(Well, I’d had a pretty hard day, you know! And I hadn’t spoken to Dan in over thirty-six hours. And I was so hot and tired and depressed I wanted to die. And poor Gray Gordon

was dead, lying gashed to ribbons in the city morgue, and I had to go to the police station in the morning to explain to a hotheaded homicide dick why Abby and I had tracked blood and fingerprints all over the crime scene, making a god-awful mess of the evidence… And to make matters worse, even if Dan did call me tonight, I couldn’t tell him what was happening because it would not only ruin the rest of his weekend with his daughter, but he’d get so mad at me for getting involved in another dangerous murder case, that… oh, why am I pestering you with all these whiney details? I’m sure you get the picture.)

I was still blubbering at the kitchen table, feeling sorry for myself and listening to the Penguins sing “Earth Angel,” when the phone rang. I sprang out of my chair, leapt into the living room, and-wiping my eyes and nose on the paper napkin clutched in my hand-yanked the receiver up to my ear.

“Hellooooh,” I said, trying to purr like Kim Novak, but surely creaking like Jerry Lewis with a head cold.

“Hi, babe,” Dan said. “What’s the matter? You sound awful. Do you have a cold?” (See, I told you!)

“No, I’m just a little stuffed up,” I said. “I think it’s from the heat and humidity.”

“Or maybe you’ve just been crying because you miss me so much,” he teased. (If I haven’t said it before, then let me say it now: Dan is a

really good detective.)

“I haven’t been crying,” I lied, “but I

do miss you. Like crazy, if you want to know the truth.”

“I miss you, too, baby,” he said, and the way his deep, delicious voice rolled around in my ear made my whole body vibrate. “I called you several times yesterday and today, and all I got was a busy signal or no answer. Has your phone been out of order?”

And thus another perfect cover story landed in my lap.

“It sure has!” I said, hating having to lie to Dan (again), but feeling certain it was for the best. “It’s so hot a bunch of cables melted, or some gaskets blew up, or something drastic like that. Workers from the telephone company have been hanging around this block for two days now, trying to fix the problem. It looks as though they’ve succeeded now, since you were able to get a connection, but who knows how long the service will last? A couple of phone company trucks are still parked outside.” (I figured I’d better lay the groundwork for future communication failures. Dan would be out of town for two more days, and god only knew where I was going be!)

“How’s your trip going so far?” I asked, hurrying to change the subject. “Are you and Katy having a good time?”

“Katy’s having the time of her life.” Dan’s voice was crackling with enthusiasm and good humor. “My folks have taken her clamming and fishing and to the whale museum. Turns out she’s fascinated with marine life.”

“And what about you? Didn’t you go on these outings, too?”

“Oh, I tagged along, but I’m not very seaworthy. I’m a city boy, don’t you know. I like to hook worms, but only the human variety.”

I smiled. Dan was a man after my own heart (my body and soul, too, I hoped). “What’s on your agenda for tomorrow?” I asked. “Are you celebrating in any special way?”

“We’re going to the beach in the morning and to Captain Billy’s Mermaid Cove for lunch. Then we’re taking a glass-bottom boat ride in the afternoon. After dinner, it’s back to the beach to watch the fireworks. I’ll probably duck for cover every time a Roman candle explodes.”

I laughed. It was hard to imagine Dan sitting in shorts on the sand. Would I even recognize him without his trench coat, fedora, and shoulder holster?

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked. “Got any hot holiday plans? I bet Abby’s taking you to some wild bohemian bash where reefers instead of firecrackers will be the cause of all the smoke.”

He was trying to sound cool and cocky, but I detected a distinct note of discomfort in Dan’s voice. He was feeling insecure about me. I was certain of it. (As a woman who’s spent her whole life flailing in a giant vat of insecurity, I know what I’m talking about!) I was glad that Dan was concerned about me (it sure beat indifference), but I didn’t have the slightest desire to make him squirm. He’d be doing enough of

that, I knew, when he found out what was really going on.

“I don’t have any plans at all,” I assured him. “All I’ll be doing is trying to stay cool. I’ll probably make a pitcher of lemonade and take it up to the roof after it gets dark. Maybe I’ll be able to see the fireworks from there.”

“Lemonade?” he said, chuckling softly.

“With a hint of vodka,” I conceded. “And a box of animal crackers instead of firecrackers.”

Dan chuckled again, but then turned serious. “I miss you so much, Paige,” he said. “I wish you were here with us. I think you and Katy would really hit it off.”

Now he thinks of it?! Now that he and his daughter are a million miles away baking clams on the coast of Maine while I’m baking alive in Manhattan, knee-deep in blood and murder?! Dan’s timing, I felt, could have been a bit better.

Still, now was a whole lot better than never. I stifled my exasperation and focused on the heartfelt emotion I’d heard simmering in Dan’s voice when he said he missed me. “I wish I were there with you and Katy, too,” I said, simmering with emotions of my own. “And I know Katy and I will get along very well whenever we finally do meet. We have a lot in common already,” I added. “We are, for instance, both nuts about you.”

Dan let out a satisfied snort. “That’s just what I needed to hear, babe. Now I can go clean the smelly fish heads off the deck of Dad’s boat with a song in my heart.”

I giggled. “Which song will it be?”

“‘The Ballad of Davy Crockett,’ I think. Old Dave must’ve dispensed with a lot of fish heads in his day.”

“Have fun,” I said, grinning like a lovestruck fool. “Will you call me tomorrow?”

“It’s a date,” he promised. “First thing in the morning.”

“I hope my phone’s still working.”

“If it’s not, I’ll fly home and fix it myself.”

Chapter 11

THERE ARE-IN ALL OUR LIVES-certain times to feel good, other times to feel bad, and many more times to feel in-between. This was, for me, one of the hopelessly stuck-in-between times. I felt great about Dan’s declared longing for me, but I felt awful about the way I was deceiving him. Six of one, half a dozen of the other. Would I ever break loose from this gut-twisting tug of war? Would I ever be free to give Dan my wholehearted devotion and unrestricted allegiance?

Maybe someday, but not tonight. Tonight I had to study the smudged and wrinkled pages of a scribbled-up message pad, and search for clues to a brutal killer’s identity.

I filled a jellyglass with Chianti and took it into the living room, setting it down on the table near the couch (or, rather, the homemade daybed contraption I try to pass off as a couch). Then I scooted into the kitchen, grabbed my L &M filter tips and the message pad, hurried back to the couch (or whatever you want to call it), and seated myself directly in front of the fan (which made it hard for me to light my cigarette-but where there’s a will there’s a way). A puff of smoke, a sip of wine, a chorus of “Only You” by the Platters, and I was ready to tuck into the task at hand.

Three glasses of wine, umpteen cigarettes, and who knows how many hit tunes later, I was all tuckered out. I had read all thirteen of Gray’s messages nine or ten times over, studying each word as if it were a hieroglyph and I were an Egyptian scholar (which wasn’t so far from reality since Rhonda’s handwriting was almost indecipherable). I had hoped to pick up at least one truly significant clue-something that would send me shooting, like an arrow, straight toward the homicidal bull’s eye-but that hope never materialized. Aside from Aunt Doobie’s hotel room number, I learned only a couple of things that I thought might be helpful.