Foul Play (11 page)

“Omigod. You mean that bird's been in our freezer all this time?”

Veronica looked puzzled. “Unless Lulu used him for soup. I only labeled it
chicken.
I didn't put his name on the package. I stopped back the following night to see if Red was still here, but there was someone in the office. I was afraid it was a burglar, so I drove away and called the police. Then I went to Brian's house and told him about Red, and he almost had a cow. He was yelling and screaming at me, telling me how I was just a chicken killer, and how I was going to ruin his ratings. I thought if Red wasn't already made into soup he deserved a decent burial, but Brian said no,
no, no. He said it wouldn't look good. He said I'd get arrested and sent to jail for breaking into the clinic. Then, the next day, the rotten son of a creep fired me.”

Jake and Allen looked at each other and simultaneously turned and ran to the small kitchenette. Jake opened the freezer door and extracted the package marked
chicken.
“How could we have missed this?”

Allen shrugged. “I thought Amy had brought it in. She was always bringing us food.”

Jake unwrapped the aluminum foil and grimaced. “Veronica, how could you think Amy would make soup out of Red?”

“It did seem pretty weirdo, but you have to admit, it was a strange coincidence for her to bring that soup in.”

Jake rewrapped Red and put him back in the freezer. “I don't know whether to laugh or cry.”

Veronica turned to Ponytail. “So you see, this was all my fault. It's not right that Dr. Elliott's romance went belly-up.” Veronica jiggled a little in her excitement, catching Ponytail's full attention. “I thought, maybe,
you could do another show about the real story of Red, and I could be the star. It could be an exposé. We could get that creep Turner where he lives. And Lulu would see the show and come back and everyone would live happily ever after.”

Ponytail smiled. “I think that'd be a great idea.”

 

It was a great idea, Jake thought, but what if Amy didn't see it? It was a local cable station. What if Amy was far away? What if she had bigger fish to fry at nine o'clock Friday night? Lord, how he missed her. Especially at night when there was nothing else to occupy his mind, and the bed felt cold and empty next to him. He closed his eyes, but he couldn't sleep. He looked at the digital clock on the nightstand, uttered an expletive, and thrashed under the covers. Two o'clock.

From the foot of the bed, Spot belligerently opened one eye.
Now
what? he seemed to say. Better not be another marathon nocturnal walk.

Jake grunted and reached for the brand-new remote. He punched up a pillow
behind himself and sullenly turned on his TV. He flipped through the stations looking for something boring, and settled on a news station from Baltimore.

“…news and weather
live
from Baltimore, every hour on the hour,” a fat little man announced. “And now
here's
the weather.”

The camera panned to a slim young woman with tousled blond curls. The woman blinked in an obvious effort to stay awake. “Here's the weather,” she mumbled. “It's going to rain. Big deal. Do you care?” She moved to a wall map of the United States and pointed to Kansas. “There's a high over the Great Lakes.” She moved the pointer to Florida. “And a storm front coming in from the Rockies.” She squinted into the camera. “Is anybody out there?”

Jake had stopped breathing. It was Amy. Coming to him live, every hour on the hour, from Baltimore. The worst weather girl in the history of television. Out on her feet and cranky. His lips curved in a stiff smile.

Two hours later Jake found the station and parked next to Amy's red car. It was a
small operation. Not much more than a warehouse in a light industrial complex. The night watchman directed Jake to a door at the end of a short hall.

“Be quiet,” he said, “it's time for the news. It's live, you know. And watch out for the weather girl. She's not used to keeping these hours. She's a little…accident prone.”

Jake silently eased into the shadows at the back of the room. The dirty cement floor was littered with used coffee cups and cigarette butts. Ten or twelve tan folding chairs had been set up for an audience that didn't exist. Two cameras focused on the brightly lit platform against the far wall. A shelf-type desk with a blue bunting skirt occupied half of the platform, the blue screen the other half. A little man with a perfectly round face sat at one end of the desk.

Amy sat at the end closest to the screen, staring steely-eyed at a spot on the desktop. She was tired. Physically tired and emotionally tired. She missed Jake. She'd moved from place to place throughout her entire childhood, leaving people and places she'd loved, but she'd never experienced
anything like this. This was agony. Empty, desperate, incomprehensible agony.

She lived in a constant haze of painful longing, wondering what Jake was doing, if he was well, if he thought of her. It had only been a week, she told herself. Could that be possible? She could barely remember the reasons for leaving. Something foolish about his business and clairvoyant vibrations.

No, that wasn't really it. Be honest, Amy. She'd bailed out when the going got tough. That was the worst of the pain. No faith in their love. No guts. It wasn't like her. Why had she been so weak just at the time when she should have been strong?

She was going back on Saturday to try to make amends, but first she had to sleep. If only she could sleep for more than an hour at a time…

“…and now here's the treat you've all been waiting for, Amy Klasse with the weather.”

Amy smiled at the announcer. “Thank you, Ed.”

There was a guffaw from one of the
cameramen. “His name's
Ben
,” he said in a stage whisper.

Amy sighed. “Thank you, Ben. Well everybody, the weather hasn't changed any since three o'clock. It's…um, it's nice out. And it's dark.” Her eyes slid closed and she gave herself a small shake. “About the map. Here it is,” she said, gesturing with the pointer. “It's got weather all over it.”

The red light winked off the camera, and the cameraman called, “Cut.” Amy slumped in her seat. “How do you ever get used to this? How do you guys stay awake all night?”

“Don't worry about it,” the cameraman said. “You're doing great. People are actually staying up to see you mumble through the weather and demolish the set. They especially liked the time you caught your heel in the desk skirt and trashed the whole platform.”

The round-faced man grinned at Amy. “Our ratings are going up because of you. People think you're funny.”

Amy returned the smile, but it didn't extend to her eyes. There was a numbness
to her face that went beyond exhaustion. Even her curls seemed limp.

“Thanks for being so nice to me,” she said. “See you guys tomorrow.”

She slung her purse over her shoulder and bumped into Jake. “Oops, 'scuse me.” She took a step backward. “Omigod.”

There was a moment of tension-filled silence. “Surprise,” Jake said, low and threatening.

“How did you find me?”

Jake ran his finger along the collar of her shirt. “I saw you on television. I've been having trouble sleeping lately.”

Suddenly Amy was wide awake.

He turned her chin up with his finger. “I think you have some explaining to do.”

Amy swallowed. Who was this man? Freshly showered, dark hair, darker eyes. Black T-shirt casually molded to broad shoulders and flat stomach. Jeans stretched tight across slim hips and a perfect butt. She was falling apart, and Jacob Elliott was standing in front of her radiating enough health and virility to make her shoes smoke.

She'd imagined this moment a million times in the past eight days. Never like this. He was supposed to be distraught, with dark circles under his eyes. Or angry…sullen and silent, the brooding phase. Or ecstatically happy, instantly realizing that they were reunited forever and ever.

Jake wasn't any of those. He was…enigmatic. She'd thought that was a term only romance writers used, but there he was with unreadable eyes the color of strong coffee, and a mouth that held a hint of amused satisfaction, a mouth that promised…what? Damn. She licked dry lips and felt like a small, tasty animal being stalked by a large, sleek cat.

“Time to go home, Amy. We have unfinished business.”

“I'm living with my aunt Gert. She's—”

“Not tonight.” He took her by the elbow and steered her toward the door.

Amy pulled away. “Now, just a darn minute! You can't come riding in here doing your John Wayne impression and expect me to fawn at your feet.”

“No?”

She stuck her chin out pugnaciously. “No. I'll be the first one to admit I owe you an explanation, and I'll be happy to provide it in the morning.” It wasn't the sort of thing she wanted to do on an empty stomach, exhausted and unshowered. She needed makeup. This was an explanation that required eyeliner and the expensive moisturizer.

“Guess again,” Jake said, his hand at the small of her back, guiding her through the parking lot to a car that made hers look like a toy. It was black and racy and low to the ground, shining with malevolent power and elegance in the dimly lit lot. The sort of car James Bond would drive.

Jake opened the door to the passenger side and Amy was enveloped by the smell of new car and expensive leather. She took a step backward and looked at Jake warily. “What's this?”

“New car,” he said matter-of-factly. “My old car died.”

He made a gallant motion for her to get in.

He drove through Baltimore and turned onto I-95 South. He looked at her sideways,
a silent speculative assessment that sent a shiver running down her spine.

The radial tires sang over the pavement, the powerful engine droned in her ears, hypnotic and soothing, and she closed her eyes to Jake, suddenly too tired to think.

She barely roused herself when the car purred to a stop. She was lifted from her seat and carried. A wave of fresh morning air washed over her and then there was the still coolness of air-conditioning. She opened her eyes when she was gently laid on her bed, but immediately gave herself up to the delicious luxury of smooth sheets and soft quilts.

Jake drew the curtains in Amy's bedroom and stared down at her sleeping form.

It was noon before Amy awoke. Her first thought was that she was home. Her second thought was that Jake was naked beside her, his warm hand resting on a very private place.

They made love and when they were done, he snuggled her against him.

“I suppose we should talk now.”

Amy cuddled next to him. “I don't know. It seems to me we've just said it all.”

Jake cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at her. “Me, man…you, woman?”

“Something like that. I was thinking more along the lines of you, Mr. Elliott…me, Mrs. Elliott.”

“Lady”—Jake grinned—“you're in luck. I have a cancellation this afternoon.”