Eight Perfect Murders(61)

“So you don’t know what Tess is thinking right now?”

“Well,” he said, and raised his eyebrows, shrugging. “I know some of what she’s thinking about tonight, but that’s only because she told me.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“No, it doesn’t. All right, then, what is she thinking, besides trying to remember how many scoops of coffee it takes to make a pot? I don’t really know. Well, that’s not entirely true. I know a bunch of what she’s thinking. For example, she’s probably counting my drinks and wondering at what point she’ll decide to tell me I’ve had enough. She’s probably already thinking about some pair of three-hundred-dollar jeans she wants to buy. And she’s thinking about you, buddy.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ever since we ran into you at the bar the other night, she’s been talking nonstop about getting you over here for dinner.”

“She’s got an agenda,” I said, remembering what she’d told me about wanting me to convince Brian to get some help into the house.

“Tess always has an agenda.”

I could smell the coffee, now, from the kitchen, a dark, bitter smell that made me feel more sober just by smelling it. The shift in conversation to Tess had unnerved me. I’d known Brian a long time, and I’d seen him drunk many, many times, but the way he was acting now, like he had a secret, was something new to me. He’d always been someone who told me what was on his mind.

“What’s her agenda tonight?” I said.

“I have an idea, but, like I said earlier, we never really know what’s going on inside of someone’s head.”

I heard the clink of porcelain on porcelain and turned to see Tess coming toward the table, carrying a tray that contained two coffee cups, plus sugar and cream. She placed one of the cups, and its saucer, in front of me, then sat down, sighing as she did so.

“Thank you, thank you,” I said, adding some cream to my coffee and taking a sip.

“You want some Irish whiskey for that coffee?” Brian said. “I’ve got some around here somewhere. Just don’t put scotch in it.”

“It’s perfect as is,” I said.

“Really,” Tess said. “What have you two been talking about out here?” She was adding cream and stirring her coffee. Her lips were slightly stained from the port she’d been drinking, and her hair, which normally hung down on either side of her face, was pushed back behind her ears.

“You tell her,” Brian said. “I have to go take a leak.” He put his good hand on the table and stood up. Tess and I both watched him, waiting to see how steady he’d be, but he seemed okay as he walked from the room.

“Did you mention anything about him getting some real help in here?” Tess said, after we both heard the bathroom door shut.

“I didn’t, no,” I said. “I forgot we’d talked about that.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “Anything you mention to him tonight he’s not going to remember in the morning, anyway. I am curious, though, what you two were blathering on about in here. Brian sounded almost passionate.”

“He was talking about how no one really knows anyone else, how we never know exactly what another person is thinking about.”

“You think that’s true?” she said, blowing on her coffee. She had little lines around her lips, as though she’d once been a smoker. I had a vague image of seeing her smoke a cigarette, but not for years.

“I do, actually. I think about it a lot, how we never know the truth of people. But I don’t always know if that’s just me, or if it’s everyone.”

“If what’s just you?” she said.

“I think I have a hard time getting to know people. Not superficially. I’m fine with that. But when I get close to someone, that’s when I feel they disappear. That’s when I look at them and I suddenly have no idea what they’re really like, or what they’re really thinking.”

“Was that how you felt about your wife?” she said.

“Claire?” I said, automatically.

Tess laughed. “Unless you’ve been married more than I know about.”

I thought for a moment, trying to remember if I’d ever discussed Claire with Tess in the past. Or even if I’d ever discussed Claire with Brian. “What was the question?” I finally said.

“Ugh, I’ve made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”

“No, no. I’m just a little drunk.”

“Drink your coffee. It’ll help.”

I took another sip. Then, without really thinking about it, I let the coffee slide back out of my mouth into the cup. I was being paranoid, I knew, but if Tess or Brian, or both of them, had intentions to harm me, putting drugs in my food or drink would make a lot of sense.

“I felt closer to Claire than I’ve ever felt to anyone before or since,” I said. “But sometimes I didn’t know her.”

Tess was nodding. “I feel the same way about Brian, close, I mean, then every once in a while, he’ll say something, or else I’ll read something he wrote, and I wonder if I know anything about him at all. It’s universal, that feeling. What got you two talking about that?”

I thought back, worried that my brain was working too slowly. “We were talking about a list I wrote once. About perfect murders. And Brian was saying how you could never trust anyone to commit a murder for you, that you never really knew what they were thinking.”