No Perfect Secret (17 page)

She spied the mistletoe. “You sneak.” But she was secretly pleased. God knows, she needed some affection. She needed to be loved.
Moreover, she ached to love in return. Above all, she knew she would not be able to keep her raging hormones safely in hibernation—at least, not while she was around Frank Caburn.

“Just stand still,” he said from behind, and bent over to press his lips to the back of her neck. Her hair smelled like an exotic spice. “Okay, good to go. That wasn’t so bad was it?”

“Not bad at all. That was the second best kiss I ever had.”

“Oh? And the best?”

She put the food on the stovetop, and took the chicken from him. “Well, the best was at a county fair. I paid a dollar for it.” She took the foil off the baking dish and put the chicken in the oven.

“Wow. You have a sense of humor.”
He admired her derriere, as she bent over the oven. “A bit droll, but humor nevertheless.”

“And you know how to dance. What did Lila whisper in your ear, anyway?”

“She told me that she hadn’t been in a man’s arms since the Colonel died. I mean, what was I to do?”

“Same here,”
Anna replied, her tone pitched with insouciance. “Will that get
me
a dance?”

“Anna,” he said quietly. “You’re vulnerable right now. Mistletoe aside, I don’t want to make a fool of myself
—or you.”

Lila saved the moment. “Helen is here. She brought more wine. We need to ice it. Can you believe how clean my house is, Anna? Clarence even cleaned underneath my dining room table!”

“There’s certainly more to Clarence than meets the eye,” Anna replied.

Lila giggled. “Ain’t that the truth.”

Caburn met Helen as she was emerging into the dining room. His jacket was over her arm. “Gads, Helen. This is the first time I’ve ever been glad to see you.” He grabbed his jacket. “Tell everybody I said thanks for the hospitality. I’m out of here.”

She grabbed the back of his shirt. “No, you’re not. I brought Nesmith’s flight schedules. We need to compare them with his calendars.”

Caburn sighed. “Helen, look at me. I have a hole in my back. I had to brush my teeth with my finger this morning, I’m wearing a dead man’s clothes, and I need a shave.”

Helen looked shocked. “You’re wearing Nesmith’s clothes?”

“No, Miss Lila’s husband’s. He’s twenty-five years dead and I smell like a cedar chest and old mothballs. Not to mention my shoulder aches like—”

“This is not the time for a pity-party, Frank. We’re working, remember?”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Dinner was a
great success, as were the impromptu presents Anna gave Clarence and JoJo. When she mentioned she wasn’t sure about the sweater and tie, Clarence assured her they were spectacular. “Outside of Washington,” he told all, “I’m just a regular guy.”

Caburn snorted. Helen kicked him on his shin beneath the table.

The chocolate fudge cake and wine finished off dinner. JoJo and Clarence insisted on doing the dishes—and begged the left-over cake to take home. Caburn watched the cake go out the door with dismay. He’d had one tiny slice. That was like eating one potato chip or one little square of a Hershey’s bar. Lila slipped into a boozy nap on her sofa. Anna covered her with an afghan. Caburn trailed Helen as they left the kitchen. Anna looked over her shoulder with an impish grin. “Stand under the mistletoe, Helen.”

“I’d rather kiss a snake,” muttered Caburn.

“You may have to,” scoffed Helen, “if we don’t have something for Albert by in the morning.”

It was
full dark, twenty degrees colder and snow was blowing into windrows. Caburn and Helen stomped their feet of snow and dead, wet leaves as they entered Anna’s house.

“May we use your dining room table to spread
out our work?” Helen asked.

Anna looked at her askance. “Don’t you have an office in Foggy Bottom?”

“They turn the heat off on the weekends. Anyway, I think we’re a little too woozy from all the wine to be on the road.”

“Speak for yourself,” Caburn said.

Helen ignored him. “Just one more thing, Anna. Do you have any personal notes or records of when Kevin traveled—you know—when he was scheduled to leave, or when you expected him home?”

“He usually jotted something in the calendar on my desk. Mostly it was on the order of ‘don’t forget my dry cleaning, I’m flying out tomorrow’. Or, ‘I’ll be home in time for dinner on Friday’, or ‘Don’t make plans for the weekend, I have to work.’ Notes like that.”

“Those would be helpful.”

“What exactly are you looking for?”

Helen clammed up.

Caburn rolled his eyes, “She’s a big girl, Helen. Tell her.”

“Discrepancies. We’re looking for a pattern of discrepancies.”

Anna sighed, and made
a simple gesture of acceptance. “I’m feeling the champagne myself. I’m going to lie down for bit. Things are starting to hit me. I mean, Kevin is dead, and I just went to a dinner party. I’ve been laughing when I ought to be crying...”

She wandered into the living room, closed the French doors behind herself, and lay on the sofa, thinking about all the changes in her life, the things she needed to do to put it right again. She would talk to her boss in the morning to arrange a leave of absence. She had to go to the bank and sort out their joint account. No more joint account. Take her mustard, honey-sticky, and feather-dusted clothes to the dry cleaners. Later, she’d pack up Kevin’s clothes and send them over to the homeless shelter on Washington Street. What was she to do with
Clara-Alice’s things? Then there was all the mechanics of planning a funeral.

The thought of Kevin lying dead on a slab in a morgue upset her. He had not been a good husband. That knowledge had been buried bone-deep, a denial reflex. She had misinterpreted the relief she had felt last night. It was the relief that she now knew what was going on. She knew what the State Department knew. She didn’t have to guess. Knowing was better by miles. Yet, Kevin, for all of his faults was a human being. He died far too young. Sadness welled up and overtook her thoughts. And,
Clara-Alice. What would Kevin’s death do to her? The old woman was a misery unto herself and others—but she was Kevin’s mother; he, her only son. That did not bear thinking about.

She could hear Frank and Helen arguing quietly in the dining room. For all of their sniping back and forth, one could tell they were fond of each other and had a good working relationship. Anna had no success ignoring the delicious, warm sensation that came over her when her thoughts moved onto Frank Caburn. She tried to counter it with images of Kevin, and was astonished that she could not bring up his face.

~
~~~

“I think we’ve figured most of this out,” said Helen. Nesmith’s work and flight schedules for November and December were spread across the table. “The dashes on the calendar represent non-work days. I’d bet a nickel he spent those in Ellicott City. But, of course, he was telling Anna he was working. Helen pointed to a Wednesday on the November calendar. “See. Right here he leaves a message to Anna to pack him an overnight bag. He walks out of the house as if he’s taking a flight, but actually, he heads up to Ellicott City. He leaves from there to catch his flight. If we compare Ellicott City’s to Anna’s calendar, no doubt we’d find the exact reverse.” She tapped her pencil on Thanksgiving Day. “Look at this. He didn’t have a flight scheduled that day. On Anna’s calendar there’s a note:
K home at 6:00 p.m.
So, he spent most of Thanksgiving in Ellicott City, then comes home to Anna. No wonder he had a heart attack. He had to eat two Thanksgiving dinners.”

Caburn was silent for a thoughtful moment. “So, no indication he was smuggling drugs, or selling info out of the pouches.”

“We don’t know that for sure yet. It’s fairly costly to keep two homes.” Helen glanced at the closed French doors. She whispered, “I’d say, he was just making certain he was keeping one wife secret from the other.”

“The man was a colossal j
erk,” Caburn said with feeling. “If he hadn’t dropped dead at de Gaulle, there’s no telling how long he could’ve kept this up.”

Helen shrugged. “Albert will be pleased at what we’ve learned.” She glanced at her watch. “Geez, it’s already after eight. Let’s pack it up. I need my beauty sleep.” She looked up. “Don’t say one word.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything. I do have a question.”

“Careful.”

“About work, Helen.”

“Ask away.”

“JoJo said she told you what those female signs are for.”

“Oh, yes. It’s the rhythm system. Catholics use it t
o keep from getting pregnant. Or the reverse, a woman can take her temp on certain days and know when she ovulating—so she
can
get pregnant.”

It took Caburn a moment to grasp the significance. “Uh, you mean like Nesmith was making a schedule for um, um, you know.”

“Yep. Scheduling when, or when not, to have sex, at least with Anna. It didn’t work in Ellicott City. Or he messed up. Or, he wanted to have a kid with the other woman.”

“Geez, this really sucks. I got the impression
when I first interviewed her that Anna wants... Wanted children.”

“Yeah,
she does. According to Lila, there was some conversation between Anna and Clara recently about Anna having a baby. Anna told Clara she’d been trying for a long time.”

“Oh, man.” He began gather
ing the papers. “Does Anna have to know?”

“You know what, Frank,” Helen said with genuine affection. “Your heart is in the right place. It’s obvious you like
Anna. But, we can’t keep something like this a secret. It wouldn’t be fair. Nesmith was devious. Speaking of devious, I forgot to tell you something Albert learned when he pulled Nesmith’s file from personnel. On Nesmith’s birth certificate, it says ‘father unknown’. Clara has never been married. Clara has put herself out to be a widow for more than forty years. Who knows what her story is. C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

Caburn rolled his shoulder. His left side and arm were stiff from favoring the wound. He went into the living room to tell Anna they were leaving. He found her so soundly asleep, a
n afghan snugged up to her neck, he decided not to wake her. He made a detour into the foyer, checked to make certain the front door was locked, and got his hat off the antique coat tree where he’d tossed it the night before. Geez. Had it only been last night? It seemed to him as if days and weeks had gone by since he’d sat on the basement steps with Anna. He turned on the wall sconce—and after a last glance at Anna sleeping, turned off the lamps in the living room.

He found Helen in the kitchen. “Should we turn off the lights in here?”

“Yeah. Just leave the light on over the stove.”

Caburn went over to th
e wall, and flipped the switch. A grinding sound came from the sink.

“Turn that off, you fool,” Helen hissed. “That’s the disposal.”

Caburn flipped the switch down. “You said, turn on the light—that’s a light switch.”

“Don’t you have a vent hood over your stove in your condo?”

“Maybe. The microwave is above it. That’s what I cook in.”

“You’re a total Neanderthal, Frank.”

“Well, I’m sorry. There’s more steel in this kitchen than on my John Deere tractor.”

Helen shifted the files from one arm to the other, then turned on the vent light. “See how easy that was.”

“Yep. I’m not ashamed to say I learned something.” He struggled into his leather jacket, left arm first, grimacing, and trying not to groan as he placed it over his shoulders.

“Are you in pain?”

“Pain is being in the same room with you.”

“Acting brave looks good on you, Frank.”

“Let’s get out of here. I can’t wait to get a long, hot shower.” He closed the dining room doors.

“Do those doors self-lock?”

“No, but the sunroom porch door does. Oh, no, is that sleet?” He peered into the dark between Anna and Lila’s houses.

“Is there a back yard light?
” Helen asked. “Never mind. I’ll find it.” She ran her hand up and down the wood between the glass door and windows. A feeble yellow light showered the wooden stoop. “Yeah, that’s sleet, and the steps are thick with ice. “I’m gonna break my neck.”

“Don’t break it until this case is closed,” Caburn said, stepping out. He turned to grab Helen’s hand. “Wait. Did you hear that.”

“I don’t hear anything but the wind and sleet rattling those old trees. Eww, this is creepy. There’s no moon, no stars. Why don’t these people have lights in their back yards?”

“There it is again.”

Helen titled her head. “Yeah. That’s a cat.”

“Anna doesn’t have a cat. Neither does Miss Lila.”

“Well, somebody does and it’s caterwauling to get inside. Dumb people, leaving their pets outside in this weather.”