«Good.» I glanced at Jack who was still standing in the doorway. Have a seat, I mouthed at him.
Apparently he'd been waiting for an invitation. He sat down on the sofa and stared at the turned-off television.
«Are you?» Callie questioned. «Because I got this sudden feeling last night, and I've had it all day.»
«Ah, Cal,» I protested. But it was useless. It was the twin thing, I guess; she always knew when something was up with me, the same way I did when something was up with her. «I'm really okay.» I was uncomfortably aware of the fact that Jack couldn't fail to hear every word. «How's the book coming?»
I loosened my tie, unbuttoned my collar. «It's coming. I interviewed Gloria Rayner today.» Jack's head turned in my direction.
«The one who does those AARP commercials? That must have been a laugh.» Her voice changed. «Are you…taking care of yourself, Tim? You know, doing everything you're supposed to?»
I expelled a long breath. «Of course. Come on; stop acting like a big sister. You're only eight minutes older.»
Callie chuckled. «I did a lot of living in those eight minutes. So are you still seeing the cop?» I'd forgotten I'd told her about Jack. «No,» I said after a hesitation. «Oh, no! What happened? He sounded –«
«Not my type,» I said. «In fact, he was kind of an asshole.» Jack was staring at me with an odd expression. I gave him a cheerful smile. Unless he had bionic ears, there was no way he could hear what we were saying, but I had the not unpleasant feeling he somehow suspected. «That's too bad,» Callie was saying. «I keep hoping you'll meet someone.»
«Low on my list of priorities right now,» I said. «I have to get this book finished.»
«Do you think you'll have time for a trip home this summer? Mom and Dad were really hoping you would spend some time here. I think Mom wants to make up for…everything. I think she needs to. And Dad really misses you. You know that.»
This was getting way too complicated. I said carefully, «Yeah. I don't know. Maybe. It depends on the book. Hey, Cal, can I call you back? I'm in the middle of something.»
«Oh, you should have said!» She hastily said her good-byes and I said mine, and then I hung up and walked over to the chair across from Jack. «That was the twin sister?» he said.
I nodded, surprised he remembered, but I didn't want to get distracted from the purpose of his visit. I didn't want to start thinking of Jack as a friend – or mistaking a cop's attention to the little things for anything more than that. «What was it you wanted to tell me?»
«Did you ever hear of a guy named Raymond Irvine? He was a crime reporter for the Herald Examiner.» I shook my head. «No. Should I have?» «It depends. In 1963, he started research for a book on Eva Aldrich's murder.»
«He couldn't have finished it,» I said, watching his face. «There is no book on the Aldrich case.»
«No, he didn't finish it. He was killed the same year. His car was run off the road on Mulholland Drive.»
Chapter Four
«Oh,» I said finally. And when Jack didn't respond, «Well, accidents happen.» I spoke lightly, but I didn't feel light. I wasn't sure what I felt: a mix of consternation and incredulity, I guess. «It wasn't an accident,» Jack said. «His car was forced off the road.» «How do you know?» «I read the report.»
«Wow.» I didn't know what else to say. I rubbed my jaw and glanced at Jack again. He was watching me steadily. «I guess they didn't catch the guy?»
«Guy or gal,» Jack said. «No. The only witness was too far away to get a make on the license. The car was described as a two-toned Chevy Impala. In the 1960s the Chevy Impala was the most popular car in America.» I said, «Will Burack was still alive in 1963.» «I thought your theory was that Burack didn't do it.»
«It's too soon for me to have a theory,» I said. Jack's gaze woke me to the realization that I'd automatically started unbuttoning my shirt. My fingers stilled. «Were there any suspects in Irvine's death? Was a connection actually made to the Aldrich case?»
«No.» Jack raised his eyes from my apparently fascinating blue tailored shirt. «In fact, the primary suspect was the former boyfriend of a girl Irvine had been dating. But nothing was ever proven. And the boyfriend owned a Buick.» «Then how did you make the connection to the Aldrich case?»
«The senior investigator on the Aldrich case was one of the first people Irvine interviewed when he started research for his book.»
«Bud Perkins.» I rose and stepped down the short hall to my bedroom to change. I could still see Jack angled in the closet mirror. I thought about moving out of range, and then I just…decided not to. I raised my voice as I unzipped. «Perkins passed away in seventy-eight.»
«Yeah, but he kept track of anything and anyone related to the Aldrich case. He'd stuck a note about Irvine writing a book in the file.»
I pulled on Levi's. Buttoned them up. Jack's mirrored gaze met mine. I said, «Was that normal?»
I was sort of pleased to see he'd lost his train of thought. He looked away, offering his profile as I watched him listen to me undress and dress. He had a weird expression. Was he afraid I was going to try and seduce him? He could rest easy. «No, it's not normal,» he said. «Not then. Not now. But I guess the killer in the Aldrich case was Perkins's one that got away.»
Dragging on a faded cinnamon-colored Abercrombie & Fitch T-shirt with the slogan I had a nightmare I was a brunette, I returned to the front room. It hadn't escaped my Master Detective attention that Jack still seemed to be checking into the Aldrich case on my behalf; I wasn't sure what to make of that. I took the chair across from him again and said, «It could be a coincidence.»
«It could.» His lips folded firmly shut as he took in my T-shirt, whether at the message or the fact that it was a woman's tee – Jack preferring to stick to the butch side of the triangle. «Either way, I appreciate the heads-up.» He nodded, moved to rise, and then stopped. «Any more threats? Or tarot cards?» I shook my head. «I should have word on the card left on your door by tomorrow.»
«Thanks.» I slouched in my chair, crossed my ankle over the opposite knee. I had a lot to think about, and I couldn't think with Jack there. I didn't go so far as to drum my fingers on the armrest, but I think he got the message.
He stood, and – relieved – I stood. And then – taking me aback – he sat down once more.
«Listen,» he said slowly. «It's possible Bud Perkins kept a private file on the Aldrich case.»
I forgot all about not being able to think with Jack in the room. «Seriously? Is there a way of finding out for sure?» «I can do some checking.»
I was so excited at this possibility that it barely occurred to me to wonder why Jack was being so helpful. But really, what was the mystery? If he was instrumental in helping me come up with a convincing scenario for who had killed Eva Aldrich, it sure wouldn't do his career any harm. He'd get his acknowledgment right there with the UCLA Library in the front of the book. «That would be great,» I said. «Do you think it's likely?»
He flicked me a look from under his lashes. «Yeah, I do. We're not supposed to, but detectives do sometimes keep their own files, especially when a case that really gets to you goes cold and you have to move on.»
«I appreciate you taking time to look into this for me,» I said. I waited for him to get up and leave, but he just kept sitting on the sofa looking at me like he was waiting for something. What?
I said, «I don't mean to be rude, but I've got to eat something. Skipping meals plays hell with my wiring.»
Even a day ago I couldn't have admitted that to him; now I had no problem. I thought that was a good sign that I was well on my way to being over Jack. Not that I didn't still find him attractive: the easy power of his trim, muscular body; that lazy grin – that disconcerting dimple. But I found my response to him more annoying than anything.