Chosen for Death (27 page)

"This is breakfast, Lemieux," I said. "People don't eat dessert at breakfast. I might have a frozen coffee cake."

"I could eat another whole breakfast," he said, "if you had any more food, which you do not. Don't you worry about starving to death?"

"I don't eat at home very much. I'm usually at work. Speaking of work, don't you have to be at work today? When do we have to hit the road?"

"I am at work," he said.

"You call the last twelve hours work?"

"Your eyes are getting greener," he said. "That's a danger signal, right? Doesn't anyone ever tease you, Thea? I already told you the last twelve hours were heaven on earth. If I died now, I'd go happy." He said it lightly, but I knew he meant what he was saying. "All I meant was that I set my own hours and go where work takes me. Speaking of work, how about being a little domestic and seeing if you can find that coffee cake. I really
am
still hungry."

"Domestic I'm not," I said, "but even I can't resist a hungry man." I rooted through the freezer, pulled out the cake and nuked it. I carried it and the coffeepot back to the table. "More coffee?" I asked.

He held out his cup. "Please," he said. He also took about half the coffee cake and put it on his plate. It vanished before I finished pouring my coffee.

"Gad, woman," he said, "what have you done to me? I never eat like this."

"The same thing you've done to me, I think. I usually have just a little birdlike appetite."

"Vulture-like, maybe," he said. I threw my napkin at him. It landed in the coffee. "I hope you understand this means war," he said, slowly getting up and coming around the table. "No one throws napkins at me and gets away with it."

I stuck out my tongue. "I ain't 'fraid of you, mister," I said. I slid out of my chair and circled away from him so that the table was between us. We circled warily around it. He had a dangerous look in his eyes. I was afraid he was going to dive right across the table, smashing the coffeepot and half my dishes, when I was saved by the bell. The telephone bell. I went into the living room and picked up the phone. The detritus from last night's celebration was still there, looking seedy in the bright light. Something else I had to take care of before we left, or I'd come back to the sour smell of old champagne. Mrs. Bolduc was on the phone, complaining before I even finished saying hello.

As soon as I could get a word in I said, "Relax. I'll be there today. The apartment will be empty by the weekend. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm busy right now." I hung up without waiting for her reply. Andre pounced just as I set the phone back in its cradle, picking me up and tossing me over his shoulder. I landed squarely on the two cracked ribs, and the pain brought tears to my eyes. "Put me down," I gasped.

I leaned against the wall, hugging myself, waiting for the agony to subside. He stood beside me, hands thrust into his pockets, dancing from one foot to the other, the picture of abject misery. "I'm sorry, Thea," he said. "I forgot."

"Don't worry about it," I said, when I could talk again. "It was an accident."

"Why don't you pack while I clean up," he said, escaping into the kitchen.

I got out a small suitcase and began to pack, trying to take as little as possible. I included the green knit dress and a jacket in case I needed to look grown-up, and some jeans and stuff for packing up Carrie's apartment. An oversized T-shirt to sleep in, in case it got cold, though, if Andre was going to be around, I probably wouldn't need it. He seemed to be one of those people who are always warm. Besides, when we were together, we didn't sleep.

Last night was the first time since she died that Carrie hadn't been foremost in my mind. Now that I was getting ready to go back to Maine, I was on track again. Suzanne and Paul had interrupted me before I had a chance to plan just how I was going to find someone named Elizabeth Norwood who had lived in Hallowell, Maine over twenty years ago. As soon as I was alone, I'd have to sit down and think about that. I had to be back at work on Thursday. I didn't have much time.

I snapped the suitcase shut, picked it up, and started for the door. Even that slight effort hurt. I'd let Andre carry it. Suddenly I was crying. Sitting on my bed soaking tissue after tissue, when Andre came in to see what was taking me so long.

"What is it, Thea? What's the matter?" He sat down beside me and very carefully put an arm around me.

"It's so silly," I said.

"Tell me anyway."

"It hurt to lift my suitcase, so I just thought, well, you could do it. And suddenly I was crying, because I felt so pitiful."

"Pitiful? I don't understand."

"Because I was so grateful. That there was someone around who could do things for me. That I didn't have to do everything myself, even if I was hurt, or tired. And suddenly I saw myself as needy, and it seemed pathetic that I should be so moved by having someone to do me a simple favor. Look, forget it. I can't be making myself clear..."

"I think I understand," he said. "You're the fixer. The strong one. But that doesn't mean it's not OK to want a little caring for yourself." He brushed back a strand of hair that was hanging across my face. "I'd be happy to carry your suitcase." And he got up and grabbed my suitcase. No more speeches. No more questions.

I went to the closet and got out the black leather bomber jacket with the fur collar David had given me our last Christmas together. It makes me feel like a million dollars every time I wear it. When I took it off the hanger, something in my green leather coat clinked. Curious, I reached in and found the little can of Mace Agnes had given me. I pictured her worried face, asking if I wasn't afraid whoever had hurt Carrie might also hurt me. I'd promised her I'd be careful. I wasn't expecting trouble, but I dropped it into my pocket. It never hurts to be prepared.

I stuck my head in the kitchen to see what still needed to be done before I left. Andre was just wiping the counters. The coffee table was spotless, the sink was empty, and the dishwasher was slurping happily to itself. "Ready when you are," I said. "You're pretty domestic for a tough guy."

"My wife trained me well," he said, watching closely for my reaction.

"Wife?" I said. "Current or ex?" If he said current I was going to whip out the Mace and let him have it. I wouldn't be made a fool of. My fingers closed around the little can in my pocket.

He read my unsubtle expression correctly. "Ex. Ex. Long time ex," he said quickly. "You aren't a very trusting person, are you?"

"No, I'm not," I said. "I can't believe I've been to bed with you, and that's a pretty pallid euphemism for what we did last night, and I don't even know if you're married. What's the matter with me?"

He came closer, tilted my face up to meet his, and stared searchingly into my face. "Nothing is the matter with you. People have to take things on faith, go with their instincts, sometimes. Like we did last night." His eyes narrowed. "Maybe you were just screwing, though I don't believe it, but I was making love to every glorious inch of you. You can think what you want, I know cops have a bad reputation, but I don't jump into bed every chance I get. I'm picky."

He released my face and stepped back. "You feeling OK? Still up for a long drive?" He drove a fist into his other palm. "Damn. I know how bad ribs can be. I can't believe I did that to you."

"Shut up," I said. "I'll be fine. I'm no fragile blossom. I just can't carry my suitcase." I could worry about how I was going to finish packing when I got there. There were several hours of rest and some prescription painkillers between me and that problem. I got my briefcase and the car keys, he grabbed my suitcase, and we went out. He followed me to the rental agency, waited while I turned in the car, and then we hit the highway. On the way to Maine I slept. It didn't seem fair, he should have been just as tired as I was, but while last night's exertion was beginning to make me fade, he seemed energized. Besides, someone had to drive.

He let me sleep until we got to the Saab dealer, then he shook me gently. "Thea, wake up. Time to get your car." Sometimes a little sleep can be a bad thing, especially in the daytime. Waking up can be so hard. I felt like I was swimming through a sea of murky water; even when I got my eyes open, I still felt submerged. I couldn't seem to wake up, and my dull brain refused to work. I nestled into his shoulder. "Can't do it," I said. "Can't wake up."

He took his shoulder away, gently propping my head against the side of his seat. "I'll be right back," he said. I pushed myself upright in the seat and opened the window, sucking in the crisp air. Then I got out of the car and leaned against it, moving my arms and legs in a little warm-up dance. By the time he came back with a cup of coffee, I was beginning to show signs of life. "That's more like it," he said, handing me the cup. "I was afraid I was going to have to throw cold water on you."

I took a sip. Not bad coffee for a car dealer. "You aren't having any?" I said.

"Mine's inside," he said. "I didn't know how long it would take to revive you. I expected to have to pry you out of the car."

"You're a jerk," I said, "but a very nice jerk."

"Thanks," he said, "I guess. I hope you brought your checkbook or a major credit card. The vultures inside are waiting to feast on your bones."

"Yuk. I hope I'm not ready for vultures yet. If I throw fistfuls of greenbacks at them, will they give me the car and let me go in peace?"

He took me by the elbow and steered me toward the door. "One look at you, sweetheart, and you'll have them eating peanuts out of your hand."

The metaphors were getting very mixed, but I was having fun, so I said, "The dealership is run by elephants?"

"You might say that," he said, opening the door. Watching us from behind the counter was one of the fattest men I'd ever seen. He wore a parody of the car salesman's loud plaid jacket in bright rusty red and green that was the size of a VW beetle, and white shoes. He had close-cropped reddish hair and a voluminous red beard. He waddled toward us, hand outstretched. I stuck mine out; it was engulfed in a hand the size of a ham. "Tiny Erikson, this is my friend, Theadora Kozak."

Tiny's bright blue eyes twinkled in his fat red face. He took his time looking me over, then chuckled approvingly. He punched Andre in the arm with one of his giant fists. "So, Detective, this was one accident that was no tragedy, eh? Finally found yourself a woman. About time, too, though all the waitresses will weep and the colonel will have to look for another prospect for his daughter. She looks a handful, this one. No wonder you look like something the cat dragged in. You had quite a night, eh?"

I couldn't believe this. I could feel the red rising into my face. I looked at Andre to see how he was handling it, wondering if he'd set me up. He was grinning, but it was a puzzled grin, like he'd gotten more of a reaction than he expected. "That's enough, Tiny," he said.

Tiny nodded. "Sure thing, Detective. Didn't mean to offend Miss Kozak." He lumbered back to the counter. "If you come over here, miss, I'll get your paperwork." I followed him back to the counter. There were several guys behind the counter trying to stifle grins. "Get to work," Erikson bellowed at them. "Harry, your desk is buried in papers. Shorty, you go get the lady's car, and make sure it's clean." He searched through a mass of papers on the counter, pulled out one with my name on it, and spread it out in front of me.

"Any other car," he said, "and you wouldn't be standing here now, you know that? You should see what you did to that poor tree." He stared boldly at my face and shook his head. "I see the tree struck back. But your car is as good as new, you'll see. We do specially careful work for friends of the detective."

"Just tell me how much I owe you," I said, taking out my wallet.

"Oh, now you're mad at me, aren't you?" Tiny said sadly, turning the form around so he could see it. "The deductible is two hundred fifty, plus you owe me fifty for the towing, and two hundred for expedited repairs. So, altogether, five hundred dollars."

I'd been about to write the check, but I stopped. "Expedited repairs?" I said. "Since when does it cost extra to get things repaired promptly?"

He looked at the sheet again. "Not promptly. Promptly you'd get it maybe next week, if you're lucky. I said expedited. That means we gave it priority over other repairs. Costs extra," he said.

"But you can't charge me extra for some service I didn't ask for unless I signed something. That's outrageous. There must be some sort of consumer law that prevents you from doing that. Andre," I said, "is this legal?"

Tiny was dancing with mirth behind the counter. "Oh, it wasn't you who requested it. It was your daddy. He insisted I fix it right away. I told him it would cost extra, and he says go ahead, he'll pay the extra, his daughter needs the car. Guess he just forgot to tell you." He leered down at me, a grotesque folding of his fat. "Oh, she's a hot one, Andre," he said. "You are going to have your hands full. She a lawyer or what?"

"Will you please," I exploded, "stop discussing my attributes so that we can finish this business transaction. I'm in a hurry." I wrote a check for five hundred dollars, wrote
paid under protest
on the memo line, tore it out, and handed it to Tiny. He stuck it in a drawer and gave me a copy of the repair sheet. "Shorty's just brought your car around to the front." I grabbed the papers and stormed out the door. "Don't be a stranger, beautiful," he yelled. Behind me, I heard him say to Andre, "So, you never told me, is she good in bed?"