Riders on the Storm
- Автор: Горман Эд
- Серия: Sam McCain #10
- Год: 2014
- Язык: английский
- Год: Pegasus
- ISBN: 978-1-60598-625-8
- Жанр: Криминальные детективы
Электронная книга - «Riders on the Storm». Краткое содержание книги:
She walked around behind her desk and sat down. She helped herself to a cigarette. “So you got what you wanted, Sam. I admitted that we had an affair.”
“When did he tell you that it was off?”
“Lunch. 5/29/71. 12:30-1:39 p.m. I put it on my calendar when I got back just the way I would any other business meeting. Because that’s how he was. All business. We could have been closing on a house the way he was. He has a cold side, you know.”
“Yeah, every once in a while it comes out. You rarely see it. That’s what makes it so strange when you do see it. You can’t equate it with this big, lumbering, smiling guy.”
“But it’s there. I’ve seen it twice now. The first time was when I started following him places when I learned about Karen that summer. He wasn’t just cold. He was so hostile. It was like we’d never been in love. I was just a nuisance to him.”
“I’m sorry, Cathy.”
The Vegas smile. “You are? The last time you saw me I didn’t pick up on any great sympathy.”
“Then I apologize.”
She knew how to exhale cigarette smoke dramatically. “I hear you’re seeing Mary Lindstrom.”
“Right.”
“I always envied her. She’s so beautiful but it never went to her head. In fact in high school the popular girls thought she was such a loser. And I know she didn’t date much because she had this thing for you. And you had it for Pamela. God, talk about a girl who was stuck on herself. You’re lucky to be with Mary now.”
“I realize that more every day.”
Then she said it and I wasn’t prepared for it and maybe she wasn’t either.
“Since I’m going to confession here I may as well lay it all out for you. You were right: I sent Will those threatening letters.”
“Wow.”
“I told you I went a little crazy.”
“That’s more than a little crazy.”
“He deserved it for what he did to me.”
“I have to ask you, Cathy, what were you doing the night Steve Donovan was murdered?”
“God, I’m sick of talking to you, Sam. I really don’t like you anymore.”
“I’m sorry for that, Cathy. I really am. But I need to know where you were the night Donovan was killed.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with Donovan’s murder. Period.”
“You’re not making my work any easier. I’ll have to tell Foster that you sent those letters.”
“Paul?” Amused. “Paul’s taken me to dinner twice. Very nice guy. His wife dumped him for a younger man last year. He knows a little about the subject so he’s easy to talk to.”
“We’ve all been dumped, Cathy. And most of us survive and get past it.”
“I never understood why you held on to Pamela so long. She led you around like a little dog. All those years you wasted on her. She was never going to fall in love with you and everybody could see that except you.”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“No, I’m not. I’m just tired of you trying to make me sound like I’m the only one who held on too long. You don’t think that there are a lot of married people who are still in love with somebody from their past who broke their hearts?”
I eased up from the couch. “It bothers me that you sent Will those letters.”
“There isn’t anything I can do about that.”
“The county attorney could file charges against you.”
“You’re going to tell him, of course.”
“I have to. I should also tell Foster. But since you’re such good friends, I’ll let you do the honors.”
“I don’t care,” she said, torment faint but real in her tone. “I should leave this town anyway. Every place I look I see bad memories. It’s no place for me anymore.”
She might have murdered Donovan, I thought. Those long-ago men and my confusing friend Will had stolen all her kindness and tenderness and compassion. She just might have framed Will. Bitterness and rage were the only things they’d left her with.
The only things.
20
The whisper war started while I was setting the table for supper.
Kate and Nicole sat hypnotized by the TV in the other room and I was tending to plates, glasses, cups, silverware, and napkins when Mary came in with a spoonful of pasta sauce for me to taste.
“Delicious.”
She poked me. “You’d say that even if it was terrible, wouldn’t you?”
I poked her back. “Probably.”
I slung my arm over her shoulder and strolled back into the kitchen with her.
“I met that man this morning.”
“Donlon? The one you told me about last night?”
“Um-hm. Nice guy and very helpful.”
“Anything the police should know about?”
“Not quite yet. I want to do something before I call Chief Foster.”
In the kitchen window long pre-dusk shadows. The first stars; a large passenger plane soaring toward the half-moon; a TV tower in the distance blinking red signals into the half-night. Mixed with this were the aromas of the kitchen — the scents of pasta, sauce, coffee, and the fresh bread Mary loved to bake.
She was in the process of using a fork to test the progress of the pasta boiling in the metal stockpot on the gas stove. “What is it you want to do?”
“Donlon says that over the years Lon Anders has had him deliver shipping materials to this cabin he owns. Donlon thinks there’s something illegal going on. So do I. I thought I’d check it out tonight.”
She went back to pulling strands of pasta from the boiling stockpot and then nibbling on them. “Sounds like something Foster should be doing. Since he’s the law and everything.”
“I probably won’t have much trouble getting inside.”
She set down the fork she’d been using to waggle pasta strands from the stockpot and faced me. Workday weariness and apprehension and an anger she was trying not to give in to — all of these played across her face. “Have you given any thought to what you’ll do for a living?”
“What’re you talking about?”
“When Foster finds out he’ll undoubtedly ask for your license to be lifted. And what will the state board think about a lawyer breaking and entering? You always liked that job you had in high school, bagging groceries. Maybe you could get that back.”
“I’m hungry!” Kate announced as she raced into the kitchen.
“Honey, go get your sister and you both sit down and by then I’ll be bringing out supper.”
“Nicole said you brought home ice cream. She saw it.”
Mary swept her up. “Your sister is a very good spy. But it’s not ice cream. It’s sherbet.”
“What’s sherbet?”
“You’ll just have to find out. But you’ll love it. Now go get your sister.”
She set Kate down. Kate said to me, “Do you like sherbet, Sam?”
I patted my stomach. “I love it.”
And then she was running away in that awkward, endearing way of hers, shouting, “Nicole, we’re having sherbet tonight!”
This was when the whispering started. The girls would be near us now.
“I thought you cared about us.”
“You know damned well I do. Don’t pull this on me.”
“All right. Then I’ll just say Please don’t do this, Sam. You know what kind of guy Anders is. Think of us.”
Nicole said, “Is everything all right, Mom?”
She’d caught us gritting whispers back and forth.
“Everything’s fine, honey. Please go get your plate and tell Kate to get hers, too. I’ll dish you up some pasta.”
“I’m not sure I like sherbet.”
“Oh, you’ll like this.”
“Eve had it one night for dinner. I didn’t like the taste.”