Abby, on the other hand, didn’t even raise an eyebrow. She shrugged her shoulders, gave me an indulgent smile, and said, for the third time that day, “You always make such a

tsimmis.”

Chapter 37

HAVE YOU EVER HAD THE FEELING THAT you were two people instead of one? That one of you was a smart, strong, insightful champion of truth and justice, while the other one was a perfect fool? Well, that was the way I felt that afternoon in Flannagan’s office. Like a pair of mismatched twins. Or a monster with two heads. I was brave and decisive one minute, dopey and delusional the next. I was Wonder Woman and Lucy Ricardo combined. I was Brenda Starr with a brain tumor.

“What led you to believe that Barnabas Kapinsky was the murderer?” Flannagan barked, finally getting around to asking for my side of the story. He was glaring at me through squinted eyes, as if I were still under suspicion.

“The long sleeves,” I said, “and his buttoned-up collar and cuffs.”

“What?!” Flannagan squeezed his eyelids even tighter, peering at me through slits so narrow I was surprised he could see at all. “Long sleeves? Collar and cuffs? I think you’d better explain yourself, Mrs. Turner. And make it fast.”

“Well, yesterday was the first time I saw Binky,” I began, “and it was so hot that-”

“Binky?” Flannagan croaked. “Who the hell is Binky?”

“Barnabas Kapinsky,” I said. “His nickname is Binky.”

Flannagan’s accusing glare grew even more intense. “You called the murderer by his nickname? I didn’t know the two of you were so close.”

“No!” I cried. “That’s not the way it was! I only called him Binky because-”

It was at that moment-as I was just beginning to explain my theories and actions to Flannagan-that Dan walked into the office. He sauntered down the aisle between the desks and the file cabinets, shook hands with Detectives Flannagan and Dash, gave Abby a smile and me a curt nod, and then positioned himself-arms crossed, legs slightly apart-near the side of my chair.

“Don’t let me disturb you,” he said, to nobody in particular. “Please go on with what you were doing.”

Oh, sure. How could I go on with my explanation when all of my words were stuck in a huge lump in my throat? I couldn’t breathe, much less talk. My body temperature and blood pressure were shooting through the roof. My emotions were having seizures in every chamber of my broken heart.

“Yes, go on, Mrs. Turner,” Flannagan said, with a smirk. “I believe you were telling us why you called the killer Binky.”

I tried to say something clever and enlightening, but the only word that came out was, “Ack!”

“Leave her alone already!” Abby snapped, leaping to my defense like a rabid Jewish mother. “Can’t you see she’s upset? She hasn’t slept in over thirty hours! And she’s had a really hard day, you dig? And she caught your murderer for you, didn’t she? What else do you want? You should be treating her like a queen-and I

don’t mean a homosexual!”

I smiled. That Abby. You gotta love her.

“I advise you not to speak to me in that manner!” Flannagan seethed. His boyish face was changing colors again. “I’m the head of this department and I-”

“Miss Moskowitz is right,” Dan interrupted. His voice was soft, but his tone of authority was coming through loud and clear. “What Mrs. Turner needs right now is a cup of coffee and some peace and quiet, which will improve both her frame of mind and her recollection of events. Therefore, since I have a special interest in this case, I think it best if I show her into a private room and continue taking her statement myself.” He leaned down, put his hands on my shoulders, and gently coaxed me to my feet.

Flannagan rose to his feet, too. “But I don’t… well, I… do you really think-”

“Yes, I do,” Dan cut in again. He put one arm around my back and began escorting me down the aisle toward the door. “We’ll be in the interrogation room across the hall,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder. “Please bring us some coffee.”

I LOVED BEING ALONE WITH DAN; I HATED being alone with Dan. (I

told you I was two people.) One of me was so turned on by his intense black gaze, disheveled hair, and determined jawline that I wanted to throw myself in his arms and attach my mouth to his for all eternity (or at least until next week). The other me was still so haunted (okay, incredibly hurt) by the way he’d kissed that redhead in Sardi’s last night that I couldn’t stand the thought of putting my lips where hers had been. Not now. Not ever.

Averting my eyes from Dan’s gorgeous face and enticing mouth, I sat back in my chair at the table in the middle of the small interrogation room, crossed my legs, took a sip of my coffee, and hurriedly fired up a cigarette. (I knew if I waited Dan would offer me a light, and I wanted to avoid that painfully intimate gesture.) Staring at me from his chair on the other side of the table, Dan lit up, too.

“Are you ready to tell me the truth?” he asked, in a voice as rich and dark as chocolate. “There’s no reason for you to keep any secrets now.”

“Why should I bother?” I said, tossing my head back and exhaling a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “I’m sure you know everything there is to know already. Flannagan has obviously kept you clued in.” I was acting as cool as Lauren Bacall, but I was feeling as hot as Scarlett O’Hara during the burning of Atlanta.

“You’ve got it wrong, Paige,” he said. “It’s the other way around.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m the one who’s been keeping Flannagan in the know, not vice versa. I’ve been in charge of this case since the day after Gray Gordon was killed.”

“What?!” I shrieked, shocked to the bone. “That’s impossible! You were in Maine at the time! And this isn’t even your precinct!”

Dan’s coal-black gaze stayed fixed on me. “

You are my precinct,” he said, and the way his forceful voice echoed against the walls of the tiny room made my skin dance.

Dan took a swig of his coffee and continued talking. “As soon as I read the reports of the murder in the Maine papers and saw that two young women who lived near the victim had discovered the body, I called Flannagan to find out who they were. And I wasn’t the least bit surprised when he named you and Abby. And I knew damn well your involvement wouldn’t end there. So the minute I hung up with Flannagan, I called the commissioner and got myself assigned to the case. After that I called Flannagan back, appointed him my second in command, and told him to put his best man on your tail to watch over you and keep you safe. Then, after making arrangements for Katy to stay with my parents for another week, I jumped in the car, and drove all night to get to you.”

“But why didn’t you

tell me?!” I cried, trembling with curiosity, gratitude, and outrage.

“Because

you didn’t tell me,” he said. “When I saw how far you were willing to go-how many lies you were willing to tell so you could keep me in the dark and stay involved in the case-I knew I couldn’t trust you to back off and let me handle things my way. And since I couldn’t trust you to tell me the truth, I was afraid I would jeopardize the investigation and cause you to put your life in more danger if I told the truth to you. You put me in a real bind, Paige. I was so mad I wanted to kill you myself.”

The gross absurdity of our deceitful duet suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks. “Good grief, Dan!” I sputtered. “If I had known that you’d been assigned to the case I would have told you the truth immediately! I swear! The only reason I lied to you was because I knew you’d order me to stop looking for the killer, and I simply couldn’t do that as long as Flannagan was in charge. He’s a horrible detective, Dan. You’ve got to believe me! He was trying to pin the murder on Willy Sinclair just because he’s gay!”