Aurora 06 - A Fool And His Honey (17 page)

He’d slept all night.

“Mama’s here,” I said, my voice still thick with sleep. “Don’t cry, baby!” I scooped him up from the crib, after figuring out how to lower the side. I only knew cribs had sides that lowered because I’d watched my friend Lizanne do the honors on her baby’s bed. For mothers less than five feet tall, the lowered side was an essential feature. Not that I was a mother! I warned myself, catching my error.

“Heat a bottle, please, Martin?” I called down the stairs as I changed Hayden on our bed. He definitely didn’t like the cold air smacking his damp bottom, and I didn’t blame him. He was overdue for a sponge bath, but I dreaded giving him one in this chilly house.

Down the stairs we went, Hayden still complaining but not as frantically.

The kitchen was empty. Far from coffee waiting for me and a bottle awaiting Hayden, everything looked boringly like it had the night before.

The door to the back porch opened. Martin stepped in, stamping his feet, and stood on a little rug by the back door to take off his boots. He stepped through to the kitchen in his stocking feet.

“Look outside, Roe!” he said, with the grin of a twelve-year-old.

For the first time I glanced out of the windows; and I realized why the house had seemed so silent. The fields and the driveway were covered with snow.

“Oh my God,” I said, stunned. I stared at the heavy white coating. “Oh. Wow.” From one horizon to the next, it was the same. “I’ve never seen that much snow in my life.”

“I almost wish we had a sled,” he said.

“I almost wish I had a cup of coffee.”

“Coming right up.” Martin was awful damn cheerful. Who could have guessed snow would have that effect? I sat there in a semiconscious lump while Martin heated the baby bottle, started the coffee, and made toast with a beautiful toaster that had to have been a wedding present for Regina and Craig.

Martin even hummed. He is not a hummer.

He took Hayden and gave him his bottle. “Look out there, fella. Snow everywhere! When you get bigger you can bundle up and go out there and make snow angels and pee in the snow and make a snowman ...”

I sensed a theme.

By the time Martin had wound down, I had had time to pour two cups of coffee down my throat and eat my toast, too.

“Can we get out of here?” I asked. I took my third cup with me to the window. “I mean, can your car get out of the driveway?”

Martin looked serious, all of a sudden. He loves that Mercedes, for sure.

“I’ll call Karl,” he said, and vanished.

I tried to remember Karl from our wedding, which Martin had assured me Karl attended. I was drawing a blank. Of course, I’d been so nervous I was surprised I’d gotten the responses right.

I occupied myself by spreading towels by the kitchen sink to give Hayden that quick sponge bath I felt obliged to give him. He hated it just as much as he had the last time I’d tried this process, maybe even objecting more loudly because it was so cold. I’d already had dark doubts about this little ritual, which Amina had assured me was obligatory. After all, how dirty could Hayden get? I cleaned his bottom every time I changed him.

But I dutifully soaped the hands that never grasped food, and the feet that never took a step.

At least, I told myself bracingly, all this complaining would surely wear out the baby, resulting in a good nap.

“Karl’s coming out,” Martin told me.

“Great. Remind me about Karl?”

“Karl Bagosian, whose family was Armenian a couple of generations ago. He went to school with me, though he’s a couple of years older.”

“So what does Karl do now?”

“He owns the Jeep place.”

I nodded wisely. It was all becoming clear.

“So you fellas were buddies through school?”

Martin shrugged. “Yeah, we were. We were on the football team together. We went hunting together. He dated Barby for a while. We joined the army together.”

“Speaking of high school buddies, what’s the story on Dennis Stinson?”

“I always hated that son of a bitch,” my husband said, with very little change in his voice.

“He seemed nice to me.” I tried to look innocent. “Just because he’s moved in on your ex-wife . . .”

“Cindy and I have been divorced for a long time,” Martin said. “I don’t think it’s that... or maybe, not much. And he tried to copy off my paper in geometry.” I couldn’t help it, I started laughing. Martin had the grace to look abashed. “Dennis just... I wouldn’t have minded Cindy living with someone, if it had been Karl. But Karl went and got himself married to a girl that just got out of college, right about the same time you and I got married. He’s got kids older than her, I think.”

If the amazing Karl was going to bring us a Jeep, I needed to get dressed. Jeans, a sweater, and boots seemed to be the uniform of the day, judging by Martin, who seemed to be more relaxed than he’d been in days. He even laid Hayden in the middle of our bed and brushed my hair for me, a pleasant pastime we hadn’t had a chance to indulge in lately.

Since Hayden remained content, I called my mother, but missed her both at her house and at the hospital. I left a message on her answering machine, and talked to John’s oldest son at the hospital. He said his father was on the upswing, that they hoped to take him home the next day, and he knew my mother would want to tell me all the details. He further informed me that my mother was holding up just fine, which I hadn’t doubted for a second.

Next I called Angel and Shelby to ask about the baby, found out little Joan was perfect in every respect, and Angel was recovering from the birth in record time.

I handed the phone to Martin so he could call the Pan-Am Agra plant, but he told me he’d already talked to his second-in-command that morning. I glanced at my watch and winced. If you wanted to work for Martin, you had to get up early and be bright the minute you slid from between your sheets.

“But I do need to talk to David in Receiving,” Martin decided. He punched in numbers wearing his business face, so I went downstairs and poured another cup of coffee.

Just then I heard a chugging noise, and looking out the window I saw a bright red Jeep coming through the snow. I could only assume it was on the driveway.

A man hopped out and began slogging his way to the front door.

Karl Bagosian was about Martin’s height, maybe five-nine or five-ten. His head was bare, and I saw that his hair was very thick and coarse, very dark, though graying, an attractive complement to his olive complexion. Martin was still on the phone, so I unlocked the door and threw it open.

“Hello,” Karl said, looking up at the sound. He gave me a comprehensive but brief scan, and lowered his eyes to make sure he’d stamped all the snow off his boots. Satisfied, he pulled off the boots and left them by the door, padding further into the living room unself-consciously, and I began to see this was the protocol in snow country.

“I’m Aurora. Thank you for bringing the Jeep. Martin says he’s known you forever.”

“Just about.” Karl had finished divesting himself of several layers of outerwear, and finally looked me in the eyes.

Karl Bagosian had the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen on a man. On anyone. Large, oval, very dark, fringed by eyelashes most women could only dream of, those eyes could speak to you long enough to talk you right out of your clothes and into Karl’s bed.

“Well, I feel like a female peacock,” I said, mildly disgruntled. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Yes, please,” he said, after a surprised hesitation. Karl preceded me to the kitchen, and I had to remind myself he’d been here many times before . . . before I was born, no doubt. Karl had thickened a little with middle age, and he had white teeth that gleamed like an actor’s. He sat at the kitchen table watching me, while I poured a mug of coffee and placed it before him with milk and sugar handy.

“If you haven’t had breakfast I would be glad to make you some toast,” I offered. “Martin’s on the phone; he’ll be down in just a minute.”

“This is southern hospitality, the kind I keep hearing about, I guess.”

“It’s just hospitality. How else would I treat you?”

He had no answer for that. “This is some mess about Regina, huh?” he asked, looking up at me with those gorgeous eyes. He poured sugar in his coffee with a liberal hand. I watched in amazement as he did the same with the milk. It hardly looked like coffee anymore.

I propped myself against the kitchen counter. “Did you know Craig?”

“Yeah, he stole a car from my lot.”

“What did you do?”

“I went after him and got it back.” And the large dark eyes didn’t look so gorgeous anymore.

In fact they looked downright scary. I realized I was very glad I hadn’t been there when Karl had gotten his car back.

“Mr. Vigilante,” Martin said from the doorway. He meant to be smiling when he said it, but the smile came off lame. He’d heard the whole conversation.

Karl got up and shook Martin’s hand, and they did the shoulder-patting ritual. Deep affection.

“The little sumbitch—‘scuse me, Aurora—is just lucky I didn’t fix his wagon for good,” Karl said, white teeth gleaming.

“I only laid off because he was your niece’s husband.”

“This was since they got married?”

“Yeah, in fact this was last week. Right before he showed up on your doorstep down in Georgia, dead. Maybe he wanted to drive down in a jeep.”

“The police know about this?”

“Yeah, I told ‘em after I heard Craig got killed. Told ’em I had a key to the house here. They come out here to take a gander.”

Karl Bagosian looked so exotic I found I had expected him to have a foreign accent. It was a little shocking to hear a homely midwestern voice coming from his mouth. I thought of him in harem pants. I clamped my lips together.

“What are you smiling about?” Martin asked from my elbow. I jumped.

“Would you like some more coffee, honey?” I asked.

“Lord, she’s no bigger than a flea, Martin.”

I particularly dislike to be talked about as if I weren’t there. But this was Martin’s friend.

“Small but mean,” Martin said. I looked up, startled, and he was smiling . . . Lucky for him.

“Was the house very different than it is now? When you brought the police out here?” I asked Karl.

He took a swallow of coffee, raised the cup to me in appreciation. Since Martin had made it, that compliment wasn’t due me, but I nodded anyway.

“Yes, the house was a mess,” Karl said bluntly. “All I did was hang up the clothes and vacuum, run the dishwasher. That made a big difference.”

“Thank you,” I said, impressed at his enterprise. “Did the police seem to think anything had happened here in the house?”

“It was just like they’d gone shopping,” Karl said, shaking his head. “Like they were both going to be back any moment. Oh, I forgot to empty the wastebaskets that day, I just recalled.

Sorry. Darlene was with me, but that girl is bone lazy.”

“How old is Darlene now?” Martin pulled out a chair, settled in opposite his friend.

“She’s twenty-six.”

Martin was seriously shocked. “Not. . . your daughter, Darlene? Is twenty-six?”

Karl nodded. “And she’s my youngest. Darlene is responsible for every one of these gray hairs.”

“How old are your others, now?” Martin sounded apprehensive.

Karl cast his eyes up, as if the answer would be written on the high ceiling. “Lessee. Gil is thirty, ‘bout to be thirty-one. Therese is twenty-nine.”

Martin looked at me, horrified. I shrugged, smiling. The difference in our ages had always bothered Martin more than me. Martin, who worked out and played killer racquetball, had always had the body of a younger man. Not that my experience was that broad . . . but he’d always pleased me, and he knew it. As far as mental attitudes went, Martin and I had our differences, but no more than any two people have.

“How old are you, Aurora? Martin’s looking worried.” Karl was not a man who would miss much. “My wife Phoebe is just a kid, too; she’s twenty-five.”

“I’m older than your wife
and
your children.” I gestured toward his mug, asking if he wanted a refill.

“No, thanks,” Karl said. “Martin, you ready to run me back into town?”

“Thanks for bringing the Jeep out, Karl,” I said. I perceived that it was
mano a mano
time, and I was being left behind.

“Do you need me to get anything while I’m in town, Roe?” Martin was already putting on his coat and sliding the cell phone into his pocket. I sighed, but tried to keep it silent. Tracking down a scrap of paper took a minute, but I quickly made a list of things we’d neglected to get the day before.

In the back of my mind was the fear the snow would get worse, and we’d be marooned out here. What if we lost our heat?

What if whoever had killed Craig came here looking for Regina?

This was a thought so sudden and shocking that I really regretted having it, especially since I was watching the bright red Jeep recede down the driveway with Martin and Karl inside when the idea came to full bloom in my mind.

I paced around the house distractedly, trying to rid myself of the fear. It hardly made sense that whoever killed Craig in Georgia would come looking here—and that was assuming the killer hadn’t been Regina herself. I managed to talk myself out of the worst of my funk, but a quarter of an hour later I was still padding around the house in two pairs of socks, staring out the windows at the snow.

After checking on the now-napping Hayden, I pulled on my boots and stuffed the baby monitor in my coat pocket. Gloved and hatted, I stepped out the south-facing front door and watched my boots sink into the snow.