Shakespeare's Christmas (21 page)

“Jack, you never believed I was sneaking behind your back.”

“I didn’t?” He looked a little angry and a little amused.

“You gave Varena her present before you even discussed last night with me,” I said. “You knew all along we weren’t . . . parting.” I had almost used the phrase “breaking up,” but it seemed too childish.

Abruptly, Jack’s face went absolutely still, as if he’d had a revelation of some kind.

He turned his eyes to me. “How could he cry?” Jack asked me. “You are so beautiful.”

I was still speechless, but for another reason. Jack had never said anything remotely like this.

“Don’t pity me,” I said softly.

“Lily, you said I never really doubted you. Now, I say, you know that pity is the last thing I feel for you.”

 

HE LAY WITH his chest to my back, one arm thrown around me. He was still awake, I could tell. I had another hour and a half, by my watch.

I didn’t want to think about Summer Dawn. I didn’t want to think about the dead people littering the path to her recovery.

I wanted to touch Jack. I wanted to twine my fingers in his hair. I wanted to understand his thoughts.

But he was a man with a job to do, and he wanted more than anything in the world to take Summer Dawn back to her parents. While he kept his arm around me and from time to time dropped a kiss on my neck, his thoughts had drifted away from me, and mine had to follow.

Reluctantly, I began to tell him what I’d found: the two memory books, one whole and one mutilated, in Anna Kingery’s room; the absence of the same book at Eve Osborn’s. I told him that Eve Osborn had been to the doctor recently, that I didn’t yet know about Anna. I told him about Anna’s mother . . . the woman we were assuming was Anna’s mother. And I pulled the plastic-wrapped brush and the birth photo of Anna out of my purse and placed them by Jack’s briefcase.

I rolled over to face him when I’d finished. I don’t know what he saw in my face, but he said, “Damn,” under his breath, and looked away from me.

“Have you learned anything?” I asked, to get that expression off his face.

“Like I said, my trip was pretty much of a washout,” he told me, but not as if he was upset about it. I guess private eyes encounter a lot of dead-end streets. “But early this morning, I wandered into the police station and took Chandler and a guy named Roger out for coffee and doughnuts. Since I used to be a cop, and they wanted to prove that small-town cops can be just as sharp as city cops, they were pretty forthcoming.”

I stroked his hair away from his face and nodded to show him I was listening. I didn’t want to tell him they’d have told him nothing if Chandler hadn’t checked up on him and talked to me about him.

“They told me the pipe recovered in the alley was definitely the one used to kill the doctor and his nurse,” Jack said. “And Christopher Sims’s fingerprints were nowhere on it. The pipe has a rusty surface, and some cloth had been run over it. Whoever tried to clean it didn’t do a good job. He left one partial. It doesn’t match Sims’s. He’s still in custody for the purse snatching, but I don’t think he’ll be charged with the murder any time soon.”

“Is he making sense?”

“Not a lot. He told the police he’d had a lot of visitors in his new home, which I gather means the alley behind the stores. That location in the alley is close to every father in this case. Jess O’Shea came to visit Sims as a minister, Emory works in Makepeace Furniture, which backs onto that alley, and Kingery’s pharmacy is a block away.”

“I noticed that.”

“Of course you did,” he said and bent to kiss me. My arms went around his neck, and the kiss lasted longer than he thought it was going to. “I want you again,” he told me, his voice low and rough.

“I noticed that, too.” I pressed against him gently. “But the wedding is tomorrow. Let me tell you about tonight. Since I’m going to babysit all the children—Eve, the baby, Krista, Luke, and Anna—at the O’Sheas’ house, maybe I can learn something from the children, or from being in that house.”

“Where are all the parents going?”

“To a dinner. It’s a couples thing, so I was glad to get out of it.”

“Who would they have paired you with?” Jack asked.

I realized for the first time that I was causing a hostess some seating problems. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I guess that friend of Dill’s, Berry Duff.”

“Has he been by your folks’ much?”

“No, I think he went right home after the rehearsal dinner. He’ll come back into town today, if I remember right, and spend the night somewhere here in town. I guess here at the motel.”

“He admired you.”

“Sure, I’m everyone’s dream girl,” I said, hearing the sharp edge in my voice, unable to stop it.

“Did you like him?”

What the hell was this? “He’s nice enough,” I said.

“You could be with him,” he said. His light hazel eyes fixed on mine. He didn’t blink. “He wouldn’t drag you into things like this.”

“Hmmm,” I said thoughtfully, “Berry is awful cute . . . and he has his own farm. Varena was telling me how beautiful his house is. It’s part of the spring garden tour.”

For a second Jack’s face was a real picture. Then he pounced on me. He pinned me by the shoulders and scooted his body sideways until it lay over mine.

“Are you teasing me, house cleaner?”

“What do you think, detective?”

“I think I’ve got you where I want you,” he said, and his mouth descended.

“Jack,” I said after a moment, “I need to tell you something.”

“What?”

“Don’t ever hold me down.”

Jack rolled off instantly, his hands up in a surrender position.

“It’s just that you feel so good,” he said. “And . . . sometimes I think if I don’t weigh you down you’ll just drift away.” He looked off to the side, then back at me. “What the hell did that mean?” he asked, shaking his head at his own fancy.

I knew exactly what he meant.

“I have to go back to the house,” I said. “I’ll be at the O’Sheas’ from about five-thirty on.” I swung myself up and sat with my back to him, since I had to begin getting my clothes out of the heap by the bed.

I felt his hand on my back, stroking. I shivered.

“What are you going to do?” I said over my shoulder, as I bent to retrieve my bra.

“Oh, I have an idea or two,” he said casually. He hooked the bra for me.

Jack was going to do something illegal.

“Like what?” I pulled my shirt over my head.

“Oh . . . I might get into the doctor’s office tonight.”

“Who would let you in? You can’t possibly be thinking of breaking in?”

“I think it won’t be a problem,” he assured me.

“You know anything you learn that way isn’t real evidence,” I said incredulously. “I’ve watched enough TV to know that.”

“Can you think of another way for me to find out their blood types?”

“Blood types? I thought you said Summer Dawn hadn’t had her blood typed? And are you sure the blood types would be in a file at Dr. LeMay’s office?”

“All three families went to him.”

“But how many kids need to have their blood taken?”

“You said Eve had. If I can eliminate at least one of them, that’ll be good,” he argued. “I realized that there were only a couple of blood types she could be. In fact, it was Chandler’s discussion of your high school biology class that reminded me.”

“What blood type would Summer Dawn be?”

“Her mother’s A and her father’s O. So Summer has to be A or O.” Jack had been consulting a page from a sheaf of Xeroxed material.

“So if Anna and Eve are type B or AB, they can’t be Summer Dawn. It would have to be Krista.”

“Right.”

“I hope it isn’t Anna,” I said, sorry immediately I’d said it out loud, and with that edge of desperation in my voice.

“I hope not, too, for your sister’s sake,” Jack said briskly, and I was even sorrier I’d said anything. I could feel him shoving off my fear, reminding me he had a job to do that he was compelled to finish. I hated the necessity for the reminder. “Here, here’s your sock.”

“Jack, what if they’re all A or O?” I took the sock from him and pulled it on. I had my shoe tied before he answered.

“I don’t know. I’ll think of something,” he said, but not with any hope in his voice. “Maybe that’s not the way to go. I’ll call Aunt Betty and see if she’s got any ideas. I’ll be in and out, so try here if you need me. Something’s gotta break tonight.”

 

BEFORE I LEFT my folks’ house for the O’Sheas’, I dialed a Shakespeare number to talk to my friend Carrie Thrush. As I’d hoped, she was still at her office, having seen her last patient just minutes before.

“How are you?”

“Fine,” she said, surprise in her voice. “I’ll be glad when flu season is over.”

“The house is okay?” Carrie had agreed to stop by once or twice, check to make sure the mail carrier had obeyed my “stop mail” card. I hadn’t thought it was much of an imposition, since she was dating Claude Friedrich, who lived in the apartment next door. In fact, I would have asked Claude himself to do it if he hadn’t been still limping from a leg injury.

“Lily, your house is fine,” Carrie said, good-humored toleration in her low voice. “How are you doing?”

“OK,” I said grudgingly.

“Well, we’ll be glad to see you come home. Oh, you’ll want to know this! Old Mr. Winthrop died yesterday, out at his place. He had a massive heart attack at the supper table. Arnita said he just slumped over in the sweet potatoes. She called nine-one-one, but it was too late.”

I figured the whole Winthrop family had to be relieved that the old tyrant was dead, but it wouldn’t be decent to admit it.

“That family has been through everything this year,” Carrie commented, not at all put off by my lack of response.

“I saw Bobo before I left,” I told her.

“His Jeep went by your house twice yesterday evening.”

“Hmmm.”

“He’s carrying a big torch.”

I cleared my throat. “Well, he’ll meet a gal his own age who doesn’t kowtow to him because he’s a Winthrop. He’s just nineteen.”

“Right.” Carrie sounded amused. “Besides, you have your own private dick.” This was Carrie’s little term for Jack. She thought it was really funny. She was definitely smiling on the other end of the line. “How is your family?” she asked.

“This wedding has got everyone crazy.”

“And speaking of Jack, have you heard from him?”

“He—ahhh—he’s here.”

“There? In Bartley?” Carry was startled and impressed.

“It’s work,” I said hastily. “He’s got a job here.”

“Right. How coincidental!”

“True,” I told her warningly. “He’s working.”

“So you haven’t seen him at all, I’m sure.”

“Oh, well . . . a couple of times.”

“He come by the house?”

“Yes. He did.”

“Met your parents,” she prompted.

“Well, OK, he did.”

“O—kay.” She drew out the word as if she’d proved a point. “He coming back to Shakespeare with you?”

“Yes.”

“For Christmas?”

“Yes.”

“Way to go, Lily!”

“We’ll see,” I said skeptically. “And you? You’ll be there?”

“Yes, I’m cooking and Claude is coming to my house. I was going to go to my folks’, even though it’s such a long drive, but when I found out Claude was going to be on his own, I told them I’d have to see them in the spring.”

“Moving fast, there.”

“Nothing to stop us, is there? He’s in his forties and I’m in my midthirties.”

I said, “No point taking it slow.”

“Damn straight!” Carrie’s voice grew muffled as she told her nurse to call someone and give him his test results. Then her voice grew clearer. “So you’re coming home when?”

“The day after the wedding,” I said firmly. “I can’t stand it another minute.”

She laughed. “See you then, Lily.”

“OK. Thanks for checking the house.”

“No problem.”

We said good-bye and hung up, both with a few things to think about.

I could tell that Carrie’s relationship with Chief of Police Claude Friedrich was flourishing. I hoped it would last. I’d liked both of them for months before they’d ever looked at each other.

I found myself wondering how Bobo was feeling about the death of his grandfather. I was sure he felt some grief, but it must be at least a little mixed with relief. Now Bobo and his parents would have some peace, some time to recoup. It was almost possible they would rehire me.

I dragged myself back to the here and now. It was nearly time for me to go to my babysitting stint. I would be in the O’Sheas’ house; I could search it as I had the Kingery house and the Osborn house. I was staring at myself in the mirror in the bathroom, refluffing my hair and powdering my face, when I finally registered how miserable I looked.

Couldn’t be helped.

In my room, I pulled on my Christmas sweatsuit, the one I’d worn in the parade. I guess I thought the bright color might make me seem more kid-friendly. I ate a bowl of leftover fruit salad, all that I could find in the refrigerator since everyone else in the house was going to the supper.

Dill’s friend Berry Duff rang the doorbell while I was washing up, and I let him in. He smiled down at me.

“You look cheerful,” he remarked.

“I’m going to babysit.”

His face fell. “Oh, I was looking forward to talking to you at the dinner.”

“Last-minute emergency. The babysitter came down with the flu and they couldn’t find another one.”

“I hope it goes smoothly,” Berry said, rather doubtfully, I thought. “I have kids of my own, and a handful at a time is kind of a rough evening.”

“How old are yours?” I asked politely.

“I got one who’s nine, one who’s in the tenth grade . . . let’s see . . . Daniel’s fifteen now. They’re both good kids. I don’t get to see them often enough.”