Sketch Me If You Can (25 page)

Rory was so engrossed in her discussion with Zeke, that when she remembered to look at her watch, she saw it was almost five thirty. She excused herself as politely as possible, but Zeke’s demeanor immediately changed. His smile evaporated, and after he’d halfheartedly wished her a good time, he disappeared before she could even thank him. She raced up the stairs to put on some makeup and change her clothes, feeling a little guilty about her hurried exit. No, she told herself firmly, she couldn’t be expected to spend her life mollycoddling an apparition.

Still, it wasn’t until she was ensconced in the leather cushions of Vince’s car that she was finally able to exorcise Zeke from her mind and focus on what promised to be a wonderful evening. Vince had scored tickets, third row center, to the production of
West Side Story
being mounted at the summer stock theater in Bellport. Rory was sure they had not come cheaply, since the theater had sold out an hour after reviewers compared the show favorably to the original Broadway production.

Vince had also made reservations for dinner at one of the upscale south shore restaurants that thrived because of their proximity to the theater. Sitting across the table from him, Rory felt wonderfully buoyant yet at ease, as if she were exactly where she was supposed to be. It seemed impossible that she’d known him for barely a month. But from day one it had been so easy to be with him. There’d been no posturing between them, no trying to embroider upon who they were, no vying to sound more intellectual or more accomplished. And by now they’d asked and answered all the most basic questions, and if they still didn’t know what flavor ice cream the other preferred, or which baseball team they rooted for, it was fun to make each new discovery. For Rory it was like coloring in the outlines of their relationship.

The evening was delightful, from the crusted rack of lamb to the cassis sorbet for dessert, to the play that surpassed every one of their expectations. It was almost midnight when they drove out of the parking lot. Vince tuned the satellite radio to a classical station and by the time they reached the expressway, they’d fallen into an easy, companionable silence. Because of the hour, the road carried only a small percentage of its usual complement of vehicles, so Rory found it curious when Vince exited the expressway and made his way to the Northern State Parkway instead.

She thought about asking him why he’d done that, but she was too sleepy to really care. Her eyes were beginning to close when Vince’s voice brought her fully awake.

“Rory, is there any reason why someone would be following you?” He was peering into the rearview mirror. Even though it was dark in the car, Rory could see that he was frowning and that his mouth was set in a tight line.

She twisted around in her seat and saw a pair of headlights a few car lengths behind them. “What makes you think we’re being followed?” she asked to give herself time to think. Damn, she didn’t want to lie to him just when everything was going so well. Unfortunately she’d never mentioned the investigation she’d undertaken, and this hardly seemed like the best time to bring it up.

“There’s a black Camry behind us,” he said tersely, “and it’s been there since we left the parking lot. Whenever I switch lanes, he switches lanes. I switch highways, he switches highways.”

“I’m sure it’s just a coincidence,” she said, no longer the least bit sleepy.

“Well, we’re going to find out.” They were coming up on the Commack Road exit. At the last moment, Vince swung the car out of the middle lane, across the empty right lane and onto the exit ramp. Rory grabbed for the door armrest to steady herself, but the Mercedes responded without even a screech of complaint.

Vince looked in the mirror again. “The bastard’s still with us, whoever he is.”

Okay, it was time for confession. “I guess it might have something to do with a little investigative work that I’ve been doing for a friend,” she said, as if it were only a remote and rather crazy possibility.

“You never mentioned anything about that before.”

As they passed beneath a streetlight, Rory could see the tension working in his jaw. She didn’t have to turn around again to know that the Camry was still there.

“It didn’t seem important before. I mean, we were just getting to know one another and all.”

“Who are you investigating for this friend—the Mob? Colombian drug lords?” Vince didn’t sound as if he were trying to make a joke.

“Hardly.” Rory tried for a little laugh, but it came out more like a croak. “If it was someone like that,” she went on quickly, “we’d be dodging bullets, not cars. This is nothing but a half-assed effort to scare me off.”

“I don’t scare that easily,” Vince said, “and
no one
gets away with threatening a woman who’s with
me
!” He made a sharp left onto Jericho Turnpike just as the traffic light turned red.

Rory heard the squeal of the Camry’s tires as it took the turn after them. Things were escalating. Whoever was following her had never before risked being pulled over for a traffic stop. Where was a cop when you needed one? She choked down a nervous giggle that was trying to make its way up her throat.

“Maybe we could lose him in some of the back streets,” she suggested.

“Don’t you worry about it,” Vince said, taking one hand off the wheel to give her hand a reassuring squeeze. “I know just how to handle this.”

Under other circumstances, Rory would have pulled rank along with the gun in her purse, and made it clear that as a Suffolk County detective she would be calling the shots. Mac would have laughed at the pun; he’d always been a great fan of them. Thinking about him brought Rory a sense of calm and clarity. This was not the time to squabble over who took the lead. Later she would let Vince know that she was not a damsel in distress, nor was she looking for a knight to rescue her. For some women, having a man take care of them might be the answer to their fondest prayers, but for her it was a deal breaker. It occurred to her that in some ways men hadn’t changed much in the century between Zeke’s generation and Vince’s.

Vince made a right turn onto Park Avenue, and the Camry stayed close behind them. Rory still hadn’t figured out what he was planning to do. She hoped it would be obvious soon, because she just couldn’t play the passive woman for much longer.

She was about to demand some information when he made a left turn into the parking lot of the Second Police Precinct. As he slowed to a stop, they both turned around in time to see the Camry start to follow them, suddenly realize where he was about to go, and swing in a wide arc back onto Park Avenue, narrowly missing a light pole and two other cars.

V
ince dropped Rory at her house early Sunday morning, after making her one of his special omelets. One bite and she proclaimed it the best omelet she’d ever had. It took some playful coercion on her part to wrest the secret recipe from him. He finally admitted that it was as simple as using two eggs instead of three, while not cutting down on the amount of vegetables and cheese. The result was an explosion of flavors with the eggs only playing a supporting role.

Although Rory wanted a shower and some fresh clothing when she got home, she first checked to see if she had any e-mail. When the light flickered, she looked up from the screen to find Zeke leaning against the bookcase across from her desk.

“Welcome home,” he said in a tone that fell somewhere between sincere and sarcastic. Rory couldn’t judge much from his face, since it was as expressionless as a poorly wrought statue.

“Thank you,” she said, determined not to go looking for an argument.

“I’m surprised you didn’t take a change of clothin’ when you left last night.”

No ambiguity there. “It was a last minute—” She stopped herself midsentence. Why on earth was she making excuses for staying the night with Vince? She was an adult living in the twenty-first century. It was Zeke’s problem, not hers, if he was offended by the realities of life in this era.

“Look,” she said, managing to keep her voice pleasant, “I’m not going to discuss this with you, because it’s really none of your business.”

Zeke seemed momentarily taken aback by the bluntness of her words. She could see in his eyes that he was backpedaling, trying to change course before he made matters worse.

“Did you have a good time?” he asked lamely.

That was more like it. “Yes, I did, at least until we noticed there was a car following us home.”

The studied indifference vanished from Zeke’s face and his brows drew together, producing a deep furrow between his eyes. “That’s the third time, Rory. What happened?”

“I know it’s the third time; I can count too.” Why was he so damn good at pressing her buttons? She took a deep breath before she went on. “Vince did exactly what the police always tell people to do—he led the other car straight to a police station.” She laughed at the memory. “I’ve never seen anyone make a U-turn that fast.”

“Smart guy you have there.” The sarcasm again, even closer to the surface. “At least you were in competent hands.”

In spite of her vow to remain calm, he’d managed to push her over the edge. “Ezekiel Drummond, are you ever going to get it through that medieval head of yours that my own hands are quite capable enough?! And by the way, he
is
smart. And funny. And he’s probably the nicest guy I’ve ever dated.”

Zeke folded his arms across his chest and glared at her. Rory glared back, wondering how long they’d stay locked in that pose before one of them gave in. With over a hundred years of waiting under his belt, she figured Zeke would probably outlast her. She was grateful when the phone rang a few minutes into their little cold war.

“Good news, Rory girl, good news,” BB said, his voice bubbling over with excitement. “Reggie has come through for us. He worked on it over the weekend, so there wouldn’t be any questions asked.”

“That’s terrific,” Rory said, excitement pushing her frustration with Zeke from her mind. “What did he find?”

“A couple of hairs, the tiniest bit of dried blood and”—he paused for effect—“a partial set of fingerprints.” He sounded as enthusiastic as if he were describing a mouth-watering meal. “What he needs now is something with Gail’s DNA on it, so he can see if it’s a match. He could also use a set of her prints, if that’s at all possible. If the prints aren’t hers, then there’s a good chance they belong to her killer.”

Easier said than done, Rory thought. But even if she couldn’t come up with a set of Gail’s prints, she could at least run the prints Reggie found through the database to see if their owner had a criminal record. A DNA sample was going to be a lot harder to come by. She hadn’t actually thought that far ahead, since she’d had fairly low expectations of Reggie’s success, in spite of BB’s glowing referral. A cheek swab was out of the question, given Gail’s present location. But hair should work.

“Hair would be excellent,” BB agreed when she asked him. “Her brush or comb would probably be the best source, but it’s unlikely that anyone held on to those items. Do you know who has her personal effects?”

“Unfortunately her husband does, since their divorce was still pending when she died. She’d never even gotten around to changing her will.”

“I see,
compris
, understood,” he murmured, thinking out loud. “Even if he isn’t the killer, it’s unlikely that he kept anything of hers that wasn’t valuable.”

“Exactly.”

“Not to worry, my dear,” BB said, his voice rebounding with optimism. “I have complete faith in your ability to find what is needed. Don’t hesitate to call on me if you have any questions. I am at your disposal morning, noon and night.”

Rory hung up the phone, wishing she shared BB’s faith in her.

“Well now,” Zeke said, “I gather from your conversation that we’re finally gettin’ somewhere.”

Rory jumped at the sound of his voice, having completely forgotten that he was there. Since he seemed to be over his sour mood, she was more than happy to put her anger aside as well.

“Any suggestions about where to find her DNA?” she asked.

Zeke shook his head. “I sure as hell liked it better in the old days, before investigations were based on invisible particles and microscopic specks. Back then evidence was somethin’ anyone could see just by lookin’ at it.”

“While that may be true, it’s not actually helpful,” Rory pointed out.

“No, I don’t suppose it is.” He thought for a moment. “What about askin’ Grace Logan if she has any of her daughter’s things? You know, maybe Gail stopped by to see her mother and forgot a piece of clothin’ there that might have a hair or two on it.”

“That’s a good idea,” Rory said, perking up. “It’s certainly worth a try, since I’m going to see her this week anyway.”

“There you go,” Zeke said, clearly happy that she liked his suggestion. “I aim to please.”

R
ory left work early on Wednesday, ostensibly to visit the dentist about a filling that had fallen out. She was due at Grace Logan’s house at three o’clock.

She had no trouble finding the upscale townhouse in Woodbury that had been modeled after the elegant old brownstones in Manhattan. When she rang the bell, the housekeeper came to the door. She was a tall, powerful-looking woman with short, white hair and a freshly scrubbed appearance. She introduced herself as Anna. Her last name was a strange assortment of consonants and vowels that Rory had no idea how to replicate. As she followed Anna up the wide staircase, she noticed that there was an elevator that could be accessed from the main hallway as well.

Grace Logan was resting on a love seat in a small sitting room off the master bedroom, watching a plasma television that was mounted on the wall. She seemed small and fragile, as if age had whittled away at her too enthusiastically. But she was meticulously groomed. Her short blonde hair showed no signs of gray, her nails were manicured and her eyes had been tastefully made up. Either Anna was also a talented beautician, or Grace had someone else on retainer. The daytime aide, who turned out to be a full-fledged registered nurse, was sitting across the room knitting. She greeted Rory, told her patient that she’d be back in a little while with her medication, then left to give them privacy. Rory was starting to understand just how well off the matriarch of the Logan family was.