With Every Breath (23 page)

"Well?" she asked as they drove back over the bridge. The pot lay on the seat between them.

"Has it occurred to you that those flowers sort of run along the same lines as your pictures?" he asked cautiously. "You know, something that’s supposed to be innocent and pretty, something we see every day and take for granted ..." He thought of the homeless woman. "Anyway, then you look twice and realize that there’s something not quite right about it."

Surprise hit Maddie like a slap. Then she felt a rush of pleasure. "You know my pictures?"

He didn’t take his eyes off the road. "You’re famous."

"Not hardly."

"Enough." He was quiet for a moment, and she saw his jaw clench. "I’ve got one."

This time her heart triple-thumped. "You do?" "What’s wrong with that? I didn’t know you when I bought it."

"Which one?"

"The starfish."

Maddie grimaced. "I hate that one."

"Why?"

"It’s ... trite. Too obvious."

"Then what the hell did you do it for?" He felt personally affronted.

"I didn’t realize how trite and obvious it was until after I’d Finished it and somebody bought it." She glanced at him. "That somebody wasn’t you." It had been an elderly woman in Pennsylvania, if she remembered right.

"I got it at an estate sale," Joe muttered. He hesitated. "So which ones do
you like?"

Maddie thought about it. "There was one with an evening glove. That was good."

He nodded, pleased again. He really had liked that one.

208    Beverly Bird

"But my favorites are usually the concepts," Maddie went on, "before they’re completed. Everything’s my favorite until it’s done. Ideas have no limits. Ideas are always perfect."

He thought about it, and decided he could understand that.

"So what did you find out from looking at the door?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Forced entry."

"With what? Why didn’t I hear it?"

"I don’t think there would have been much to hear. It could have been something as simple as a nail file. It’s just a basic, simple lock. Josh could probably have figured out a way past it."

They both glanced in the rearview mirror at him at the same time. He was quiet, watching the houses move past.

"I’m going to call Tony Macari and try to get him to put something better on your doors," Joe went on. "But he’s a cheap bastard when it comes to his rental properties."

She chewed her lip for a moment. "Joe, is Leslie any good? Honestly, is she? I’ve got to think about help for Josh, and I’ve really got my doubts about her."

He shrugged. "She’s a good friend, but I never really gave any consideration to her ... you know, her professional qualifications."

Maddie nodded.

"She didn’t do much for Gina’s drinking," he went on, "but to be fair, Gina wouldn’t keep on seeing her." "How about you?"

His heart did something strange and painful. "What do you mean?"

"Did you ever see her? I mean, after ... after what happened to your daughter?"

"No." His face hardened. A second ticked by. "Not

professionally. She’s given me an earful over the years whether I wanted to hear it or not."

"She seems prone to that," Maddie agreed bitterly. She was quiet for a long time. "Could she have some ax to grind here?"

"Everybody on this island has an ax to grind with somebody," Joe muttered, almost to himself.

"I mean, could she want to hurt me
for some reason?" He was startled. Either she was having some doubts about its being Rick Graycie who was troubling her, or she was starting to buy in to the idea that the bastard was paying somebody. She was thinking that maybe it was someone right there on the island.

It was that damned classified ad, he thought. Selling a picture that didn’t exist. Someone advertising in Florida about her and her kid, because of some hidden personal agenda. That complicated and changed everything.

Maddie was watching him, he realized, waiting for an answer.

"Not unless you blew her off," he said finally.

"Blew her off? How so?"

"She’s gay. I’ve always gotten the feeling that that’s why she spends half the week in Jonesport. She lives the good part of her life away from home, where people won’t talk, and I don’t blame her. I guess if she came on to you, and you slugged her or something, then maybe she might get pissed off."

"Oh," Maddie answered, startled. "No, she never did that. I didn’t even realize."

"No reason why you should, I guess." He turned into the city lot. "Nah, Leslie wouldn’t act out even if you blew her off. Anyway, she wouldn’t be so unprofessional as to—you know—try to cuddle up to you."

They reached the station and parked. Josh seemed

okay. This time Joe plucked a chair out of another room, balancing it over his shoulder with one hand, taking it to his office. Maddie had a renewed appreciation of his strength.

He dropped the chair with a clatter beside his desk. "Have a seat."

She made herself comfortable while he returned calls that had come in while he was out. Josh roamed the office silently, picking this up, examining that.

Within half an hour, they knew that the island florist hadn’t sold any roses to anyone within the last several days, dyed black or otherwise. There were two florists in Jonesport. Between them, they had sold eighteen orders of roses since Friday. Joe began sorting through them, writing down the names of those people who had paid by credit card. He’d have one of his men check up on them through the course of the day. It would be tedious and probably fruitless. Their man wouldn’t pay by credit card, he thought. Just like the jaywalker, that would be too goddamned easy.

There were six remaining orders, all paid for with cash, and they were dead ends. They could have been sold to anybody. None of the salespeople had any customers who stood out in their memory.

Joe leaned back in his chair, put his feet up, and closed his eyes. If Maddie had a picture of Rick—doubtful, he realized, given the circumstances there—then he could circulate it among the people who had sold those cash orders. There would probably be a picture in the Fort Lauderdale file, but he had asked for that on Saturday night, and he didn’t expect to get it until tomorrow.

Why did he feel like he was running out of time?

"I know," Maddie murmured, reading his expression. "Goddamnit."

He looked at her again to see her manage half a smile. He put his feet down and went back to work.

He found out that a telephone repairman was on his way to the island to repair her line. Somebody would run up to The Wick and tow Maddie’s car back to the city garage before noon. The replacement glass would have to be ordered. If the ferry was running, they should have it by Friday. If not ...

What a way to live, Maddie thought despondently. Then she realized that in spite of everything that had been going on, she really wasn’t particularly homesick anymore.

Joe called Ellsworth next.

She could tell from his half of the conversation that the lab over there had eliminated her prints and his from the ones on the window. That left a few smudges that belonged to a third party. They ran those through the computer to check them against the state’s known criminals, but so far they hadn’t come up with any matches.

"Well, hold on to them, would you?" Joe asked finally. "I should be sending you another set for comparison tomorrow afternoon at the latest."

"Now what?" Maddie asked when he hung up.

"The kitten." He punched in yet another number. This time she could tell nothing from his side of the conversation. He hung up again slowly.

"A real case of overkill," he muttered.

Her belly rolled. "What do you mean?"

"His neck was twisted, and his throat was cut. The nails didn’t kill him."

Maddie gave a soft cry. He was instantly sorry for his curt, callous tone. He fought every instinct to get up from the desk, to move to her, to touch her in comfort, to gather Josh close as well. Josh was staring at him hugely. He fisted his hands on his desk instead. "Sorry."

"No, I ... I wanted to know." Her eyes filled. "I hate him, Joe. That poor little animal."

"Yeah," Joe agreed quietly, not quite willing to entertain images of what had happened to the kitten either. Except the alternative wasn’t much better.

The alternative was to wonder what he should do next, and he had no good idea. He didn’t know what he was protecting her from. He didn’t know how to eliminate the threat. The only thing left to do was beard the lion in its den. Or in Maddie’s den, as the case might be.

He’d hang out at the house with her, as he had promised. Everyone on the island would know he was there, of course. But if their culprit was Rick Graycie, maybe he wouldn’t know. Only one vehicle would be in the drive. Maybe Graycie would come right on in, and Joe could nail the son of a bitch. He really did have a gut feeling that the guy was going to move on her soon.

He looked across at her again. She had kept on the leggings and had changed the sweatshirt to a tailored, oversized blouse, all caught up at the waist with a narrow belt. The end result was that a great deal of hip and thigh curves were still revealed.

"I’ve got to warn you," he said suddenly, and he noticed his voice was raw again.

Her eyes narrowed. "About what?"

"About what you’re letting yourself in for if I stay up there until this is settled."

Her heart started to thrum. "You mean with Gina?" she asked too carefully.

He thought he saw her pulse scramble at her throat. Was it worry? Anticipation? He was the one starting to entertain dangerous fantasies. Outside of seeking a few hugs for comfort, she’d been nothing but friendly toward him.

Still, that pulse hit him hard.

He forgot what he’d been about to say and had to take a moment to search for it. "Not just Gina," he managed finally. "The whole island."

"I don’t follow you."

"By dawn, the phone lines will be buzzing."

"Oh." She let her breath out shakily. "Oh.
You mean people will talk if you stay up on The Wick with me." "Yeah. Cassie and Mildred Diehl live for it."

"Well, let them. I don’t care. It’s not like ..." She trailed off.

"Yeah?" he prompted quietly. "What’s it not like, Maddie?"

"It’s not like we’d actually be d-doing anything for them to talk about." She bit down on her words with force, trying to keep her nerves out of her voice. But images of what people would be talking about suddenly filled her head. And they made her heart race and her mouth go dry.

"Doesn’t matter."

"No, I... I don’t suppose it does."

"I can’t send any of my men up there to watch over you, not for any kind of extended period," he went on, "because I’d have a hard time justifying that kind of overtime to the city council." He hated himself for the excuse and was relieved as hell that he had a good one. "I really don’t have much of a case here, not enough to warrant full-time protection."

"I understand."

Did she? "Okay, then."

His voice seemed husky. It made her shiver. "Okay?" He stood up. "You’ve been warned. Now let’s go hang out at your place and see what comes up."

He swung Josh up onto his shoulders for the walk down the hallway. Josh gasped and dug his fingers into his hair, but made no protest.

"Sheila," he said, stopping at her desk. "Have this printed, too." He glanced at Maddie as he gave Sheila the flowerpot. "It’s worth a shot, even though you were grabbing all over it."

"I was too freaked out to think," she said thinly.

Joe nodded and looked back at Sheila. "I’m going back up to The Wick. I don’t want it to be common knowledge that I’m up there."

"Oh. Oh," Sheila breathed, looking back and forth between the two of them.

Maddie and Joe exchanged looks. Sheila gave them another furtive, speculative perusal. Joe opened his mouth to try to tell her that it wasn’t what she thought. Like hell it isn’t. Who am I kidding?

"I really want to keep this between you and us," he said instead. "Think you can manage that?"

"Of course," Sheila said indignantly.

Maddie watched the woman’s eyes. Not in a month of Sundays, she thought.

Chapter 19

Mildred Diehl’s knees had been hurting abominably since the storm on Saturday. The moisture from that front still lingered in the air, and humidity always made her arthritis a thousand times worse. She was limping painfully when she reached the Island Cab rumbling at her curb.

"You need a muffler, Zack," she gasped.

"No money for one," Zack Morgan answered complacently. He owned the cab and did all his own driving, but that still didn’t let him make much of a profit.

Mildred grunted as she settled into the backseat. Her knees would keep her from waiting tables today. She’d go in anyway. She might hear something. So far this morning, she’d already seen the tow truck heading south, pulling that foreign car that belonged to Miss I’m-An-Artist Brogan. Then, as she was reaching to close the door, something even better happened.

The city Pathfinder shot past, carrying Joe Gallen and the Brogan woman, and, it looked like, the kid. It was headed straight for The Wick bridge.

"Get me to the diner, Zack. Come on, now. I got a call or two to make before I start shift."

As soon as she was seated behind the cash register, Mildred picked up the phone. The lunch crowd was just beginning to trickle in. She had maybe ten minutes before it became a flood.

Within five, she found out that Maddie Brogan's car was in for the repair of a windshield. She caught wind of the rumor that Gina Gallen had done some major damage to it.

So, Mildred thought, the girl was finally using her head.

As the crowd picked up, Mildred called the bakery. "You ain’t done yet, Gina," she told her smugly. "Joe’s up there with Maddie Brogan right now. I saw ’em myself. Now you best get moving again if you’re gonna protect your interests. Guess if it was me, I wouldn’t let them be up there after dark, if you get my meaning."