Jennifer Crusie Bundle (8 page)

Alone.

Of course, she wasn't alone. She had the dogs.

And besides, there were some kinds of alone that were good. In fact, wonderful. For example, the without-Bradley kind of alone was heaven. No more chill in the air, no more one-right-way-to-do-things, no more long silences and emptiness. Just her and the dogs and the fireplace. Warm.

And alone.

“Enough of this daydreaming stuff,” Lucy told the dogs, suddenly straightening. “We have work to do. Let's get rid of Bradley.”

Lucy packed up everything of Bradley's that she could find in the house, surprised to find it filled three boxes, not one. “There was more to Bradley than I thought,” she told the dogs. Most of the stuff was papers and books. His clothes were already gone; Tina had thrown them all out the front door while the locksmiths were changing the locks. By the time Bradley had come back that night, his entire wardrobe was on the front lawn.

Mrs. Dover had enjoyed it immensely.

He hadn't argued much. He'd knocked on the door and called her name, and then Tina had opened it and threatened him, and he'd gone away.

Not much of a fighter, Bradley.

Not much of a lover, either.

Or maybe that was just with her. Maybe he was better with the blonde.

The blonde. Lucy tensed as she remembered the shock she'd felt when she'd come home to find the blonde standing in the middle of the living room. Her living room. Saying that she and Bradley had been together in the house. Her house. Her bedroom. How could she have been so stupid, not to even have had a clue? How could Bradley do that to her?

He had just stood there with his mouth working like a fish, saying he could explain.

Except he never had.

He was a creep. Bringing that woman into her house. Her house. What a creep.

At least she was free of him now.

Her eyes fell on the boxes.

Or she soon would be.

She stood, gently displacing Einstein's head from her knee, and carried Bradley's boxes to the basement door. She set them down, opened the door, picked them up again, and threw them down the stairs, watching them turn and smash against the steps as they fell.

“Too bad there wasn't anything breakable,” she told the dogs, and shut the door.

Then she went back into the living room and studied it. Beautiful. Bradley-less. Un-Bradleyed.

Almost.

His chair still sat in the middle of the room beside the love seat. It was ugly—a recliner upholstered in synthetic olive-green flecked with red. If Bradley had been born a piece of furniture, he would have looked like that chair. Practical, boring, and irritating. The fact that he'd loved it and wouldn't let the dogs on it only made it more Bradley-like. The dogs had been napping on it regularly since he'd gone, but it was still an annoyance.

“What do you think?” Lucy asked the dogs. “Getting rid of a perfectly good chair would be totally irresponsible, right?”

The dogs cocked their heads at her.

“Right. Just think how proud of us Tina will be.” Lucy opened the basement door. Then she pushed the chair to the doorway, shooing Maxwell away just in time, and shoved the chair down the stairs. Halfway down, it hit the stair rail and broke through it, tumbling over the side of the steps to smash on the concrete below in a small cloud of dust.

“Independence Day,” Lucy said, and slammed the door.

“S
o then she said, ‘You mean that hood is following my sister?' and tried to take off after you,” Anthony told Zack an hour later. They were back in the squad room, their feet propped up on their desks in the thin warmth of the dusty late-afternoon sunlight that filtered through the dirty windows. “I almost let her have you. I was hoping she'd rip that damn jacket off you and shred it. But then I remembered you were my partner, and I saved you.”

“Thank you.” Zack was stretched out in his desk chair, feeling every bruise that Lucy had given him that afternoon. “I gather she did finally talk to you?”

“Of course.”

“There's no ‘Of course' about it,” Zack said. “Lucy told me about her sister. You're lucky you're still in one piece.”

“We had coffee in the diner.” Anthony stretched and put his hands behind his head. “She was no problem at all.”

“You get the mean one, and she drinks coffee from your hand. I get the nice one, and she tries to beat the tar out of me. God, to have your luck.”

“It's not luck. It's charm,” Anthony said. “You don't have any.”

Zack gave up. “So what does Tina Savage know about Bradley Porter?”

“That he's a womanizing, weak-kneed, slime-covered scum who made her sister cry, so he should be shot, strangled, drawn, quartered, and castrated. I don't think she likes him at all.”

Zack scowled. “He made Lucy cry? I'm with her, then.”

“But the problem is…”

“He's not our Bradley.” Zack nodded. “I know. Lucy explained that. I'd hoped for a while there was a chance he might be, but she says it's no-go.”

“I know,” Anthony said. “But I floated the possibility by the sister anyway, just to see what she'd say.”

“And?”

Anthony grinned. “Oh, she's in favor of it. The thought of Bradley in jail for bigamy, embezzlement and tax fraud perked her right up. She was completely cordial by the time she'd thought it through.” Anthony shook his head. “This is a waste of time, Zack. Granted somebody shot at you today, that still doesn't necessarily tie Lucy Savage's Bradley Porter with our John Bradley.”

Zack scowled. “He's not Lucy's Bradley. He's nobody's Bradley, the rat. And there's got to be a tie. Come on, Tony. We get a tip that John Bradley's going to be at the diner, and Bradley Porter asks Lucy to meet him there on the same day? That's too much of a coincidence.”

“Maybe.” Anthony leaned back. “I'm not convinced.”

Zack stared at the ceiling while he thought. “So what have we got? We've got John Bradley somewhere in the city with a million and a half in embezzled government bonds. We've got Bradley Porter somewhere in the city with an unidentified blonde. We've got an unidentified female caller who tips us that John Bradley will be at the diner. We've got Bradley Porter's letter to Lucy telling her to meet him at the diner, or we will have as soon as she remembers what she did with it. And we've got somebody shooting at Lucy.”

“Or you,” Anthony put in. “Don't underestimate your unpopularity.”

“Or me,” Zack amended. “Hell of a coincidence, though, to get shot at when Lucy's right beside me. So what have we got?”

“We have nothing.”

“The two Bradleys have got to be in it together,” Zack said.

“I suppose it's remotely possible,” Anthony said. “If Bradley Porter is keeping a blonde on the side, he could probably use a couple of government bonds. But it's hard to believe that John Bradley would steal the bonds in California and then come clear out here to share with Bradley Porter out of the goodness of his heart.”

“Blackmail?”

“Let's not make this any more complicated than it already is. Here's a good question. Why would somebody try to shoot Lucy?”

“Bradley's mad at her about the divorce,” Zack said.

“So he shoots at her on the street? I don't think so.”

“Here's a better one. Why is somebody trying to break into Lucy's house?”

Anthony jerked his head up, suddenly interested. “Somebody's trying to break into her house?”

“There are scratches on her locks, and the next-door neighbor saw somebody sneaking around the house. Granted, the next-door neighbor is not totally wired, but even so, if she says she saw somebody, I bet she did.”

“You interviewed the next-door neighbor?”

“No.” Zack looked pained. “She won't talk to me. She thinks I'm a punk. I had the patrolman ask her.”

“A punk. That's not so bad.” Anthony grinned at him. “At least punks are young.”

“Thank you.”

“So you think somebody's trying to break in to get Lucy?” Anthony shook his head. “That doesn't make sense. There are a hundred easier ways to grab somebody than breaking into a house. Hell, you grabbed her on the street today.” Anthony looked at Zack's lip. “Well, it might not be that easy. She does seem to have a fairly healthy sense of self-preservation.”

Zack gave him a dirty look. “I was trying not to hurt her. If I'd wanted her, I'd have had her. Hell, anybody could have grabbed her.”

“So they're breaking in for something else.” Anthony leaned back in his chair. “Like to get a million and a half in government bonds that John Bradley gave to Bradley Porter who put them in the silverware drawer and then forgot to take with him when Lucy kicked him out? I don't think so.”

“Wait a minute.” Zack swung his chair around and planted his feet back on the floor. “He couldn't get in. Tina put locks on. She wouldn't let him in.”

“So he just went meekly away and left a million and a half there? No,” Anthony said. “I bow to no one in my respect for Tina Savage's temper, but I'd walk over her in a minute if it meant a million and a half. Particularly a million and a half that could put me away if somebody else found it. Like my ex-wife. No.”

“Something's in that house, and the two Bradleys are involved.” Zack drummed his fingers on the desk. “I've got to get her out of that house until we find it. Only the dummy won't go.”

“Can't she stay with her sister for a while?”

“No. She won't go without Einstein and Heisenburg and Whosis. She won't budge at all.” His scowl changed suddenly. “At least I hope she hasn't budged.”

“Einstein?” Anthony said, but Zack ignored him to flip through his notebook until he found the page he wanted and then dialed the number he'd found.

“Lucy? This is Zack Warren.” He listened for a moment. “I'm fine, thanks. I was just checking to make sure you hadn't gone out.” He listened again, looking exasperated. “No, I don't trust you. Because you're a flake, that's why. Now, listen, did Bradley leave any papers behind? He did? Have you looked at them? Great. Did you find any official-looking certificates? No, I'm not patronizing you. Did you find any government bonds? A lot of them. About a hundred of fifty, to be exact. Oh.”

He covered the receiver and spoke to Anthony. “She packed up all his stuff. No bonds.”

“I gathered that,” Anthony said. “Maybe he hid them. Did she check the cookie jar?”

Zack ignored him. “Lucy, do you have a safe anyplace in the house? Any place where you keep your valuables? No?” Zack sighed and tapped his fingers on the desk. “Listen. We're going to have to come over tomorrow and search your place. Yeah, sometime tomorrow. Now, listen to me.
Stay in that house and don't answer the door tonight.
And stay away from the doors and windows. Those lace curtains are a joke. When the lights are on, anybody can see in. Why?
Because I said so.
What do you mean, who do I think I am? I'm the guy who saved your life today. Yes, I did, damn it. What?” He listened to her again, frowning. “I told you, you did not beat me up. Thank you.
Now stay inside that house.
Good night.”

He hung up and glared at the phone. “I don't know why I worry about that woman. She could
argue
any attacker to death.”

“I thought you were never going to worry about anybody,” Anthony said, trying to suppress his grin. “I thought responsibility meant death. And what's with you calling her ‘Lucy'? The two of you are on a first-name basis already? What's going on?”

“She has a dog that does a dog joke.” Zack rolled his eyes in disgust. “It's the most pathetic thing I've ever seen. She's all alone in that big house with three of the most un-vicious dogs that ever barked. She was married to a rat, and now somebody's taking potshots at her.
Somebody
has to look out for her.”

Anthony began to laugh. “Zack, she split your lip and gave you what the doctor calls a minor concussion. He said you should be home in bed. You're talking about a woman who beat you up in an alley.”

“She did not…”

“All right, all right. So what's the plan? To search the house tomorrow?” Anthony shook his head. “I hate to tell you this, but we've still got paperwork from Jerry this morning to finish. I can put it off for a little while, but not the whole morning. Isn't there some way we can short-circuit this search thing?”

“Yeah,” Zack said. “We can go to interview Bradley Porter first and see if we can get him to spill everything he knows. Lucy told me he's a branch manager of a bank out in Gamble Hills. Nobody knows where he's staying right now, but he'll be at work tomorrow. We can start with him first.” He stared at the ceiling again. “Actually, I'm really looking forward to meeting him.”

Anthony narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“I want to see what a rat like that looks like. You wouldn't believe what a sweetheart Lucy is.”

“A sweetheart?” Anthony grinned. “She beat you up.”

“She did not…” Zack closed his eyes and gave up. “Forget it. I'm sore. My head hurts. I need a hot bath and a beer. I cannot argue with you anymore. You win. She beat me up.”

“When you can't fight, we're definitely finished for the day.” Anthony stood. “Want some help getting down to your car, old man?”

“Drop dead,” Zack said, and got up carefully, trying not to groan from his bruises.

B
EFORE
L
UCY WENT UP
to bed, she found the phone table on its side and the receiver thrown off its hook.

“Did you do this?” she said to Einstein as she righted the table, and he immediately turned and walked away. “Most nights I wouldn't care,” she said to his swaying rear end. “But tonight I thought maybe I might actually get another call from him.”

Einstein turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder.

“Right,” Lucy said. “That is pathetic.”

Then she put the phone back on the table and went up to bed.

L
UCY GOT UP TO RUN
at eight on Friday morning, but she stopped at the front door.

She wasn't supposed to go out. Every muscle in her body wanted to run, but she wasn't supposed to go out.

Zack Warren had forbidden it.

“I don't believe this,” she told the dogs. “He just says ‘Stay put,' and I stay put. And today was supposed to be the first day of the rest of my independence. If I had any backbone at all…”

On the other hand, he said he was coming by to search the house. She had to be home for that. It was her civic duty. Sort of.

Also, she didn't want to miss seeing him again.

She sighed and started to run up the stairs. Two steep flights. About a thousand trips up and down should do it.

But just for today. Tomorrow, she was going out to run like a rational human being, no matter what Zack Warren said.

“H
E TOOK TWO WEEKS OFF
?” Zack glared at the immaculate matron behind the mahogany manager's desk at Gamble Hills First National. She wore her dark hair styled like a helmet, and she glared back at him militarily through horn-rimmed glasses.

Zack scowled at her. “How can a bank manager take two weeks off?”

“He was getting a divorce.” She jerked on the cuffs of her navy polyester suit jacket for emphasis. “He was very disturbed about it. The past two weeks, he couldn't concentrate at all. Mr. Porter was always very efficient, so it wasn't like him. Not at all. We all understood that he needed a little time off.”

“We appreciate your help, Mrs. Elmore,” Anthony said, trying to reduce the fallout from Zack's scowl. He was rewarded with a slight smile and a nod. “We have just a few more questions and we'll go. We know how busy you must be with Mr. Porter gone. Now, his last day was yesterday?”

“Day before yesterday.” Mrs. Elmore lowered her voice. “Yesterday was the Divorce.”

“Ah.” Anthony smiled at her in sympathy. “This must make a lot of extra work for you.”

The woman smoothed her jacket and smiled complacently. “I don't mind. It's the least I can do for the poor man.”