Читать книгу False Prophet - Faye Kellerman, Faye Kellerman - Страница 11

The drive to Sun Valley Memorial was a westward stretch of freeway that had Decker riding into the late-afternoon sun. Squinting, he yanked down the unmarked’s visor, which did little to mitigate the glare, then fished around in the glove compartment until he felt a pair of sunglasses. Cheapies—the lenses were gridmarked with scratches. But it was better than driving blind.

Maybe Lilah had been able to see something from under the blindfold. It had been made of lightweight material folded over several times, but it hadn’t been form-fitting. She could have sneaked a glance or two out of an open corner.

If he got lucky.

He took the Branch Street exit, turned left, then traveled another mile on surface streets. The winds were blowing dust, little eddies of soot that looked like gold powder in the late-afternoon light.

The Foothill Substation of the LAPD patrolled the east end of the San Fernando Valley—the last bastion of rural Los Angeles filled with miles of grazing land. Slowly and steadily, commercialization was eroding the undeveloped acres, but the ranchers were a stubborn lot, often refusing to sell even if there was profit to be made. Creatures of habit, they, like Decker’s father, wouldn’t know what to do with the money if they didn’t have their work—tasks that challenged the body and roughened the hands.

As he veered the Plymouth away from the mountains and onto Foothill Boulevard, the terrain changed. Open fields yielded to lumber- and brickyards, scrap-metal dealerships, roofing companies, wholesale nurseries, and block-long discount stores advertising everyday sale prices. The boulevard twisted and turned through large open lots until the hospital came into view.

Sun Valley Memorial—a three-story square building plastered in green stucco—shared the block with a flower farm abloom with mums and marigolds. Decker parked the car in the half-full EMERGENCY ONLY lot, stuck his OFFICIAL POLICE BUSINESS card on the dash, and took the elevator up, getting off on the second floor.

The visitors’ area was small and nearly empty. To the right a woman and teenaged boy sat playing cards. On the other side of the room was a man reading a magazine and an elderly woman listening intently as a doctor, still dressed in surgical scrubs, spoke to her in hushed tones. No one was sitting at the desk marked INFORMATION.

Decker bypassed the lobby and walked down the long corridor until he found the nurse’s station. He presented his badge to a young man wearing a white uniform.

“Sergeant Decker of the LAPD. I spoke with Dr. Kessler earlier in the day and he told me I could come down and interview Lilah Brecht. She’s in room two-fifty-five.”

The man leaned over the counter to study the badge. “Lilah Brecht …”

“Yes, Lilah Brecht. She was admitted this morning, victim of an assault.”

“Lilah Brecht …” the man repeated.

With a smile, Decker asked, “Can you page Dr. Kessler for me?”

“I know who Lilah is. I’m her floor nurse. I seem to remember Dr. Kessler saying something about you coming down. I’m sure he wrote it in her chart.”

Decker waited.

“I’m not sure where the chart is now,” the nurse said. He scratched a hairy forearm. “Maybe down in Neuro. But it doesn’t matter. She’s out of it right now.”

“She’s sedated?”

“No, no.” The nurse frowned. “You don’t sedate people with possible head injuries. She’s asleep. It’s been a long day for her. Her brother tried to talk to her about a half hour ago, but she was—”

“Her brother? You mean Dr. Brecht?”

“Yep.”

“He was here?”

“Why is that weird? He’s the patient’s brother.”

“I’ve been looking for him,” Decker said. “Left messages at his office, at the hospital—”

“I never got any messages from you.”

Decker let out an exasperated sigh. “Did he just get here or has he been here all day?”

“I’d say he came about a half hour ago. When he saw she was sleeping, he said he’d be back in a half hour. But like I said, that was a half hour ago. So he should be back around … now.”

“I’m going to take a quick peek in Lilah’s room,” Decker said.

“Okay,” replied the nurse with hairy forearms. “But don’t wake her.”

Decker said he wouldn’t. Her room was at the end of the hallway—one of the few privates available in the hospital. She was sleeping sitting up in the bed, glucose trailing down an IV line threaded into her arm. Her hair had been brushed off her forehead, her scrubbed face showing the bluing and swelling of her ordeal. Both eyes were puffy, with scratches and cuts above her brow. Her mouth was open; the dry air had caused her red lips to crack. Her skin tone had markedly improved. She was still pale but the cold, ashen complexion was gone. She wore the standard hospital gown backward, the split open in the front. But her modesty was protected by a bedsheet across her chest. Softly, he called out her name.

No response.

He checked his watch and decided to wait a few minutes. He pulled a chair up to the bed, about to stretch his legs when a stern voice jerked his head around, demanding to know who the hell he was.

The man appeared to be in his early thirties, medium height and weight, prematurely bald with just a few plugs of thin blond hair sticking up from a pink scalp. He made up for his lack of cranial hair with a full sandy-colored beard and thick eyebrows. He had close-set, pale-blue eyes and a long beaky nose. He wore a long white coat over an embroidered work shirt and jeans. On his feet were an ancient pair of Earth sandals—the kind where the toe was higher than the heel. Decker thought those had gone the way of the Nehru jacket.

“I’m Sergeant Decker of the Los Angeles Police.”

The man paused. When he spoke again, he had lowered his voice. “I don’t think she’s equipped to talk to the police at the moment. Maybe tomorrow.”

“You’re Frederick Brecht?”

“I’m Dr. Frederick Brecht, yes.”

With an emphasis on the doctor, Decker noticed. He stood, overshooting Brecht by around six inches. He put him at about five-ten, one-seventy. Even though his coloring was similar to Lilah’s, brother and sister bore little resemblance.

“I’m handling your sister’s assault, Doctor. I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

Brecht’s scalp turned a deep shade of rose. “Why is that a concern of the police?”

“You went out with your sister last night,” Decker said. “Maybe you noticed something—”

“Nothing,” Brecht said. “If I had, I would have contacted you. Anything else?”

Decker said, “Doctor, how about we grab a cup of coffee in the cafeteria as long as Lilah’s resting? Maybe you can help me out by answering a couple of questions.”

“But I have nothing to tell you,” Brecht insisted.

Lilah moaned.

“Patients, even in sleep, are still receptive to their surroundings,” Brecht lectured. “I think this conversation is upsetting her. I’m afraid I must ask you to leave at once.”

“Doctor, I know this is a bad time for you—”

“Bad is an egregious understatement, Sergeant. I’m in no mood to be interrogated.” Brecht touched the tips of his fingers to his forehead. “I can’t think clearly. Maybe tomorrow.”

Decker was struck by Brecht’s manner—incongruent with the informal, guru appearance. He’d expected a palsy-walsy interaction and was getting anything but.

“Sure, tomorrow’s fine,” Decker said. “It’s just … you know. Well, maybe you don’t. Time is really important in these kind of cases, Doc.”

Brecht closed his eyes, then slowly opened them. “I suppose a few minutes …”

Decker walked over and looped his arm around the doctor’s shoulder. Gently, he guided Brecht out the door. “You look like you could use a cup of coffee.”

“I never drink caffeine,” Brecht said weakly.

“Now’s a good time for an exception.”

“No, no.” Brecht sighed. “I’m fine. Really, I’m fine. Well, that’s not true at all. I’m very shaken. Who wouldn’t be?”

“True.”

They took the elevator down to ground level. It was after five and the cafeteria had begun to serve dinner, the special was meat loaf with mashed potatoes, peas, and coffee or soft drink for $4.99.

“Hungry?” Decker asked.

“I never eat red meat,” Brecht said.

Decker picked up an apple.

“That’s been sprayed,” Brecht commented. “If you must eat chemically adulterated items, may I suggest an orange as opposed to an apple. Its peel, being thick, absorbs most of the pesticides, leaving only traces of the poison in the meat of the fruit.”

Decker stared at him. “Maybe I’ll just stick to coffee.”

“Caffeine has been implicated in heart disease and infertility.”

“My wife’s pregnant,” he said, then wondered why.

“Good God, I hope she has enough sense not to drink coffee. Caffeine’s been implicated in birth defects!”

Decker was quiet. Now that he thought about it, Rina was suddenly drinking mint tea. He wondered if that had been implicated in anything, but didn’t ask. He filled a Styrofoam cup with coffee and led Brecht to a corner table. He pulled out his notebook.

Brecht said, “How long have you been with the force?”

Decker held back a smile and sipped axle grease. “I’ve been with LAPD for seventeen years, fifteen of them wearing a gold shield.”

Brecht looked at Decker, then at the tabletop. “I … apologize for interrogating you … was it Officer Decker?”

“Sergeant Decker. Detective Sergeant if you want to get technical.”

“I’m usually very professional in my behavior, Sergeant. But now … well, surely you can understand …”

“Of course.”

“What …” Brecht hesitated. “When did it happen?”

“I’m not sure of the exact time,” Decker said. “I was hoping you could help me with that. You were out with her last night.”

“Yes, I was. But she was fine when we parted. When did you find out about …?”

“The call came through dispatch a little before seven in the morning,” Decker said. “Maid phoned it in. How’d you find out?”

“I called my office.”

“When?”

“Around an hour ago. My secretary was panicked by your visit. It took me at least five minutes to calm her down and find out what had happened. She was very worried that … that something had happened to me as well.”

“She seems like a loyal gal.”

“Althea has my interests at heart.”

“Why’d you wait so long to call your office for messages?”

“I … it had been an unusual day. I was very busy.”

“With what?”

“What does my business have to do with Lilah?”

Decker waited.

Brecht sighed. “Well, if you really must know, I was preoccupied with my mother.”

“Davida Eversong.”

“The Great Dame of the Silver Screen.” Brecht frowned. “She can really put it on, that woman. But she is my mother. What can I do?”

Decker said, “You were at the spa all this time?”

“No, no, no,” Brecht said. “At her beach house. In Malibu. Mother’s there at the moment. She doesn’t know a thing about Lilah and I’m insisting that you don’t tell her.”

“How much do you know about the case, Doctor?” Decker asked.

Brecht stiffened. “What are you implying, Sergeant?”

“Take it easy,” Decker said. “I was speaking in medical terms. Have you read your sister’s chart?”

Brecht paused, uncoiling slowly. “Not yet. It wasn’t on her door when I arrived and I haven’t had the energy to go searching for it. I’ve put in a call to her attending physician.” He looked Decker in the eye. “Is there anything I should know about?”

Decker didn’t answer.

Brecht’s voice turned to a whisper. “She was sexually assaulted, wasn’t she?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Dear God!” He gasped out. “Dear, dear God, I don’t believe …” He gasped again. “Could you get me some water, please?”

Decker bolted up and retrieved a glass of water. Still trembling, Brecht clutched the cup and gulped down the water.

“Do you need another drink?” Decker asked.

Brecht held up his palm and shook his head. He took a deep breath. “No … no, thank you.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes … quite. It’s … the shock.” He inhaled deeply once again. “What happened?”

“We’re still putting pieces together, Doctor. I hope to have a better picture after I talk to your sister.”

“I just can’t believe …” Brecht buried his face in his hands, then looked up. “Ask your questions, Detective.”

Decker said, “When did your mother call you to come down to Malibu?”

“This morning,” Brecht said. “She was in terrible pain and I rushed out to treat her.”

“What time did she call?”

“Around eight-thirty, nine.”

“Is that why you canceled all your appointments?”

“Yes. My appointments that day started at ten. I knew by Mother’s tone that there’d be no way that I could get away with just a simple treatment. Once I was out there, I just didn’t feel … I decided to give her the entire day.”

“Your secretary said your cancellation message was already on the machine when she arrived at eight.”

Again Brecht’s scalp deepened in tone. “Well, maybe Mother called at seven-thirty. I really don’t remember exactly.”

Decker let his words hang. Forget about the phone call for the moment. From Malibu to Tarzana was a toll call. If Mama Eversong did dial sonny boy up, Decker could get the exact time by checking phone records. “What’s wrong with your mother?”

“Age.” Brecht sounded weary. “She’s over seventy with diabetes, arthritis, bursitis, osteoporosis—oh, why bore you with the details? Conventional drugs alone have had little success. In conjunction with my holistic regimen, Mother does a bit better handling the pain and skeletomuscular problems. But basically she’s just wearing out and not doing it gracefully.”

“You usually treat her whenever she calls?”

Brecht sighed. “I evaluate each incident individually. If I hear a demand for attention and not genuine pain in her voice, I put her off. This time she sounded as if she really needed help.”

“And you received her call around seven-thirty?”

“I suppose. Anyway, if you need her to verify my presence at the beach house, I’ll have her write you a note. I’m afraid I can’t give you her home number.”

“That’s all right,” Decker said. “I have it.”

There was a moment of silence.

“You have my mother’s beach house number?”

“All of your mother’s numbers. I’ve called all day and nobody answered.”

“My mother doesn’t believe in answering phones. She claims that’s for secretaries.”

“Does she have a secretary?”

“No.”

“There were no machines answering the numbers, either.”

“She claims machines are uncivilized.”

“So she never answers the phone when it rings?”

“Not at the beach house. Or at her apartments. At the spa, anyone wishing to speak with her leaves a message at the desk. She does pick up her messages from time to time.”

“Then why does she bother having phones?”

“To make outside calls—as she did to me this morning.” Brecht blew air out of his mouth. “As I started to say, if you need her to verify my presence, I’ll make sure she writes you a note.”

As if a note from Davida Eversong would carry enough weight to explain anything away. The arrogance of the rich. Or maybe Brecht was used to Mama taking care of him. A note—as in grade school. Please excuse Dr. Freddy for being absent.

“I’ll even insist Mother have the note notarized,” Brecht added.

Decker said, “I’d like to interview her.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“It just is. At least right now. I can’t elaborate. Perhaps in a day or two.”

Decker let it go. Brecht was being cooperative but only up to a point. Was he protecting Mama or protecting himself? Not that Decker had any reason to actually suspect Brecht. Still, Lilah’s safe was wide open. What the hell was inside?

“You went out to dinner with your sister last night.”

“Yes. I picked her up around …” Brecht stopped, stared at Decker. “Now do I have to tell you the precise time?”

“Do the best you can, Doctor.”

“I came to her house around eight. We went out to a vegetarian restaurant in the Fairfax district. A Sikh establishment that uses only rennetless cheese. You’d be surprised how many of these vegetarian places use cheese with rennet. Rennet is—”

“I know what rennet is, Doctor. It’s a chemical used as a binder in cheese making, derived from the gut of a cow.”

Brecht stared at him. “Your nutrition IQ just rose a notch in my book, Sergeant.”

Actually, Decker knew about rennet from keeping kosher. Rina had explained to him in great detail why ordinary cheese without certification was considered unacceptable. It didn’t make a lot of sense to him for a chemical to be considered unkosher—a designation he’d thought was reserved for edible food only. But it didn’t matter. Kosher cheeses were just as good and it made Rina happy. If she was happy, he was happy.

“When did you arrive back at your sister’s home?” Decker asked.

“Around eleven, eleven-thirty. The restaurant is a ways from her house. There’s quite a bit of traveling time.”

“Did you go in the house afterward and talk?”

“No, I was fatigued from a rather stressful day and I was anxious to get my rest.”

“You dropped your sister off?”

“Of course not! That would be cloddish and I am not a clod. I parked the car and walked her to the door. After she was safely inside, I drove away.”

“Everything appear normal when she went inside?”

“Yes. She turned on the living-room light, told me good night and closed the door.”

“Does she always leave the living-room light off when she goes out?”

Brecht stopped. “Good God, here we go again with the precise details. Next time, remind me to take my Dictaphone and video camera!”

Decker waited.

“Maybe the light was already on,” Brecht said. “I don’t remember.”

“Was the bedroom light on?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You couldn’t see?”

“I suppose I could technically see her bedroom window from my car, but I didn’t pay any attention.”

“Did you hear anything unusual?”

“Not at all.”

“See any strange cars parked around the house?”

“No.”

“You say you walked your sister to the door around eleven, eleven-thirty?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t go into the house?”

“No. Lilah asked me if I wanted to bunk down in the guest bedroom for the night, but I said I’d rather go home. Now I wish to God that I had. I’m feeling terribly guilty about it.”

Decker nodded.

“Of course, I had no way of knowing …”

“None at all,” Decker said.

“Damn, if only I had been there!”

“If you’d been there, maybe you’d have ended up in worse shape than Lilah.”

“Better me than her!”

“All I’m saying is, it might have been both of you.”

“You just don’t understand.” Brecht took a deep breath. “I’m not myself. Do you have any idea who did this horrible thing to my sister?”

“We’re investigating every avenue right now, Doctor.”

“In other words, you have no suspects.”

Decker was quiet.

“Are we done, Sergeant?”

“Almost. By any chance, do you have a key to your sister’s house?” Decker asked.

Brecht’s voice hardened. “Yes, I have a key. Why?”

“Just checking out every avenue,” Decker said. “Did you know your sister has a safe in the bedroom closet?”

Brecht shifted in his seat. “I don’t like this line of questioning.”

Decker waited.

“Yes, I know she has a safe in her closet! What of it?”

“Do you know what she keeps in—”

“Of course not!”

“Not even a hint?”

“No, Sergeant.”

“Do you have the combination—”

Brecht rose from his seat. “Why would I have the combination to her safe!”

“My brother and I have the combination to my parents’ safe,” Decker said. “I don’t have any idea what valuables they keep inside, but they gave us the combination in case something happened to them.”

Brecht seemed suspended in midair, then he slowly sat back down.

Decker shrugged. “With you being so close to your sister—you have a key to the house—well, I thought she might have trusted you with the combination.”

“She didn’t.” Brecht touched his fingers to his forehead. “May I assume the safe had been opened?”

“You can assume anything you want.”

Brecht clasped his hands together. “There was a robbery in addition to the assault?”

Decker said, “Maybe.”

Brecht said, “You don’t say too much, do you?”

“I’m just trying to do some fact-finding. A few more questions and we can call it quits, Doctor. What did you do after you dropped Lilah off?”

“I went straight home.”

“Make any calls?”

“No, not at that hour.”

“Check in with your service?”

“Uh … no.”

“Don’t you usually check in with your service before you go to bed?”

“If there is an emergency, they’ll page me. I believe in leaving well enough alone.” Brecht folded his hands across his chest. “I think we’re done now.”

“Doctor, please bear with me. How many brothers do you and Lilah have?”

Brecht opened his mouth and shut it. “What?”

“How many brothers do you have? Straightforward question.”

“Uh … two.”

Decker looked at him. “You’re sure, now?”

“Of course I’m sure. We have two other brothers—half brothers, really.”

“Their names?”

Again, Brecht paused. “What do they have to do with any of this?”

Decker shrugged. “Every avenue.”

“Good God,” Brecht said. “No, they couldn’t have. They couldn’t. Could they?”

Decker didn’t answer. Brecht hadn’t brought up his brothers, but now he sure seemed eager to implicate them.

“It’s my understanding that your sister had quite a noisy argument with King.”

“The maid must have told you that.” Brecht made clucking noises with his tongue. “Kingston scared the daylights out of her. If it wasn’t for Carl, who knows what he might have done to Lilah. Not that I’m implying Kingston had anything to do—with Lilah.” He looked at Decker. “I shouldn’t be telling you this …”

But he was going to tell it anyway, Decker thought.

“Kingston has always been insanely jealous of Lilah, though he disguises it as being protective. The fact is, he’s irate that she’s the sole heir of Mother’s estate. For years, he’s been pressing Mother to change her will. Even though Mother slips him money from time to time.”

“Slips him money?”

“Just to shut him up, I think. I really don’t know much about Kingston’s affairs. We’ve been estranged from each other for quite a while.”

Decker nodded, knowing that old Freddy Brecht was no objective character witness for brother King. Still, it never hurt to listen to opinions.

“You think Kingston might have broken into his sister’s safe to steal money?”

Brecht suddenly reddened. “I have no proof … I really don’t know why I said that. Probably because Kingston’s always hard up for cash. Even though he makes untold hundreds of thousands at that mill he’s running.”

“Mill?”

“Abortion mill.” Brecht scrunched up his face. “I think he’s branched out into other things—infertility is the latest rage. First women pay money to kill their babies, then they pay money to have them.”

“Kingston is an OB-GYN?”

“Yes. Imagine a specialty for something as natural as childbirth.”

“Excuse me, Doctor, but isn’t your other brother an OB-GYN as well?”

“Indeed. But at least John seems to be a little bit more respectful of fetal life.” He wagged his finger. “Not that I’m against abortion like those crazy right-to-lifers. But Kingston’s mill is positively repulsive. His so-called practice is the antithesis of what we physicians profess to represent.”

Decker couldn’t tell if Brecht’s ranting was a heartfelt opinion or yet another way of venting against his bro King.

“Are you close to John, Doctor?”

Brecht shook his head. “He’s closer to Kingston. The two of them are of the same generation and in the same field, so I suppose it’s natural.”

“Does your mother slip John money as well?”

“I don’t know,” Brecht said. “John seems to mind his own business. I have little to do with him, but I harbor no animosity toward him.”

“Can you spell Kingston’s name for me, please?”

“Spell?”

“I want to make sure the maid gave me the right spelling.”

“K-I-N-G-S-T-O-N M-E-R-R-I-T-T.”

Kingston Merritt. Obviously, he and John Reed were half brothers as well.

“Do you have phone numbers for either of them?”

“No. They’re both in the book. John’s practice is in Huntington Beach; Kingston’s is in Palos Verdes.” Brecht stood. “If you don’t mind, it’s been a terribly long day and I’d like to check on my sister. With all these questions, I hope you haven’t lost sight of the fact that there is some maniac out there who hurts people.”

“I’m well aware of that.” Decker stood. “I’ll go up with you … see if Lilah’s up for talking.”

“And if she isn’t?”

“I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“I’ll phone the nurse’s station and find out if Lilah’s up,” Brecht said. “Save you a trip if she’s still sleeping.”

Decker hesitated.

“Or you can make the call, if you’d like,” Brecht suggested.

Decker pointed Brecht to the house phone in the cafeteria. Brecht made a quick call, then hung up.

“She’s still sleeping.”

Decker evaluated his face and felt he was telling the truth. Even if he wasn’t, he couldn’t get much of an interview from Lilah with Freddy standing over his shoulder. Maybe it would be better if he came back tomorrow, refreshed from a good night’s sleep. He thanked Brecht for his time. Only thing left to do was running Lilah’s bagged clothes over to forensics. Then his working day was over.

The house was deserted. Almost seven and no dinner on the table, no sons greeting him with a hug at the door, no wife taking his coat and nonexistent hat, and no dog bringing him the paper.

His fantasy of marriage—shattered in a single blow.

“Yo,” he called out. “Anybody live here?”

He walked into the kitchen. Empty. Then he looked out the back window. Rina was barbecuing, tending the fire with savoir faire. She wore a denim shift under a white butcher’s apron. She was laughing and her long black hair was loose and blowing in the wind. The boys were racing the horses, yarmulkes flapping as they cantered, profiles burnished by the sinking sun. Ginger was chasing after them, panting and yelping, enjoying the exercise.

Domestic bliss, except he wasn’t in the picture.

He went outside.

“You made it!” Rina kissed his cheek. Her skin smelled of hickory smoke. “Go change. Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes.”

He glanced at the grill—marinated skirt steaks. Rina had also made coleslaw and macaroni salad, and had a couple of bottles of Dos Equis on ice. The patio table had been set for four so at least she’d been expecting him home. “I didn’t know they made maternity aprons.”

“I must look like a tent.”

“A beautiful tent. I’ll live inside of you any day of the year.” He hugged her from behind. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. I took a nap after you left.”

“I like that. You should be babying yourself while you can.”

She turned around and hugged him as best she could. “Are you okay?”

“Sure.”

“You seem wound up. You’re walking stiffly.” She reached up and gently squeezed the nape of his neck. “Oh, you’re all tight, Peter.”

“Occupational hazard.”

“Want a massage?”

“Later, thanks.” He picked up a beer bottle, then noticed cans of soda sharing the cooler space. Coke. With caffeine. He shifted his weight, trying to appear casual. “You allowed to drink this stuff while you’re pregnant?”

“I stay off soft drinks. Bad for the weight. Besides, Coke has caffeine and I don’t drink caffeine. That’s why I don’t drink your coffee in the morning anymore.” She smiled impishly. “Or hadn’t you noticed, Peter?”

He hadn’t and felt stupid because of it.

Sammy, the older of the two boys, spied his stepfather from afar and waved. “Hey, Peter, look at me.”

He began racing his horse at top speed toward the edge of the mountain. Jacob, seeing his brother hogging parental attention, kicked the flanks of his horse and tried to catch up with him.

Cupping his hands, Decker yelled out, “Good going, boys. Keep it up.” He turned to Rina. “They’re having fun.”

“You sound envious. Why don’t you join them?”

Decker hesitated. His arm and shoulder were throbbing. He’d forgotten to take his afternoon dose of analgesics, but wasn’t about to do it in front of Rina. “Nah, it’s okay. I’ll keep you company.”

“Don’t be silly, Peter. Go ahead.”

“I said it’s okay.”

“Is your shoulder bother—”

“My shoulder’s fine, Rina. Just peachy!”

Rina looked down.

Swell, he thought. She was hurt. He felt bad for sniping at her, but he was sick of her asking, sick of telling her it was okay when it wasn’t. Why didn’t she stop asking?

Why didn’t he stop calling his daughter?

“Cindy phone?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Super.”

Rina took his hand but didn’t say anything. Cindy was hurting him and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. She couldn’t even comfort him. As with his gunshot wound, the topic of his daughter was off limits. “Rabbi Schulman called about an hour ago. He’s expecting you in his study at nine tonight.”

“I’ll be there.”

“He also told me that he’d asked another man to join you two. A ba’al tshuvah who’s in a lower shiur—”

“Someone is actually below me?”

Rina didn’t answer, hating it when he denigrated himself. His progress in Torah studies was yet another taboo subject. Judaism was a hard religion for a newcomer. Even though Peter had made such marvelous advances, he was still uncomfortable with his newfound faith—nervous about what he didn’t know instead of praising himself for what he did. He was so smart. If only he could just relax and enjoy his God-given brains. “Rav Schulman asked me to ask you if that’s okay. He thought you’d be the perfect role model for the new kid on the block.”

“Fine.”

His face was impassive as he rebuffed the compliment. Rina looped her arm around his waist. “You want me to run you a hot bath?”

“Thanks, darlin’, but I’ll wait until after dinner to bathe.”

Again, he stared longingly at the boys. Rina knew he was caught between a desire to ride and the pain the activity might inflict.

Jacob shouted to his stepfather. “Look, Peter.” He took off for the mountain again.

“I wish they wouldn’t ride so fast,” Rina said.

“They’re okay.”

“Maybe you should go out there and supervise them. Why don’t you take White Diamond, Peter? She’s gentle. She shouldn’t jostle you too badly.”

Between clenched teeth, Decker said, “I told you I’m fine.”

Rina sighed. “So you did. Rather forcefully, I might add.”

“Okay.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Okay, I’ll be honest. Maybe my arm hurts a little.” With that admission, he pulled out two Advil tablets and gulped them down with a swig of beer. “I’ll be fine in a few minutes, but right now I’m a tad uncomfortable. You win. I emoted. Are you happy?”

“I’m still in a state of shock.”

Decker laughed and threw his left arm around her. “You’re a good sport, know that?”

“Yes, I know that.”

“I try.”

The boys headed up the mountain.

“You’re going too far!” Rina yelled. “Come back!”

Ignoring their mother’s pleas, they rode farther on the steep trails.

“Peter, tell them to stop!”

“They’re having fun.”

“It’s getting dark. They’re going to get lost.”

“They’ll be fine, darlin’. Stop worrying.”

“I’m not worried, I’m concerned. There’s a difference.”

“All right,” Decker groused. “I can see you won’t relax until I go after them. I won’t even bother to change my clothes. Will that make you happy, Rina?”

“If your arm—” She stopped herself. “Yes, that will make me happy, Peter.”

“Swell.” He planted a kiss on her forehead and muttered as he walked away. But inside he was thrilled that she’d given him an excuse to saddle up. And no White Diamond for Cowboy Pete. The hell with the pain, he was going for Cobra, the biggest damn stallion in the stable. Up on the mount—man, he was king. But damned if he’d tell Rina how he felt. He’d emoted enough for one day.