Stalking Death (35 page)

"Where is Bobby?" I'd been so wrapped up in myself I'd forgotten that he was supposed to be here, too.

"When I spoke with him this morning, he said he'd join us, but I called just before I came downstairs and I couldn't reach him," she said.

It wasn't like Bobby not to return calls. His reliability was part of what made him an ideal employee. Like everything else around here, it made me uneasy.

The waitress arrived with our entrees, and there was a pause in the hostilities while we ate. Hostilities was the wrong word, but there was certainly something going on. It wasn't like Bobby not to answer his phone, and it wasn't like Suzanne not to listen to me and trust what I was saying. I wanted to drag Andre out of the room and ask him what he thought was going on, but I was supposed to be able to work with my partner without running for help. Maybe I was just suffering from postconcussion syndrome and things would seem fine in the morning.

I decided to declare a truce. "I hope you can work with them. They really need the help, whether they think so or not."

"We'll see. I'm meeting with Todd Chambers at his house in half an hour. He's supposed to have had his staff prepare briefing memos for me."

She hesitated. "If you're not in a hurry to leave... since you don't need to rush back to your husband," she smiled at Andre, "it would be great if we could go over them later."

Andre set his fork down on his empty plate, pushed back his chair and stood up. "Guess I'll mosey upstairs and leave you girls to talk." He winked at me. Neither Suzanne nor I liked being called girls. "I'd be grateful if you'd bring a piece of that chocolate fudge cake when you come up."

Suzanne watched his broad back departing and sighed. "Chocolate cake. I only have to look at a piece to gain five pounds."

"Yeah, the wonderboy really can put away food. But he also hits the gym four times a week, unless he's stuck in the field."

"Paul's on the Atkins diet," she said. "One more thing to worry about. I'm getting so I can give you the carbo count of a marble."

"Marbles have carbohydrates?"

"No. That's why we can eat them." She pulled out her phone. "I think I'll try Bobby again." She dialed and got no answer. "I'm beginning to worry," she said. "He's supposed to be here."

I set down my fork. The fish was delicious but suddenly I wasn't hungry. I could see no reason why someone would go after Bobby, but this place didn't operate on reason. "Maybe the phantom attacker got him, too."

"Don't even joke about it, Thea."

I looked at my partner. She looked so untainted and optimistic. So neat and lovely and intact. I wanted to walk her to her car and send her back home to her husband and son, safe from the lurking ugliness of this place. She had enough on her plate already. She didn't need the subtle pit-of-the-stomach anxiety that underlay every encounter here. "Suzanne, I wasn't joking. Maybe I'll grab Andre, drive over to the administration building, and see if I can find him."

"Whatever. Let me know if you do." She shrugged in all her blissful innocence, gathered her things, and left.

Chapter 27

When I came into the room carrying a tray of coffee and chocolate cake, Andre had turned on the fire. I looked at the licking flames, the lovely room and my handsome husband. It was Sunday night, when we should be curled up together, enjoying some leisure time. Unwinding from the week and winding up again for the next one. We had chocolate and coffee and a big, soft couch. This was life the way it should be.

He smiled at the tray. "You're such a good wife," he said.

"Doesn't take much, does it?"

"Considering that I swore I'd never get married again, I'd say it took quite a lot. Come, sit down, and tell me about your week." He dropped onto the couch and patted the space beside him. "I know you're anxious to dive back into your work, but let's take an hour and pretend we're a normal couple on a normal Sunday night." He patted the space again.

"I'm worried about Bobby."

"Just an hour, Thea. Something I've learned over the years, you have to draw lines and learn to shut things out. Otherwise, there would never be any normal life. There's always something else to be done, someone to worry about. Some ugly thing that sticks in your head." He held out his hand. I took it and let him draw me down beside him. "Cake and coffee," he said. "Watching the fire. Then we can go back to worrying about Bobby and Shondra and anyone else who needs to be worried about. Okay?"

"Okay." The compulsive in me reluctantly yielded to his greater experience, as well as to the temptations of comfort and his company. I nuzzled his shoulder with my chin. "So. What about your week? You find any bodies yet?"

"Sort of. Found a head. Actually, a head and one leg."

"Body parts, body parts, who's got the body parts," I murmured. "Are there still guys out there looking for the rest?"

"Of course. Don't you want to know where we found them?"

"Dying to know."

"That's an unfortunate choice of words."

"Eager," I amended.

"In the landlord's freezer. Wrapped in freezer paper and neatly taped. We opened every other goddamned thing in that freezer. All the stuff labeled moose and bear and venison."

"Souvenirs?"

He shrugged. "Could be. We don't know yet. Sometimes it gets hard to tell weird and crazy from deliberate." He poured cream into my coffee, handed it to me, and lifted his. "This is good. You were right. This is a great place. Good bed. Excellent shower. Fine food."

"Good company. When do you have to go back?"

"Let's not talk about that yet," he said. "This is our hour."

Meaning soon. I fought my impulse to beg him to stay and tried to follow his advice. Compartmentalize. Shut the door on everything but the here and now so I wouldn't spoil this. "So what do we talk about? Body parts?"

"Whatever we want."

"Body parts," I said. "Then what happened?"

"We brought in a couple extra guys to go check freezers, dumpsters, car trunks. Got a bolo out on the landlord. And I got some time off. Told 'em I had a hot date."

I yawned. "Sleepy date."

"That's marriage for you," he said. "It's like they always say. When you're dating, women are so eager for your company and to sleep with you, then you get married, and bam! It's all not tonight dear, I'm tired."

"Not again tonight," I corrected. "Aren't you tired, Superman?"

"Day I get tired of you, Mrs. Superman, they plant me."

"But you're work tired?" He nodded. "And tired of the messes I get into?"

"Tired of having you hurt, you mean? Of course I am. Well, not tired. Worried. Makes me want to lock you up somewhere and keep you safe. I have to keep reminding myself that I like
you.
You the way you are, not you in some idealized form. I can't quite imagine what a precious, coddled, normal life Thea would be like. Not rescuing the downtrodden or sweeping ahead with righteous anger. I don't imagine that I'd like her as well. Not enough hooks and edges."

He picked up his cake, tapping the plate with his fork. "Just like I could give up chocolate cake and eat fruit. Delightful, healthy fruit. But it wouldn't have the same rich, sinful essence. It wouldn't be dense and complicated and compelling. Like you."

"I'm dense?"

"Well, you're being dense right now."

"Give me twenty or thirty years. I'll learn to take a compliment."

"A guy can hope." He touched the ring on his left hand. "Look how far hope has brought us."

Like Andre, after my husband David died, I'd sworn never to get into a relationship again, but here I was. Worried sick when he was out on a case, always struggling to accept the reality of his dangerous life and the way my heart stopped when the phone rang, and unwilling to change what was so essentially him. But it always amazed me to get the same things back.

We relished every second of our stolen hour, sitting side-by-side watching the licking flames. Talking about mundane subjects like when we'd find time to go house-hunting and how we'd manage Thanksgiving and Christmas with two such possessive mothers. About finalizing our wedding album so my mother would stop complaining. How scary it had been for me to fire that gun. Breathing in warm silences, comfortably shoulder to shoulder.

"About Suzanne," he said. "I think she's going to be okay. You're the target, I admit, but I don't think this is about you. I think it's about her struggle to manage her life. She's afraid she's not going to be able to do it and she needs someplace to put those feelings. A best friend is always a good target. You know she respects you."

I hoped he was right. Working at St. Matthews had undermined my confidence. I wasn't feeling my usual tough-as-nails self. Getting assaulted can do that. I'd left the dinner table ready to go slay dragons but now I was content to sit here in front of the fire and let George do it. St. George, I suppose, since dragon slaying was involved. I rested my head on Andre's shoulder and closed my eyes.

The phone rang. Jenna Adams, wanting to know if I'd seen Shondra, worried that she hadn't. And it all came rushing back. "Did you try her room?"

"She's not answering the phone."

"I meant go over there. After her history with Alasdair, I can see why she might not answer her phone."

"I've been busy," she said defensively.

She disappointed me. I'd counted on her for follow-through. "Maybe you could do that now?"

"Maybe in a while."

When, I wondered? Midnight? Yelling at her wouldn't do any good. I didn't have the authority and, apparently, she didn't have the commitment. I couldn't think of another suitable response, so I made some noncommittal sound and put down the phone.

"Guess that's it for our hour," Andre said, looking at his watch.

Nodding, I picked up the phone again and tried Bobby's number. No answer. I left a message, then scrolled through my list until I found his home number. His significant other, Quinn, answered. Odd, because Quinn was a chef. I would have expected him to be at work.

"Quinn, it's Thea. Is Bobby there? I've been trying to reach him on his cell phone and he isn't answering."

There was a puzzling silence, then Quinn said, "He's here, but he can't talk right now."

My stomach sank to my toes. Bobby would never leave without a word in the middle of a job. He was too responsible. Suzanne and now Bobby. I felt an eerie, crumbling sensation. A jet of panic. "Quinn, is he okay? Is he hurt?"

"He's okay physically. Emotionally, he's a wreck."

Quinn was a charmer who loved to talk. His reticence was alarming. Was something seriously wrong between them? Had something happened to Bobby's family? "What's going on?" I asked.

"It's Peggy Sue," he said. I was trying to remember who Peggy Sue was when he added, "The car. Someone at that stupid school really trashed it." There was a pause, and I heard him speaking to Bobby, explaining I was on the phone. Then he was back. "He's sorry, but he really can't talk right now."

"Trashed it how? When did this happen?" The car was Bobby's baby—he'd done all the work himself, reviving it practically from the scrapheap, but it still wasn't like Bobby to leave without a note or a word of explanation.

"Oh, Thea, such devastation. And after all Bobby's hard work. The engine was trashed. Hoses cut, pieces removed, sparkplug wires cut. It was just savaged. The outside is fine, thankfully. But it will take days to make it right, and that's if he can find the parts. And he's just... well, you know how he feels about that car. I'm... We're... What can I say? Devastated."

Another pause, filled with the sounds of indignant breathing. "Oh, you had another question, didn't you. When? It must have been around one or two? I'm not sure. It was about 2:30 when he called me, in tears, and said I had to come get him. I got my assistant to cover for me and drove right over. We had a tow-truck bring the car back. Look, Thea, this isn't a good time, okay? We're just... you know... struggling to deal with this. Why doesn't he call you tomorrow?"

"Wait, Quinn. Don't hang up." I needed to understand this better. When had I spoken with Bobby? A little earlier than that. I'd called him for a ride and then later he'd called to say he'd been delayed but was on his way. He hadn't seemed upset then.