The Last Kind Words (25 page)

“I was doing my job.”

Grey cleared his throat. “Let’s keep it light for the night, shall we?”

Maybe it was he who’d been played. I thought perhaps she’d maneuvered him into asking me along tonight, but then I realized—she was looking through me, all right, but it was only because she was eyeing him with that perfectly loving gaze. I decided no, not her, the other one.

The friend. I gave her my full attention.

Grey said, “And this lovely lady is Eve Drayton.”

I nodded. “Another reporter.”

“We prefer the term
journalist
,” Eve said.

She didn’t stand. She offered me her hand and I took it. She was on the north side of forty and still quite captivating. Twenty-five years ago she’d been a beautiful teen but had settled into a well-aged attractiveness. Deeply black hair framed her face, with a few strands of silver here and there. There was a bold assurance and natural radiance in her eyes. She was dressed in a classy black dress that hugged her curves but didn’t stifle.

She openly studied my face and body. Her lips tilted into the barest self-satisfied grin. I sensed a sharp intellect at work, biding its time, already covering the angles. Despite myself I stood a little straighter.

“How do you do, Terrier,” she said.

“Hello, Miss Drayton,” I said.

“Please, no formalities on such a lovely night. Call me Eve.”

There was something about her I liked, and that spooked me. Maybe it was the attention. Or just standing here in clothes that weren’t my own. I looked over at my uncle. He was canoodling with Vicky. Perhaps Grey did have real feelings for her. You could never figure out someone like him. He always switched up the game.

The waiter came around to take our drink orders. He was a small, limber guy with a lot of pep in his stride. I thought he had to be in shape in order to run up and down all those stairs so many times in a night. Grey ordered me a Glenlivet. I hated the taste of it, but for some reason we were clearly trying to make an impression. He jumped the gun and ordered fresh lobster all around.

The waiter asked, “Would you like to come downstairs and choose your own from our tank?”

Grey said, “Only if you install an elevator.”

Vicky kept a hand on Grey at all times. He didn’t seem to mind. Before my arrival she’d been in the middle of a story, and now she continued. It was about a celebrity actor she’d interviewed out in the Hamptons only minutes before the guy’s wife backed over the mayor’s dog. It wasn’t much of a story. The mayor had screamed, the dog had been crippled, and the actor and his wife had taken off and caused a six-car pileup in Bridgehampton.

Grey gave her a loving stare. He gave every woman a loving stare. He packed his gaze with a sweet longing and a casual indulgence. It was natural to him. The world came easily to Grey. He knew how to have fun.

I wanted to know what information was being passed on in the sugary words he whispered into swooning women’s ears. Was he giving away family secrets? Was he doing it and forgetting that it had been done?

The drinks arrived. I sipped while Vicky laughed. It was a lush and bratty giggle that made my teeth ache.

“She left out the most significant part,” Eve said, like a mother trying to correct a child’s mistold joke. “The mayor’s dog, faithful Banjo, wound up being featured in a children’s movie the next summer. Banjo has a little wagon now for his hind legs. The movie grossed three times what the actor’s next film made, and he’s still doing community service for his role in the traffic accident. He puts in ten hours a week at a no-kill shelter.”

Maybe it was a true story. We all laughed like it was. I hadn’t laughed
in a long time and it felt good. Eve smiled pleasantly at me. Vicky and Grey went into a huddle. She pointed across his lap at the water and Grey said, “It’s Westchester, sweetie, not Jersey.”

They were being capricious, acting giddy, the kind of playfulness that would’ve drawn attention if we hadn’t been at the top of the restaurant. They whispered together.

I finished my drink. I wondered if it would be easier to phone the host and tell him to send up another.

“Grey’s told us that you’ve been away from home for a while,” Eve said to me.

She’d checked into the family. She knew I’d been gone. But she tried to personalize the fact. I wondered if it was a reporter move or if she was just being polite. “I have.”

“We’ve kept up with the Rands in a professional capacity. But I must confess I don’t know much about you.”

“But I bet you’ve checked my police jacket,” I said.

“Yes, I admit I have,” she said, grinning, which brought the dimples out. “You’re not so bad.”

“So far as you know.”

“Can I get a few words from you on record about your brother?”

“No,” I said. “Sorry.”

It was a knee-jerk rebuke. I knew she’d work on me for the story. It was her job. I tried not to hold it against her. I still felt tight and guarded, but I liked her lips and I kept staring. I felt strong but foolish.

“I understand,” she said.

I wondered if she really did. I wondered if anyone could understand the conflict I felt over Collie, and how much a part of me wanted to rant about it, and how the rest of me would be mute forever. “Do you?”

She sipped her drink. “I think so. Most people enjoy talking about themselves and telling us their stories. Whether they’re just cultural filler or something deeper, more relevant on a personal or even social level, they want to share their tales.” She leaned back in her seat, but she held me with her acute focus. “It’s only the tragic cases where people prefer to say nothing. They’re too overwhelmed.”

“And always will be.”

She gave the slightest, most feminine of shrugs. “Perhaps.”

She had watchful, intense eyes. I liked the way she looked at me. “You’ve visited your brother in prison,” she said.

At least we weren’t going to have the usual so-tell-me-about-yourself kind of conversation. In one way I was glad for that. In another I thought, When he’s dead, will they stop wanting to know about him?

“Yes,” I told her.

“Twice. I’m curious as to what he had to say to you.”

“The same thing he’s been saying for five years. Mostly. He now states he didn’t murder Becky Clarke.”

I didn’t know why I told her. I turned and looked out the window. I thought that maybe I should run again. I’d promised not to, but since when did I keep promises? North this time, somewhere it was cold and white. Maybe I’d just picked the wrong direction the first time.

She touched my wrist and I turned back. She smiled, dropped her gaze. That bothered me. She said, “He never admitted to it.”

“But now he flat out denies it.”

When she glanced back up at me, she tried to give off an air that she knew all my secrets. “And you don’t believe him.”

“I don’t believe much of what I hear.”

She interviewed me without making it seem like I was being questioned. She made flat statements that filled in for interrogatives. She had a well-practiced rhythm to her cross-examination. It was subtle and she tried to up the ante by being even more indirectly flirtatious. It wasn’t an act. It was just the way she came at life, unable to separate herself from the job. Few people could. She put three fingers on my wrist, the same way Collie’s wife, Lin, had. Where Lin was almost a will-o’-the-wisp, Eve put weight and energy into the touch.

“Have you met his wife?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Grey perked up and snapped out of his lovers’ huddle. His cheeks were pink from all his kissy business with Vicky. “What’s this now?”

“He married a pen pal in prison a year ago,” I said.

“Your father never said anything.”

“My parents didn’t know. I met her this afternoon.”

“And what’s she like?” Grey asked. He appeared genuinely interested. “Or do I really need to ask?”

“Not what I expected,” I told him. She hadn’t been, but I only realized it now. All of the anger I’d felt had faded, and I replayed my conversation with Lin.

“What did you make of her?” Eve asked.

“I’m still not certain.”

Three waiters brought the dinners up, along with another round of drinks. They set a lobster in front of me still in its shell and provided a nutcracker and bib. Vicky put hers on and tore in. Eve crossed her legs and bumped my leg with her heel. It gave me more of a thrill than I would’ve thought.

Grey sipped and sat back, clinking ice cubes. “All the worst killers have their fan clubs. The ones who want to know what it’s like. Who get excited from the prospect of writing to or meeting with or, Christ, actually marrying someone who’s crossed that line.”

“I don’t believe she’s like that,” I said. My voice sounded strange to me because just a couple of hours ago I had been convinced that she was.

“Either that or they want the gratification of bringing another one into Jesus’s fold. They want to prove that nobody is beyond redemption. They weep and praise God and think they’re saints for putting time in on lost causes.”

“She’s not like that either. She said Collie was irredeemable.”

“I really hope she doesn’t start showing up for the holidays.”

“I met her once,” Eve said. “She came down to the television station, trying to prove he was innocent of the Rebecca Clarke murder.”

Vicky touched the back of Grey’s hand, as if she had to soothe him due to the nature of the conversation. Her fingers were dappled with a sheen of butter sauce. “That’s right. We let her talk on camera for a while but she made some wild accusations. She believes another killer is loose and the police aren’t investigating properly.”

Grey caught my eye and said, “Sounds like a ruse to throw off the scent at this stage of the game.” His face clouded. He slowly dug into the lobster, chewed it as if he refused to let anything ruin his night. He had a staunch capacity for pleasure.

“He admits the others, just not that one,” I said.

“It’s a new game he’s running. You don’t wait years to tell someone you’re innocent of murder.”

“He doesn’t claim to be innocent of murder. Just that one.”

His voice was beginning to thicken with alcohol. “It doesn’t matter. They’d have to retry his entire case. Who knows, maybe it’s what he was after all this time. I didn’t think he had it in him, the patience to do it this way, but it’s a nice maneuver, if that’s what he’s after. A hell of a gambit. I give him a lot of credit for holding off until the last week. Eat, Terry. You’re too thin.”

“He looks good,” Vicky said.

“Yes, he does,” Eve agreed, and the dimples flashed again.

I ate without enjoyment and without putting the stupid bib on. Grey kept things lively and the women responded. The conversation shifted to other news topics that I hadn’t been following. Eve asked about my tan and I told her about working on a ranch. I didn’t know why. Maybe she was right and everyone wanted to tell their own story, so long as it wasn’t laced with tragedy. My life out west had been boring but not tragic. I mentioned the one time I tried to break a bronc and wound up with a concussion. They all laughed and eventually so did I. Once the table was cleared, Grey and Vicky decided to go for a stroll on the deck and listen to the band. I could hear them playing “Carolina Moon.”

“Back in a few minutes,” Grey said. He didn’t wink but it felt like he had. He thought he was doing me a favor. I turned to Eve. The window behind me vibrated. The breeze was picking up. It was about to rain again.

Her purse was carefully propped against her hip, slightly open. I suspected a digital recorder. Reporters wanted a statement one way or another, but it didn’t faze me. I was glad that she put her job first and foremost. It clarified things. I wasn’t ready for a real double date. I
couldn’t imagine trying to begin a relationship and making the small talk that led to enduring times.

“I’ve been flirting with you all night,” Eve said. “You don’t seem to enjoy talking much. Or is it that you just don’t enjoy talking to me?”

“To any reporter or recording device.”

She lifted her purse, opened it, and withdrew a miniature recorder. “It’s not on. I’m eager for a story, but not to the point of deception.”

“Some journalists play a low game.”

“Yes, they do. But put it in perspective. Are they lower than the games a family of professional thieves plays?”

I went to finish off my drink and it was already empty. “Are you asking my opinion?”

Her grin eased into an expressive smile. I wondered how many stories she’d gotten out of men who never wanted to say a damn thing. “I bet if this wasn’t already turned off, you would’ve cased my house and stolen it while I was in the shower.”

“I would’ve waited until you were asleep.”

“I see. Well, if that’s the case, let me save us both some embarrassment and I’ll tell you now that I sleep in the raw.”

It made me laugh. She wasn’t flirting so much as she was trying to break through my hard shell, and I knew it. “I certainly appreciate your concern for my emotional well-being.”

There was a real affection in her expression, the frown lines smoothing, her face opening. But her fertile eyes were still trying to pin me down. “You were going to be the centerpiece of my report.”

“We’ll both survive the letdown. So will your viewers. You were bound to bore the hell out of them anyway.”

The tension between us thrashed and built and lessened like the sound waters. “People can’t understand your brother. What he’s done is too hideous. But you, they’ll sympathize with you. They’ll identify with you.”

“Why would they want to? Because I’m not so bad? Or because I’m not as bad as him? He’s going to be dead in a little more than a week.
He’ll be forgotten two days after he’s in the ground. There are better stories for you to chase.”

“That’s a wonderfully honest response.”

“They’ve all been honest,” I said. “They just haven’t been what you wanted, sadly.”

She ran a hand through her hair, and the silver strands caught the light a little more brightly. She turned her face away for a moment and something in her strong profile seemed to call to me. The set of her lips or the distinct arc of her jaw.