Dying to Know (7 page)

had. Her fear was real enough to her—real enough to reach from

her world to mine and pull me to her.

The reality of fear is that it need not be justified. Fear is fear. If a tal man was in Ernie’s house—for whatever reason—he terrified Angel. If no man rounded the corner of the house outside, if

none passed through the foyer, if it were all a manifestation of

shock and trauma, Angel was just as terrified.

At that moment, I doubted any of us knew the truth.

49

nine

“I’ve got deputies checking the neighbors,” Bear told Angel,

pulling into our driveway. “There’s not a house within a mile.

We’ll be lucky if anyone saw anything.”

“Do you believe me, Bear?” Angel didn’t look at him. “Ernie

doesn’t.”

“It’s not that. He thinks you had a bad dream. We both think

it’s stress. I can relate to that.”

Angel opened her door and stepped out, glaring at Bear over

the hood of his cruiser. “So you think it’s all in my head.”

From the backseat, I said, “I don’t.” Neither cared.

“Honey, listen. There’s no trace of anyone getting into the

house. Nothing. If my deputies find someone, I’ll let you know

right away.”

“Forget it,” she snapped, and ran into the house.

50

We both watched her go. I said, “Can’t say I blame her. Some-

thing scared her. Dream or not. Something scared the hell out of

her.”

He shot a glance into the rearview mirror and then around

the driveway. “Shit—right, it’s just stress.”

Angel’s cry reached us as Bear shut the front door. He looked

up to the second floor landing just as she slammed a closet door

in our bedroom. “Damn. Damn them.”

“Bear, hurry,” I yelled.

He took the stairs three at a time. On the second bound, he

tugged his automatic free. At the top of the landing, he pivoted,

scanned the hal , and ran to the bedroom door and hesitated.

Hercule was standing beside the door, wagging but refusing

to enter. He’d been around Angel before when she was mad. He

took a defensive position, just watching.

She was standing in front of her dressing table. Her hands

were folded across her chest. “Someone’s been in here.”

Bear looked around. “What’s wrong?”

“Someone’s been through my room.” She waved her hands in

a flutter. “All my drawers have been rifled. Even my closet and

clothes drawers. Someone’s dug through everything.”

“You sure?” Bear said. “It looks all right to me.”

“I just know.” She gestured to her notebook computer on her

dressing table. “That was in my briefcase. It wasn’t strapped in

and it was replaced upside down. I never leave it that way. Some-

one was snooping in my computer.”

51

Bear holstered his handgun. “Maybe you left it that way in a

hurry. Things have been crazy.”

“No, and stop telling me that. Someone’s been through every-

thing since I left yesterday.”

I watched Bear snoop around the room. He checked the

closet, nightstand, and pulled one or two of her dresser drawers

open. “Crime scene boys might have …”

“No. I straightened this room up before I left. They were done

in here.”

Now, why wasn’t he coming clean? As he disappeared into the

walk-in closet for a second time, Bear-The-Detective didn’t seem

like Bear-My-Partner and best friend. We never kept secrets

from each other. At least I didn’t think so. Now, he was playing

his cards very close. Just today, I learned he had my house key,

and Tommy, a snitch I never knew. And earlier, he’d searched this

house top to bottom. That was apparently a secret, too.

Were there others?

“What’s on your computer?” He asked. “Anything, you know,

that shouldn’t be?”

I hoped he was referring to porn, evidence she was a serial

killer, or perhaps the missing Watergate tapes. Deep down, I

knew he wasn’t.

“No, of course not.” Angel went to her dresser and checked

each drawer, opening them and examining the contents. She did

the same with both our nightstands. “Someone’s been rooting

through these, Bear. I’m sure of it. Everything’s moved.”

“Crime lab.”

52

“I told you, they were done up here.” Angel’s face paled. “Or

maybe not.”

“Don’t worry, Angela. I’ll take care of it. I promise.”

I went to him. “What’s going on, pal? Tell her you searched

the house. Tell her about Spence and Clemens, too.”

He didn’t. “What’s on your computer, Angela?”

“Nothing. Just office work, emails, and some household bil s.

I do bil s online. Tuck couldn’t figure any of that out, so I do it.”

“Yes, I could. I chose not to.” Even dead, Angel was needling

me about the bil s. “I’m a cop, not a computer geek.”

“Are you sure?” It was not a question. “Nothing on there that

might get their little brains churning in the wrong direction? You know what I mean?”

She nodded. “Of course I understand.”

Understand what?

Whatever their little secret was, I wasn’t in on it.

Bear slid an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry, I’ll take

it up with the Captain.”

“Am I a suspect?” Tears filled her eyes. “Am I?”

“You have to understand. A spouse is always on the suspect

list—always.” Bear kissed her cheek. “Forget it for now. You’ve

had a rough morning. You okay?”

She nodded. “You do believe me about Ernie’s house, don’t

you? I mean, I’m not imagining things.”

“What matters is that you believe it.”

“And what about this? Do you know who went through my

things—my computer?”

53

He shrugged. “Let it go, Angela. It’s all part of the investiga-

tion.”

“That’s not an answer.”

No, it wasn’t. And when Bear shrugged and headed for the

stairs, it was all she was going to get.

The question was “why?”

54

ten

After Bear left for the office, Angel began straightening the

house. She cleaned fingerprint powder from the stair railings and

doorways, bits of tape from the floor, and other crime scene rem-

nants littered everywhere. Captain Sutter’s team tried to

straighten things up, unlike most crime scenes, but Angel knew

every out-of-place nuance of the house.

She went into my den, stood in the middle of the floor, and

closed her eyes. I thought she was going to cry again, but instead, she inhaled long and deep. She did that several times, then,

turned around the room in a slow-motion pirouette.

I stood beside her, watching a smile emerge in the corners of

her mouth.

“Angel?”

“Oh, Tuck,” she said, dropping into my leather recliner beside

Hercule. “I cannot believe this had to happen.”

Hercule groaned his disapproval and sank onto the floor.

55

“I can still smell you, Tuck. You’re here.”

She was talking to me, but the question was, did she know I

was listening?

“Yeah, babe. I’m right here. Close your eyes. Listen for me.

I’m right here.”

She did but her patience didn’t last. “No, dammit. You weren’t

supposed to die.” She stood and headed for the door.

“No. Angel, wait.” Frantic, I tried to find a lure. “Wait.”

Hercule did. He jumped up on the recliner and barked, stand-

ing like Rin Tin Tin and commanding her attention. He barked

again and Angel turned around.

“What, boy? Do you smell him, too?”

Woof. Wag. Woof. Hercule looked right at me standing in

front of the bookshelves and moaned. He barked again and

glanced back and forth between Angel and me. He moaned that

low, grumbling moan that meant he was frustrated with our fail-

ure to understand. He saw me. He knew I was right there. He

didn’t understand why she didn’t, too.

She looked at him. “Herc?”

“Angel, listen to me …” Wait, I had it. “Look in the books; be-

hind the leather law books.”

Herc barked at me again. Angel took a step toward the book-

shelf, hesitated, and looked at Hercule. “What is it boy?”

Hercule pointed his nose at me and moaned.

“Angel, behind the books. Bear hid a file. Get it for me.

Please.”

Woof. Groan. Wag.

56

“Herc?” Then Angel startled me—perhaps both of us. She

came to the bookshelf beside me and ran her fingers across my

collection of mysteries and old collectables, then reached out and touched one of the leather law journals. Her eyes welled up as

she slid one of them forward, taking it from the shelf and fanned

it in a slow, deliberate motion.

“I gave these to you years ago, Tuck. Did you ever read them?”

Did she know I was right here, within arm’s reach? Did she

know I was listening? No, she didn’t.

She sighed and started to slide the book back into its place.

She stopped and reached behind it, withdrawing the thick manila

file Bear hid there. “What’s this, Herc?”

Holy Agatha Christie.

“Bear put it there. He hid it before the crime scene guys got in

here. Technical y, that’s obstructing justice, but I won’t tel if you won’t.”

She went to my desk and fanned the file. Pages fell out onto

the desktop. When she looked down at them, she cried, “Oh,

Tuck,” and burst into tears. She ran from the room and a second

later our bedroom door slammed.

Hercule leapt from the chair and jogged after her. At the door,

he turned and barked at me. He wanted me to follow.

I looked after them but the scattered pages on my desk called

me like whiskey to a drunkard. I was torn. The file pulled at me

but when I looked down at the col age of pages, all I could see

was Angel lying on her bed, sobbing and shaking. No, the file

would have to wait.

57

At our bedroom door, I could hear her anguish inside. When

I tried to go in, I couldn’t. Doors were starting to irritate me. I could poof around golf courses and spirit from here and there,

but one closed bedroom door and I was powerless.

Hercule stood beside me. He sat wagging his tail and shifting

his eyes side-to-side. He stuck his big black nose against the door as if to say, “Go in dummy, she needs us.”

“I know, Hercule. I know.”

Inside, Angel was gushing with pain. I needed to hold her and

stop her sorrow. If I could let her know that I was all right, that I was close. Just a few seconds of comfort. I ached to reach her—

ached to make it stop for her—ached to touch her. There had to

be a way …
please.

I focused my every thought on turning the knob, moving it,

grasping it. Nothing. Then I concentrated on moving through

the door. Nothing. I tried again. Again. Again.

Nothing. Not even a creak from the stubborn latch.

Closing my eyes, I could see her curled up on the bed with

tears streaming down her face. Please … please … something …

Why was I here? Why was I held back from wherever? The only

reason had to be Angel.
Just let me inside, please
.

Warmth.

A shiver of warm, rising emotion trickled in and began to fill

me. The silky heat rippled inside as my thoughts exploded rhyth-

mical y like tiny lightning bolts one after the other. The hall light dimmed and for an instant, everything around me vanished—or

perhaps I did—and darkness enveloped me. A strange, soothing

tingle enveloped me, drawing me in.

58

Angel, I’m trying. Reach for me, babe, reach.

The journey lasted an eye-blink.

I was beside Angel, standing next to the bed where she lay.

“Angel, I’m here.” I reached down and touched her hand. Her

skin’s softness and her scent flooded me with memories. I could

feel her as though life was still between us. I dropped onto the

bed beside her and fought back my own tears. My finger closed

around hers.

Shazzam
.

An emotional tsunami swept over me, through me … into me.

My fingers quivered and my face felt like July sunburn. My body

shimmered with sorrow and pain—Angel’s pain. I felt her loss—

my loss—and began drawing it, commanding it to leave her and

fill me instead. Waves of grief washed through me and for an in-

stant, consumed me. Tears flowed from me and my body weak-

ened from despair. I was in a whirling, dizzying swell of misery

that weakened my knees and scattered my resolve. The empti-

ness swallowed me and I was helpless to defend myself.

Then something new rose. The waves of grief receded and my

longing ebbed from me into her. Something extraordinary drew

us together and melded our emotions, one-by-one. The cold void

of pain simmered into a brew of memories and love.

Angel sat up on the bed and looked around the room, settling

her gaze on the bed where I sat. For an instant, she reached out

and touched the comforter beside me but shook her head and

withdrew. She stood up, walked to the bedroom door, and let

Hercule in. He bounded past her and to the bed, standing in

front of me and barking. He turned to her, barking again.

59

He knew. He wanted her to know, too.

“No, Herc,” she said. “It’s just me.”

Woof. He stood in front of me and lifted his paw to shake.

The gesture made Angel gasp and choke back tears.

“Angel, it’s me.”

“No, Herc.” She went to her dresser and gazed for a long time