Sketcher in the Rye: (5 page)

“No, I'm afraid I don't. But he never went in for that sort of thing when he was younger, so I doubt it. The detectives asked me that question too. Is it very important?”

“If Matthew thought he was being targeted, he might have noted it somewhere and that could help us find his killer.”

“I see. I'm sorry I can't be more helpful.”

“That's okay,” Rory said. “You've been very helpful already.” There was nothing to be gained by adding more worry beads to her chain. “Has Matthew ever given you anything for safekeeping?”

Anya shook her head. “That's not something I would forget.”

“You've been so gracious to see me today,” Rory said, “but I don't want to take up any more of your time.” She slipped the pad and pen back into her purse and withdrew one of her business cards. “If you think of anything else, please give me a call.”

Anya walked her to the front door where they said their good-byes. Rory was glad that Matthew's friend would be there soon. Anya seemed so lost and alone. At the last moment, Rory drew the older woman into a hug. “Please call me even if you just need to talk. I'm a really good listener.”

***

“Nice touch,” Zeke said once they were under way.

Rory took her eyes off the road to glance at him. “What's that mean?”

“The hug—it was a nice touch. You're good at knowin' how to forge a bond with people.”

“That wasn't a nice touch,” Rory responded, stomping on the brake as they came to a red light. Zeke flew forward, nearly becoming one with the dashboard. “I hugged Anya because I felt close to her and wanted to offer her some comfort. I didn't do it as part of an agenda, and I'm insulted that you would think that of me.”

“My apologies,” the marshal said, after pulling himself back together. He sounded surprised by her reaction and suitably chastened. “I've never been much good at readin' females.”

“Really?” Rory said. “What a shocker.” The light turned green, and she eased her foot off the brake and onto the accelerator.

“In the future I'd appreciate some warnin' before you try to catapult me through the windshield.”

“Maybe you should use the seatbelt,” she said tartly, well aware that it wasn't a possibility.

“We didn't get much out of talkin' to Anya,” Zeke murmured, as if testing the waters after several minutes of strained silence.

“No, I guess we didn't,” Rory said, ready to forgive him. She realized that the marshal, in his own inimitable fashion, had merely been trying to pay her a compliment. Truth be told, she was annoyed with herself. She'd done what she wasn't supposed to do—she'd lost her objectivity and become emotionally invested in Anya's tragedy. “Oh no,” she said as she turned onto her block. Helene was standing on the front porch.

“What is this—national ‘visit Rory week'?” Zeke muttered, disappearing before the words were out of his mouth.

Chapter 5

“Aren't you wondering why I'm here?” Helene asked, her eyes bright with excitement and mischief. It was a look Rory recognized, a look that worried her. They were seated at the kitchen table with steaming mugs of green tea parked in front of them and Hobo snoozing on the floor between them. Most of Helene's impromptu visits had no itinerary other than an urge to hug her niece. But today was different. Today she had an agenda. Rory had learned the math years ago. Helene plus an agenda usually added up to trouble.

“Now I
am
wondering,” Rory said, hoping it was something that wouldn't make her own crazy life more challenging. “Is your troupe working on a new play?” Although her aunt had been bitten by the acting bug late in life, the Way Off Broadway Players and its productions had quickly become the center of her universe.

“Well, it is,” she said, “but that's the
least
of my news today.”

What other news could Helene have that would eclipse what was happening in her acting life? “That's quite a statement. You've got my complete attention.”

“Oh no, I want you to guess,” Helene said, squirming in her chair like a little kid in anticipation of a hot-fudge sundae.

I just did, Rory thought. It had been a long day and she wasn't in the mood for a game of Twenty Questions. But since she couldn't bring herself to pop her aunt's balloon, she took another stab at it. “Are you getting married?”

“Don't be silly. I'm sure you can do better than that. If I'd been dating someone, don't you think the family would have met him by now? For that matter, wouldn't I have been jabbering endlessly about the new love of my life?”

Rory had to admit that was true. She spent the next five minutes trying to imagine what other possible news could have pumped the normally vivacious Helene up to the next level of giddy euphoria. “You bought a puppy?” she asked, recalling the time Helene had almost purchased one from the breeder who'd hired Rory to find her missing dog.

Helene shook her head, a sly smile on her lips. “You get one more guess.”

Thank goodness. Rory realized she'd better make it a thoughtful one, or Helene might require her to come up with yet another. “You won the lottery?”

“If I'd won the lottery, would I be sitting here? I would have dragged you and your mom out on a shopping spree.” She paused to sip her tea. “Whatever happened to that imagination of yours?”

It took a sabbatical when it couldn't compete with the reality of living with a ghost, Rory wanted to say. But she kept her mouth shut for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that neither she nor the marshal wanted their lives turned into a circus sideshow. Helene was notorious for her inability to keep secrets.

“Okay, okay—I can't stand it a second longer,” she blurted out. “You know how your mom and dad keep talking about putting their house up for sale? Well, I found out today that the town house three doors down from me is on the market, and your folks decided its time to make the move.”

“Wow, that's . . . that's great,” Rory said, her head and heart reeling from the unexpected news. Her parents were actually going to sell her childhood home. The place where memories lingered in every alcove and around every corner. The backyard, which was the last resting place of Heidi the hamster. The cherry tree they'd planted out front the year she was born. The living room where the Christmas tree stood every December. The prospect of losing it all flashed in her head like a neon sign in the heart of Las Vegas, too garish to look at for long. She understood that her mom and dad were getting older and it was a lot of house and land for them to keep up. A town house would be much more practical; plus, the sisters, who'd always been extremely close, would become neighbors. On one hand, it made a lot of sense, but on the other . . . they were going to sell her childhood home. She blinked back the tears that were suddenly gathering in the corners of her eyes.

Helene regarded her with a look of concern. “Your words are saying one thing, but your face isn't playing along.”

To short-circuit any pep talk Helene might have in mind, Rory did her best to produce a smile, but her facial muscles wouldn't cooperate. The result was a lopsided facsimile that made her look like a dental patient before the Novocain wore off. “I know it's the best thing for them; I just need a little time to wrap my mind around it, that's all.”

Helene nodded. “It's a big step for them too. And I know I'm the only one who'll benefit from their moving with no down side.” She put her hand over Rory's on the table. “Having your support will make it a lot easier for your mom. Your dad will be fine as long as she is.”

“And as long as he has his TV, remote and chair,” Rory added with a small but honest smile.

“So, are you ready for my next bulletin?” Helene asked with a renewed twinkle in her eyes.

“There's more?” Rory wasn't sure she could stand any more surprises at the moment.

“Don't worry; you're going to love it.”

“Okay,” she said, attempting to sound upbeat although she was still processing Helene's first bombshell. “What is it?”

“It's not a ‘what'; it's a ‘who.'”

Uh-oh—Rory knew exactly where this was heading. Helene had fixed her up with half a dozen blind dates in the past, none of whom had been worth a second date. But she listened without interruption to the rest of her aunt's recital.

“There's a new member of our troupe by the name of Aaron Davis. Thirty-one, tall, washboard abs, dark hair and eyes, and for his day job—get this—he's a pediatrician!”

“How do you know he has washboard abs?” Rory asked, almost afraid to find out.

“He was trying on shirts from the costume department—well, it's not really a department; it's more like a few racks of clothing they've accumulated over the years. Anyway, I happened to wander by.”

“I'm surprised you didn't
happen
to take a picture of him while you were at it,” Rory said, thinking the guy was lucky he hadn't been trying on pants.

Helene leaned down, plucked the smart phone from her purse on the floor, fiddled with it for a minute, then handed it to Rory.

“I should have known,” Rory mumbled, looking at the picture. It had been taken at an angle, featuring a close-up of Helene's thumb. Even so it was easy to see that the guy in the background was good looking. But then so were the lawyer, the English professor and the tuba virtuoso. If nothing else, meeting them had provided her with a quick course on why appearances were not the most important attribute in a man. “Didn't he wonder why you were taking his picture?” she asked.

“Oh he wondered all right,” Helene said with a sly smile, “so I showed him a photo of you. It turns out a picture really is worth a thousand words.”

Rory felt the heat rise in her face, even though Dr. Aaron was nowhere in sight. She hadn't blushed like that since she was in her adolescence, when everything was embarrassing. “Aunt Helene,” she groaned, “you didn't.”

“Well of course I did. What do you have to lose? If I were a couple of decades younger, I'd be after him myself.”

Rory shook her head, completely at a loss for words.

“Aaron asked me to give you this.” Helene pulled a business card out of her shirt pocket with all the flair of a magician making a dove pop out of a handkerchief. “He wrote his cell-phone number on the back. That's the best way to reach him.”

Rory accepted the card with zero intentions of calling the poor man. He'd probably been coerced into providing the number anyway. She could picture her aunt grabbing his shirt and holding it hostage until he met her demands.

Helene took a last swallow of her tea, plucked her purse from the floor and stood up. “My work here is done!” she said triumphantly. “I'm off to learn flower arranging.”

Rory had barely closed the door behind her when the lights flickered and Zeke appeared. “What's new with hurricane Helene?” he asked, falling in step with her as she headed back to the kitchen.

“You're supposed to let me know when you're around,” she said, ignoring his question. “A light tap on the shoulder—sound familiar?”

“I wasn't around until Helene left,” he protested.

Rory took the teacups and spoons off the table and carried them to the sink. “If you weren't eavesdropping, then how did you know the split second she was gone?”

“I could feel a lower energy wave rising from the house. When there are more people here, I can sense it. It's like on the TV when they talk about barometric pressure rising and falling—except it's not about the weather.”

Rory didn't know whether or not to believe him. Sometimes it seemed as if his explanations were born of necessity rather than honesty. Okay, that wasn't fair. But since there was no way to Google the truth, she relented and gave him the benefit of the doubt.

Hobo awakened from his nap with a wide, comical yawn. He stood up, stretched his two front legs out in front of him in what looked like a doggie version of yoga, then stretched each rear leg individually before giving his whole body a thorough shaking. He cocked his shaggy head and looked expectantly in Rory's direction.

“Sorry pal,” she said, “it's too early for dinner. If anyone's interested, I'm going upstairs to pay the bills that keep this roof over our heads.”

“What's this?” Zeke inquired as she was walking out of the kitchen.

Turning back she saw Aaron's business card floating inches above the marshal's palm. “Oh that?” she said nonchalantly, “Helene left it.” She'd wanted to dispose of it before the eagle-eyed marshal saw it, but she'd never had the chance. He was irritatingly protective of her, especially when it came to men. The fact that her last boyfriend had been a killer who'd almost added her to his list of victims might have had something to do with it. She understood that she was Zeke's lifeline, his access to the world beyond the house, and that their PI firm provided purpose to his self-imposed limbo, but he was too fanatical about his concern for her. Not every man in the world was out to murder her.

“What would you be needin' with a pediatrician?” he asked. “That's a kid doctor, right?”

“Yes, it's a kid doctor, and no, I don't need one.” Why couldn't he just let it go?

“Then why did Helene have it? And why'd she leave it here?”

Rory didn't like being interrogated, but if she didn't hold on to her patience, the discussion was bound to spiral into a full-scale argument. “She probably grabbed it to write a phone number on the back.” Which was true as far as it went.

“But why did she take it out here?” Zeke was like a lion who'd tasted blood and wasn't about to let go of his prey until his appetite was sated.

“Why does Helene do half the things she does?” Rory said, with a shrug.

“Did she leave it for you?” He was steamrolling through every roadblock she could improvise. If she didn't want to spend the rest of the day sparring with him, she had no choice but to tell him the truth. With the proper spin of course.

“Listen,” she said briskly. “Helene wanted to set me up with him, but I have absolutely no intentions of ever calling the guy. So, end of story. I'll be upstairs if you need me.” She made it into the dining room this time before he reeled her back in.

“Why did she want you to meet this Aaron fellow?” Zeke was scowling at the card as if he could intimidate it into revealing more about its owner.

“I guess she thinks he's a good catch.”

Zeke vanished from the kitchen and immediately popped up a foot in front of her. “You mean like a fish?”

“No, but I suppose that's where the phrase may have come from. These days, it usually means someone who's got money, looks, personality, the whole package.”

“This Aaron has the whole package?”

“According to Helene. I myself have no idea if he does and no plans to find out.” That should certainly satisfy the marshal. Especially since it was none of his business to begin with. There went her patience slipping a notch. Instead of waiting for his reaction, she continued on her way to the stairs. When she walked into the study, he was already ensconced in the armchair.

“How would you describe me?” he asked her.

This conversation was getting stranger by the minute. “Let's see,” she said, taking a seat behind the desk. “Tall, slim, strong face with good bone structure and a scruffy moustache. Oh—and dead, of course.”

“My moustache is scruffy?”

“Is that really the thing you're going to focus on?” she said in exasperation.

“How about my ‘abs' then?”

“Your—wait a minute,” she interrupted herself. “You
were
eavesdropping.”

“Based on what?” He sounded all huffy and defensive.

“You don't even know what ‘abs' are. If you did, you'd know I've never seen yours.”

For a moment, the marshal's expression reminded her of Hobo's the time she caught him eating a box of doughnuts he'd grabbed off the table. “I was curious,” he grumbled, as if that was somehow her fault. “Besides, I can't protect you if you keep me in the dark.”

No way was she going to let him turn things upside down to make her seem guilty. “Are you saying I'd be in danger because I didn't tell you about something that was never going to happen?” She heard the anger building in her voice, but she couldn't reach the brake. “And by the way, Marshal, you're not the only one entitled to secrets. You've got a lousy double standard when it comes to that.” She'd had no idea she was going to say those words until they erupted from her mouth. Apparently Eloise's remark had made a bigger impression on her than she'd originally thought.

“Any secrets I'm hangin' on to can't do you any harm,” he said tightly. “Whereas secrets you keep from me stand a good chance of endangerin' your life.”