Since She Went Away(31)

She stopped the stream of words just in time.

Ian nodded, his face full of sympathy. “You didn’t want Celia to be alone.”

“Yes.”

“I understand. I had to weigh that against . . . well, against being a pawn in some journalist’s game. Against being put on display like a monkey.”

“I played right into their hands. They can loop video of me for the next few days. They can make the bleep louder and longer.”

One end of Ian’s mouth turned up as he laughed. A low, subtle sound, but a laugh nonetheless. “I don’t normally watch that coverage. I can’t stand to see that Reena Huffman and her hysterics. But Ursula saw the clip somewhere and showed it to me.”

“Great. Everyone is seeing it. I’ve been avoiding my mother. She’s thrilled, I’m sure.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “It reminded me of what you were like in high school. Definitely a loose cannon.”

“Some things never change, I guess.”

“And your mom’s still uptight? Thinks you’re not ladylike enough?”

“Naturally.” Jenna swallowed. “Ian, are the police still treating you like a suspect?”

“Lord, Jenna, you’re not holding anything back, are you?”

“I’d like to think this isn’t the right time, but who knows when I’ll get to talk to you again?”

“It would be nice to have a break from all that.”

“You can’t expect that with me.”

“I’m not a suspect. Officially. I’m sure plenty of people think I am.”

He paused, as though he expected Jenna to contradict him, but she didn’t.

He said, “They sure as hell treated me like one for the entire month of November. About the only thing they didn’t do was give me a rectal exam.”

“They always suspect the husband.”

“Of course. And I cooperated fully.” He looked around the room and nodded to an older man who seemed to know him. “My alibi’s thin, I know that. I was home, with my daughter. I made a phone call to my mother. That’s all I’ve got. I can’t change what I was doing. It was late at night. Talk about hell . . . your wife disappears and then you become a suspect. A nice double whammy.”

The food came, and for a few minutes their conversation died while they ate. The voices around them murmured on. A middle-aged woman in a business suit came over and shook Ian’s hand, making some comment about golfing together again in the spring.

Jenna was halfway through her salad and wishing she’d ordered an iced tea or a Coke when Ian asked, “What did the police want with you? As if I don’t already know.”

“You think you know?” Jenna asked.

Ian ignored her question, his voice taking on a new urgency. “You tell me. What exactly did they want?”





CHAPTER NINETEEN


Jenna set her silverware aside.

“Poole wanted to ask me about Holly Crenshaw. You know the woman who disappeared from Clay County? She wanted to know if I knew her. Or I guess she wanted to know if I knew if Celia knew her.”

“She didn’t. Neither one of us did.”

“Not even casually?”

“Okay, I can’t account for everyone either of us ever said hello to at the club, but we didn’t know her. She worked in the office. They’re looking for a connection, and it isn’t there. Not that way.”

“But it could be the same person,” Jenna said. “There could be someone hurting women. Celia and Holly Crenshaw do resemble each other. And maybe I only know this from watching TV shows, but don’t these creeps have a type? You know, brown hair or blond hair or whatever. Maybe even Benny Ludlow.”

Ian held his sandwich in his hands, but he set it down. He looked as if he had a bad taste in his mouth, and Jenna wished she hadn’t started offering half-baked theories about kidnappers.

“I’m sorry, Ian. I don’t know what to make of any of it. But it seems like there hasn’t been any progress in a long time, so if they follow this Holly Crenshaw trail and it takes them somewhere, I’m all for it.” He wasn’t looking at her, so she waited until he did. “I want her back. I want to know she’s okay. If this maybe helps us, I don’t mind answering the questions.”

Ian moved his head the slightest bit, his attempt at an understanding nod. But he didn’t look convinced by any of it. The things she spoke about weren’t reaching him, and she still wondered what he meant when he said, “As if I don’t know.”

The waiter brought a piece of cake to the party next to them, and then came up to their table and asked how they were doing. Ian dismissed him with the slightest wave of his hand, almost like a magic trick, or as if the two of them had worked out a signal that said leave us alone. But Jenna knew it wasn’t a signal. It was power and class, the ability to barely lift your hand or arch your eyebrow and make someone go away.

She remembered another look, the one Detective Poole gave her when she asked about Ian and Celia’s marriage.

“That wasn’t all she wanted to ask me about,” Jenna said, her tone tentative. “She was hinting around about your marriage.”

“She shouldn’t do that.”