What the River Knows (12 page)

“Ummm.” She focused on sweeping deep red polish on her thumbnail. “Tuesday was…umm, let me see—” Now her index finger. “Dinner and dance at the Country Club for—” She finished the left hand. “Something about children.” She held her left hand under a nail dryer. “Orphans or cripples or something.” She looked up at Bates. “We gave generously.”

“I’m sure you did.” He waited while she tested a nail to see if it was dry. “Were you together the whole time you were there?”

The left corner of her mouth flicked up for an instant. “More or less.” She ran her eyes over Scott, who was standing at the other side of her table near a rack of shoes that took up more space than his bathroom. “I dashed outside and had…a couple of cigarettes.”

“Where was Mr. Moran when you came back in?” Scott had her attention, so he asked the question.

“I didn’t see him right away when I came back in, but he caught up with me within a couple of minutes.” She took the nail brush in her left hand and began painting. “We stayed until it closed down.” She looked up at Scott. “It’s not often someplace around here has a decent band you can dance to.”

“So, Mrs. Moran—”

“Call me Ronnie.”

“Ronnie?” Scott thought she looked, with her privately-trained body, manicured feet and hands, expensively tailored hair, nothing like any “Ron” he’d ever known.

“Short for Veronica.” She smiled and waved her now painted right hand in the air.

“Oh, I see.” He and Rica had leafed through a book of baby names shortly after they were married; Veronica meant “faithful.” Her mother probably wouldn’t laugh at the irony of it. “So, where did you go after the Club?”

“We came home.” She stood and turned to a bank of drawers behind her, drawing out something that looked like dental floss, but was probably her panties. She stepped into them and Scott caught Bates’ gaze as they both turned away. When they glanced back to see her smoothing her robe down, the smile on her face said that she enjoyed putting them on the spot.

“Were you together then all night?” Bates buried his nose in his notebook.

She glanced at him as she started applying her makeup. “Of course. We spent some time in the hot tub.” She smiled at Scott. “
Au natural
.”

Scott took a deep breath. “Are you sure he was here all night?”

She tilted her head to the side. “If he left, I never noticed. After all that, and then some, I was out like a light.” She stood again and patted the short robe down her thigh. “He was here when I woke up in the morning, but I didn’t get up then.” She pulled a piece of fabric that looked too small to be a dress from a hanger. “I need to get dressed now, fellows.” She raised one eyebrow. “Keep asking questions if you want.”

Scott looked at Bates. “No, I think we’ve covered everything we need to cover.” He and Bates beat a hasty retreat as the robe dropped. The housekeeper met them in the hall to escort them to the door. They walked down the wide steps to their sedan, which looked as out of place on the patterned brick driveway as a battered old farm truck in a Mercedes showroom.

“Someone should explain rule six to her,” Bates muttered as he slid behind the wheel.

“Rule six?” Scott stared at him. “Maybe somebody should explain it to me, too.”

“Rule six,” Bates began as the air started to cool. “Is ‘you’re not that damned important.’”

Scott laughed. “She’d never believe it.”

Chapter 22

Writing up the interview with Mrs. Moran didn’t take long. During the drive from the station, Scott created a “to do” list in his head: finish vacuuming, mop the kitchen and, oh, yeah, sort through the old magazines still in the box from the day he found Delia’s body. He was mulling over other tasks he should start, hoping they would put him on Rica’s good side, when he pulled into his apartment parking lot and saw Rica’s car. She was home! They could talk out their differences, maybe go to dinner, or order in pizza and watch a movie. Optimism drummed through every fiber of his being as he danced up the stairs. The door swung inward as he reached for it.

“Scott!” The reproach in Rica’s eyes echoed that in her voice.

He stepped inside the apartment. What had he done wrong now? “Rica?”

She moved aside and waved at the vacuum still sitting where it had been when he shut it off to take Bates’ call. “You couldn’t even put up the vacuum?”

“I got called out.” He took a step toward it, ready to coil up the cord. “I was gonna finish when I got back.”

“Two minutes!” She beat him to the machine, yanked the cord from the wall and wound it furiously. “You couldn’t take two minutes to wrap up the cord and put it in the closet?”

“Bates was on his way. We only had a short window of time to interview a suspect.” He tried to take it from her to carry it to the closet, but she snatched it from his grasp. “I didn’t know you’d be home by the time I got back.”

She spun to face him. “Would it really have made that much difference, Scott?” She gestured at the magazines stacked on the table beside his chair. “We’ve had this argument over and over.” Her gaze met his. “Do you even listen to me anymore, Scott?”

He studied her eyes, searching for the tiniest spark of mercy. “I listen, Rica, but I don’t know what to DO.”

“Do what you say you’ll do!” she shouted. “When you say you’ll clean up after yourself, do it! If you get it out, put it away!”

“Rica, I try!” His voice rose, though he willed himself to stay calm. Couldn’t she see how much effort he made? He took a deep breath. “I’ll try harder. I really will.” He took another deep breath. “But when the job calls, I have to go. You know how it was when you were surgical on-call.”

She glared at him. “Yes, but I managed to do what I could until the pager went off.”

“And there were times when I had to finish what you started.” He remembered many meals he kept warm for her, hoping she’d be home in time to eat with him. He made his voice soft. “Our jobs have placed a lot of strain on us sometimes.”

Her brows, which had run together like two angry bulls, relaxed a little. “That they have,
mijo
.”

At her endearment, hope began to seep back into his heart. “
Si, querida.
” She truly was his beloved, and he wanted her to realize that.

She placed her hands on her hips, and a different tone, more fear than anger, tempered her voice. “But what are we going to do about it,
mijo
?”

He looked at the floor, more shaken by her fear than by her anger. “Be a little more forgiving with each other?” He raised his face to her, prepared for her to run into his arms as she so often did after a spat like this.

She stayed rooted in her place. “I don’t know if we can,
mijo
.” She looked out the window. “I fear we’re at an impasse.”

His chest felt like an ice arrow had just lanced through it. “Do you want to try counseling?” He feared exposing himself to a stranger, but to save his marriage, he would do it.

She wrapped her arms around herself. “We could try, I guess.” She dropped her hands to her sides, and her voice took on a sharper tone. “But I fear there are too many fundamental differences between us.”

She’s trying to find a reason for us to split, the investigator in him observed. The man in him denied it. “I thought that was what brought us together in the first place,” he whispered.

This time, the look in her eyes approached panic. “It was.” She took a step toward him, but he did not move. He was afraid he would spook her away if he did. “But maybe we didn’t give it enough time to know what we were getting into.”

“We were engaged over a year,” he reminded her. After only three or four dates, Scott knew she was the woman he wanted to spend his life with, to bear his children, to grow old with, but she wanted more time, so he gave it to her. After two months, she wanted to date other men, so he agreed, staring vacantly at his schoolbooks in a vain attempt to do homework while he knew she was out with someone else. After three months, she told him she was certain. It was then he asked her to marry him, and she said yes. But she wanted to plan a wedding, so they waited another ten months, while she got every detail of the wedding the way she wanted. During those months, they spent most of their time together, and she learned how extensive his messiness was. He vowed to try to change, and she to help him. She said she needed to soften her control obsession. He thought they had meshed into a pretty good team over the past four years. But maybe he was wrong. That’s why an investigator never worked a case involving people he knew, because he often overlooked the obvious in those he loved.

“True.” She nodded. “Maybe I’m just PMS-ing.”

“Shall I go back out for moose tracks ice cream?” He laughed, trying to lighten her mood. He saw the tears gathering in her eyes.

“You’ve always been very good at trying to get whatever I want, Scott.” A tear ran down each cheek. “I don’t know why I can’t seem to see that, and your other good points, lately.”
Maybe you compare me too much to the saintly Dr. Ambrose
ran through his mind before he could stop the thought.

He walked to her and held out his hands. She reached out and slipped her tiny ones in his. He squeezed. “Your hands are like ice.” He pulled her close, nestling her head on his shoulder. “Maybe you need hot chocolate instead of ice cream.” Her shoulders shuddered, as tears dampened his shirt.

“I don’t know what I need, Scott.” She sniffed and looked up at him. “I don’t know why I’m such a bitch anymore.”

Again, he thought of the good doctor, but only squeezed Rica tighter. “Why don’t we catch a movie?”

She stared into his eyes. “It has been ages since we’ve been out, just the two of us.”

“I’ll call dispatch and tell them that I’m off the grid for a few hours, unless at least half of the town is destroyed.”

She smiled, as she wiped away tears with the heel of her hand. “Better make that three-fourths.”

He let go of her as he flipped open his cell phone. “Do you want me to finish vacuuming before we go?” he asked, as the call rang through.

She shook her head. “Let’s do it together tomorrow morning.”

Chapter 23

The movie morphed into dinner at the new Italian restaurant in town that Rica claimed was supposed to be divine.

“Dr. Ambrose said he was here last week and the food was wonderful,” Rica gushed. “He said the service was excellent, too.” She sipped at the red wine that, Scott noted, cost more for the glass than she usually allowed them to spend on an entrée.
Oh, well, at least we are together and trying to relax.
Since he had only taken himself off call for four hours, he stuck to iced tea that, he had to admit, was some of the best he had ever tasted. When his glass was two-thirds empty, a waiter glided in to replace it with a fresh one. He did his best to ignore the references to Ambrose.

“It sure smells good.” He wanted to be agreeable. “And the service has been great so far.” Quicker than he expected for such an expensive restaurant, their meals appeared. Rica had ordered the shrimp scampi, while Scott opted for lasagna.

“You really should try something different once in a while,” Rica said, as she tasted a shrimp. “Oh, this is heavenly.”

I should take her on a date more often if it makes her this happy.
He resolved to make this type of outing a weekly custom. “Glad it’s good.” He cut a piece of lasagna. “My test of an Italian place is always lasagna.” He savored the bite. “If they make good lasagna, they can usually handle anything else.”

“That does make sense.” Rica stopped eating to watch him. “How is it?”

He grinned and cut another piece. “It passes muster.”

She laughed. “I’m glad we did this, Scott.”

He reached across the table to take her right hand in his left. “Me, too.” With his right hand, he cut another bite of lasagna.

That made her laugh again. “Glad to see you have your priorities, Scott. Hold my hand and eat at the same time.”

He grinned. “I have mastered multi-tasking, my dear.”

By the time they ordered tiramisu to share and Rica had a second glass of wine, he felt much better about the state of his marriage. He left a generous tip and paid for their dinner while Rica visited the ladies’ room, then arm in arm, they walked to her car in the parking lot. She pulled him close as he reached to open her door. “Let’s not go to a movie, Scott.”

He nuzzled her neck. “What would you rather do?”

She spun away from him. “Let’s go dancing.” She twirled around the space next to the car.

“Dancing?” He dreaded it; he had two very clumsy left feet. But anything that would make her happy tonight, he was willing to try. Unless she suggested breaking into a bank or something. “Where would you like to go?”

“I hear the Thirsty Dragon has a good band tonight.”

He opened her door and waited for her to dance into her seat. “Thirsty Dragon it is, m’lady.”

Occasionally reaching over to stroke his neck, she hummed while he drove. The Thirsty Dragon was the bar that Delia and her friends frequented. Would he run across any leads there? He could bump into her killer there. Would he know?

****

Charlotte Daniels kept the serene expression plastered on her face just as meticulously as the makeup she had applied. She thought of a huge tab and plenty of tips as she approached the happy couple at the table in the corner. Then, when he looked up at her to order a cosmopolitan for his wife and a Pepsi for himself, she caught a good look at his face. And that was the reason she scanned the room for Tessa as she chirped out the order to the bartender. Before Nate had the drinks drawn, Tessa clumped up to the bar.

“God, I’m tired.” She put her hands on her back and stretched, then glanced at Charlotte. “Geez, girl, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Charlotte shook her head. “No, just a guy a little too handsy.”

“Bastards.”

“Sad thing is, I think he’ll be a good tipper, but I don’t want to have to beat him off to earn it.”

“I don’t care what I have to do, as long as they tip good.” Tessa touched her fingertips to her lips. “Damn, I need a cigarette.” She turned to look at the room. “Why’d they have to go and make this place ‘smoke-free’ anyway?”