Shakespeare's Trollop (18 page)

After all the talk about switching cars or having an accomplice, it was that simple. She walked home. If she'd stuck to the edge of the woods, she would've been all the way in town before she had to show herself. In fact…I tried to look at Shakespeare in my head, from an aerial view. By some careful planning, she could've come out in the fields beyond Winthrop Sporting Goods, and then it would be a stroll back to the apartments.

“Thanks to you,” Claude continued after a long pause, “my wife is sitting in the house by herself, wondering when her brand-new husband is going to make it home.”

I managed a smile. “Thanks to me, you're going to have your fifteen minutes of fame,” I reminded him. “You caught two of ‘America's Most Wanted.'”

“Because I had the trots,” he said, shaking his head ruefully.

“Maybe you could leave that part out.”

“I'd like to figure out a way.”

“Let's say you were suspicious when we heard footsteps coming up the stairs and you concealed yourself in the bathroom so you could take them by surprise.”

“That sounds better than telling them I ate some bad fish.”

“True.”

“Think that's the line to take.”

“You got it.”

“Now what, for you, Lily?”

“I have to work tomorrow.” I sighed heavily, and heaved myself out of the extra chair in Claude's office. “I have to receive food and serve at Joe C's funeral.”

“No, I mean…longer-term.”

I was surprised. Claude had never asked me a question about my life.

“You know Jack is the one.” I said it plainly and quietly.

“I know. He's a lucky guy.”

“Well, I just see that going on.”

“Think you two'll get married?”

“Maybe.”

Claude brightened. “I never would have thought it. I'm glad for you, Lily.”

I wondered briefly why that idea cheered Claude. Well, they say newlyweds want everyone else to get married.

“'Cause my wife”—and he said that phrase so proudly—“called him when she found out you were involved in this showdown, and he's sitting outside in the waiting room.”

“Carrie…called Jack?”

“She sure did. Just when you think she's a shy woman, she pulls something like that on you.”

“He's here,” I said, relieved beyond measure, and happier than I'd been in days.

“If you just open the door,” Claude said astringently, “I wouldn't have to be telling you, you could see for yourself.”

And I did.

 

Later that night, when the only light in my house was moonlight, I sat up in bed. Next to me, Jack lay only on his side, his hair tangling around him and his chest moving silently with his breath. His face, asleep, was peaceful and relaxed, but remote. Unknowable. I could only know the man he tried to be when he was awake. Who knew where his dreams took him, how far into his mind and heart? Farther than I could ever penetrate.

I stood, parted my curtains, and looked out the window. The lights in the upstairs apartment that had been Deedra's were still on; I guess the police had left them that way. It was a strange feeling, seeing those lights on again. On occasions I'd noticed them before, I'd always had a contemptuous reaction;
she's entertaining again
, I'd thought, and reviewed once again the host of risks she'd run in her promiscuity.

But it was not her weakness that had caused her death; it was one of her strengths that had killed her.

I wondered what that meant, what lesson could be drawn from Deedra's death. I considered for a moment, but it was either meaningless, or its moral beyond me. I remembered Deedra as she'd appeared in my dream, the remote control in her hand. Looking at a film of the inside of her coffin.

I let the curtains fall together and turned back to the bed.