Thick as Thieves(70)

“Not the kind that fits your inflection.”

“A hopeful wannabe?”

“Forget her.” He leaned forward on the table. “Why do you have a hankering to kill me?”

Her purse was beside her on the bench. She opened it and took out a manila envelope, set it on the table between them, and pressed her index finger in the center of it. “Copies of two crime reports. The two my father is alleged to have committed. I thought I’d had an original idea to ask for them.”

He muttered a string of curses, which Angie caught the tail end of as she returned. She gave him an arch look as she served their drinks and asked if they were ready to order. They skipped the appetizers and went straight to the entrées. Regardless, it seemed to take an inordinately long time to order.

Arden apparently shared his impatience. As soon as Angie was out of earshot, she sprang forward as though a tether had snapped. “If I had known you had these reports, I would have asked to borrow them and saved myself a trip to the courthouse this morning.”

“Who spilled the beans?”

“The detective who helped me. He wasn’t tattling. He didn’t know I knew you.” She gave him a probing look. “I don’t believe I do.”

For the time being, he let that pass. “Why did you want the reports?”

“That should be obvious and understandable. I wanted to see what, if anything, was in them that incriminated my dad.”

“Nothing. Unless I missed a clue that only a family member would spot.”

She shook her head. “I’ve read every word of both reports twice. I didn’t find anything. Lisa had told me that it was a waste of time.”

“So she’s also reviewed them?”

“Soon after it happened. As a ten-year-old, I wouldn’t have understood most of what I was reading. By the time I was old enough, years had passed. It never occurred to me to ask to see them. Not until last night.”

“When you told me you would start looking for answers someplace else.”

“Which would have been an ideal time for you to volunteer that you had done some sleuthing yourself.”

“You didn’t give me a chance to say squat.”

“If I hadn’t slammed the door on you, would you have told me?”

“Probably not.”

“No probably about it, Ledge.”

She picked up the envelope and returned it to her handbag. Or tried. It buckled. She wound up impatiently stuffing it in. Then she pushed back a handful of her hair. She took a sip of ice water. He scooted his glass of whiskey toward her, she scooted it back, with enough of a shove to slosh some.

“All right. Clearly you’re mad. Lay into me.” He leaned against the back of the booth and folded his arms across his chest.

His complacency seemed to infuriate her more. “Don’t patronize me. You keep me in the dark by talking in half-truths, riddles, and outright lies. Why? When are you going to be up-front with me?”

“What do you want to know?”

“What prompted you to ask for copies of those crime reports? After twenty years, what gives them relevance now?”

“Someone driving past your house every night.”

“Oh. Right. About that. Turns out that it’s your bitter enemy, the district attorney. Surprise!”

He took a sip of his drink. “No surprise there, except that you now know.”

She gaped at him. “You knew it was him?”

“I suspected.”

“All along?”

“Since the minute you told me about it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I hadn’t caught him at it. I tried.”

“The camouflage and war paint night.”

“I made no secret of trying to catch him.”

“No, but you kept secret who you suspected him to be. Another of your lies by omission.”

He didn’t blame her for being pissed. If the situation were reversed, he would be, too. “When did you find out?”

“Today.”

“Here you go.” Angie seemed pleased with herself for having startled them. Neither had noticed her approaching. “Filet for the lady. T-bone for Ledge.” She set two sizzling platters on the table. Addressing Arden, she said, “I know how Ledge likes his. Want to cut into yours to see if it’s cooked okay?”

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

Angie asked if they needed anything else, and when Ledge told her no, she left them. He picked up his knife and fork, and motioned for Arden to do the same.

“I’m too angry to eat.”

“Force yourself.” He cut a piece of steak, speared it, pushed it into his mouth.

“Why?”

“For appearance’s sake.”

“Don’t you want to know—”

“Yes. But not now. Not here.”

He looked around. No one seemed to be paying Arden and him special attention, but Rusty had far-reaching tentacles.

His steak was as good as usual, but he ate methodically, fueling himself without really tasting the food. He was more interested in the woman across from him, who took dainty bites of her dainty filet. She looked distraught, bewildered, anxious, and angry, all at the same time.