Jude Devine Mystery Series (107 page)

“Ms. Devine?” he replied.

“That’s me.” Jude gave him a sharp second glance, expecting to recognize a local parolee trying to make a go of it on the outside.

The man produced several of her favorite single malts. “Dr. Westmoreland got these in for you.”

Instantly flustered, Jude picked up a bottle of twenty-four-year-old Caol Ila. Mercy had really gone the extra mile tracking down this rare dram. Jude enjoyed the delicacy of the younger Caol Ila bottlings when she could find one. They were almost like Lowland malts, except for the peat and brine character that was so distinctly Islay. She’d never expected to sample a twenty-four-year-old.

“Good choice,” the bartender said. “Water?”

“Just a dash.”

“If I’m not here when you want a refill, tell the other guy it’s in the cabinet with your name on it.”

Jude thanked him and carried her drink to a spot near the tiled main entrance. She wished Debbie had been able to make it. No doubt she thought it wouldn’t be diplomatic to come now that she and Sandy were rediscovering their passion and were leaving shortly for Utah. Jude wasn’t really expecting Aidan Hill to show, but she thought she’d wait where she could be seen, just in case.

“You came.” A hand slipped into hers. An unmistakable perfume taunted her senses. L’Heure Bleue, Mercy’s choice the last few times they made love.

In a bid to expel the scent, Jude exhaled sharply. It didn’t help. Mercy’s presence washed over her like acid rain. “Nice place,” Jude said.

“Would you like the tour?”

“Maybe later. I don’t want my date walking into a room full of strangers and wondering if she’s crashed the wrong party.”

Mercy’s registered this information with a flicker of tension that made it as far as her eyes and froze in a slow blink. “I didn’t realize you were planning to bring someone.”

“The invitation was for two.”

Mercy sipped her cocktail and cast gracious smiles around her guests. “Who is she?”

“No one you know. And she might not make it anyway. She’s working a case.”

“She’s a cop?”

“An FBI agent.”

“Are you sleeping with her?”

“What do you think?”

Mercy swept Jude with a faux-disinterested gaze. Jude returned the favor. Mercy wore a silky midnight blue shirt tucked into a black pencil skirt. Her waist looked smaller and her exquisite facial bones a little more pronounced than last time Jude saw her up close. She’d lost weight. Had she been pining, or was her hairdo to blame? Sculpted blond waves framed her face, but beyond the illusion of glamour, they lent an air of vulnerability that surprised Jude. She looked a little harder, and for a fleeting moment she thought Mercy was going to cry.

“You’re full of shit,” Mercy said. “You’re not getting any. Or if you are, it’s second rate.”

“Well, you’d know, or have your lovely bride’s bedroom skills improved?”

“Keep your voice down.”

“Not denying it, I notice.”

“Love is not just about sex,” Mercy hissed.

Jude sipped her Scotch. “We’ve had this conversation.”

Mercy’s gaze darted toward Elspeth. “So change the subject. You’re good at that.”

“Jesus, what’s your problem?” Jude was genuinely puzzled. “Look around. Don’t you have
everything
? The big house. The hip crowd. The famous
wife
. Isn’t this everything you wanted?”

Mercy was silent. Her plush lips moved a tight response to the greetings of guests who brushed by. Her chest rose and fell too quickly. She lowered her eyes to her empty glass.

Jude pried it from her fingers. “What are you drinking?”

Mercy’s hand strayed to the front of Jude’s shirt. “Jude, please. I can’t bear that we’re so—”

“There you are.” SAC Aidan Hill squeezed Jude’s shoulder like they were tough-girl sorority sisters. “You didn’t tell me I needed night goggles to find this place.”

Jude squeezed out the smile that was called for. “Aidan Hill, meet Mercy Westmoreland, one of our hosts and a forensic pathologist from the ME’s office in Grand Junction.”

They shook hands. Mercy’s expression never shifted from socially appropriate, but Jude sensed something dark beneath the serenity. Hill’s pupils dilated just a fraction. She’d picked up on it, too.

She looked good, Jude thought, still uptight, but she’d done something to her medium brown hair that made hints of copper shine through. Her khaki knit top flattered a body well worth a second glance, and her dark green pants hugged her nicely. She probably felt naked without her shoulder holster, although she was carrying all the same. Jude could relate. She never set foot out of the house without a collection of weaponry concealed on her person. She got distracted for a moment thinking about the two of them stripping down, dropping their guns, knives, wrist restraints, Tasers. She’d seen something like that in a movie, when two assassins were trying to get naked and have sex.

Did she want to have sex with Aidan Hill? As she asked herself that question, her eyes locked with Mercy’s and after several long, hot seconds she knew the dismaying answer.

Hill said, “You have a beautiful home, Mercy.”

As they exchanged a few meaningless comments, Jude pretended to be caught up watching sparks fly from the fire pit. She forced her jaw and eye muscles to relax, wiping her face clean of pining and frustration.

“Oh, look at the time,” Mercy said. “We have a video hookup to Lars von Trier starting any minute. Excuse me.”

“Who’s Lars von Trier?” Hill asked as they watched Mercy cut a path toward her seminaked wife.

“He directs animal movies.” Jude tried to remember the film Tulley and Agatha had talked about. “
Dogville
?”

Hill grimaced. “I can’t stand when cartoon animals talk like they’re just as moronic as people.” She pointed to a reddish blond head bobbing between designer styles like an old tennis ball in a barrel of well-polished apples. “Is that Philip Seymour Hoffman?”

“I don’t know. Is he related to Dustin Hoffman?”

Hill wasn’t sure about that. “Let’s get some food and sit outside. I want to talk about tomorrow.”

“What about tomorrow?” Again Jude noticed that the SAC was attractive. Not stunning. Not beautiful. Just a good body and plenty of confidence. Nothing wrong with that. She didn’t seem straight, but Jude had been wrong before. Lately she was wrong about women most of the time. She made eye contact. Hill dropped her gaze.

“Cocktail sauce,” she said and wiped something from Jude’s lapel.

Awareness stirred between them, proving Jude could lust after Mercy relentlessly but still sustain nipple tension for another woman. Surely that was a good sign.

Watching Elspeth sashay in front of a large video screen, she nudged Hill and said, “Let’s get out of here.”

Agatha scurried past them, making a determined bid to nail one of the remaining chairs. Tulley hurried after her carrying a crocheted shawl decorated with red satin roses.

“Isn’t that your deputy?” Hill asked.

“Yes, Virgil Tulley. He’s also a K-9 handler.”

“He’s cute.”

“And single,” Jude felt obliged to report, just in case Hill was straight and shopping for a boytoy. According to Bobby Lee, Tulley would benefit from a few uncomplicated romantic encounters with experienced women other than those married to deputies. He would also save the money he planned to spend on a prostitute in Denver.

“I’ll keep his availability in mind,” Hill said blandly.

Jude wasn’t sure if she was kidding. She found a couple of plates and loaded them up with more tiny food. “We could grab a burger somewhere after this,” she said once they’d found a place to sit.

“Now you’re talking,” Hill said.

“Is there anyone here you need to speak with?” Jude asked. “About Telluride?”

“No, we’ve got it covered. The organizers are on board. Actually, that’s an understatement. They’re our slaves, mostly thanks to your deputy.”

Pratt must be eating it up. In his fantasies, he probably imagined overpaid celebrities clinging to one another in a panic when they smelled chemical during the screening of a movie about Romanian goatherds. Reality was another matter. Everyone wanted a happy ending. The Four Corners needed Telluride.

Trying not to be obvious about cruising Hill as she slid snack food into her mouth, Jude tuned in to a conversation a few feet from their picnic table.

“An ACME pass?” the woman said. “No way. You’ll be stuck at the Chuck Jones theater all weekend. Get an upgrade.” When her companion grumbled about the cost, she said, “Obviously we have different priorities. I want to experience everything, everywhere. You want to wear a neon sign announcing that you’re cheap.”

“I’m broke,” the guy protested.

The woman picked up her purse. “I’m
so
not seeing that line in the script of my life.”

Hill choked on an oyster. Jude reached over and thumped her gently between the shoulders. They both burst out laughing.

“Are you single?” Hill asked.

“Everyone has a talent,” Jude replied like a flirtation pro. “Mine is for avoiding domestic bliss.”

This disclosure was met with a discreet smile that made Aidan Hill seem much more human. “Want to buy me a drink?”

“Sure.” If this was a proposition, Jude wished she could feel excited.

Hill must have read something into her hesitance. “You’re right. It’s improper and professionally reprehensible for us to have a one-night stand. Interested?”

Jude prevented her gaze from wandering into the next room. Injecting some enthusiasm into her tone, she answered, “Yes.”

The drought had to break some time. She wondered what had warmed Hill to her. Perhaps the prospect of that burger.

“That drink you’re going to buy me,” Hill prompted, “piña colada.”

Jude thought,
I’m going to sleep with a fed who drinks fluffy cocktails
. Waiting in vain for her heart to beat faster, she retreated to the bar.

While she killed time in the short line, she let herself watch Mercy chatting and laughing with plastic ease. Finally, taking in the phony scene in front of her, she understood something she’d refused to see all along. Mercy hadn’t chosen Elspeth because she loved her more. Or felt closer to her than to Jude. She’d simply married the lover who could offer her a different world.

*

Hill rested her chin on Jude’s stomach. “Is there something else you want?”

Jude thought her fake orgasm was right up there with one you’d see on television, but apparently Hill knew an unresponsive clitoris when she sucked on it. Jude had let the stimulation go on far too long and now she was numb. She scrambled around, trying to think of something hot that would get her interested in trying again. A quick flash of Sandy Lane caught her off guard. Dismayed that she couldn’t stop thinking about work, she reached down for Hill and drew her alongside.

“You don’t have to explain,” Hill said. “It’s just one of those nights. I have them, too.”

“I guess I’m more distracted than I thought, working this homicide as well as being on the task force.” Very plausible.

“How long were you with Mercy Westmoreland?”

“Jesus, is it that obvious?”