Читать книгу The Women's Club - Abusive partners are winding up dead… Criminals who target women are the victims of nasty accidents… Pretend it's not happening, you might live longer - Michael Crawley - Страница 12

Jack drove towards Anne Smelding’s condominium apartment with trepidation. It was unbelievable that he’d made it this far. He’d actually managed to visit the precinct and work with the sketch artist, describing the perp’s hair, eyes, mouth, nose and so on without letting even one sexist remark escape his lips. Although he’d only had the chance to greet Anne very briefly, and then to say goodbye when the sketch was complete and his prints had been taken, he felt confident that he’d made a decent first impression on her co-workers, confident enough to call her up the next day and ask her out.

And she’d accepted. That was a surprise! In his head, she’d already turned him down. After all, he was older, and although in good shape for his years and sporting a fine head of silver hair, he was no longer a hunk. A woman like Anne would have her choice of suitors. She was sophisticated and yet she still had a firm and youthful body. Didn’t that make her every man’s ideal mate?

Was it his money that she found attractive? But she had no way to know that he was more than just comfortably off. What on earth could she see in him?

From the moment she’d said, ‘I’d love to,’ to the present moment, his attention had been focused on their date, yet he still felt as unprepared for it as he’d feared he would be all along.

Jack racked his brain for a persona he could wear that would suit the occasion. Perhaps his cheerful, ho ho ho ‘Santa’ self? That would be fitting, as he carried a bottle of wine and a dozen roses in his arms.

But it would also be dumb. He didn’t want to be a jolly old man to her; he wanted to be an attractive mature one. Damn. It wasn’t too late to leave the roses in the car but Anne would be getting into it soon enough and she’d see them. In which case he should at least ditch the wine. She might think booze was so important to him he had to take some wherever he went.

Discarding the roses was out. All women loved getting flowers. The ones who said they didn’t were liars. He was sure of it. And adding wine to his gifts was simply going the extra mile, as he’d always done in every aspect of his life. That, and incredible luck, had been the secrets to his success in business, if he had any secrets. Do everything that was expected of him, do it well, then do a bit more.

Anne Smelding opened the door of her eighth-floor apartment wearing a clinging black velvet dress that showed nice cleavage but not so much that it would make him feel uncomfortable. It was slit at both sides to just above her very attractive knees.

Jack said, ‘Wow!’

She smiled. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment. Come on in.’

‘For you,’ said Jack, handing her the bouquet. ‘Wine as well, just in case.’

‘In case?’ Anne gave him a playful look.

Jack shrugged. ‘In case you’re allergic to flowers?’ he offered.

She laughed out loud. ‘I couldn’t live without flowers,’ she said.

Anne took his offerings to the kitchen. Over her shoulder, she called, ‘Sit down for a moment. I’ll put these in some water and then we’ll be on our way.’

He sat. The room was sparsely decorated, with colourful pictures on the walls and lots of bare hardwood floor. The few pieces of furniture were elegant, with the clean lines that declared them designer-made.

‘A good piece of furniture is like a cat,’ he said. He winced because he’d said it out loud, just as Anne re-entered the room.

She bent over to set a heavy vase resplendent with the roses on the coffee table. Jack got a deeper glimpse into her cleavage, which further discombobulated him.

‘How so?’ Anne gave him a frank, questioning glance.

‘Well…’ He averted his eyes. Had she caught him ogling her décolletage? Christ. Focus, Jack. ‘It just sits there, silently demanding to be admired. Like you’re a bit of a boor if you don’t notice it.’

She laughed. He was already hooked on the sound. Each giggle he elicited from her was a tiny pat on his back that made him feel more worthy – or at least, a little less unworthy.

She said, ‘I never thought of it that way. I guess all beautiful things are like cats, then?’

‘Beautiful, pleasantly curved things,’ he said. He took the chance of running a frank, appraising glance from her face to her toes and back.

She held his gaze with her hazel eyes for a long second before blinking and looking down. How many times had he done that eye-contact thing in business? Every time, every single damned time, he’d been convinced that it wasn’t going to work, he wasn’t going to get away with it. Somehow, he always had. If only his business rivals had known what a fake he was! They had to have been as ersatz as he’d been.

Not Anne, though. Anne was the real thing. Anne had a body that was svelte and she worked in a field dominated by men. She’d have been complimented plenty in her time, so he’d better keep it subtle. There was no need to turn a minor victory into a loutish gloat. The mischievous wordplay part of his mind added, ‘Like a gloatish lout.’ He felt his lips curl at the corners. Nobody appreciated Jack’s little jokes like Jack did.

‘Jack?’

He rose. ‘Shall we go?’

Jack strode to the hallway. Damn. He was over-analysing. He figured he’d be OK if he just let himself run with it for a bit, so long as he kept the internal debate dialled down. Better yet, remove the fretting from the equation. And don’t get hung up on the dead wife. Try not to be a chauvinist pig, if at all possible.

Anne held out her coat to him.

‘I could use a drink about now,’ he said. He froze, mid-reach, so that his hands, reaching for the coat she held out to him, were unable to complete the task. Deal breaker!

‘Me too,’ she said. She laughed. ‘It’s been a long week.’

He relaxed, took her coat and opened it for her, inhaling her perfume as she slipped her arms inside the sleeves. The pleasure of the moment rippled through him.

‘Amazing!’

‘What is?’ She turned to face him and the distance between them increased. Never mind. She’d be back in his arms soon enough, this lady who smelled like love.

Jack cleared his throat and said, ‘A woman who takes compliments gracefully and who is willing to accept the little courtesies. I didn’t think that there were any of you any left.’

‘I’m macho enough at work,’ she said. ‘In my private life I like to remember I’m really a girl. Is that old-fashioned of me?’

‘Don’t ask me. I’m all for it. But then I’m a bit of a dinosaur, according to my daughter.’

‘We’re both of us dinosaurs, I guess, Jack.’

‘Except we might be endangered but we’re not quite extinct yet.’

‘The last…’ She let her words trail off.

‘The last what?’

‘I was going to say, “The last breeding pair of an endangered species,” but, you know, I didn’t want to use the word breeding.’ She giggled. Jack thought he glimpsed the little girl inside the adult woman.

Outside, Jack helped her into his Lexus and made a point of going round behind it to get to his door. If a man’s going to be old-fashioned, he might as well go whole hog and enjoy it.

As the car pulled away, Anne asked him, ‘It’s been a while since you’ve been out on a date, right, Jack?’

‘If you call thirty years a while, then yes.’

‘Newly single?’ she guessed. ‘Divorced?’

‘Widowed.’

She rested a hand on his knee. ‘I’m sorry. How…?’

Jack swallowed hard. ‘Suicide, or as good as.’

‘Oh, my God! I’m so sorry. If you don’t want to talk about it…’

‘Maybe I should – get it out of the way.’ He glanced down at his watch. He’d allow himself sixty seconds on the topic of Marion and not a second more. Go. ‘It’s a story I’m sure you’ve heard before. A husband who neglects his wife for his work – a wife who takes comfort in booze and pills. Leading to an accidental overdose…’ Forty seconds.

‘So it wasn’t actually suicide, then.’

‘Sometimes I feel like a murderer. My daughter, Celia, is certainly of that opinion.’

‘Surely not.’

‘It’s been – tense – between us, ever since Marion died.’ Time’s almost up.

‘She’ll come around. Time heals.’

‘I hope you’re right.’

Jack focused on his driving. Anne turned her head away to look out the window. In a voice as soft as velvet she asked, ‘How long has it been, Jack?’

Damn. She was stuck on the topic of Marion. He had to respond. ‘Two years.’

‘You’ve been alone for two whole years? What about all those predatory women who fling themselves at the recently bereaved? Are they a myth?’

‘No myth. They came around. I didn’t care. They wanted “a man” but I wanted M – I wanted my wife back.’ To his horror his voice broke. He concentrated on the road, willing himself to keep his lip buttoned. But it felt so good, talking to a sympathetic companion. He decided to risk it. ‘You see, my wife and my daughter both loved “stuff”. Celia still does. I worked hard, always, so they could have that “stuff”. I thought that made me a good husband and a good father. But all I was to them was a good provider.’

She turned away from the window towards him. Her hand went to his arm, squeezed and stayed put. ‘That happens to a lot of people. Anyone living in a one-income household bears a huge responsibility these days.’

‘Work, work, work. It’s all I did. I was good at it, excellent, in fact. Celia tried to warn me that Marion drank too much, took too many pills, and I told her, “If you were married to me you’d drink, too.” “She just needs to relax.” “Leave your mother alone.” I defended Marion, as I felt a husband should. I had no idea how serious it was until it killed her.’

‘Addicts hide their habits, Jack.’ She stroked his arm sympathetically. It felt as if the warmth of her fingertips heated his skin, right through his suit jacket.

The temptation to milk his misery was strong. ‘Want to know the part I really can’t stand?’ There. He’d handed her the opportunity to shut down this self-indulgent display of weakness. If she did he’d be crushed, of course, but she’d never know it. He’d make damn sure of that.

‘Yes.’

That one simple word made his heart sing. He forged ahead. ‘I was just months away from retirement when it happened. Months away from having the freedom to do whatever I wanted. I was going to make it all up to her. That was my plan. Instead I buried her.’

‘That’s tragic,’ said Anne.

‘Yes,’ he replied. He glanced at her again, then back at the road as he took a right turn. ‘And that’s the last I have to say on the subject.’

‘OK.’ She dropped her hand from his sleeve to her lap.

They rode in silence for a moment. Silence could be deadly, he knew, but he was afraid to open his mouth. If he said ‘Marion’ again he’d have to pull over, park and beat himself to death with a tyre iron. So he concentrated on his driving and let the hollow silence linger.

Jack remembered all the ladies of a certain age who had descended on him in what had felt like a pack, after the – news – hit the neighbourhood. They’d praised his good qualities to high heaven. What were those qualities, though? He racked his brains. They’d said he was a good listener. So shut up and listen. ‘What about you? Divorced? Widowed?’ He frowned at her. ‘Married, Ma’am?’

‘No, no!’ She held up her hands in mock horror. ‘Nothing like that.’

They both laughed as if their witticisms were worthy of a couple of characters in a Noel Coward play.

‘Never married,’ she said. She twisted her bare left ring finger. ‘I went out with the same guy for a long time, but my career got to him. It’s hard being with a cop, Jack, and worry can kill love.’

He nodded. He was a worrier, but she didn’t have to know that. He could change.

‘After that, well, I’ve dated a fair bit, got to know some of my dates well, moved on.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m pretty good at it.’

‘That’s a relief. I don’t remember my last date but it was decades ago. Probably with M – with my wife. That’d make sense.’

‘I find that fact a tad daunting,’ she blurted.

When he glanced at her she laughed, a short, sharp nervous sound he hadn’t heard before. ‘Why? You just said you’re good at it.’

She turned in her seat to face him. ‘You must have a lot of pent-up – er – energy.’

A surprised snort escaped him. ‘Don’t worry, Anne. I promise to control my base animal instincts.’

‘OK. Only – don’t try too hard.’ She squeezed his thigh just above his knee. ‘Just enough, if you know what I mean.’

He dropped a hand on top of hers and gave it a squeeze. Her palm felt like it was burning a tattoo on his leg. The heat this woman emanated! Still, he managed not to blurt out anything stupid. After a moment she withdrew her hand and he returned his to the wheel. In truth, he didn’t exactly know what she meant by ‘just enough’ but he was game for whatever she had in mind.

Valentine’s had valet parking. There’d been a time when the valet would have recognised Jack and addressed him by name. Now it had been what? Five years since he’d been here? The college-kid valets he’d known back then would all have all moved on to their real careers by now.

Not all of them, it turned out. The elegant young man wearing the Maitre D’s tux greeted Jack with, ‘Nice to see you again, Mr Hale. Welcome back.’

Jack stared blankly, scrambling for a memory.

‘I used to park your Caddy. I’m James? Remember?’

‘Of course,’ Jack lied. ‘You’ve been promoted, I see.’ Compounding his mendacity, he continued, ‘It was obvious, back then, James, that you were destined for better things.’

James preened.

When they were seated in an alcove and had their menus, Anne asked, ‘Did you really remember him, Jack?’

‘No.’

‘Little white lies, right? What would we do without them?’ She laid her menu aside. ‘You’ve obviously been here a few times over the years. What do you say you order for me, please? Isn’t that what the gentlemen of your generation always did, order for their dates?’

‘My generation? That’s more my Grandfather’s generation, young lady.’

‘Oops.’ There was that giggle again. Anne reached across the table to touch her fingertips to the back of Jack’s hand. Neatly shaped nails, now an off-duty crimson, indented his skin. ‘Sorry. I misspoke. I guess I assume that all men who are older than me are of the same generation, not that you’re that much older than I am, not that…’ She paused and grinned. ‘I’m babbling, aren’t I.’

‘A bit.’

‘Let me put it this way, and embarrass myself in the process, as penance. I like you, Jack. You’re a bit older than I am. That’s no problem, for me. I hope it isn’t a problem for you.’

‘I asked you out, didn’t I?’

‘True. So, please, will you order for me? I think it’ll be fun.’

‘Certainly.’ He turned to the waiter. ‘We’ll start with the jumbo shrimp, followed by soup, I think. The spicy pumpkin soup. Then, rack of lamb for two, unless the lady doesn’t like lamb, in which case we’ll have the Chateaubriand for two. Anne?’

‘I like rack of lamb.’

‘Mint, no rosemary, please,’ Jack added.

‘Excellent choice,’ said the waiter. ‘To drink?’

‘With lamb, I was thinking of a rosé, perhaps a Bruno Paillard? But first…’ Jack glanced at Anne questioningly.

‘A cocktail?’

‘A cocktail,’ he said.

She grinned. ‘Great.’

Jack ordered a couple of Rusty Nails straight away. Anne not only seemed to approve of his choice, but tossed half of hers down as soon as it arrived.

‘You were right, by the way,’ she said.

‘In my choice of cocktail? Yes, I can see that.’

She grinned. ‘Like I said, it’s been a rough week, and I do enjoy a Rusty Nail. No, I meant that you were right about that piece of plastic. There were microscopic scratches that bear out your theory – that it might have been used to gimmick the door. The killer would’ve had to set it up earlier. There’s a machine that sells those mints right there, so it might have been a matter of opportunity.’

That was comforting. Jack said, ‘It’s nice to be right about something for a change. I’m fascinated by police work.’

‘It’s nothing like you see on TV.’

‘I’m not surprised to hear that.’

‘A lot of police work is waiting. Waiting for lab results. Waiting for the perp to make a move.’ She grimaced. ‘Waiting for promotion.’

‘Oh?’

She swallowed the rest of her cocktail. ‘If I was a man, I’d have made captain years ago. I’d be bucking for chief of detectives by now. It’s an uphill fight, for a woman.’

‘Even one as capable as you?’

‘I haven’t solved this case yet.’

‘You will, I’m sure.’

‘I hope so. It’d be a boost to my career. You know, when I was young, nothing could have stopped me from pursuing a career in police work. But I have to admit sometimes I wish I’d chosen a more traditional career.’

‘Nurse, perhaps? Or teacher?’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m not much of a care-giver,’ she said. She nibbled on a sliver of the lemon peel that had garnished her drink. ‘Let me put it another way. Sometimes I wish I was a man.’

‘Waiter,’ he called gallantly. ‘Another Rusty Nail for my good buddy here!’

That cracked her up.

‘Personally,’ he said, ‘I’m very glad you’re not a man. I’d hate to have to switch songbooks this late in the concert.’

Her second drink arrived. ‘Oh, I think we’re on the same page,’ she said. She took a sip of her Rusty Nail, extending her pinkie in a ladylike manner more suited to tea than Scotch and Drambuie.

Jack felt his face warming. To change the subject, he asked, ‘Isn’t it motive that usually leads to criminals being caught? And in cases of murder, isn’t it usually someone close?’

‘His wife has a solid alibi, and she doesn’t stand to inherit much. She has lots of money; he had none.’

‘I’m stumped then.’

‘Uh-oh. I guess that means that I’ll just have to solve this one all on my own.’ She grinned.

‘Sorry. I was being presumptuous.’

‘No problem. Here comes our food. Jack, can we forget the case now and just enjoy each other’s company?’

The waiter arrived with the appetisers and wine.

Jack nodded his approval of the wine. He said, ‘Anne, you’re so warm and friendly to me now. But back at the “scene of the crime” I got the impression you didn’t like me much, almost to the very end of the – er – interview?’

‘I guess it’s the booze talking,’ she said.

He was taken aback until she laughed.

‘No. Jack, you were a suspect until I got word that a witness in the lobby corroborated your story of chasing a mystery woman. Once you were crossed off the list, it was OK for me to notice that you’re a very attractive man.’

What the hell was he supposed to say to that? Jack concentrated on his plate. A man with a mouthful of shrimp isn’t required to talk, but he can still look at his companion.

Anne had a thin upper lip but a very full lower one. Jack found the contrast highly sensuous. It was like a pout, but not weak or sulky, the way a pout is – just sexy. It was quite possible that before the evening was over, he’d be kissing those lips. That reminded him of the pack of mints in his pocket. He had to remember to take one before he… No! Fool! Anne was a detective. If she saw that pack of mints – if she even so much as tasted a hint of mint on his mouth – that’d start a chain of questions and deductions that could eventually lead to his Celia being put in jail.

Not that he really thought…

It’d be best to leave the damned mints in his pocket, or better, find some way to ditch them.

The plates were whisked away and the soup served. Why on earth had he ordered so many damn dishes before the main course? He’d never make it through this evening without blowing it, one way or another.

But he did. The soup was as tasty as it was fragrant, and the rack of lamb was superb. Somehow, Jack survived the rest of the meal without adding his foot to the food he was putting in his mouth. Anne announced she was too full for dessert, which suited him just fine. Much as he loved her company, the sooner they got out of the restaurant the sooner he could declare this part of the evening a success.

Unfortunately, hot on the heels of dinner came the interminable drive back to Anne’s place.

In ‘his day’ – as she’d put it – a sumptuous meal earned a man a kiss or maybe a few caresses. What was the protocol now? Would it be unforgivable for him to move in for a kiss? Or equally unforgivable if he didn’t? And then what? Make out like teenagers in the car until – until what? Was he supposed to – was he ready to – jump into Anne’s bed?

It was tiring, the constant confusion. A mental image of his easy chair at home caused a wave of longing to wash over him. Maybe all he really needed was a pet.

Happily, he managed to suffer in silence until she introduced the topic of travel. Her pleasant voice chatted away about her trips to Florida and South Carolina until he found himself volunteering anecdotes about Europe and the West Indies that were amusing and didn’t prominently feature his wife.

He parked in a spot outside her apartment building and dropped his hand to release his seatbelt.

Anne’s covered it, preventing him. She twisted towards him. The long fingers of her other hand took hold of his chin. She said, ‘Don’t move, Jack, not an inch.’ Then her lips were on his and her tongue was warm and sweet and wet and gloriously alive in his mouth for what would have been the space of three heartbeats had his heart not paused from beating.

Jack recovered his voice. ‘What was that all about?’

‘That was about me making sure that you ask me out again.’ And she was gone.

He drove home in a daze.