"Have You Seen Her?" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rose Karen)

Chapter Nine

Saturday, October I, 6:00 P.M.

Jenna stopped at the base of the steps leading to Allison's house, her ankle throbbing from the trek up the steep driveway. Her feet didn't move, even though the foot in the sock was becoming chilled. Shivering, she admitted to herself just how much she'd been dreading this dinner.

Adam's memorial dinner. On the week before the second anniversary of his "passing." She'd never heard the Llewellyns say "dead." They said "passing." Talk about being in denial, especially Allison. But even as she dreaded it, she could never bring herself to tell Allison "no." This dinner was a family tradition, and the Llewellyns were her family.

So move, Jenna. Get up those stairs and get this dinner over with.

But still her feet didn't move. The dread of how it would be overpowered family traditions.

Jenna knew exactly how it would be-exactly as it had been the year before. Allison would set her table with her Noritake china and Waterford crystal. The table would be set for six, although they'd be only five-Allison and her husband Garrett, Charlie, Seth. And herself, sitting next to the chair Adam had always occupied. His now-empty chair. They'd sit and join hands and Garrett would say his solemn grace.

And that would be the first bad moment-having to reach across Adam's place setting to grasp Seth's hand. It was such a physical reminder that Adam was no longer there.

Like she could ever forget. But somehow reaching across his not-to-be-used butter plate made it worse. It was stupid, she knew, but true. The next bad moment would come when they all toasted him. Jenna couldn't even remember what she'd said last year. She had no idea what she'd say this year. The very thought made her nauseous.

Lifting her foot to take the first step, Jenna felt her stomach do a cartwheel so strong she swung around and sat instead. From here she could see Adam's car at the curb. The shop had done a good job finding the old-style tires on short notice, but it had cost her. She'd paid the bill, grateful she had the car to bring tonight. The last thing she wanted was to add anxiety over Adam's car to the family angst on memorial dinner night.

She heard the door open behind her and caught the jingle of bangles-Allison's daughter Charlie-along with a whiff of what was to be dinner. It would be Adam's favorite meal, just like last year. That was another part of the family tradition, preparing the deceased's favorite meal at their memorial dinner. They remembered Adam's mother with liver and onions, Adam with sloppy joes from a can. On top of being the tiniest bit eccentric, the Llewellyns had terrible taste in food.

The bangles jingled louder until eleven-year- old Charlie dropped down to sit on the step beside her. She crossed her arms, creating another jingle from the bracelets that hung from both wrists. "Hi, Aunt Jenna," she said in a dramatically melancholy voice. Charlie had called her Aunt Jenna from the time she was six years old and Jenna wasn't about to ask her to stop.

"Why so glum?" Jenna asked, knowing Charlie needed no real reason. She was a pre-teen girl and that said it all.

"I hate sloppy joes," Charlie grumbled. "Why did Uncle Adam pick that for his favorite?"

Jenna looked down with a fond smile. "You don't know?"

Charlie puckered her lips. "If I knew I wouldn't be asking, would I?"

Jenna ruffled her short hair. "Sarcastic little brat," she said affectionately. "Your uncle picked sloppy joes because your mom's such a terrible cook he figured it was the only thing she couldn't totally ruin." Jenna leaned close and whispered, "He liked spicy Chinese food the best." A memory hit, so clearly it took her breath. The tiny apartment they'd shared after grad school, Adam, hale and hearty, sitting in their bed with a carryout carton in one hand and chopsticks in the other, wearing only his glasses and a broad smile at something she'd said. She remembered thinking she'd be happy with nothing else as long as she had him.

Charlie brought her back to reality with an amused chuckle and the memory slipped away like a wave going back to the sea. Wait, Jenna wanted to scream, but knew it was a fruitless waste of energy. Adam was gone. She no longer had him. And she'd learned to be happy anyway. She had.

"He really said that about my mom's cooking?"

Jenna swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. "Really."

"And I thought I was the only one."

She swallowed again, willing away the emotion that threatened to overwhelm. "You're not." She pulled herself to her feet. "But this means a lot to your mom, so let's go."

Saturday, October I, 7:00 P.M.

"You wanted to see me, Dad?"

Victor Lutz looked up from the ledgers he'd been reviewing. Rudy stood in the doorway of his home office, the breadth of his shoulders completely filling the opening. His son was a handsome boy. Dark hair, bronze skin, strong jaw. Got his looks from his side of the family, thank God. "Yes, Rudy, come in and sit down. Did I also hear your friends out in the hall?"

Rudy sat down in one of the rich wine leather chairs and slid into a slouch. "Yeah, we're going down to the Y to lift weights." He winked. "Gotta keep my throwing arm in shape for next week."

"Yes. That's a good idea. Rudy, we need to talk about this problem at the school."

Rudy's smile faded. "I thought you fixed it."

"Blackman promised you'd play next week. But I'm not certain he'll keep his word."

Rudy was frowning by this time. "What are we going to dor?" Victor shrugged. "Depends how highly your teacher values her principles."

Rudy's expression went blank and Victor sighed. Got his looks from his side but unfortunately Rudy's brains came straight from Nora. God help the boy if he ever lost football, because he sure as hell wasn't going anywhere on the force of his intellect.

"Whaddya mean, Dad?"

"Let's be direct, Rudy. I heard her tires got slashed yesterday."

Rudy sat up straighter in the chair. "Now I had nothin' to do with that," he said quickly. "The boys, they did it all on their own. Kinda like a show of support."

"Of course. That's the 'kinda' thing that may make her change her mind-and your grade."

Rudy's eyes went narrow. "You mean, it's cool?"

"It's cool, Rudy. She's a teacher, for God's sake. How much can she realistically afford to replace? Tell your friends to keep it up, and you stay as far away from them as possible. Tell them to just keep it discreet." He leaned back in his chair with a frown. "You do understand discreet?"

Rudy gracefully rose to his feet, white teeth flashing against his tanned face in a bold grin. "It means don't get caught."

"Exactly." Victor watched his son amble toward the door, the picture of a cocky boy with the world by the tail. "Rudy?"

Rudy paused at the door, his hand on the knob. "What now?" he asked, his expression a familiar mix of teenaged sarcasm and boredom.

"Don't mention this to your mother or Josh." Nora was so unpredictable, it was hard to tell how she'd react to such a plan. Josh, well, he was predictable all right. Predictably slow-witted. Left on his own, Josh would probably lead police right to Rudy and his friends with the tire-slicing knife still in their hands. No one could believe Rudy and Josh were brothers. That they were fraternal twins was a detail Rudy would never even have to bother to deny should it ever come up. It never would, if Victor had anything to do about it. Josh had the misfortune to take his brains and his looks and his athletic capability from Nora's side of the family. Josh had once shown promise as having some measure of intelligence, but even that seemed to evaporate at the onset of puberty. Now he had trouble remembering his own name most days. It was better to keep him away from anything of any importance whatsoever.

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Rudy rolled his eyes in disgust. "Like I'd let that retard anywhere near me. I don't think so." But when he pulled open the door, Josh stumbled in, red-faced and stuttering an apology.

Victor tightened his fists on top of his desk. Well, fuck. He might as well have had Nora in the room, too, because Josh would go straight to her when this conversation was over. Unless Josh somehow became locked in the root cellar… for the rest of his life. The idea unfortunately was only a fantasy-a recurring fantasy with immeasurable appeal. "Well, Josh? What do you want?"

Josh straightened and tried for dignity. And of course failed. "It's wrong," he said, haltingly. "She's a nice lady, Dr. Marshall."

Rudy snorted. "So nice she's ruining my chances to be recruited by that college scout."

To Victor's surprise, Josh met his eyes with a full stare. "Rudy failed. He should have to follow the rules like everybody else." Then grunted in pain when Rudy shoved him up against the door frame, one strong hand around Josh's throat, lifting Josh an inch off the ground.

"I don't follow the same rules, turd," Rudy ground out. "Remember that, if you can."

Josh gasped for air and Victor said mildly, "Let him go, Rudy."

Rudy abruptly stepped back, threw Josh a baleful glare, then stalked from the room. Josh sagged back against the door frame, huffing and puffing.

"Don't be stupid, Josh," Victor said softly and went back to his ledgers.

Saturday, October I, 9:30 P.M.

Steven closed the door to Interview Two behind him and came to a stop next to ADA Liz Johnson who looked like she'd been thoroughly enjoying herself. "Sorry I had to drag you all the way down here for nothing, Liz," he said and she grinned.

"Don't be sorry. Watching you finesse the sorry piece of shit Gerald Porter was worth my gas money. I think the real fireworks will happen when the Porters get young Gerald home tonight."

Steven leaned against the glass, on the other side of which Mr. Porter was ominously promising the sorry piece of shit Gerald that he'd pay for his sins.

"Too bad the only thing we can really get him for is carrying an illegal ID," he said glumly. "The bar where I found him conveniently hadn't noticed their sixteen-year-old patron was carrying the ID of a forty-five-year-old Hispanic man."

Liz patted his shoulder as she had on countless occasions before. "Well, Mrs. Porter seems to have been a mite put off by the fact Gerald dumped Samantha because she wouldn't sleep with him. I think he'll be sufficiently punished."

"But I wanted a murder suspect," Steven grumbled. "Not a candidate for asshole of the year."

"You'll get one, honey. Come on, I'll buy you a beer."

Steven smiled and pecked her cheek. "You're a good woman, Liz. Why hasn't some man snatched you up?"

Liz shrugged into her jacket. "Well for starters, I don't have a fairy god-aunt like Helen to handpick me a man. And for finishers, I work too damn much."

Steven sighed. "Let's make that two beers."

Saturday, October I, 10:30 P.M.

"Good boy." Jenna slipped the leash off Jim's collar and patted him on the head, grateful she could finally sit down. Her ankle throbbed, her head ached, and her stomach burned. Damn memorial dinners with sloppy joes from a can. She eased her body into the sofa and sighed as her tense muscles relaxed. A hot tub would be better, but that would mean getting up.

The phone jingled and Jenna glared at it. II it was Allison… But on the off chance it was only a telemarketer trying to put himself through college she made her voice pleasant.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Jen, how did it go?" It was Casey and she was yelling over the din of a noisy band.

"Okay, I guess. My bottle of Turns is all gone."

Casey chuckled. "Poor baby. So what feast did Allison serve tonight?"

Jenna winced, her stomach remembering all too well. "Sloppy joes. It's a family tradition."

Casey made a rude noise. "That family is weird, Jen. They're like the Munsters and Charlie's the only normal one, like… what was her name again? The blond one?"

Jenna smiled, accustomed to Casey's quicksilver topic shifts. "Marilyn."

"Oh, yeah. Well, now that Allison's dinner is done, why don't you come down to Jazzie's? The band is gieat."

"Can't. My foot is killing me."

"What happened to your foot?" Casey shouted above the din.

Knowing Casey would hear about her tires soon enough, Jenna told her the story, as briefly as possible, again keeping the threatening note to herself. Casey would have a conniption over that. "Steven brought me home and that was all there was to it," she finished.

"Steven?" Casey asked and Jenna felt her face heat. "Who's Steven?"

"Nobody," Jenna said, but it was too late. Casey would never let it go. "He's Brad's father."

"Hmm."

"What does that mean, hmm?" Jenna gritted, her jaw clenching.

"It means nothing."

"It was nothing," Jenna insisted, but the denial sounded pathetic even to her own ears.

"Just like your Steven is nobody," Casey added, her tone one of patronizing amusement.

Your Steven. Too bad the name conjured the face. Too bad it was such a very nice face. "Go back to your band, Casey," Jenna growled.

Casey laughed out loud. "Whatever you say, Jen. I'll be by tonight after my date and you can tell me all about it."

"That's all there was," Jenna spat, frustrated. "Besides, later tonight I'm going to be up to my chin in a tub of hot water. Then I'm going to bed. I'll see you on Monday."

"Monday? Don't you need my truck for hospice day? Don't tell me you've forgotten?"

Jenna groaned. "I did." She and Jim volunteered one Sunday a month at the hospice where Adam had spent his last weeks. Jim was a certified therapy dog and wagged his tail to spread joy. Jenna worked a little harder, reading aloud, relieving weary family members who needed a few hours to themselves, hugging them when the fatigue and grief became too much to bear. It was her way of turning Adam's death into something positive. But every hospice day she had to borrow

Casey's truck since Jim was a tight fit inside Adam's XK 150. "Can't you bring the truck by tomorrow?"

"Oh, I could, but then I'd miss hearing the rest of the story. I'll be by tonight."

"There is no more story. "

"I'll bring a pint of Rocky Road."

Jenna sighed. Casey never gave up. "I won't open the door for under a gallon."

"I've got a key."

"Dammit."

Casey chuckled. "See you later, Jen."

Jenna hung up the phone, settled back into the cushions when the phone rang again. Casey. "What did you forget?" Jenna asked sourly, then sat up straighter at the silence. "Um, hello?"

"Hello," a female voice said uneasily. "May I speak to Dr. Jenna Marshall?"

"This is she." Oh, crap. She'd been rude to a complete stranger.

"Dr. Marshall, this is Brad Thatcher's aunt. Great-aunt actually. I hope it's not too late to call."

"Of course not, Mrs.-I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."

"It's Helen Barnett. I tried to call earlier, but kept getting your machine. I have your briefcase."

"My briefcase?" Jenna asked blankly, then it came flooding back. Steven putting her briefcase in the backseat, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, how sweet and supportive he was when he helped her file the police report. The way his arm had felt against her when he helped her up the stairs to her apartment.

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Barnett said, jerking Jenna from her reverie. "This is your briefcase, isn't it?"

"Oh… oh, yes, ma'am, it's mine. I'm sorry, it's just been a long day. I'd completely forgotten about leaving my briefcase in Mr. Thatcher's car. Can 1 come pick it up tomorrow?"

"Why, certainly, dear. Steven would have brought it to you himself, but he's in the middle of a major investigation and it's got him preoccupied, I'm afraid. He's been gone all weekend."

"I know he's a busy man, Mrs. Barnett. If you'll give me directions, I'll swing by and pick it up tomorrow afternoon." She and Jim could go by after they finished at the hospice.

"It's Miss Barnett, actually. Would you mind coming by between five and six?"

She'd be done at the hospice by four-thirty. "That'll work. Thank you. I'll be by tomorrow."

Jenna hung up and stared at the phone for a long minute, acutely aware of the disappointment she felt that one, Steven wasn't bringing her briefcase by himself and two, he'd be gone on his major investigation when she went to his house to pick it up tomorrow. Both were ridiculous, she knew.

But still she was disappointed. Why ever for, she had no clue.

You do so know, Jenna, the little voice inside her whispered. She hated that voice. It was so snide. But usually right.

Casey's teasing has me thinking things that just aren't true.

Whatever you say, Jenna.

"Shut up," she snapped aloud and Jim and Jean-Luc looked up, instantly aware. "Not you," she added and looked at her watch. It would be a good two hours before Casey arrived with the Rocky Road, but she was pretty sure she and Seth had left some in the carton from last night. It would have to do until Casey arrived with the reinforcements.

Saturday, October I, 10:45 P.M.

"Why didn't you ask her to dinner?" Matt asked when Helen hung up the phone.

"It didn't seem right," Helen answered. "I trust my intuition on this."

"I think you just chickened out," Matt taunted. "Aunt Bea."

"I don't chicken out," Helen maintained with hauteur. Then she scowled. "And stop calling me Aunt Bea. Leave me alone. I have potatoes to peel for tomorrow."

Matt dropped a kiss on her cheek. "Mash 'em so thick you can stand a knife in 'em."

"I know how you like your mashed potatoes, young man." Helen took her peeler from the drawer and shook it at his grinning face. "I've been doing it for four years. Four long years."

"I'll have to ask Brad's teacher if she can make really thick mashed potatoes," Matt said thoughtfully. "I think it's a critical criteria."

Helen swatted him with a hand towel. "Don't even think about it. You make one false move tomorrow and I'll take this potato peeler to your behind."

"You're a scary woman, Aunt Bea."

"'And don't you forget it, boy."