Chapter 15

“ELISE?”

She spun around, knowing she looked guilty. Knowing she was. “Cato,” she said, laughing breathlessly. He was standing in the open doorway, carrying a shopping bag. “You scared me. When did you get home?”

“Just now. What are you doing?” As he came into the study, his expression was curious, a shade suspicious.

“This room still makes me jumpy.”

“Then why come in here?”

“I was checking the repair.”

She indicated the wall that had been patched after the bullet from Trotter’s pistol was removed. Yesterday policemen had taken down the crime scene tape and told them they were free to use the room again. Cato had people standing by to restore his study to its pre-incident perfection.

The bloodstained rug had been rolled up and hauled out, with his instructions that it be destroyed. He didn’t want it back. Then the entire room had been cleaned and sanitized by professionals.

“I wasn’t satisfied with the workmanship and knew you wouldn’t be, either,” Elise said now. “I was looking in your desk for the plasterer’s business card. I wanted to call him first thing tomorrow.”

“Mrs. Berry has his business card.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll ask her to reschedule him.”

“I think you should. You want the job done right. I know how much you enjoy this room.”

“It’s sweet of you to care.” He smiled. “Join me for a drink before dinner?”

“I’d like that.” She came from around his desk and glanced down at the bag. “What’s that?”

“A present.”

“Hmm.” She reached into the pink tissue paper sticking out the top.

“It can wait.” He set the bag on the floor, slid his arms around her waist, and tried to kiss her, but she pulled away. “I intended to freshen up before you came home. I rested this afternoon as you suggested, and actually managed to nap. I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet.”

“I don’t mind.”

“But I do. I’ll go upstairs and make myself presentable. You mix the drinks.”

“Even better, I’ll mix the drinks and bring them upstairs.”

“That is better.” She disengaged herself and moved toward the door.

“Here, take the bag with you.” He picked it up and passed it to her.

“Can I peek?”

He laughed. “I think you will whether or not I give my permission, so go ahead.”

Matching his lightheartedness, she left the room, calling over her shoulder, “Vodka and tonic, please. Lots of lime, lots of ice.”

She jogged up the staircase and went straight into their bedroom. As soon as she closed the door, she leaned against it, breathing hard, her heart pounding. She was trembling. She’d come awfully close to getting caught.

Following his confession about hiring the private investigator, Cato had been tender and loving, frequently asking if she had forgiven him for his mistrust. She assured him that he had her forgiveness. Her responses to him were warm and affectionate. On the surface, nothing seemed amiss.

She brushed her teeth and quickly changed into the new outfit wrapped in tissue inside the shopping bag. She was spraying herself with fragrance when he entered the bedroom carrying two drinks. He looked at her and nodded approval.

“The difference was worth the wait.”

“Thank you.”

“Fit okay?”

“Perfect.” Holding the full skirt out at the sides, she did a pirouette.

“Nothing fancy,” he said, “but I saw it and liked it.”

“So do I. Very much. Thank you.”

He had removed his suit jacket and tie. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone. Giving her a meaningful look, he closed the bedroom door. She glanced at her wristwatch. “Mrs. Berry will be waiting to serve dinner.”

“I told her to keep it warm, so we can take our time.”

He crossed the room and handed her the drink. He clinked his glass of scotch against it. “To forgetting the shooting and its unpleasant aftermath.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

They both took a sip of their drinks, then he pulled her toward the bed, sat down on the edge of it, and guided her to stand between his spread thighs. He set his drink on the nightstand and placed his hands at her waist. “I’m not sure I can wait till you finish your drink.”

She took several sips from the glass, then set it on the nightstand beside his.

He moved his hands lightly up and down her rib cage. “Are you still angry with me, Elise?”

“About the private investigator? No, Cato. I’ve told you time and again. What else could you think? All the signs pointed to an affair. It was silly of me not to explain Coleman’s situation to you.”

“Even if you had, I wouldn’t have approved your meeting him in hotel rooms.”

“I didn’t inflame his desire,” she said with a light laugh. “I tried to when we were in high school. It was a disaster. He didn’t want me that way.”

“Then he wasn’t only gay. He must have been dead, too.”

The telephone rang. He glanced at it, but saw that the light for the kitchen extension was on, indicating that Mrs. Berry had answered. He curved his hand around the back of her neck to draw her head down to his.

Through the intercom, Mrs. Berry said, “Judge Laird, I apologize for the intrusion. That Detective Hatcher insists on speaking to you.”

Cato held Elise’s gaze for several seconds, then removed his hands from her and picked up the receiver. He depressed the blinking red button on the telephone’s panel. “Detective Hatcher?”

Elise reached for her drink, noting that her hand was shaking, hoping that Cato didn’t notice.

“I see,” he said. The conversation lasted only a few more seconds. “I’ll adjust my schedule accordingly. We’ll be there.” Slowly he replaced the receiver and continued staring at the phone, saying nothing.

She was unable to contain her anxiety. “What did he want? You said we’ll be there. Where?”

“The police station. Ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“Why?”

He looked up at her then. “We have a problem, Elise. Or rather, the police have a problem.”

“With what?”

“Your relationship with Coleman Greer. They don’t believe you.”

Duncan ’s car crawled along the street as he checked addresses until he found the one he sought. He pulled to the curb and stopped in front of the house. It was a dangerous, high-crime neighborhood that could accurately be called a slum. Every house on the street showed decades of disrepair and neglect, but this one was particularly ramshackle.

The darkness may have been playing tricks on his eyes, but the clapboard structure appeared to be listing several degrees. Nothing was growing in the yard except for a lone live oak that was hosting too much Spanish moss. The tree itself appeared to have been sucked dry.

He turned off the car’s engine and slid his service weapon from its holster. With the pistol secure in his right hand, he got out of the car and took a careful look around. The street appeared to be deserted. Or perhaps “abandoned” would be a more accurate word. A few houses on the block had lights on inside, but most were dark and seemingly vacant. The few streetlights that still had globes intact provided feeble light and served only to deepen the shadows.

The sidewalk was uneven. Weeds grew up through the wide cracks in it. Concrete crumpled into dust beneath Duncan ’s shoes as he walked to the edge of the yard and studied the house. It was entirely dark.

He questioned the advisability of being here. At the very least, he shouldn’t have come alone. He knew that, acknowledged it. It was reckless and stupid and, to some extent, self-serving.

“It’s about Savich. Come alone.”

That and this house address had been the sum total of the message left in his cell phone mailbox by a husky female voice. When he checked the call log, he saw that the call had come in at 10:37 P.M. Instead of a number, it had said “Private Caller.”