewalks, potholed streets, and enormous chestnut trees.

The door was answered by Shannon's mother. Maggie O'Meara was impossibly young to have breast cancer, mid-thirties at best. She was medium height, slender build. Baggy jeans and a Portsmouth High School sweatshirt nearly swallowed her whole.

I forced myself not to stare. She was completely
bald, lacking any hair at all--eyebrows and lashes included.

Sean handed her a card, and I introduced us. "We're looking into the disappearance of a woman named Sarah Loehman."

Maggie leaned against her door, glanced at the card. "I don't understand. I don't know anyone by that name."

Sean said, "We have reason to believe that the silver heart bracelet your daughter Shannon wears once belonged to Sarah. She had it with her when she went missing."

Maggie's eyes widened. "Come on in."

Tired wooden floors creaked as she led us past a dusty dining room into the family room. A large picture window looked onto a marsh behind the house. Sean and I sat on a lumpy couch. Pictures brightened the room. Family portraits of two similar-looking blondes. Mom and daughter through time. At Disney World, at the beach, at Canobie Lake Park, at a picnic, at a school football game. There wasn't a sign of a father in Shannon's life, and Maggie wore no wedding band.

An old armchair with a drooping cushion sat near the window. Gently, Maggie lowered herself into it. "I knew something was up with that bracelet. It looked too expensive to be a knockoff, like Shannon told me."

"Do you know where she got it?" I asked.

Though she looked fragile, her voice was strong. "She got it about six months ago, right around her birthday. A present from the boyfriend she doesn't know I know about. She tells me he's just a buddy."

"I think I had a few of those," I said, smiling.

Maggie laughed. "Who hasn't? It's why I keep quiet. Let her think she's got a big secret. Jimmy's a good kid--I'm not too worried about him."

"Do you mind if we talk to her about the bracelet?" Sean asked.

Cornflower-blue eyes stood out against her pale face. Worry wrinkled her brow. "She's not in any trouble, is she?"

Sean shook his head. "We just want to talk to her."

I pulled a picture of Sarah Loehman out of my bag, walked it over to Maggie. "Do you recognize this woman at all?"

Thin fingers held the picture. Her gaze took in every nuance of the photo. "She looks vaguely familiar. I think I may have seen her on TV?"

"Maybe," I said. "Her disappearance was in the news for a long time."

"And you think Shannon has her bracelet?"

"It's a possibility," I said vaguely. "We'd really like to talk to Shannon and get more information. Is she home?"

"Working. Down the street. I'll give you directions." Maggie stiffly rose to her feet. She caught us watching her. "I'm okay. Better than most with my diagnosis. The worst part?" she said, leading us toward the door.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Shannon has to take care of me now. I've always prided myself on being a good mom. Providing for her, caring, nurturing. But I can't find a job where I
can work from home, and no one wants to hire someone so sick."

Sean held open the screen door for me. "I'm sure Shannon understands."

"Oh, she does and she doesn't complain," she said softly. "But it's killing me."

I could only imagine.

"I'll call Shannon," she said. "Let her know you're stopping by."

Hence our trip to the Golden Arches.

I pushed my fries away as Shannon bounced up to the table, a tentative smile on her lips. I slid over. "Do you want to sit?"

"No, thanks. My mom said you wanted to talk to me?"

"It's about your bracelet," Sean said.

Her smiled vanished as she protectively slid her fingers over the metal. "What about it?"

"We need to know where you got it," I said gently.

"At the mall," she said quickly. "From Claire's."

I shook my head. "That's not the truth."

Her pale eyebrows dipped. "It is the truth."

"They don't sell Tiffany bracelets at the mall, Shannon," Sean said, kindness lacing his tone.

I glanced at him. He'd known immediately to take a gentle approach. And it paid off as Shannon, her blue eyes brimming with tears, pleaded with him. "You can't tell my mom. She'll make me give it back."

I didn't have the heart to tell her that she'd probably have to give it to the police. "Back where?"

"To Jimmy."

"Your boyfriend?" Sean ventured.

She nodded. "He's, like, the greatest. He bought this for me for my birthday."

"Why would your mom make you give it back?" I asked.

"Because she doesn't know I have a boyfriend. You can't tell her."

Little did she know. "I'll make you a deal. We won't tell your mom if you tell us how to get in touch with your boyfriend."

"Why?" she said, tipping her head. Her blond ponytail slashed the air.

Sean smiled reassuringly. "We need to ask him about the bracelet."

Shannon seemed lost in his compassionate eyes.

I couldn't blame her.

"What's wrong with the bracelet?" she asked. "It's not fake, is it?"

"No, it's not fake."

"Good. It's like my prized possession. My good-luck charm. I never take it off."

Shivers ran up my spine.

According to Faye Dodd, Sarah had felt the same way.

"I can't stay," Sean said as he pulled up in front of my cottage.

"I wouldn't have been here anyway," I said smugly, pushing open my door. The cold air stung my cheeks, stole my breath. I braced myself against the wind whipping off the water.

Sean came around the car. "Why not?"

"You first."

"You don't want to know."

Cara. Had to be. I arched an eyebrow. "You don't either."

He set his hands on his hips. A smile tugged his lips. "Is that how it's going to be?"

"Yep." I turned for the house.

Something hard hit me in the back. I spun and snow exploded in my face.

Sean's laughter carried as the remnants of a snowball dripped down my chest. "Is
that
how it's going to be?" I asked.

"Yep."

I gathered up snow, formed a ball, and went after him.

He dodged between trees, but I managed to hit his shoulder. He returned fire with a shot that missed me by an inch. I ran for the safety of the arbor.

I quickly made five snowballs, my back pressed against the lattice. Slowly, I rose up, peering around a shrub.

A snowball zoomed by my ear. "Close!" I yelled, laughing. "But a miss."

"Are you taunting me, Ms. Valentine?"

"Absolutely." I aimed toward the area where his voice came, hitting nothing but a tree trunk. "All's fair in love and war, right?"

Carefully, I edged around the corner of the porch, looking for a flash of movement. Nothing. I inched slowly forward, armed to the teeth with icy ammunition.

An attack came from my right side. I turned to fire, but before I could raise my arm, Sean was there, tackling me to the ground, laughing--a sound that resonated deep within my heart, banging this way and that, loosening inhibitions. "Right," he said.

He lay on top of me and for a minute I couldn't breathe just from the sheer pleasure. Slowly, he rose up, bracing his knees on either side of me.

I smiled up at him. "You throw pretty good for a boy."

His eyes shone with happiness. I was pretty much a goner, my sappy self falling that much harder.

"I like when you look at me like that," he said, lowering himself to his elbows.

"Like what?"

His eyes flickered to hot, desire darkening his gray irises. "Like the way I'm looking at you now."

"Oh." I reached up, brushed snow out of his hair, and let my hand linger on the nape of his neck. His skin burned under my touch. "I like that too."

He lowered his head and kissed me. I barely noticed the cold, the snow. All I felt was heat, blistering its way along my skin, teasing places that ached to be teased.

More. I wanted more. I wanted it all. Everything. The heat, the ache, the release. I wanted him, his heart, his love ...

A shudder rippled through me. Was I asking too much?

Sean gathered me in his arms. "Cold?"

I brushed his jaw with kisses. "With you around? Never, Mr. Donahue."

It was then that we heard the crash from inside the house.

Spar was too trendy for its own good, a modern-day supper club. It was all sleek and black, hot and sexy. The bar was a square in the middle of the room and, in its center, a boxing ring was set up, but there was no one sparring and I had to wonder if it was just decoration.

A jazz band was playing, a brassy backdrop to hundreds of voices raised in conversation over appetizers and cocktails. Marisol and I were at a back table, hidden behind two menus. It was rumored the food here wasn't all that good, but no one came here hungry for food.

All around women slinked by in minidresses clinging to toned bodies, necklines plunging low enough to see belly buttons. Men wore form-fitting pants, expensive shirts, designer cologne, and lascivious looks.

"I feel kind of dirty," I said.

"In a good way?" Marisol asked.

"Is there a good way?"

"Of course."

I rolled my eyes and wished I were somewhere else. Maybe with Sean. In bed. Naked. Moaning. Okay. Maybe there
was
a good way.

The crash had scared me half to death. In my mind, the sender of the Handmaiden had finally come for me.

Turned out, Grendel had knocked over a vase.

It was hard to blame Grendel for ruining a perfectly wonderful moment between Sean and me when I knew what was really behind the ruckus: Cupid's Curse. There had to be a way to break that damn curse. Had to.

"You look as good as I feel," Marisol said, watching me closely.

I knew how I looked, so she must have felt like shit. "What's wrong with you?"

"Butch broke up with me."

"What? Why?"

"Said he was sick of me talking about Em and Aiden all the time. He said he thought I was using him for his looks."

Even though it was all true I said, "His loss."

"I know, right?"

"Right."

She snuffled. I patted her hand.

Morosely, she said, "I think I'm done with men for a while."

I gave her two days. Three, maybe. "They're jerks," I said, feeling she needed some empathy.

"I know. I'm not sure what I ever saw in Butch."

He looked like Matt Damon was what, but I kept that to myself. I glanced around and slunk down in my seat. "Joseph is here."

"He is?" She turned and craned her neck.

"At the bar, far side, near the door."

Marisol moved her menu to cover her blatant staring. "He's alone."

And dressed like all the other men in the place. A woman slid up to him, but he held up his hand, waving her off.

I glanced at Marisol. "How'd you even know he'd be here tonight?"

"Remember I told you about getting someone on the inside? Well, I made buddy-buddy with the hostess. She takes reservations, so she knows when Joseph is coming in. She promised to call me whenever he calls."

"In exchange for?"

"She has three cats. I promised free care for a year. Look, look!"

Joseph was on the move. He shook the hand of a younger man, a slick twenty-something, and signaled the hostess. She led the two to a table on the other side of the restaurant.

The man with Joseph had a briefcase with him. He set it on the table and pulled out papers.

"Work?" Marisol gasped. "On a Friday night?"

"Maybe we should go," I said. It was pretty late, and I needed some sleep if I had to deal with Preston tomorrow.

"No, no. We can't. He's got to be doing more than working. Remember those condoms?"

"I'd rather not."

"Lucy!"

"Fine."

I ordered wine. If I was going to get through this night, I needed alcohol.

Marisol ordered a Cosmo, but changed her mind as soon as the server walked away. She hurried after him to change her order and didn't come back. First it was the bartender flirting with her. Then a man offered to buy her a drink. Soon, she was seated on a stool and lapping up the attention.

She never so much as looked back at me.

I glanced over at Joseph. He was still doing his business deal. I dropped a twenty on the table, gathered up my purse. I stopped by the bar on the way out to say good-bye to Marisol.

I don't even know if she heard me.

By the time I arrived home, it was well past my bedtime. I plugged in my crooked Christmas tree, grabbed my cordless phone, and plopped down on the couch. Grendel leaped up, looking for love and affection. I was happy to oblige by rubbing under his chin.

I dialed into my voice mail and had two messages. The first was from Dovie. "LucyD, did you see the picture in the
Globe
? The
Globe
!" She squealed. "I have to say I look damn good for going on sixty years old."

I smiled. She was almost seventy-five and none too happy about it. Seemed every birthday she took another year off her age.

The other message was from Raphael. "Uva," he said, "I don't suppose you know anything about the delivery of a case of titanium razor blades, do you?" He was laughing as he hung up.

It was a nice sound to fall asleep to.

I slept in.

Sometime in the middle of the night I'd moved from the couch to my bed. I had vague memories of upsetting dreams. If I tried hard enough, I might remember the details. I didn't try hard.

Grendel sensed me awake and crept up the bed, meowing loudly, voicing his displeasure at the lateness of his breakfast.

I threw off the covers, shivered at the chill in the air, and padded into the kitchen. I picked a can of cat food from the pantry and scooped it into Grendel's bowl. His nose twitched at me.