Gilt (13 page)

"I don't understand." Dan's voice was quiet and low behind me. I heard the rustle of paper as he folded the page. "Were you getting divorced, too?"

I continued staring at the yard, my arms crossed and shivering as the air conditioning wrapped cool air around me. "I told John I wanted a separation a week before he died." A tear rolled down my cheek. "We talked and talked about it, with him asking me to explain why and me not able to explain why I was unhappy. I wished he yelled or waved his arms but he never did. We talked, and he went to work for two days. He came home and we talked again then he left for work. He never came back."

"And you blame yourself," Dan said.

I shrugged. "Yes and no. Perhaps our argument distracted him. He and I were talking when the fire call came in. He hung up and went to work. And he died." I heard the couch creak so I wasn't surprised when I felt Dan behind me.

"He was a trained professional. You didn't cause his death."

"I'll never know," I murmured. "And that's what bothers me."

Dan put his hand on my left shoulder and squeezed gently. "I guess we have more in common than we knew." His voice was soft, almost a whisper. "I don't know why Diane was unhappy. You don't know why you were unhappy. All we can do is find out what happened and why. Maybe that will give all of us peace of mind."

"All of us?" I looked over my shoulder at him.

"You, me, and the ghosts." He moved his hand away, letting it fall to his side.

I kept my face as still as I could. "I don't believe in ghosts."

"I do." He stepped forward to stand next to me and stare at the yard. "I think sometimes I can hear Diane's voice or I can hear her laughing. When we separated, I was almost relieved. We argued so much and I was so sure that she would change her mind and come back. When she didn't, I started to realize how tense our relationship had been. I ignored it for so long but once she was gone, I felt the tension go away." He sighed. "I felt guilty that I was glad she was living somewhere else when she died. Whoever hurt her didn't hurt me or the kids, too. I felt like such a coward for feeling that."

I started to protest but stopped. He had shared something deeply personal with me, something intimate. It deserved something equally personal in return. "I loved John but not the way he loved me. I could have stayed with him but I felt like I was missing something. I was afraid that if I stayed with him I'd get to old age and I would look back and think that I should have done something else. I felt like he was keeping me back." I bit my lip, not sure how to articulate that sense of lack. "But since he died, I haven't done a thing differently. I could have sold everything and traveled around the world, or left town and started over somewhere else. But I've stayed here, stuck in a big rut."

"You quit your job and you're doing something new," Dan pointed out.

I frowned. "How did you know that?"

"I checked. Maybe the way to change your life hasn't come along yet." His weight shifted and suddenly he was very close to me, his bare arm touching my bare arm. He stared into my eyes and his voice softened. "Maybe the right
reason
to change hasn't come along yet."

I turned slightly and he turned at the same time. He was inches away from me. How did that happen? When did he move and I move? He let his cane drop to the floor and put his arms around me
. I shouldn't do this
, I thought as I leaned closer.

Our lips touched, hesitantly at first. It had been so long since I kissed a man that I had a brief disconnect, a feeling of
What is this...Why am I...How come...
He pulled me gently to him, our heads tilted, and passion flared through my body. I went weak, my legs trembling so I was afraid I might drop. Every single part of my body, from my toes to my head, was on fire. I closed my eyes and clung to him, his body fitting to mine like two pieces of a puzzle that had been separated and were now joined.

A small thread of sanity intruded when a papery sound told me that Grumble was playing with either the newspaper or the note John wrote me. I opened my eyes and pulled back slightly, breaking the connection between Dan and me. "Where did that come from?" I whispered, holding on to him for dear life.

"I don't know but I'm glad it showed up." Dan leaned closer, his dark eyes searching my face. "Aren't you?"

Grumble meowed from the couch on our left. The prosaic sound snapped me back into reality. I moved away from Dan, my hands sliding off his arms (
those muscled, taut, firm arms, warm and tight and strong
) "This is sort of fast," I stammered.

"I felt it, though. Didn't you? Didn't you feel an immediate connection?" When I started to speak, Dan put a finger on my lips. "Be honest, Genny."

It was the first time he said my name. My stomach flip-flopped at the way his low, husky voice seemed to caress the syllables. What was I feeling? I stared deeply into Dan's eyes. I saw a glimmer of love, passion, curiosity. "Maybe," I whispered.

He smiled slowly, the dimples at the edges of his lips deepening. "Good. Think about it." Then I was closer and I sank into his kiss.

The next thing I was aware of was an insistent ringing noise. Were my ears clanging? Was I losing consciousness? I mean, good Lord, the man could kiss, but could a person pass out from kissing? I pulled my lips reluctantly away. It was my landline phone, ringing from its spot on the rickety end table near the couch.

I took a step away from him and grabbed the phone. "Saved by the bell," I said shakily. I put the receiver to my ear. "It's Genny."

"Genny, it's Amy. I'm glad I caught you. I'm on my way."

I stared at the wall, my brain stupid with lust and the memory of a kiss that turned my legs to water. "On your way where?"

"To Minnesota. Remember? We talked about it? I'm getting on the Capitol now." Her hushed voice, always hard to hear, was almost inaudible against clanging noises in the background and a whooshing, rhythmic noise.

"Capitol what?"

"Geez, what's wrong with you? Did the news upset you that much? The Capitol Limited. The train, remember?"

I sank onto the couch. Nothing made sense. I shook my head, hoping my brain would settle back into place. "What news?"

"The news about Aunt Portia, of course. Didn't your mother call you?"

"She called earlier. She didn't mention anything about Portia. I don't think she did, at least." I looked at Dan, who had retrieved his cane and watched me from near the emptied box that once held John's clothes.

Good heavens. John.

I was kissing Dan and John's things were there, scattered all around. What did John's ghost think about that?

"What is it?" Dan asked softly.

I didn't want to think about John eavesdropping on me as I kissed another man. The thought was too creepy for words. "Did my mother say anything about Aunt Portia when you talked to her?"

He shook his head. "Nope."

"I thought you'd be on the road by now," Amy said. "They're calling the train. I have to get on. Call your mother."

"About what? What's so urgent?"

"It's Aunt Portia. They think she was poisoned."

Chapter 8

"Poisoned?" I almost dropped the phone. "What do you mean?"

"I have to board the train. Call your mom, she'll fill you in. I'll call you later tonight if I can, but cell phone service might be iffy. I get in to Chicago late. I'll call tomorrow if I don't call tonight. 'Bye." Her voice cut off abruptly.

I replaced the phone on the base. "That was my sister-in-law, Amy. She said Aunt Portia was poisoned."

"Poisoned?" Dan frowned, his face tightening. In a sort of slow-motion transformation, the gentle, passionate lover vanished and a hardened cop took his place. His eyes narrowed and his mouth thinned, making him look older and harder. It was like watching one of those puppets that had two faces: turn it one way and a clown grinned at you. Turn it the other way, and a villain leered at you. Was it so easy for him to switch his emotions on and off? "When did that happen?"

"I don't know. It must have been just now because otherwise Mom would have said something when she called. I'm surprised Mom hasn't called back." Then I realized: Dan was there. Mom knew Dan was there. Was that why she wasn't calling?

"If she was poisoned, things are accelerating. We need to get there faster than I thought." Dan grabbed the notebook sitting on the couch and moved toward the door. "Check with your office and see if you can take more time off. I'll call you. Let's try to leave tonight if we can. Tomorrow at the latest."

"But what about--" I was talking to empty air. "What? Wait!" I sprang to my feet, tripped over John's T-shirt and his other clothing on the floor. I nearly fell, prevented only by flailing my arms and performing a scrambling dance that kept me upright. By the time I was stable again, Dan was at the top of the steps, moving amazingly quickly for a man with only one leg. I raced after him and reached the top of the stairs as he reached the kitchen door.

"I'll call you in a few hours." He pulled open the door, paused, and looked back at me. "Give us a chance, Genny. Think about it." Then he was gone.

Oh, God. He was saying exactly the same thing John said. I shook my head. "Give
what
a chance? Think about what?" I grumbled to Mr. Grumble, who followed me up the stairs. "I don't know what he's talking about." I grabbed my iPhone from the table and stared at it. No new messages. "What the hell is going on?" I speed-dialed Penny as I peeked through the kitchen window, watching Dan back his truck down the drive.

I can't believe I got into a passionate kiss with a man I barely know
. The words seemed to bounce in the air around me, an accusing voice whispering in my ear. "I must be crazy," I muttered, whirling away from the curtains and going into the back office.

Mom's phone rang but no one answered. I disconnected the call and flopped onto the old futon, struggling to make sense of everything that was happening. Maybe jotting notes would help. I pulled over the notebook I had designated as John's and started listing things:

Get hold of Penny. Portia ill?
If yes
, Leave work early? Check at office
.

Library: ghost books, arson books
. I considered that and added
Baseball books
. If Dan and I were supposedly dating, I'd better know something about what he enjoyed doing.

Get
packed. Funeral clothes?
I winced, but jotted the note resolutely. There was no telling what might be happening.

Feeling better for being moderately organized, I grabbed my car keys and headed out the door. I had a lot to do. My first stop was the library. I reasoned that I could do research while trying to contact my mother. If Portia wasn't gravely ill, I wouldn't have to check on getting extra time off.

I went to the 796.357 section in the library for sports and found a bewildering array of baseball books. I grabbed one on coaching, one on skills and drills, which sounded basic, and one that looked like an introductory volume. I was working my way through the "Ghost" entries in the online card catalog before Penny answered her phone.

"Hey, Mom. I heard from Amy. What's going on with Aunt Portia?"

"Oh, I'm so glad you called. I was out there, visiting her at the hospital. Can you get home earlier than you planned?" There was a pause before she said in a rush, "It's not good, Genny. Not at all."

I had convinced myself that Amy was over-reacting, but this sounded grim. "What's happening?"

"She apparently got the wrong dosage of one of her medicines."

My stomach settled. "Perhaps she took it incorrectly."

"Bullshit." Penny's answer was quick and incisive. "And her doctor thought that was bullshit, too, although of course he didn't phrase it that way. He called the police. Thank God we have a real police chief now."

I took my stack of books and went to an armchair near one of the picture windows that overlooked the parking lot. "What do you mean?"

"Don't you remember? A few years ago the city hired J.T. McCord, a police officer from Kansas City who lived here. I mean, he used to live here, but he went away, then he came back. He married Yolanda Lawford's girl, Molly. The Lawfords had that big house north of town. He and Molly live there now since they got married. You remember Molly, don't you? Was she in your class? Or was it her brother who was in your class? Or maybe she was in Jimmy's class?"

"That's not what I meant, Mom. I meant, why is it good that we have a new police chief?" I rubbed my head, trying to wrest the conversation back on track. "I don't remember a Molly in my class. It must have been Sam or Jimmy."

"Well, anyway. Yolanda said that J.T. requested blood tests and that he would talk to Portia."

"Why?"

"Because the doctor told J.T. that he tested her and it was odd."

I riffled the pages in a book. "That makes no sense."

"Of course it does. Portia saw Dr. Whitmore just a few days ago. He ran a bunch of tests and he said she was as healthy as a horse. Or as healthy as an elderly horse, I suppose. Yolanda said that J.T. said that it was good sense to investigate what happened."