Careless Rapture (13 page)

“Why are you so sure? Why is he
concerned?”

“It’s a doctor’s job,” he said “It’s just
tests.”

Drake glanced out the window, his voice
barely audible. “Cancer?”

He shrugged.

Jackie uncrossed her legs and sat forward,
trying to combat the rising anxiety. He couldn’t be really sick. It
was all a mistake. “Do you feel okay? You didn’t tell us anything
was wrong.”

“Does he ever?” Drake said, annoyed.

Eric shot him a glance. “I’m telling you
now.”

Drake began cracking his knuckles, a bad
habit he’d picked up after he’d quit smoking a year ago. “I suppose
we should be grateful you told us before you were admitted into
surgery.”

Jackie sighed. “It’s amazing that you’d end
up with lung cancer.” She regretted her words when a look of pain
and guilt briefly crossed Drake’s face.

Eric scolded her with a glance. “It’s not
cancer. A little chest pain, that’s all. It’s just tests.”

“Right. Of course,” she said quickly.

“And if it is cancer, it’s nobody’s fault.”
He glanced at his brother, who’d grown quiet. “Hey, remember, I’m
the guy who could get sick in a test tube.”

Jackie took a deep breath, wishing she could
take it all in stride as he did. But the thought of Eric being sick
terrified her. “Does Adriana know?”

His light humor disappeared. “No, and I’m not
going to tell her. It would only worry her.”

Drake said, “She’s your wife, she has the
right to worry.”

“We’ve only been married a year and--”

Drake drummed his fingers. “And you don’t
want the honeymoon to end? Wake up. The honeymoon’s over, you’re
married now. Your battles become hers, she has a right to know.
She’s going to be upset if this turns out to be serious.”

Eric shrugged. “I’m sure it’s not.” He took
off his glasses, then shoved them back on. “I told you because I
thought you should know, not so that you would worry.”

“You don’t want us to worry,” Drake said in
an ironic tone. He clasped his hands together and rested his chin
on top. “Anymore instructions, professor?”

“Just one. You can’t tell Cassie.”

Drake straightened. “Why not?”

“Because then she’ll tell Adriana. They’re
best friends.”

“You want me to keep the fact that my brother
may have cancer or some other disease a secret from my wife?”

“Just for a few weeks.”

Drake shook his head. “I’ll tell her not to
say anything, but I can’t keep this from her. Cassie and I talk
about everything.”

Eric’s voice was firm. “Well, you won’t be
talking about this.” He looked at Jackie. “And neither will
you.”

Jackie began to protest. “Eric—”

“I don’t want their sympathies. I don’t want
them feeling sorry for me.”

“They love you.”

“I know that. That’s why I can’t put them
through what we went through with our parents. Cassie will tell
Adriana. Adriana will tell Nina,” he said, referring to his
eight-year-old stepdaughter. “What will I say to her? I can’t
promise her anything. Jackie, you know how it feels to be a kid and
have a father that’s not there for you.”

“This is different. Things can be done. Dad
wasn’t you, you can’t think you’ll end up the same.”

“I don’t plan to, so don’t worry. If the news
is bad, I’ll tell her. Otherwise it’s just between us. Okay?” When
neither replied he looked at Drake. “Okay?” he asked again, more
firmly this time.

Drake nodded reluctantly.

“Jackie?”

She sent Drake a look of resignation, he gave
a slight shrug. Then she said the word she knew she’d regret.
“Okay.”

***

“Get the camera off her ass,” Clay growled as
Mack focused the lens. They sat in the parking lot of the Hillside
Motel under a flickering street lamp, hearing the booming dance
beat from a nearby club.

Mack grinned. “She’s got a great one.”

Clay agreed. Milton’s wife, Roberta, was a
well-made woman, but he wasn’t in the mood to comment. He reached
for the camera. “Give me that and you take notes.”

Mack moved it away. “All right, all right. No
need to get violent.”

Clay sat back and sighed. He was bored, but
this was part of the job. Roberta hadn’t been hard to follow. For a
woman involved in an affair, she was very predictable. Hillside was
one place she frequented. The kind of place where one key could
open four rooms. It was a peach and green two-level building with a
rusted railing and crumbling stairs. People rarely went there for
the atmosphere. A neon sign from the club across the street
reflected in the windows. Clay tapped his pen against the notepad
as Mack videotaped the lover parking his car and meeting her.

“There’s our Romeo going into the motel,”
Mack said, watching Roberta’s lover.

Clay scribbled down some notes, then glanced
up. He saw a man walking toward the pair. He was of medium height
with black hair and a long coat. Something about the man’s gait put
him on alert. It was too fast, too determined. He picked up his
binoculars, then swore.

Mack glanced at him. “What?”

“That’s Milton.”

“What is he doing here?”

“I guess he’s finally going to approach her.
I wish he’d come to his senses sooner.”

“About time.” Mack shook his head. “I’m going
to miss this case, though.”

Clay paused when he saw Milton reach inside
his coat. He could feel the hairs bristle on the back of his neck.
Something wasn’t right. “I don’t like this.”

Mack agreed. “Don’t know why he asked us to
come, if he was coming himself.”

“What’s that in his hand?”

Mack snorted. “Funny, it looks like a
gun.”

They stopped, stared at each other, then
jumped out of the car.

Clay asked a
bystander to call 911 while Mack raced across the lot. “Drop your
weapon,” he ordered, holding out his own.

Milton kept his gun on his wife and her
lover. “Stay away.”

“Milton, you don’t want to do this.”

The middle-aged man ignored him and stepped
closer to the pair. “Roberta, are you happy?”

Under the fading light she looked like a
wilting vine with her coiffured bun coming undone. She clasped her
hands together. “Milton, please.”

“I’ve loved you all these years. I’ve given
you chances, haven’t I?” His tone harshened. “Haven’t I?”

“Yes. Yes, you did.”

“But you still lied to me. Do you think I
deserved that?”

“No, you deserved better. Don’t do this,
please.” Her voice trembled. “Please.”

“It’s too late to beg.”

“Put the gun down,” Mack urged. “We can talk
this over.”

“No! I’m sick of talking. Sick of it! We
talked, didn’t we? But they were just words. They didn’t mean
anything.” His voice cracked as tears built in his eyes. “I tried
to be everything you wanted and I failed. . . I failed us both. I
love you and I’ll show you how much. I want you all to see what she
made me do.” He placed the gun against his head.

“Wait!” Clay said. “I need to get your mother
on the phone.”

“What?”

“I can get her on the phone right now.” He
held up his mobile phone. “I think she has the right to say goodbye
to you since she’ll never see you again. I know you want to hurt
Roberta, but do you also want to hurt your mom, too? Leave her
alone without anybody?”

A series of emotions crossed his face. He
glanced at Roberta and spoke with venom in his tone. “But I want
her to suffer.”

“She’ll suffer.” Clay kept talking as Mack
moved slowly out of view. “When you divorce her and leave her with
nothing, she’ll suffer. But what will your mother have with you
gone? No one visits her but you. You’re the only bright spot in her
life. Pulling the trigger now is like shooting your mother in the
heart.”

The gun wavered. Milton looked at him,
helpless. “I don’t know. Life means nothing.”

“At least say good-bye.” He held the mobile
toward him. “Here. Call her.”

The moment Milton reached for the phone, Mack
jumped on him and seized the gun. Soon the police arrived and had
him in handcuffs.

After giving their report to the police, Mack
and Clay headed back to their car. Clay glanced at Milton in the
police cruiser. Tears streamed down his face while Roberta flirted
with an officer and her lover looked grim. “Poor, crazy bastard,”
Clay said.

Mack patted him on the back. “Good job,
buddy. How did you know his mother would work?”

“I didn’t. I Just kept talking until you
could make your move.”

“Quick thinking.”

“Great instincts.”

“Perhaps I’ll listen to you next time.”

“Hmm. How do you plan to get paid for this
job?”

“He paid in advance.”

Clay stopped and grabbed Mack’s shoulder,
forcing him to stop. “You didn’t think that was strange?”

He shrugged. “I knew the guy was odd. I
didn’t think he’d try to blow his brains out.”

Clay released him. “At least it’s over.”

“Yeah.”

Mack sat behind the wheel and started the
ignition. “That little speech would have worked on me. If I decided
to put a hole in my head, my mother would grab me from the grave,
condemn me for my sin, then weep and tell me how much I’d broken
her heart.”

Clay put on his seatbelt as Mack merged into
traffic. “Mine wouldn’t even remember my name. Then she’d say, ‘I
thought you’d died years ago. ’” His stepmother would be annoyed he
hadn’t chosen a cleaner way to go. He didn’t care. He’d given up
caring when his biological mother abandoned him at five and his
stepmother hated him on sight.

“She would care,” Mack said. “You just don’t
know it.”

The last time he’d seen his biological mother
was at his sister’s funeral. Five years had passed since she’d
thrown him out of her house after he’d run away. Despite their
shared grief, he didn’t speak to her and she didn’t try to speak to
him. “Yeah, I do know.”

***

Funerals are generally thought to be solemn
occasions. Mr. Hamlick’s proved to be anything but. Jackie couldn’t
determine whether it was the ceremony or the garish decorations
that ruined the appearance of bereavement. She saw his two
daughters sitting in the front pew, their names were
inconsequential since they rarely used them in public. They
preferred the distinction of their husbands’ names—Mrs. Daniel
Becker and Mrs. Jerome Trent. They were attractive women who had
made the mistake of thinking they were still young by wearing
low-cut blouses to emphasize their long necks. They had probably
been swanlike in youth, but resembled goosenecks now. Their tinted
gray hair matched their silver-gray clothes as though fashion
rather than decorum had been a priority. Mr. Hamlick had one son
who was unable to attend the affair because he was conducting one
of his own in Italy with a dancer. Everyone knew his mistress would
have waited and correctly assumed he just didn’t want to be
there.

When Faye and Jackie introduced themselves to
the two daughters, they were greeted with cool smiles and minimal
interest. Faye and Jackie hadn’t expected more.

“Your father was a wonderful man,” Jackie
said.

“Yes, I know,” Mrs. Daniel Becker said. “Will
you both be at the burial?”

“Yes.”

She managed a tight grin. Not because she
couldn’t smile wider—she just didn’t want to exert the effort.

“Good. I want as many people as possible for
the film footage.”

A Hollywood director couldn’t have staged a
better event. Requisite tears and sniffles. No wailers. People
crowded together to get into the camera shot. Jackie stood to the
side and listened to the drone of the minister. At the most solemn
moment, a trio of birds decided to chirp loudly. At last it was
over. The crowd slowly dispersed, offering condolences and then
asking when the Beckers’ banquet would be held.

“You would think they would have more respect
for their father,” Faye said. “My parents died when I was
young.”

“Mine, too.”

They shared a look of known pain. “Hurts,”
Faye said.

“It sucks.”

Faye nodded, amused by Jackie’s bluntness.
“Yes, that, too.”

“I’m almost sorry I came,” she said,
disgusted.

“Welcome to the circus,” a deep voice said
behind them.

They turned to a man of average height and
forgettable features except for eyes as blue as cornflowers. “You
must admit, it’s entertaining,” Jackie said, embarrassed that her
feelings had been obvious.

Faye measured him with interest. “Are you a
guest?”

“A distant relative.” He looked at the coffin
with sadness.

Her interest dimmed.

Jackie shook his hand, pleased to see the
first sign of genuine emotion since the ceremony. “I’m sorry for
your loss. I’m Jackie Henson and this is Faye Radcliff.”

“Nicolas Douglas. How did you know him?”

“He used to invest in our nonprofit
organization.”

“Yes, he loved charities. What do you
do?”

“Let me give you my card.” Jackie opened her
purse, then shook her head. “Oh, darn. I’m all out. Faye can give
you one.” She grabbed Faye’s bag, pulled out a card, and wrote her
number on the back, knowing he wouldn’t use it, but not wanting to
put Faye on the spot.

“What do you do?” Faye asked him.

“I’m a detective.”

“Oh.”

Jackie handed him the card. “Here.”

He stuck it in his pocket. “Thank you. You’ll
be hearing from me.”

Jackie smiled. “Good.”

He returned the expression, then left.

“You’re incorrigible,” Faye whispered.

Jackie looked blank. “What?”

“Trying to fix me up at a funeral.”

“He’s attractive and you need to get out
more. You’re working yourself to death. You’re always in that
office.”

“Not always. I’m dedicated to my job. We came
here for a purpose and that wasn’t it.”