One Last Look Page 3

  Sonterra slammed out of the SUV before I could shut off the engine. Simultaneously, the inside door opened, and my niece, Emma, recently turned fourteen, stood in the gap, a slender woman-child with short blond hair, fake piercings, and an attitude. Waldo and Bernice, true to form, shot past her to greet us.

  I got out of the car, bent to scoop Bernice up into my arms. She wriggled and licked my cheek.

  “I heard about Eddie,” Emma said. “It’s all over the news.” She looked more like her mother every day, and I had mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, it was gratifying to know a part of Tracy lived on in Emma. On the other, the reminder was still painful. My sister had been one of the few constants in my life, and the loss of her had a way of sideswiping me when I was least prepared.

  Sonterra ruffled Emma’s spiky hair, something I would not have been permitted to do. “He’ll be okay,” he said. Emma probably wondered, as I did, whether he really believed that. He wasn’t very convincing.

  Emma’s wide, troubled gaze shifted to me. “Loretta left a bunch of messages. She sounds upset.”

  I nodded, glumly resigned. Things are rarely so crappy that they can’t get crappier. Jimmy Ruiz was dead, along with four other victims. Eddie was in intensive care. Sonterra was on the verge of a move to Dry Creek. It just figured that my best friend was in trouble, too.

  I stalled. Loretta lived a charmed life. If she was in a panic, a tidal wave was probably about to submerge the Statue of Liberty. “Did you do your homework?” I asked my niece.

  I was half hoping Emma would say no, even get defiant. She liked to play the part of the rebel, but she was fiercely intelligent and enrolled in a special accelerated course at school. She’d decided to become a cop, and she was determined to double-time it through the rest of her education, before entering the police academy. While most tenth-graders were thinking about surviving adolescence, my niece was planning a career.

  Emma backed up to let Sonterra and me into the house. I set Bernice on the floor, and she scampered for the patio doors, Waldo clicking after her, tags jingling on his collar.

  “I couldn’t concentrate on algebra,” Emma said. “Not after I heard about Eddie getting pounded like that.”

  I nodded, reached for the telephone. My emotional reserves were running low, but Loretta was my closest friend—we went back to the Nipples days in Tucson.

  I punched in the number sequence for voice mail.

  Loretta’s voice was oddly thick, as if she’d had too much to drink. “I need to talk to you, Clare. I tried your cell phone, but you must have it off. Why do you even have a goddamned cell phone if you’re not going to turn it on?”

  I dialed her home number. No one picked up, and the message system didn’t kick in, either.

  I tried her cell.

  No longer in service.

  My stomach began to quiver. I was trying to decide what to do next when the phone rang in my hand, nearly startling me out of my skin.

  Sonterra gave me a sidelong glance and opened the fridge.

  “Sonterra residence,” I said, after pushing the TALK button.

  “Finally,” Loretta said. “Where the hell have you been?”

  It didn’t seem like a good time to tell her about Jimmy Ruiz, or Eddie. “I might ask you the same question,” I replied moderately.

  My friend gave a long sigh. “I’m at the ranch,” she said. “I’ve left Kip.”

  I gripped the edge of the counter with my free hand. “What?” Loretta and Kip, her suave, multimillionaire husband, had one of the few good marriages I’d ever seen. Eddie and Jenna were in the swirler. Even Sonterra was divorced, though amicably, and my own romantic history, B.S.C.—before SuperCop—was lackluster to put it mildly. I hadn’t realized, until that moment, when the foundations really began to shake, how much I’d depended on Loretta’s example as proof that wedded bliss still existed for people who’d tied the knot after 1970.

  “It’s a long story.” Loretta started to cry. I tried to remember the last time I’d known her to break down. We’d still been at Nipples, serving drinks and fending off gropers—a definite challenge, since we were wearing short skirts and tight tops with bare breasts silk-screened on the front. Loretta was spunk itself, but when her cat died, she folded.

  The phone was cordless, so I went to the kitchen table and eased myself into a chair. Emma and Sonterra both stared at me.

  “I don’t believe this,” I said. “What happened?”

  Loretta sniffled. “It’s the old story. Kip has a girlfriend.”

  “No,” I said.

  “Yes,” Loretta insisted. “Her name is Miranda Slater, may she rot in hell. She’s one of Kip’s vice presidents. Research and Development. She developed, and he researched.”

  I shook my head, still a beat or two behind. “There must be some mistake.”

  “No mistake,” Loretta said flatly. “Clare, can you come down here? I know it’s a long way from Scottsdale, but I’m all alone, and I’m bouncing off the walls.”

  I closed my eyes for a moment. Loretta’s ranch was outside Tucson. We’d driven past her exit that day—twice. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I answered.

  “Hurry,” Loretta pleaded. Loretta didn’t plead.

  “Hold on,” I said, watching Sonterra’s face, and hung up.

  “What?” Sonterra asked.

  “Loretta’s in trouble. It’s a marriage thing. She wants me to come to the ranch. Tonight.”

  Some men would have objected, but not Sonterra. “I’ll drive you there,” he said.

  “You’ve got Eddie to worry about. I’ll drive myself.”

  “I want to go, too,” Emma put in, looking anxious.

  “No,” I said. “You can spend the weekend with Heather or Tiffany.”

  Emma opened her mouth, closed it again. “That bites,” she said, after a few moments of expressive deliberation.

  “Right now,” I answered calmly, “everything bites.”

  Sonterra started rustling up supper. He was a whiz with pasta.

  I shook off my stupor, went upstairs, showered, and dragged a small weekender and an overnight case from the back of Sonterra’s closet. Emma appeared in the bedroom doorway.

  “I know I’m just a kid,” she said bravely, “but Loretta is my friend, too. I need to know what’s wrong.” The dogs stood behind her in the hallway, like backup singers ready to do-wah.

  I studied her. “You’re not ‘just’ anything,” I told her quietly. “You’re one of the smartest people I know. So here’s the plain truth. Loretta says Kip is having an affair. She’s in a lot of pain, and she’s probably mad as hell. If you’re around, she might feel she has to gloss things over, put on a happy face—”

  “And if you go alone,” Emma finished, “she’ll open up.”

  I nodded. Fourteen going on forty. That was my niece.

  Emma’s lower lip wobbled. She’d seen more than her share of trouble in her life, with her father doing periodic stretches in prison and Tracy disappearing when she was little. I’d filed a number of inquiries with the universe, but so far, no one had gotten back to me with an explanation. “First Eddie,” she whispered, “and now Loretta. It seems like the whole world is falling apart.”

  I left my packing to hug her tightly. Security was an issue with Emma, for understandable reasons. “It’s not,” I said, but I wonder how good a case I made. I was pretty disillusioned myself.

  She allowed herself to cling, but not for long. She took her cues from me, though the jury was still out on whether that was a good thing or a bad one. Stepping back, she dashed at her cheek with the back of her right hand. “Right,” she scoffed. “People keep trying to kill you, and Tony, too.” A rueful grin curved her lips. “Some childhood I’m having.”

  It was certainly true that I’d been a target. In fact, it was chronic with me. For Sonterra, it came with the job.

  I laughed, though I was dangerously close to crying. “Make the best of it,” I said.
“It’s all you’ve got.”

  I knew she was shifting mental gears. She was maybe a little too good at that, for a kid. “Tony says the pasta is ready,” she said. “So hustle your butt.”

  I nodded, wishing I could think of something reassuring to say.

  Emma didn’t wait. She turned and headed back down the hall, toward the stairs, the dogs trotting in her wake.

  I went back into the bathroom and splashed my face with cold water until my tear ducts contracted. By the time I got downstairs, I looked more together than I felt, and supper was on the table.

  The pasta was delectable. So, alas, was Sonterra. I’d been looking forward to bedding down with him that night—whatever else was going on between us, the sex was better than terrific—but it wasn’t to be. I resigned myself to the inevitable.

  “I called Tiffany while you were in the shower,” Emma informed me, slurping up a noodle. “She and her dad are picking me up at seven-thirty.” She nodded toward the counter, where my cell phone was charging. “You were down to one bar,” she scolded. “Be sure to plug it into the lighter in the Escalade—and take it inside with you when you get to Loretta’s.”

  “Yes, Mother,” I said, smiling a little. My heart wasn’t in it, but hey, I tried.

  When we were finished eating, Sonterra went upstairs for my bags, and I said good-bye to the dogs while my niece cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. Without being asked.

  The good-byes were awkward. Emma said hers quickly, then retreated to her room, taking Bernice and Waldo with her.

  In the garage, Sonterra tossed my luggage into the back of the Escalade and handed me my cell phone, charger and all. “Are you going to tell me what’s up?” he asked.

  “Loretta says Kip’s having an affair.”

  Sonterra opened his mouth. Closed it again. “Keep in touch,” he said, with a shake of his head, kissing me through the open window on the driver’s side as an afterthought.

  “I was hoping for sex,” I confessed.

  He grinned, nibbled at my lower lip. “Slut,” he said.

  “You’d better believe it,” I answered.

  He chuckled, cupped my cheek in one hand. Brushed the pad of his thumb lightly over my mouth. “I’ll let you know if there’s any change with Eddie.”

  I blinked back a rush of emotion. My throat felt tight, and I wanted nothing so much as to go back into the house, march up the stairs, fall into bed, and pull the covers up over my head. If Sonterra chose to join me, so much the better. “And I’ll give you regular Loretta updates.”

  He kissed me again. “Be careful, Babe.”

  I nodded, pushed the visor button to raise the garage door behind me, and backed out slowly onto the darkening street.

  Color me lonely.

  Three

  L oretta looked terrible. Her normally perfect, salon-tinted hair stuck out in every direction. Her eyes were puffy, with great swipes of mascara underneath, and she’d swathed herself in an old flannel bathrobe that resembled an Indian blanket. Crumpled tissues bulged from one pocket, and I suspected the martini in her hand was only the latest in a series.

  “It’s about time you got here,” she said, and belched.

  I let the remark pass, setting my purse, weekender, and overnight bag down in the front entryway, taking her by the arm, and squiring her toward the kitchen. In that house, only one of half a dozen she and Kip owned, it was roughly a five-mile hike.

  “You need coffee,” I said.

  “No, I don’t,” she protested. “I need Drano.”

  I took the martini out of her hand and kept on trekking.

  She belched again, like a trucker after a six-pack of warm beer.

  “Where’s Kip?” I asked.

  Loretta tried twice to reclaim the martini, but she was too unsteady on her feet and finally gave up. Her bare soles made a slapping sound on the expensive tiles as we crossed the living room.

  “He’s with her, of course.”

  “Bastard,” I said, even though I liked Kip and had a hard time picturing him in the role of womanizer. If he was cheating on Loretta, however, then he was indeed a bastard, and worse. “How long has this been going on?”

  “I found out about it last week.” A tear streaked its way through Loretta’s ruined makeup.

  I stopped. By that time, we’d gained the dining room, which was roughly the size of a Wal-Mart superstore. My voice echoed. “Last week? And you were planning to tell me, when?”

  She made another try for the martini. I held it out of reach. “I didn’t want to bother you,” she said. “You were busy wrapping up the Valardi case, and getting Shanda registered for college.”

  Shanda. Damn, I’d forgotten to call my able assistant and let her know I wouldn’t be coming into the office in the morning. “You’re my best friend,” I reminded Loretta, a little sharply. “If Sonterra had been stepping out, you can bet I would have called you, no matter what you were doing.”

  “I was hoping it wasn’t true,” she admitted.

  When we reached the kitchen, I poured the martini into the sink. Truth is, I could have used a stiff drink myself, but, being pregnant, I refrained. I’d never cared much about alcohol, one way or the other, but now I missed it with a sudden and poignant force that scared me a little. My mother was a drunk. I had no intention of carrying on the family tradition.

  Loretta sank into one of the chairs at the long table, cupping her chin in one hand. “I was hoping it wasn’t true,” she repeated, looking dismal and small, like a bird just plucked from an oil slick.

  The coffeemaker was complicated enough to require instrument ratings to operate, but I managed to get a pot brewing. I pulled up a chair at the table and sat down close to Loretta, taking her hand.

  “Tell me what happened,” I urged quietly. “Did you find them in bed together, or what?”

  Loretta shook her head. “No,” she said. “I called Kip’s suite—he was in Aruba, ‘on business.’ The lovely Ms. Slater answered the phone.”

  Lawyer Woman leaped out of her inner phone booth, cape flying. “A suite is not the same as a room, Loretta,” I reasoned. “They could have been having a meeting.”

  Loretta shot down my theory like a clay pigeon. “It was three o’clock in the morning there,” she informed me.

  “Oh,” I said, deflated. “Did you ask to speak to Kip?”

  “You’re damn right I did,” Loretta answered. “The floozy said he was in the shower, but she was sure he’d be glad to call me back.”

  “Did he?”

  “No, the chicken-shit bastard.”

  “So you just took her word for it and hotfooted it down here?”

  “No. I checked Kip’s credit card statements. He’s been shopping at Tiffany’s. I didn’t get any jewelry.”

  “Loretta, you have to talk to the man, if only to tell him he’s a low-life, dirtbag, scum-sucking son of a bitch.”

  “He can talk to my lawyer.” Her mascara-circled eyes widened imploringly. “You’ll do it, won’t you, Clare? You’ll handle my divorce?”

  “I’m in criminal law,” I reminded her.

  “Well, what he did is criminal. I trusted him!”

  “You’re getting ahead of yourself. Divorce is pretty drastic, Loretta.”

  “Well, excuse me!” Loretta erupted. “I thought you’d be on my side!”

  “I am on your side.”

  “Then do something! File a suit. Freeze his bank accounts. Have him arrested—”

  The fancy coffeemaker chortled in for a landing, and I got up to scout for cups. “Get a grip,” I said. “Even if Kip did cheat—and I’m not convinced he did, since all you seem to have is Ms. Slater’s questionable word and a few items charged at Tiffany’s—the two of you might be able to work this out. You love each other, remember?”

  “Would you want to ‘work it out,’ if Tony did this to you?”

  I paused. “Maybe. After I’d done him severe and lasting bodily harm.”

  �
�You wouldn’t take him back,” Loretta insisted, stabbing at the tabletop with one manicured fingertip. “Don’t bullshit me, Clare. I know you. And I know you’d go ballistic!”

  I poured coffee, carried it to the table, went back for spoons, the sugar bowl, and a jug of cream from the massive refrigerator. You could hang a beef carcass inside that thing. Or an errant husband.

  “You’re probably right,” I admitted belatedly. “But that doesn’t mean it would be the best thing to do. People make mistakes. Good people make mistakes.”

  Loretta pushed away the coffee, laid her head down on her folded arms, and gave a wrenching sob.

  “I see I’m not making you feel better,” I said, sitting down again and laying a tentative hand on her shoulder.

  Loretta wailed.

  Over the din, I heard a strange noise. A flapping sound, outside and high overhead, growing louder as it got nearer. For a moment, I thought some humongous bird was homing in on the roof.

  Glaring light spilled through the windows, and the flapping swelled to a roar that made the floor vibrate under our feet.

  Loretta lifted her head. “Damn it,” she said, eyes glittering. “The helicopter. He’s here!”

  “Who? Kip?” All right, so I wasn’t quick. It had been a long day.

  She jumped to her feet, swayed. “Shit, shit, shit! You’ve got to hide me!”

  Hide her? Hell, in that place, she could have eluded him for days.

  “Sit down,” I yelled over the roar.

  Loretta sank back into her chair.

  “Did he set that thing down on the roof?” I asked.

  “There’s a concrete landing pad on the other side of the driveway,” Loretta explained. “Look at me! I’m a mess!” She tried to bolt again, but I got her by the sleeve of her Sitting Bull bathrobe and made her sit back down.

  The roar subsided to a whup-whup-whup.

  We waited, and I, for one, was barely breathing. I wasn’t used to incoming aircraft. Gunfire, maybe. But not this.