Cold Hit

For the next hour we rested on the cool sheets while I explored the surfaces of his body, which seemed so pale next to my own.

“Aren’t you going to answer your phone?” he asked me when it rang.

“Let the machine get it.”

“Coop? It’s me. Are you okay? Nothing urgent, but I wanted to make sure you got up there without any trouble. I started beeping you an hour ago but-”

It was Chapman’s voice speaking into the recorder, so I grabbed the receiver from beside the bed. “Hi, Mike. Sorry. Yeah, I’m fine.” For some reason that I didn’t understand, it made me feel uneasy to be lying in bed with Jake while I was talking to Mike, with whom I had had such a close and complicated relationship for so long.

“For chrissakes, why didn’t you call us back? Me and Mercer have been worried about you after last night. Whaddaya trying to scare us for?”

I glanced over at Jake. I hadn’t yet told him the story about the week’s events. “I apologize. Actually, I never even heard the beep. I stopped off at the beach for a swim and left the beeper in the car. My fault-I won’t do it again.”

“Don’t tell me, Coop. Your new man’s into that From Here to Eternity crap. Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr on the beach, waves washing up over them as they make love on the shore. That it? Too much sand in the crotch for me, kid. I’d rather-”

“Grow up,” I snapped into the phone as I slammed it down on the table.

“Friend of yours?” Jake asked jokingly.

“A very good one, actually. One of the detectives on the Denise Caxton case.”

“Remind me not to cross you. Why did you hang up on him?”

“Some other time,” I said, leaning back and caressing Jake as I did.

“Have you made a reservation for di

“Even better. I thought you might enjoy a good homecooked meal.”

Jake looked over at me and raised an eyebrow. “Now I’m really confused. What time zone am I in? Who are you?”

“While you’re resting I’m going to sneak out for half an hour, and by about eight thirty tonight we’ll have a candlelit di

“A little more exercise, and then you might lose me for a few hours,” Jake said, pulling me over on top of him and starting to arouse me again. “Put every one of those bad guys out of your mind, Alexandra Cooper. This weekend you’re all mine.”

When I finally rested in his arms, half an hour later, we both fell sound asleep. Shortly before six o’clock I showered and dressed and headed down the road. In the little village of Menemsha, less than ten minutes away, I could forage for an entire gourmet meal with no more effort than a few phone calls and a quick ride.

My first stop was the Bite, where I picked up a steaming quart of clam chowder and a side order of the world’s best fried clams. True to form, the Fly

“He hasn’t even been out of my house yet. Who’s spreading this one?”

She pointed at her sister. “Jackie’s best friend works at the Cape Air counter. She called as soon as you picked him up. Bringing him for lunch tomorrow?”

“What, and lose him to one of you two? See you.”

A quarter of a mile farther, I pulled into the narrow space beside Larsen’s Fish Market. One of the best services on the island was provided by Betsy and Chris. You could call in the morning, place an order for lobsters, and pick them up at the appointed hour-all cooked, split, and cracked-ready to serve and eat. I could place them in the oven to keep warm, and then serve up the two-pounders anytime I wanted. I went next door, to Poole’s, for a few fresh oysters from Tisbury Great Pond. Last stop was the Homeport Restaurant, right on the edge of the harbor, where I stopped at the back door and bought a Key lime pie from Will for dessert.

When I returned home, I shucked the corn and put the water up to boil, poured the chowder into a pot to reheat it later on, and tucked the pie into the refrigerator to keep it chilled.

It was almost eight o’clock when Jake woke up, shaved and showered, and dressed for di

I disappeared into the kitchen to stir the pot, lit the candles in the dining room, and opened a bottle of ’ 91 Puligny-Montrachet. “Why don’t you come in and sit down?” I asked, dishing up the thick chowder and carrying it to the table.

With Smokey Robinson singing in the background, we feasted on the delicacies of a Chilmark summer, talking and laughing as we devoured the food. As best as I could I tried to explain the events of the week since Deni Caxton’s death, walking Jake through the steps of the investigation to date. “No more of this tonight or you’ll have bad dreams,” I said, pouring decaf with a serving of the pie.

“Have you made any plans? Outing us to any of your pals this weekend?”

“Everyone, Jake. It’s August on the Vineyard-I don’t have much choice, do I?” The usually tranquil island more than quadrupled in population with summer people, and it was an opportunity for me to be with friends from all over the country-some of whom I rarely saw all winter-when I came for a weekend or vacation.

“What’s the drill?”

“We’re teeing off with Janice and Richard at Farm Neck, eight a.m. Louise Liberman and Maureen White are giving a cocktail party in the evening, and we’re invited to stay on for di

“Will the president and Mrs. Clinton be there tomorrow night?”

“Not sure, but I know they’re invited. I hope so.”

“Let’s clean up this mess and go to sleep.”

I held his face and kissed him on the forehead. “Go inside. This is the part I do really efficiently. I’ll join you in ten minutes.”

By the time I cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher, and straightened up the kitchen, Jake was spread-eagled, face down on the bed. I folded my clothes and placed them in my armoire, slipping in beside him and raising the comforter over us against the soft night wind that always makes my hilltop such an easy place for sleeping. I don’t remember any tossing and turning after my head came to rest on the pillow.

I was startled by the sharp ring of the telephone. Light was just appearing on the horizon as I picked it up and spoke softly into it. It could not have been much later than 6 a.m. “Hello?” I asked somewhat disoriented, perhaps by the hour, perhaps because of too much wine with my di

“Alex, it’s Mercer. The lieutenant insisted on me calling you. Said you raised a stink last time you read it in the newspaper without a heads-up from us.”

“Don’t worry, he’s right. What is it?” I sat up as Jake raised his head and rested it on his elbow, massaging his eyelids with his thumb and middle finger.

“West Side-Eighty-sixth Street. Our man just hit again early this morning, about an hour after midnight. Got a twenty-year-old kid going into her building. Raped her, beat her up pretty bad when she tried to resist. I hate to do this, but can you come on back into town?”