Killers of a Certain Age(76)

“What sort of fee did you promise him?” I asked.

“Are you kidding me?” Taverner said suddenly. He looked up and I realized he was angry. Livid, actually.

Helen rose. “I think I’ll give you two a minute,” she said. She slipped out of the room.

“She was always the tactful one,” I said.

“Really? That’s how you’re going to do this?” He shoved his mug away, sloshing a little of the tea over the side.

“I’m not mad at you,” I said calmly. “I’m annoyed with them. I wasn’t even consulted about including you.”

“And including me isn’t exactly your strong suit, is it?” He placed his palms flat on the table and pushed his chair back. He stood and I did the same.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Did it ever, for one moment, enter your mind to let me know you weren’t dead?” he demanded.

I opened my mouth and closed it again. It was a full minute before I spoke. “That’s why you’re angry.”

“Angry? I’m not angry, Billie. Angry is when you find out the dry cleaner lost your favorite shirt. What I’m feeling is the sort of emotion you don’t even admit to your confessor. Five days after Christmas I get a call from Sweeney telling me you four are dead. That’s all, just the bare fact of you no longer being in this world. It is now the middle of January,” he said, pointing to the calendar tacked on the wall to make his point. “That’s weeks later. Weeks of thinking you were gone.”

I might have pointed out that all of this could have been avoided if Sweeney had bothered to call him back after I’d made contact and he knew we were alive, but Sweeney had been after the bonus. No way he would have taken the risk of Taverner either taking the job himself or tipping us off. But I figured none of that would make him feel better, so I said something else instead.

“I’m sorry.”

He folded his arms over his chest and gave me a long look. “Do better.”

“I am sorry, Taverner. I didn’t think—”

“No. But then, you never do.”

It was a good line and he was smart enough to use it for his exit. When he’d gone, Helen crept back in. I flapped a hand at her.

“It’s fine, Helen.”

“Is it?”

“No. If this place had a woodchipper I’d feed you to it.”

She sat down and took my hand. “I wish I could have told you, but I knew that wouldn’t be possible. You’d have said no, and it’s a good idea.”

“It is a good idea,” I agreed. “A very good idea. I wish you could have told me too. You can’t just go off on your own—”

“I didn’t,” she said gently.

“Mary Alice?”

“Dialed his number.”

“Natalie?”

“Picked him up from the station this morning.”

“Wow.” I slipped my hand from under hers.

“I know you’re angry. We expected this. We knew we were taking a risk by bringing him in. But we also knew that there is nobody in the world who would be better suited. He’s cool in a crisis, smart, capable. The fact that the two of you have unfinished business—”

I cut her off. “I wouldn’t call it that. We made our choices and we made our peace with it. Decades ago.”

“Yes, I can tell how relaxed you are,” she said mildly.

I made a face at her. “Okay, I’m pissed, but not at you and not because you brought him in. I’m pissed because we’re supposed to be a team and nobody mentioned the idea of bringing him in.”

“And?” She raised a brow.

“And I’m pissed at myself because he thought we were dead. I never thought to tell him otherwise.”

“I know,” she told me. “He was a little surprised to get my call.” A tiny smile touched her lips and I relaxed.

“I feel like a bitch, Helen. It just didn’t occur to me to call him.”

“Lonesome is habit,” she said with a shrug. “One that can be broken.”

She left then and it was probably for the best. I stubbed out my cigarette before I went to find Taverner. He was in the garden, chucking knives at a tree stump. His form was still good, but the fact that he was doing something as visceral as knife throwing meant he was still feeling testy.

“So, I hear you’re into philanthropy now,” I said, coming to sit on the edge of the grass. “Giving away murders, no charge.”

“Well, every fifth murder is free, and I’ve already killed four people this year,” he said.

“Good to keep your hand in,” I agreed. I blew out a breath that sounded ragged and felt worse. “I really am sorry, you know. I should have thought and I didn’t. I guess I’m so used to pushing you out of my mind that I’ve gotten really good at it.”

“Well, that stings,” he said, coming to sit next to me. I handed him a bottle of water. He smelled like clean sweat and something else. Lemons?

“How are the twins?” I managed.

“Grown. Planning their thirtieth-birthday bash. Kate is a television producer living in London and is engaged to a nice young man I don’t much like. Sarah is a garden designer. She married an American and lives in upstate New York. She has twins of her own who just turned three.”