Bloodline(33)

I jerk back.

That thin laugh again, almost a shriek. “Got you! I’m referring to the Fathers meeting, of course. I was one of the Mothers who served them that night. Left to their own, those poor old sods would starve in a kitchen with a stocked refrigerator and a working stove.” She changes tack so quickly it’s difficult to keep up. “Please say you’ll come to our Mothers’ dinner party tonight. There will only be a few of us there, and it’s at my house. Right next door! You must join us.”

My skin feels as fragile as spun sugar. I realize we’ve stopped.

In front of Ben Franklin.

How did she know this was my destination?

“All right,” I say. Don’t seem uncooperative.

Catherine pecks my cheek. Her lips are dry, and she smells of pressed face powder. I think she must be in her late fifties or early sixties, like everyone else on Mill Street, and I don’t like her at all.

“Lovely. I’ll let you bring a dessert,” Catherine is saying. “It is so nice to have Deck back in town. Thank you for bringing him home.”

I shade my eyes so I can watch her walk two blocks before disappearing down Lake Avenue. Then, rather than enter Ben Franklin, I hurry to the phone booth on the corner. I slide open the door.

My hand is steady as I shift my handbag so I can access my coin purse. I locate a dime and drop it in the slot. I dial the number from memory.

It rings.

And rings.

And rings.

I know someone is watching me. I feel it like dead fingers up my spine. I pivot quickly in the booth, staring toward Lake Avenue.

No one is there.

I hang up and walk to Ben Franklin.

The cloisonné pineapple brooch is in my pocket.

I could return it.

But I don’t.





CHAPTER 22

Deck is pleased to see me when I drop by Schmidt Insurance after filling my prescription. He’s leaning over a map rolled out on a large table, his father on one side, Clan Brody—Catherine’s husband, Clan the Brody Bear—on the other. Deck’s jacket is off, his shirt rolled up to his elbows.

I still feel an electric jolt when I see him like this, engrossed, capable. When he spots me, his face lights up. It makes the whole shaky, crazy world seem solid.

For a moment.

I go to Deck. The map they’re poring over is of a town—Lilydale?—with lurid red Xs carved over sections. Ronald is smiling at me, Clan is smiling at me, and Deck is leading me to the break room. I note the filing cabinets lining the walls, a mob of them, and no secretary behind the desk. Mrs. Swanson must be at a late lunch.

“How did it go?” Deck asks once he has me in the break room.

I close the door and lean against it. “Fine, I suppose.”

He wraps me in his arms. “You don’t seem fine.”

“The doctor said I couldn’t drink.”

Deck steps back so he can see my face. He squeezes my shoulders. “I told you, baby. I’ll quit drinking in public, too. We’ll tipple at home until we’re soused, if you want. When I think how much champagne we swallowed the night we made this one, I figure he must be immune to it.” He addresses the next part at my belly. “Isn’t that right, little buddy?”

I relax for the first time all day. “I read the doctor’s notes. He put down that I’m uncooperative.” I can’t bring myself to say the last part. A risk.

Deck barks with laughter. “What’d you do? Refuse some tests?”

“Nothing. That’s the truth. I cracked a joke. It didn’t land well.”

He kisses me on the forehead. “I’ll vouch for you if it comes to that.”

“Hold me again, Deck.”

“Sure, darling.” He pulls me back into his arms.

“I ran into Catherine on the way here,” I say into his chest. “She invited me to a Mothers’ dinner party tonight.”

He hugs me tighter. “And?”

“I said I’d go.”

“Well, look at that. Nobody would call that uncooperative, would they?”

“Will you be all right for supper on your own?”

“Dad and I talked about grilling tonight. We’ll be fine. You go. Make friends. Show this town how wonderful you are.”

I want to stay in his arms forever, but there’s work to do. “I wanted to interview Mrs. Swanson. About the Paulie Aandeg case?” I filled Deck in about it last night. He listened with half an ear.

His chin is resting on my head. “She’s taken a few days off.”

I yank myself back. “What?”

He rubs the back of his neck, holding eye contact. “Yeah, but Dad might know more about the Paulie Aandeg situation.”

“Can I ask him now?”

“Here?” Deck asks, a smile warming his eyes. “You want to interview my dad at his own business?”

“Why not?”

“All right,” Deck says, chuckling. “I’ll see if he’s free.”

I nod as if it’s the most natural thing, biting my lip. I’m fishing my notepad out of my purse when Ronald strides in. He doesn’t look nearly as pleased about this as Deck did.

“Joan, Deck says you have a few questions.” The gravel of his voice is thick with friction. He leaves the door open behind him.