Haunting Refrain (29 page)

She still looked pale to Kate. “I don’t think you’ll feel like going to Caesar’s Head Sunday.”

“Oh, I’d almost forgotten. Martin, I was going to the art show with Kate this weekend.” At his nod she continued. “I’m sure we’ll be able to go.”

While Kate said goodbye to
Venice
, John reached into the pocket of his jacket and took out some folded papers. “I’d like to leave you some homework,” he said, handing them to Martin. “This is a list of property owners at
Jocassee
. Maybe you and
Venice
could look it over tomorrow and see if you recognize any names. We figure the killer had to have known the lake area well and have easy access to a boat.”

“Yes, of course.” Martin anchored the list to the coffee table with a cloisonné cat. “We’ll go over them in the morning. It will be a better wake-up exercise than the cryptograms in the paper.”

“Take care, you two. Call if you need us,” John said, shaking Martin’s hand.

The policewoman followed them to the door and whispered, “Detective Waite told me what happened. I’ll be here till midnight. Then Paul
Wolynski
is coming. Don’t worry. We’ll take care of her.”

As they turned out of
Venice
’s gates, Kate asked, “What did you give Martin?”

“The list of property owners around
Lake
Jocassee
.
None of the names rang a bell for me, but when you feel like it, you can go over them. Maybe you’ll recognize something.”

Although he didn’t think it likely that the killer knew Kate was staying with him, John checked the house carefully when they went in. Kate yawned at the kitchen table.

“Let me see the list.”

“Why don’t you wait until morning? You look ready to drop,” he said from the refrigerator.
“Wine?
Milk?
Tea?”

She rubbed her eyes. “A glass of wine would be nice.”

“And maybe a little something to eat?”
He waved a plastic-covered bowl in front of her.
“Leftover pasta.”

“Umm, wonderful.”
While he crushed garlic, she got two plates from the cabinet and collapsed into the chair, shoving her hair back from her face. “Dinner wasn’t a success, was it? We weren’t exactly best friends, but I hate losing Helmut. I think I’m definitely
persona non grata
at the
Black Forest
now.”

“For a while, anyway,” he said over his shoulder as he dumped the congealed lump of pasta into a pan coated with olive oil. “I’ll introduce you to Mama Rosa’s tomorrow. I think Italian pastries have more calories. You’ll love it.”

She groaned as he dropped a chunk of butter in with the pasta. “I need to run in the morning. I may have to add a mile.”

“Skip it. You can afford a couple of pounds.”

“The other day you said I was fat.”

He left the stove and leaned over her, circling her with his arms. “You know why I said that.”

“It was very effective. I forgot all about the elevator. You sure know what buttons to push.” She tilted her head back and kissed him, nose to chin.

“I have two sisters,” he mumbled against her lips.

“Sisters?”
She turned to face him.
“Where?”

“They’re both married. One lives in
Philadelphia
—she’s married to the hockey player—and one in
New York City
. Gina, the one in
New York
, has two kids.”

“Where did you grow up?
How about your parents?”

After a moment of silence, he said, “I lived in South Philly,” as if it were significant. He did a short pushup off the back of Kate’s chair and looked at the floor, thinking. “My mother’s still there.”

Kate remained silent, giving him time, aware that he was struggling. She put her hand over his, sensing his pain. Maybe his father had died recently. She felt the familiar pang, the one that would never entirely leave her, as she remembered her own father.

John raised his head and looked at her, seeming to come to a decision. “I grew up all right. The summer I was sixteen, I became the head of my family, my mother and my two sisters.”

It may not have been wise, but she had to ask. “What happened to your father?”

“He blew his brains out. He’d been fired from his job, couldn't get another.”

“Oh, John.
Over a
job
!”
It was inconceivable to her. She took his hand tightly between hers.

“Not exactly.
He was an accountant. He discovered some kickbacks, payoffs, crooked deals involving the company he worked for and its backers—three local politicians who didn't take the news well.” He paced the length of the kitchen, running his hand over his hair,
then
stopped to stir the pasta. “They accused him of embezzling the money himself, and he couldn't get anyone to take his story seriously. They threatened to send him to prison. He went to the police and to the papers, but you know the story—you can’t fight City Hall.”

“They got away with it?”

“For about ten years.” His grim tone held a message.

She sat quietly for a minute, calculating the time, and then asked, “Was that your first investigative report?”

“Second. I chose one to practice on before I went after them.”

“What happened?”

“Two went to prison, probably out by now. The mob took out the third. He tried to turn state's evidence, do a little trade.”

“Good for you.” She stood and wrapped her arms about him, hugging him fiercely, wishing she could absorb some of his pain. “That’s why you always print the story.”

“I at least check out what I’m told. If there’s something there, yes, I print it.” He let her go abruptly and turned back to the stove, added a generous spoonful of capers to the skillet. “Maybe there are a few gray areas, times when something would be better withheld.”

For John, that was a major concession, and it went straight to her heart.

“Let’s eat.” He turned off the burner, tossed the pasta with fresh Parmesan cheese, and sat it in front of her.

She had no idea leftover pasta could be turned into such a good dish. After they ate, Kate stood and picked up her plate. He took it and pushed her gently back into her chair. “I’ll do them tonight.” He turned on the stereo system, slid in a few CDs, and programmed his favorite songs. He came back, humming, and quickly cleared the table. The man deserved a medal.

“I can last a few more minutes,” she said, swaying in her chair to Susannah McCorkle’s seductive voice. Kate, sleepy now, sang with her.
You go to my head . . .
 
She yawned and lifted her hair off her neck. John’s lips brushed her nape, sending a shiver down her spine.

John’s alarm woke them both. He sat up and turned on the lamp. Kate, lying on her stomach, moaned and pulled the pillow over her head.

“Talk to me for a minute,” he said, pulling his jeans out from under the T-shirt Kate hadn’t slept in. “Then you can go back to sleep. I have to go to the office and get some things I’m working on, but I’ll
come
right back and work here. I have a deadline.”

She lifted the corner of the pillow, mumbling,
“
Go on to work. I’m going to the studio, but I’ll lock myself in.”

“I don’t want you by yourself.” He stood, stepping into the jeans. “It’s not safe. I’d take you to the office with me if I thought you would come. Can’t you go to the studio this afternoon? I’ll go with you after lunch.”

Pushing the pillow off her head, she opened one eye and peered up at him through a tangle of hair. “No. I have deadlines, too. The Caesar’s Head show is Sunday, and I have to reprint a lot of those pictures. Fortunately, most of them were still at the studio.”

“Kate, this guy is serious. Just wait a while for me. Maybe I can borrow a laptop and go with you.”

“
Dammit
, John, I’m not
Venice
.” She turned over and pulled the sheet under her arms, giving him a baleful glare. “I can take care of myself.”

“Don’t kid
yourself
,” he said. “I’m an average guy, and you couldn’t even slow me down if I wanted to take you.”

She snatched the pillow and swung it at him. “You couldn’t catch me.”

He blocked it and dived for her as she rolled to the other side of the bed. He yanked the sheet off and grabbed her. They struggled briefly as John tried to hold on to her while Kate twisted and wriggled to escape. He pinned her with his weight, breathing harder than the fight warranted. “Now who’s caught?”

“Good question, Gerrard,” she said, her eyes sparkling as she pulled him down to her, reveling in the feel of his warm flesh against hers.

* * *

The second time he got up, he didn’t bother with the jeans. “Okay, now you’ll have to get the coffee while I shower.”

“You mean you were going to make coffee? I would never have let you distract me if I had known.” She threw a pillow at his retreating back and retrieved her big T-shirt from the floor. As she pulled it over her head, a solid arm snaked around her, trapping her inside the shirt with her arms over her head.

“That’s twice, lady.” He nuzzled her through the soft knit, his warm breath tickling her ear. “Promise me you’ll stay here until I get back.”

“You dog,” she said, working the shirt down her arms.
 
“You’ll never get to work. Go get your shower while I get the coffee.”

From the kitchen she could hear faint singing. She cocked her head and listened.
Italian.
He really did sing opera in the shower. She popped some bread in the toaster and moved to the hallway to listen. The words sounded like
mio
des oh
dee
to her. She’d have to ask the name of the aria and listen to it.

By the time she returned to the bedroom with coffee and burned toast on a tray, John was buttoning a blue oxford cloth shirt. He had shaved, but his hair was still wet and tousled. He watched her pad barefoot across the room, her hair wild, the T-shirt barely grazing her thighs. He wished he could take the day off. She wasn’t going to wait for him, he knew. Pushing it would only cause a fight.

He lifted a white mug, inhaling the steaming fragrance. He raised an eyebrow at the toast but didn’t comment, just took a piece, leaning forward to keep the blackened crumbs from falling on his clothes.

“You’re a rare woman, Kate McGuire,” he said, planting a crumb-laden kiss on her cheek.

Kate smiled, munching her own toast between mouthfuls of coffee. She held up a crust. “Extra crispy, just the way you like it.”

“It’s terrific, but I think I was talking about chicken,” he said, taking a worn corduroy sport coat from the closet.

“What does
dio
mes
oh
dee
mean? What were you singing in the shower?” she asked, following him down the steps to the front door, cradling her coffee.

“
God has answered my prayer.
I must have
been smelling
the toast. It’s from Verdi’s
La
Traviata
, ‘Di
Provenza
il
mar.’
A father reminding his son of his home by the sea—more of those good intentions gone wrong.”
He opened the deadbolt and turned back to her. “Kate, at least let me know if you go anywhere other than the studio.”