The Killing Game(54)

“No, leave it,” Andi said when Mimi bent down to address the mess. “Sit down.” She led her toward to a chair.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Just take a breath.” Once Mimi was seated, Andi grabbed a paper towel and picked up the mug, which had stayed remarkably intact except for a broken handle. She threw the mug into a trash bin under the kitchen sink, then grabbed more paper towels and mopped up the rest of the tea. Throughout, Mimi apologized profusely. When Andi was finished, she tried to hand Andi the still unbroken mug in her hand with its half-full contents, but Andi refused.

“You keep it. I really can’t stay long anyway,” Andi said. “We need to work this out, but I need to talk to Carter and Emma, Greg’s brother and sister, and remind them about the baby.”

Mimi looked down at her stomach. “They’ve forgotten?”

“A lot’s happened,” Andi said. “We really didn’t know where things stood with you after Greg died. When are you due, by the way? I think you told us, but I really can’t remember. I was ... processing.”

“Oh, um ...” She looked away. “I don’t know if I’m keeping it.”

“You’re putting the baby up for adoption?” Andi’s mind grappled with the thought.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” She gulped down some tea. “I wish Scott were here. He always knows what to do.”

“Is Scott not around?” Andi questioned.

She thought that over hard. “He’s at work.”

“He still lives around here?”

“He never wants to leave the lake,” she said, almost in a whisper.

Andi automatically looked past her and through the window that looked over the back parking lot. Schultz Lake was somewhere beyond, but the view was blocked by more apartments. “What’s Scott do?”

“You mean like a job? Um ... lots of things.”

Andi wondered if that meant he was between jobs. “Is he . . . helping you with the baby?”

“Kind of. He wants to talk to Carter, but the receptionist won’t put him through.”

“Did he leave a message with Jill?”

“I don’t know. I guess. That’s just what he said.”

Carter hadn’t let Andi know he’d been contacted by Scott Quade, but then, Carter didn’t believe Mimi was carrying Greg’s baby. However, the way Mimi felt about Greg made it hard for Andi to believe the child was anyone’s but his. “I’ll tell Carter to talk to Scott.”

“Okay,” she choked out.

“I promise we’re not going to ignore Greg’s child any longer,” Andi told her.

She flapped a hand at Andi, too overcome to say anything more.

Andi said a few more words of encouragement, aware how ironic it was that she was the one comforting Greg’s paramour. She let herself out the door, almost feeling bad about leaving Mimi. She put a call in to Carter, who didn’t pick up his phone, and left him a message about Mimi’s pregnancy, saying they could talk about it further the next day.

She didn’t notice the car that eased from a parking spot down the block and followed after her.

*

The Bellows’s cabin was much like he’d remembered it from his first visit: same tired-looking siding, same listing porch, same sense of abandonment. The landscaping was trimmed and tended, courtesy of Art Kessler undoubtedly. But Peg had said she was at the cabin, so Luke bent his head to a soft but persistent rain and hurried to the front door. He knocked loudly, the sound harsh and foreign in the bucolic setting. He could see through the cabin to the other side, where the gray waters of Schultz Lake were dimpling with the rain.

No answer.

Luke checked his watch and saw it was two minutes past two. He was right on time. He grew impatient, wondering if she’d stood him up. What the hell was that about? Bolchoy had intimated that she’d found the Carrera brothers attractive and that he should expect the same, but Peg had cooled off on them. At least that was the impression he’d gotten on the phone.

He heard a noise inside the house and peered through the window once more. Peg Bellows was moving toward the door slowly. She wore a bathrobe and a scarf was tied around her head.

Some kind of cancer . . .

Luke had a sinking feeling. He’d pushed and pushed and now realized she was ill. When the door opened he half expected her skin to be gray or sallow, but her cheeks were flushed pink.

“Luke, right?” she greeted him with an ironic smile.

“That’s right. How’re you doing?”

“You mean the breast cancer?” She shrugged lightly. “It’s a battle I’m losing.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shook her head and sighed, then waved him inside. “Come in. Take a seat. You want some coffee? I’ve got a pot brewing.”

“Sure. Would you like some help?” He felt embarrassed that he’d pushed her into playing hostess.

“I’ve got it. You want cream or sugar?”

“Black’s fine.”

Luke saw one particular chair arranged directly in front of the television and bypassed it for a worn, overstuffed plaid chair angled to one side. He perched on the edge, wondering if he should ignore her command and follow her into the kitchen.