Copper Lake Confidential (14 page)

When she reached the landing, she ignored Clary’s room to the left and carried her into the master bedroom, laying her gently on the bed. She’d still been sleeping in a crib when she’d left a year and a half ago, a situation that certainly wouldn’t please her now. Only babies slept in cribs, and she was no baby. She was a big girl.

The backpack that carried her clothes was as big as she was, Macy noticed with a smile as she dumped it on the bed. Anne had covered every possibility: shorts, T-shirts, jeans, skirts, a dress and appropriate shoes, plus pajamas, swimsuits and hats. Macy stacked the clothes on a nearby chair, stripped her daughter and easily maneuvered her limp body into a pink nightgown with a picture of a smiling cat on the front.

After settling her baby, smelling distinctly of sweat and dog, on Mark’s side of the bed, she propped pillows along the edge as a barrier, tucked the covers around her, then carried her dirty clothes into the dressing room. They went into the laundry hamper along with Macy’s own clothes, and she changed into her own pajamas.

Pleasantly tired, face washed, teeth brushed, Macy returned to the bedroom and stopped so suddenly she stubbed her toe. She hadn’t heard anything out of place, didn’t see anything, but the hairs on her nape were rising as goose bumps popped up along her arms. She held her breath and listened but heard nothing. She breathed deeply to fill her starving lungs, and the difference registered so quickly that she choked on the air.

Mark’s cologne was drifting faintly on the air.

It was nothing unusual, she told herself. He’d lived in this room with that cologne for six years. It had probably permeated into the very structure of his dressing room, where he’d sprayed it at least twice a day. Tiny particles had drifted onto the carpet, absorbed into the walls and the furniture. And, look, the curtains were swaying slightly. The central air had come on, and the outrush of air was spreading the scent.

Shoulders relaxing, she crossed the room to the door. She might have an open-door policy during the day, but at night she wanted the security of closed doors, especially with Clary here. She didn’t want her little girl wandering around a strange house at night.

Her gaze skimmed across the box just outside the door that held bits of trash: crumpled paper, packing tape that had stuck to itself, other detritus. The box she’d thrown Mark’s cologne into just that morning.

There was no sign of it. She rifled through the contents, thinking the heavy glass must have sunk to the bottom, but no, it wasn’t there.

Arms hugged to her middle, Macy backed into the bedroom. Maybe Stephen, Brent or Anne had seen it there and thought it was in the trash by mistake. Maybe one of them had set it aside to ask her about and had forgotten. Maybe...

She closed the door, locked it, then dragged a heavy chair in front of it. Hands clenched to keep them from trembling too much, she went to Mark’s dressing room, slowly turned the knob, even more slowly turned on the light and stepped inside.

The elegant black bottle sat on the dressing table.

Oh, God.

Chapter 8

S
aturday was the longest day of Stephen’s life, or so it seemed. Time, thankfully, had taken the edges off some of the other longest days. Everything seemed easier in retrospect.

But he wasn’t interested in retrospect. He just wanted this evening—at least, this part of it—to be over so he could say good-night to Kiki, go home, change clothes and see Macy. Kiki wouldn’t even mind if she knew what was going through his head. So far, she’d spent the entire time doing some sort of weird stalking dance around Ty Gadney, one of her fellow detectives. From what Stephen could tell, she and Gadney had dated for a while, breaking up, getting back together and breaking up again. Apparently, the last breakup had been final, at least in Gadney’s mind. Not so in Kiki’s.

Stephen was pretty sure her mind was a very strange place.

They’d been at the party thirty minutes without so much as a glimpse of Marnie and her date. Had his sister lied about coming to the party to get him to bring Kiki? Had she been stood up, or had there never been a date in the first place? And who in Copper Lake could Marnie possibly consider—

“There’s your sister.” Kiki gestured with her wineglass, nearly sloshing the liquid over the rim, and gave a high wave with her free scarlet-tipped fingers. “Robinson! Over here!”

Stephen turned to see Marnie just inside the double doors. He blinked, did a double-take. She wore a dress. When had he last seen her in a dress? High school graduation? Bigger surprise: it was red. She was about as color-friendly as he was. If his closet was white, khaki and black, hers was brown, black and gray. Even bigger surprise: her shoes weren’t the score-one-for-comfort-zero-for-style clunkers he’d thought was all she owned but sandals. They were high heels. With thin straps. And also red.

And the biggest surprise of all: he recognized the man holding her hand. The great-grandson or -nephew of the elderly sisters who lived down the road from him. The long-haul trucker. How the hell had they even met? Marnie knew only police officers, lawyers and the occasional medical personnel who got involved in cases. Outside of that bunch, she didn’t know anyone alive and breathing besides Stephen.

“You clean up well, Robinson,” Kiki said when Marnie and her date joined them. She thrust out her hand to the man. “I’m Katherine Isaacs.”

“John Gutierrez.” He shook hands with her, then turned to Stephen. “I’ve seen you down the road. My aunts talk about you a lot.”

Stephen was still having trouble comprehending that Marnie was dating a truck driver. He really wasn’t a snob. She’d just
never
shown any interest in a man who didn’t have a string of letters after his name.

Marnie narrowed her gaze at him, and Kiki slapped him on the arm. “Jeez, say hello to the guy, Noble.”

Great. Kiki, queen of the bold, brash and insensitive, had to correct his behavior. That was just wrong.

“Sorry. I’m Stephen.” He shook hands then shoved both of his in his pants pockets. “I like that color, Marnie.”

Her gaze flickered to the trucker. “John suggested it. It’s...” She ran her fingers over a bit of fabric. “Red.”

Stephen grinned. He knew what she’d wanted to say: around 640 nanometers. She had always preferred to identify colors by their wavelength or spectrum. “It looks good on you.”

She glanced down at herself. “Yes, it does.”

“Hey, Noble, I’ll be back.” Kiki moved into the crowd with no stealth or, as far as that went, grace. She’d spotted Ty Gadney alone for a moment, and he was in her sights.

“Does she call everyone by their last name?” John asked.

“Only those not in her social circle.” Marnie immediately lost interest in her friend-of-a-friend. “I understand you’re spending time with Mark Howard’s widow.”

Stephen blinked. “And how did you hear that?”

“Never discount the effectiveness of gossip.”

“I work with real live people and I haven’t heard any gossip.”

Marnie shrugged. “The people you work with like you. They’re not going to gossip where you can hear.”

With little-brother sympathy, he wondered if the people she worked with didn’t like her. More likely, they didn’t know what to make of her.

“Mark Howard.” John frowned. “Isn’t he the guy—”

“I’d like a drink, John. Bottled water.”

Marnie never meant to be rude. She just saw no point in continuing with a conversation that had lost interest for her. Apparently, John knew her well enough to understand that because he grinned as if the interruption didn’t faze him. “With the cap still sealed. You want anything, Stephen?”

“No, thanks.”

They both watched until John disappeared into the crowd, then Stephen turned his gaze on Marnie and waited until she looked at him. He could ask what John had been about to say but figured he already knew:
Isn’t he the guy who shot himself at the fancy plantation house?
And though there were details Stephen didn’t know, he’d resisted Google and asking Marnie so far. He could wait for Macy to tell him herself.

“So...how long have you been seeing this guy?”

Marnie’s cheeks turned pink. “I assume by ‘seeing,’ you mean dating. This is actually our first date, though he spends most of his nights in town at my house.”

It was an evening for surprised blinks. He would probably need eyedrops before it was over. “He’s a truck driver.”

She didn’t take that the wrong way. He’d known she wouldn’t. “With degrees from Yale, Stanford and Princeton.”

“Wow. And most guys just take the commercial truck driver’s course.”

“He wasn’t happy with the confining nature of his life. He likes being on the road.”

“And he likes you.”

Her smile was faint and stilted. Thirty-seven years of practice had never succeeded at making it look natural. “What’s not to like? I’m intelligent and conversant on numerous subjects. I hold an interesting position in the lab. And I look good in red.”

“You do.” He gazed across the room and spotted Kiki cozy in a corner with Ty. “It’s not fair, you know. You’re here with someone you like and he likes you back, and I’ve got Detective Scary Pants.”

Macy’s nickname for Kiki actually made Marnie laugh. “I dare you to call her that when she’s within striking range. She considers Kiki a bad enough burden to bear.”

“I don’t accept life-threatening dares.” Stephen nodded to a couple of Calloways and their wives who said hello on their way by, saw his boss, Yancy, across the room and Zia with one of her brothers and Sophy Marchand strolling through open doors onto the veranda. “I have been spending a lot of time with Macy Howard,” he said without thinking.

“How is she?”

“She’s a little uneasy being back here.”

“Who wouldn’t be?”

An interesting comment from a woman who dealt with death and violence on a regular basis, one who found it difficult to relate to people on an emotional level. Again he resisted asking her to spill everything she knew about Macy and Mark.

“Gossip says she’s donating Fair Winds to be a museum and leaving town. Where is she going?”

That confirmed the identity of at least one of the gossips, not that he’d needed confirmation. If there was a story to be told, it was a sure bet Louise Wetherby would be telling it. Even if it wasn’t true. Maybe especially if it wasn’t true. “She hasn’t decided yet. And that applies to donating the home, too.”

“I feel sorry for her,” Marnie said, though the matching emotion was absent from her voice. “It wasn’t her fault her husband was the way he was, but people still included her in the talk. ‘She must have known, she must have suspected.’” She scoffed. “As if living with someone means you know what’s going on in his head.”

Stephen’s jaw clenched. It was getting harder not to ask. Hell, River’s Edge was filled with cops, lawyers and city officials. Probably every single person in the room knew way more about Macy’s life than he did.

But he was the only one who’d kissed her. Who knew how she tasted. How she felt. He was sure of that in his soul.

John returned with two bottles of water, one wrapped in a paper napkin for Marnie. He was good-looking, about forty, with glints of silver in his brown hair. He wore his suit better than Stephen did, and the calluses on his hands, as well. A long-haul trucker with degrees from three of the top universities in the country and obvious affection for Marnie. Stephen didn’t need to know anything else to like the man.

“Are you gone most of the time?” Stephen asked. “I was just thinking the other day that I hardly ever see you.”

“I’m here three or four days each month, but I spend most of that time with Marnie.”

“I had no clue.”

“We aren’t exactly hiding it. We have limited time. We prefer not to share it with anyone else.”

Marnie spoke up. “Just as you would rather be spending your evening alone with Macy than here with all these people.” She gestured around, then her faint smile returned. “Here comes Detective Scary Pants.” She finished with a soft snort of amusement.

Kiki was on her way back, making a beeline for him, and she didn’t look happy. He looked behind him. Ten feet to the hallway, another ten to the front door. He could claim an emergency call from the clinic.

Nah, she probably had her service revolver in her purse and would suggest putting the poor critter out of its misery.

“Come on, Noble, we’re outta here.” Ignoring Marnie and John, she dozed her way to the door, where she shot him a look that could kill over her shoulder.

“You’re getting lucky, man,” John said.

Stephen stared at him, both dismayed and turned off by the mere idea.

“She’s getting you out of here early,” John explained. “Another guy’s got her panties in a wad, and she’s not going to be asking you to help her out of them. You get to go home without her.”

“Noble!”

Stephen glanced at her, arms crossed, gaze narrowed, then at John—three prestigious university degrees?
Panties in a wad?
—then touched Marnie’s shoulder. “See you. Nice to meet you, John.”

By the time he caught up with Kiki, she was striding through the wrought-iron gate onto the sidewalk. He’d parked two blocks to the north after dropping her off at the entrance so she wouldn’t have to walk that far in her killer heels. Now she waited as if she expected him to pick her up.

“I’ll get the car,” he said, pausing beside her.

To his surprise, she turned. “I’ll walk with you.”

They’d covered a block in silence before he hesitantly asked, “What’s up with you and Ty?”

“Ty’s an idiot. He thinks we need a break.”

“I’m sorry.”

She scowled at him. “
You’re
an idiot if you think he’s getting it. Like I told him, it was a mutual decision to start dating. It has to be a mutual decision to stop. I don’t acknowledge his breakup.”

“I didn’t know you could refuse to acknowledge a breakup.”

“Of course you can.” Though she didn’t add an insult, her tone made clear there was another
idiot
implied. “There are two people in every relationship. Each one has equal say in what happens. You can’t start a relationship with someone who doesn’t want to be in it, and you can’t walk away from someone who doesn’t want to end it.”

Stephen grimaced, grateful she wasn’t looking at him. He was pretty sure she didn’t tolerate people who grimaced at her logic. “Substitute ‘marriage’ for ‘relationship,’ and you’re talking about divorce. And I’m pretty sure ‘breakup’ is the relationship equivalent of divorce.”

She stopped beside his car and gave him a scornful look from head to toe. “No wonder you’re single. Let me explain it in terms you can understand. Ty has commitment issues. We date. We have sex. We get intimate. He backs off, breaks up, wants to play the field. He gets over his fears, we get back together, we repeat. It’s our routine. But this time I’m going to get a different outcome. We’re going to deal with his issues, and I’m going to get a commitment.”

When she waited pointedly for a response, he said, “Oh.” It was the best he could manage.

But thirty minutes later, sitting at the island in Macy’s kitchen, he said what he really thought. “If Ty has any sense, the only commitment she’ll get is an involuntary one into a high-security loony bin for stalking him. She’s not only scary, she’s nuts.”

The spoon Macy was holding clattered to the floor, and she ducked to pick it up. It clattered again when she dropped it into the sink. When she turned, her smile was wan, her eyes shadowed. “From what I’ve heard, Ty Gadney is a smart man and a good detective. It probably
is
their routine to break up, get back together, break up again. My college roommate and her boyfriend were like that. We actually kept a chart on the refrigerator door. It had a green magnet for On and a red one for Off. I swear, sometimes it was the only way
she
could keep track. They got married after graduation.”

“And let me guess—they lived happily ever after?”

“Nope. Divorced at least three times in six years. They can’t live together, can’t live apart. I’m glad I’m not her.”

He slid off the stool and circled the island to slide his arms around her. “So am I, because I don’t believe in messing with a married woman, but I sure do like messing with you.” After brushing his mouth across hers, he quietly added, “I missed you.”

She didn’t say anything, but the squeeze of her fingers on his arms was comment enough.

* * *

Commitment. High-security loony bin. Nuts.

The words had made it almost impossible for Macy to breathe. Her first commitment had been voluntary and, for all its apparent openness, the hospital had definitely been high-security. It was the place where wealthy people went to rehab, recuperate and regain their sanity.

But she had not been nuts.

“You’re tense. Have a bad day?” His hands kneaded slowly along her spine, making her groan when they reached her shoulders.

“The day wasn’t so bad. I had trouble sleeping last night.” She’d tried to read, to sing herself to sleep with Clary’s favorite tunes. She’d paced the bedroom until her legs ached. She’d even moved the chair from the door, lifted Clary into her arms and searched the entire house for anything out of place. She’d wound up both physically and emotionally exhausted and had found nothing. Just that damn cologne bottle.