Cards on the Table, стр. 16
I glanced at the tape recorder winding away in the bright sunlight. «For the sake of argument, if Will Burack didn't kill Eva, who would be your second guess?»
He stared at me for a long time, then he turned to watch his junior partner perform a tight little somersault off the diving board. «Gloria Rayner,» he said. * * * * *
It was dusk by the time I made it back to Glendale. I met Jack going out through the arched entranceway as I was coming in.
My instinctive delight dissolved. He was dressed for an evening on the town: boots, tight-fitting jeans, body hugging silk T-shirt. He checked for a moment, seeing me. «Hey, Tim.» «Hey, Jack.» «Good day?» He didn't look guilty exactly, just sort of uncomfortable.
«It was,» I said, and I was pleased that my voice sounded relaxed. A little flare of malicious humor prompted me to ask, «Hot date?»
«Oh…» He offered a lopsided smile – no sign of the dimple at all. «I wouldn't go that far.»
«You can go as far as you want,» I assured him – and if I'd had dimples, they would have showed. No way was I going to let him know that this mattered to me. He already thought I was some pathetic loser; the last thing I wanted was for him to think I placed unreasonable significance on the fact that we'd had sex. In fact, I felt almost giddy with relief that I was able to pretend that it meant nothing – that he meant nothing. I'm not even sure where it was coming from. Maybe from the same place that final wisecrack comes right after they line you up against the wall and point the rifles. «Have a good one,» I said, and I went on through the archway, leaving him standing there framed in the bougainvillea.
Once safely inside my apartment I got a beer from the fridge and uncapped it with unsteady hands. I dropped down on the couch and chugged half the bottle, then sagged back and put the cold bottle against my hot forehead. It was stuffy as hell in the apartment, but that wasn't my problem.
No, my problem was I had a migraine coming on. And I still didn't have an ending for my book, the mob was mad at me, and I was dangerously close to falling for a guy who didn't give a damn about me.
«Well, hell,» I said softly. I put the beer down, went into the bathroom, and rummaged in the cabinet for some Tylenol. Catching my expression in the mirror, I sneered. «Get a grip,» I said. Putting Jack out of my mind, I popped a couple of Tylenol and got to work.
I had finished transcribing the interview with Ball and entering my notes into my laptop, when something occurred to me.
Pulling my copy of Mayfield's The Mystery of the Tarot off the shelf, I looked up The Lovers card.
Two Lovers stand in front of the Tree of Knowledge. The man represents the rational, conscious, practical mind. The woman symbolizes the intuitive, subconscious, and mystical. The man gazes upon the woman, the woman looks skyward toward an archangel who blesses their union. Upright, this card in a reading bids the querent unify both intellect and intuition. A choice must be made: will the querent follow the dictates of her heart or «use his head?» The answer lies in surrendering to a higher spiritual power. The card is also known as The Twins.
I stared at the page thoughtfully, then reached for the phone. I dialed Stephen Ball's home. Naturally I didn't get Ball himself, but I left a message asking him to call as I needed to verify some facts. I had a feeling it was going to take more than one message to get hold of Mr. Matinee, but I was prepared to keep calling until I got an answer.
Turning off my laptop, I gave some thought to dinner. To my relief, the migraine turned out to be just a bad tension headache, which surrendered to the pain relievers and a ham sandwich. The lights were still out at Jack's place by the time I took my shower and went to bed, but it was still early in the evening. And it was none of my business.
It was still none of my business at one o'clock in the morning, when I gave up on sleeping and got up to watch some Perry Mason reruns. All the same, I couldn't help noticing that Jack's porch light was still on, as I heated up the teakettle.
Settling on the sofa with a mug of tea, I watched Perry dispensing law and order.
I wasn't fretting about Jack anymore – well, not much – but my brain couldn't seem to turn off. I hadn't let myself think about Frank Fumagalli and his pet goon all day, but now that I had nothing else to keep me busy, I couldn't help feeling a little uneasy. Okay, a lot uneasy. I had no idea what to do about Fumagalli. How far was he liable to take this? Would he put a contract out on me if refused to drop the book? Was that what happened to Raymond Irvine back in '63 when he started research on his book?
The doorbell rang and I spilled my tea. Even decaffeinated hot tea has an energizing effect when you pour it in your lap. I jumped up, shrugging out of my bathrobe, and then stood there, immobile, listening to the doorbell buzz a second time.
Did hit men ring first or did they just knock down the door and blast you where you stood? I slunk over to the door, peeked out in time to see Jack turning away. I yanked the door open.
He swung back to face me; his smile was tentative. «I didn't wake you, did I? I saw the light was on.»
«No. You didn't wake me.» I made an effort to do the friendly thing, more for my sake than his. «How was your date?» He shrugged. I ran out of things to say. Why was he here? «Can I come in?»
Without a word, I stepped back and let him in. He glanced at the TV, at my discarded bathrobe, and the mug on the floor. «Listen,» he said, and stopped. He gave me a funny, uncertain look. «I'm listening,» I said.
«Tonight…I'd agreed to go to this concert over a month ago. I couldn't cancel.»
Something tight inside my gut slowly let go. «It's okay,» I said. «You already said you weren't looking for anything serious.»
«I'm not, but…» His eyes zeroed in on mine. «I kept thinking about you all evening.» «You did?» Maybe I shouldn't have sounded quite so surprised.
«I did. I was wondering how your day went. And what you were doing. I kept thinking about last night.» «I…» I shrugged. «Me too.»
Jack's dimple showed briefly. «Anyway, I was wondering if you had plans for the rest of the night?»
I wondered if I was still dreaming. Maybe I hadn't woken up at all, and I was still tossing and turning in the bedroom, dreaming that I had put the kettle on and was watching Perry Mason reruns – and that Jack suddenly appeared at my door saying nice things and wanting sex. It seemed like the kind of thing I'd dream.
Jack was still smiling, but he tilted his head a little like he was listening for something he just couldn't hear. His smiled slipped a fraction. «No?» he asked after a moment.
My heart did one of those little end zone victory dances, but I did my best to stay stoic. «I don't know,» I said slowly. «I really wanted to find out how this episode of Perry Mason ends.»
«Ah.» Gravely, he studied Perry's grim, blue-jawed visage. After a long moment, he looked back my way. «It's the ex-wife of the other rancher.»
I gazed at him, and I couldn't keep from smiling. «I think my schedule just opened up.»
Chapter Ten
«You have a great laugh,» Jack said. «I have?»
He nodded, threading my hair through his fingers. «I kept hearing it tonight, kept thinking how funny you'd find this – or that.» He seemed almost puzzled – nearly as puzzled as I at the idea that Jack had spent his date thinking about what I might find humorous. Especially since I didn't remember laughing a lot around Jack.
He leaned over and kissed me, his hand sliding down to my hip. I thrust up against him, and he said, «Do you want to fuck for real?» «Wasn't last night for real?» «Last night was great. Can I fuck you?»
I thought it over. Felt an unwilling smile tugging at my mouth. Maybe I really did have a weird sense of humor, because there wasn't much funny about that. Ironic maybe. «Sure,» I said, «but go easy. It's been awhile for me.»