Blood Will Tell (13 page)

That was nonsense. Her mild-mannered college professor was no Superman. He didn't even wear glasses.

Come to think of it, at his age, doing all that reading and work at the computer screen, why didn't he wear glasses, other than his ubiquitous sunglasses?

Brandy, she told herself, you keep this up, and pretty soon you'll have yourself convinced that Dan Martin is secretly Elvis Presley!

“You've gotten awfully quiet,” said Dan as they approached Murphy's city limits. “Tired?"

“Not really. Let's stop at the hospital, see how Jeff is."

The boy was in x-ray, his anxious family waiting for news. “But it's just his leg,” said Church. “He'll be okay, thanks to you two. Dan, I can't thank you enough for knowing how to calm him down. I was afraid he'd die of the shock and pain."

“Oh, Church!” exclaimed Coreen. “I didn't know it was that bad!"

“It's over, Honey,” he reassured her. “All they have to do is set his leg—lotsa kids break their legs, Babe. You didn't know me when I was a high school football hero. Half the time I went around with some part of me in a cast."

“I'm glad that's all it is,” said Dan. “Tell Jeff we'll come visit him."

“Okay,” said Coreen. “And thank you. That's so inadequate.” She kissed his cheek. “You saved my baby's life. If I can ever do anything for you, just ask."

As they left the hospital, Brandy realized, “I'm hungry."

“It's late,” Dan said. “How about we pick up some Chinese food and take it home?"

“Your place or mine?"

“Yours—if you'll let me use your shower."

Brandy smiled to herself. So he was finally ready to make his move. Well, she was ready, and very much willing. “My place it is. But I don't think I have a lace robe to lend you, like in a Cary Grant movie."

“Trapped again!” he said. “I came prepared, with clean clothes in my backpack. Actually,” he amended, “I just thought we'd want to change before going out to dinner."

By which he gracefully allows me the right to say no, thought Brandy. Dan Martin was either the nicest, or the smoothest, man she had ever dated.

Yet every time she thought she understood him, she discovered she was wrong. Again.

When they got to Brandy's apartment, he asked, “Do you want to shower first, or shall I?"

“We could shower together,” she suggested. “Save both time and water."

“I doubt that would save either,” he replied. “We're hungry, remember?"

So she let him shower while she put the food in a warm oven, rummaged in her closet for something seductive—and then had to tidy up the closet to get the door closed if she were to have Dan in her bedroom.

Brandy owned nothing blatantly sexy. Nightclothes were too obvious, and her cocktail dress was inappropriate. She settled on a pair of new shorts and a silky blouse, with sandals to replace the Keds she'd worn all day.

Dan emerged in his usual nondescript shirt-and-trousers outfit. Brandy decided it was camouflage, but with his dark good looks and magnetic personality it didn't work.

He had left her bathroom neat as a pin, even remembered to put the toilet seat down. Oh, yes—somebody had domesticated this man. She had a sudden horrified thought; what if he found her a slob?

Brandy didn't take long to shower, for she was hungry, and she had plans for after dinner. They ate at the kitchen counter. Cleanup meant tossing cartons and chopsticks into the trash. They adjourned to the living room couch.

This is it! Brandy thought when Dan kissed her. Things progressed sweetly for a few minutes, followed by passion as he began that strange exploration of her face and throat with lips and tongue. Odd, she had never known that her neck was an erogenous zone. She lay back, twining her fingers in his thick hair, waiting for him to go further.

When all that happened was that his lips returned to hers, Brandy decided he must need a signal. She insinuated a hand between them and began to unbutton his shirt.

Dan's hand caught hers. “Don't,” he said softly.

“Why?” she murmured. “We both know what we want."

Gently, he moved so that he held her with an arm about her shoulders, but the intimate contact was gone. “Brandy, we've only known each other for a week."

“So? I know enough about you—"

“No you don't!” he said with sudden vehemence. Then, more calmly, “You've waited this long. Take time to be certain I'm the right person."

Good God. Was she so clumsy that he recognized her virginity? Her face burned with embarrassment as she mumbled, “I thought you were."

“Perhaps I am,” he said tenderly, “but in that case why rush? If you and I are as right for one another as I think we are, then we can take all the time we need."

And she realized he needed time. She remembered his hints about a tragic love. How far in his past? He said he hadn't been married. Well, he was certainly too smart to lie about something so easily checked. But if he had loved—loved as Brandy had always dreamed of, a Shakespearean love that counted the world well lost—and then lost that love, he might well be reluctant to risk his heart again.

So, “You know where to find me,” Brandy said.

He smiled his rare smile. “I know. Just dial 911."

Chapter Six—Wedding Bell Blues

Brandy was at the police station by 7:45am Sunday morning, busy at the computer. She knew how to look for criminal records on Marvin Clement.

He had none.

But he did exist outside the annals of chess. Knowing that he had lived in New York, she was able to find out that he had owned a car, and that there was one fender-bender accident on his record before he disappeared.

Church came in after a while, looking as if he'd been up all night. “How's Jeff?” Brandy asked.

“His knee was crushed,” her friend replied, “and there were other fractures and damage to nerves and blood vessels. He'll need more surgery."

“Oh, God, Church, I had no idea it was that bad. What are they going to do?"

“He goes to Memphis tomorrow, to a specialist. Coreen will go with him. Her mom's coming to stay with Tiffany."

“Church—why did you come in today? You're exhausted,” said Brandy.

“I'm going to take time off when they actually do the surgery—and it's gonna be expensive, Brandy. The medical benefits will never cover it."

Brandy understood. Police pay was barely enough for her to live comfortably as a single woman; Church moonlighted, and Coreen worked summers at a local toy factory, from which she had just been laid off when the Christmas line was completed. Jeff was looking at a long recovery; Coreen wouldn't be able to take another job until the boy went back to school.

“So what are you working on?” Church asked, peering at the computer screen.

Brandy told him what she had found out about Everett Land, showing him the photocopies from Chess Review. “So you've solved the case,” he said.

“A closed case,” she said with a sigh. “But it's not really solved, Church. We don't know why Marvin Clement became Everett C. Land, or what he died of."

“But you have solved it,” he said. “The man really was old. How he passed for thirty years younger may be a mystery, but not what he died of: old age."

“But why change identities? He had no record."

“It was the Cold War. He was hobnobbing with Russian chess players. Who knows what he was mixed up in? He could have been in the Witness Protection Program. The C.I.A. won't tell us just to ease some Kentucky cop's curiosity."

“Okay, okay,” said Brandy. “We've got more important cases to work on."

“One,” Church agreed.

But the Car 108 case remained stalled.

Saturday night was always busy for the Murphy police; on Sunday morning they might still be processing people picked up during the night, but everyone else was either in church or sleeping off Saturday night. The detectives caught up on paperwork or rode patrol to supplement the single black-and-white touring the empty streets.

The phone in the detectives’ office rang. “Detective Jones,” Church answered it. “Oh, hello, Mrs. Mather. Yes, Brandy's right here.” He handed her the receiver.

“Hi, Mom."

“I called all day yesterday, Brenda. Where were you?"

“Out at the lake. There weren't any messages on the machine."

“I know to hang up before the fourth ring. Honey, when do you get off duty today?"

“4:30."

“Come to supper at six. I won't take any excuses."

“But, Mom—"

“This is important, Brenda. It's good news. You can bring that nice professor if you like."

“No, I don't think so.” She didn't want anyone to observe if her mother's “good news” turned out to be something to fight about.

“I thought you liked him, Dear. You were out at the lake with him yesterday."

“Are you having me followed, Mom?"

“Why, no. Mrs. McCuiston called this morning.” She gave the name the West Kentucky pronunciation, ‘McChristian.’ “You and Professor Martin are heroes. Now why did I have to hear that from someone else, Brenda?"

“Because all we did was try to help. There was nothing heroic, Mom."

A sigh of annoyance. “You only think it's heroic when you get shot at."

“Church's son Jeff is the hero. He's facing orthopedic surgery. He'll have to be very brave."

“You were—with Detective Jones and his family?” That part of her speech was tinged with disappointment, but then her native sympathy took over. “Is there anything I can do to help? Baby-sit the other child? I'll make them some casseroles—Mrs. Jones won't have time to cook if she has to be back and forth to the hospital."

“I'm sure they'll appreciate it, Mom,” Brandy said.

“I'll call Mrs. Jones right away. Why didn't you tell me Churchill's family was involved? Honestly, Brandy, you never tell me anything.” Then her tone changed again. “I'll see you at six this evening, Honey."

Honey, Dear—her mother was buttering her up for something. When Church asked, “What's wrong?” she realized she was frowning at the phone. “Mom. The last time she told me she had good news, she had made an appointment for me to have a job interview at some damn insurance company!"

“She means well."

“I know, I know. I should be grateful I still have my mother and that she cares about me, but frankly, Church, she drives me crazy!"

“She's being a mother. Why do you let it get to you?"

“I don't know,” she admitted. “Anyway, by now she's driving Coreen crazy with offers of food and babysitting."

“More power to her. Your mom is really a nice lady, Brandy. If you and she could just forgive each other for that one time when you were both under terrible stress, I think you'd find a whole lot to like."

Around noon on Sunday, the city of Murphy came to life. Churches let out, and there was suddenly not an empty seat in any restaurant. At 1:00pm the stores in the shopping centers opened, as did the movie theater.

Visiting hours at the hospital began at 2:00pm. Brandy let Church go ahead while she stopped in the lobby to buy a Mylar balloon. By the time she found Jeff's room, Dan Martin was already there.

“Well, hi,” she said. Jeff, Church had explained, knew only that other doctors would have to look at his leg before it could be put in a cast. Meanwhile it was immobilized by traction. Coreen Jones sat in the armchair, looking very tired from last night's ordeal and her worry about tomorrow.

But Jeff had obviously gotten some rest, for he was bright and cheerful. “Oh, hi!” he said excitedly. “Look at the neat game Dan brought me!"

It was one of those golf-tees-in-holes puzzles, where you tried to get them all off the board by jumping one tee over another. Brandy always ended up with at least two left, on opposite sides.

“That's great,” she said, placing her balloon amid the others tied to the bed and wishing she had thought to bring the boy something to cope with hours of boredom.

“Thank you,” said Jeff politely, clearly more interested in the game. “What's the trick?” he asked as he came out with three tees left, all in corners.

“No trick,” said Dan. “Just logic."

Thank you, Mr. Spock, thought Brandy, and caught the sly look Dan gave her.

“My friends Tommy and Kent came to visit,” Jeff told Brandy. “They didn't believe me till I showed ’em this,” he said, pulling the hospital gown down over one shoulder. Where neck and shoulder met, bruises marred the young skin. “The Vulcan nerve pinch,” he exclaimed proudly. “Will you teach me how to do it, Dan?"

“I'd like to, Jeff, but it's very difficult and very dangerous. When you're older, if I'm still around I'll try to teach you, but not all humans can learn it."

“I wonder if it would work on that monster that scared Sandy,” Jeff pondered.

“Jeff,” Coreen said in quiet exasperation, “there was no monster in the woods. The sun was setting, the shadows were strange, and you just thought you saw something."

“Wait,” said Church. “Jeff, your sister talked about a monster, too. Why don't you tell us exactly what you saw?"

“Church,” Coreen protested, “our son is not a suspect in one of your cases!"

“I want to know what happened, Corey. Jeff? What did you see? Another dog, maybe? Did it look like a wolf?"

“No. It looked like Dracula,” said Jeff.

“Like a person,” prompted Brandy, “not an animal?"

“Yeah. Like a big man all made outa shadows. With big long teeth."

“Church, he's imagining things!” said Coreen. “He's on pain medication."

“That's right,” Dan spoke up. “And what we did—what I did—only stimulated his imagination."

“Maybe,” said Church, “but Jeff was out cold when Tiffany mentioned the monster. Corey—don't say a word to her about it. When I get home, I'm going to ask her to describe the monster she thought she saw."

Dan said, “Brandy, why don't you and I leave the family to talk?"

“I'll meet you back at the car, Church,” Brandy said.

“Rough day?” asked Dan as they rode down in the elevator.

“No, not at all. Sunday's pretty dull. I'm just not looking forward to this evening. Supper with my mom."

“What's wrong with that?"

“She has something she calls good news. Generally, that's something I consider bad news."