Страница 76 из 88
“I can’t talk to you while you’re working.”
“Then you’ll wait.”
“Oh, you’re impossible!” She turned on her heel and marched back into the house.
Decker threw down the fork and trailed her footsteps. “I’m impossible? I’m impossible? Last I heard, I didn’t break any promises. I didn’t compromise anyone’s job-”
“I didn’t compromise your job-”
“Yes, you did, Rina. The long and the short of it is yes, you did.”
“This is what I get for being honest.”
“No, this is what you get for being dishonest and breaking a promise.”
She turned to him, eyes blazing with passion. “I couldn’t let him…sink, Peter! You don’t do that to a friend!”
“Your loyalty is to me-”
“Loyalty to your job versus the life of a human being? Thank you very much, I’ll pick a human being.”
Decker lashed out. “Why are you putting yourself and my job on the line for this guy? Traditionally, you only do things like that for people you love.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes boring into his. “Just what are you really asking me, Peter. Why don’t you just spit it out?”
Decker took a deep breath, held it, let it out slowly. “I’m not asking you anything, all right?” He looked at his shirt, soaked with sweat. “I’d better go change.”
Rina licked her lips. “Wait a second. I’m not done. I’ve got another confession.”
He stared at her, mouth agape. “There’s more?”
“Unfortunately yes. I’ve eavesdropped on one of your phone conversations…the one where you conferenced with Marge and Scott Oliver. I know about Bram’s safe…and the magazines.”
Decker continued to stare. “Anything else?”
“No…that’s about it.” She smiled weakly. “Looks like I’ll have a busy Yom Kippur.”
Decker closed his mouth, ran his tongue along his cheek. “Whatever your reasons were, your behavior was inexcusable, Rina.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t cut it, babe.” He walked away.
Rina turned to her cooking, her eyes wet with tears. She shoved open the oven door and painted the meat with more sauce. Everything looked wonderful, smelled delicious. She had no appetite.
The doorbell rang.
Great.
She took off her apron, but left her hair uncovered. It was only Marge. She opened the door and tried to keep the smile on her face. At Marge’s side was Scott Oliver.
“He followed me home,” Marge said. “Think you can throw him a bone?”
“I think we can actually feed him,” Rina answered. “Come on in. Both of you. Delighted to see you, Detective.”
“Hello, Mrs. Decker.” Oliver held out a bouquet of spring flowers. “Thank you for your gracious hospitality.”
Rina took the flowers. “Well, thank you.”
Marge handed her a bottle of wine. “I hope this kind is okay. It’s got that Circle O-U on it.”
Rina looked at the bottle. “This is fine.” A two-year-old Cabernet Savignon. “I’m going to age this one. I’ve got an older bottle in storage that Peter’ll pop open. Come sit down. Peter’s just changing his shirt. I’ll go get him.”
She disappeared into the other room.
Oliver took a deep whiff, smiled, then rubbed his hands together. “Laissez les bonstemps rouler. You know how long it’s been since I’ve eaten home cooking?”
“She’s a great cook.”
“Man, she’s a great everything. I’d cut off a nut for a chance to do her.”
Marge glared at him. “You are so…”
“Rude? Crude? Tasteless? Disgusting? Horny? Pick a card, any card.” He sat down on one of the buckskin chairs. “I know you did it out of pity. But thanks for asking me to come.”
“No problem.”
“I must have sounded really pathetic over the phone.”
Marge sat on the leather couch opposite the chair. “Just a little lonely.”
Oliver said, “It’s these Sundays. Used to be family day. Sometimes, I miss the noise.” He exhaled. “Anyway, it was nice of you to ask me along. Nice of the missus to be so welcoming.” He looked up, saw Decker. “Ah, the host with the most.”
Decker shook hands with Oliver, kissed Marge’s cheek. “What’s up, Scotty?”
“She felt sorry for me.” Oliver jerked a thumb in Marge’s direction. “Hope it’s not a problem.”
“Not at all,” Decker said. “Sit down. Get either of you something to drink?”
“Beer’s fine,” Marge said.
“Ditto.”
“I heard it,” Rina called out. “I’ll get it.”
Decker sat on the couch, smiled. But it lacked warmth. “So…”
“So how ’bout them Dodgers?” Marge said.
Oliver leaned forward. “You know, I’ve been ru
“What thing?” Marge asked.
“What thing?” Oliver threw up his hands. “Decameron’s murder scene! I’ve got a real good fix-”
“Scott, this is a social visit,” Marge chided.
Oliver drew his head back. “You can’t be serious.”
“She’s right,” Decker said. “This is a social di
Marge looked at Decker. What was wrong with him? They sat in silence. A moment later, Rina came back into the room, balancing a tray of drinks. She had covered her hair. “Did I interrupt anything?”
“Not a thing,” Oliver said. “Thank you, Mrs. Decker.”
“It’s Rina.” She handed him a drink. “How’s life, Detective?”
“It’s Scott.” Oliver took a swig of his beer. “Life is fine…well, passable. Thank you for having me.”
“It’s really no problem. Like Peter said, I cooked enough for an army.” She handed a glass of beer to Marge, then to Peter.
Decker took it, nodded. He knew he was exuding tension. Rina, on the other hand, was acting perfect hostess. Galled the heck out of him.
“Sit down, Rina,” Marge said.
“Yeah, sit down,” Oliver echoed.
Rina looked at Peter’s stony face. “In a minute. I have some goodies in the oven. I’ll be right back.”
She scurried out of the room.
To Decker, Marge said, “Is this a bad time, Pete?”
Decker glared at Marge. “No, it is not a bad time.”
Oliver said, “You’re pissed at her. You might try hiding it a little better. You’re embarrassing her.”
Decker said, “Who invited you?”
Oliver sat back. “Sorry.”
“What’s going on, Pete?” Marge said.
Oliver said, “They got into a tiff-”
“She eavesdropped on me!” Decker said, “Worse than that, she invited him over to the house, for chrissakes!”
“Who?” Marge said.
Decker lowered his voice. “Bram Sparks, can you believe that? She invited Bram Sparks-a murder suspect in one of the city’s biggest cases-over to my house.” He downed his beer. “I swear I don’t know what goes through that woman’s mind.”
“Did you ask her?” Marge said. “I’m sure she had her reasons.”
“I don’t care about her reasons-”
Oliver said, “What did she and Bram talk about?”
“How do I know?” Decker was a
“You didn’t ask her?”
“No, I didn’t ask her.”
“Loo, if she’s good enough friends with this guy to invite him into the house, she may have learned something germane. You gotta pump her-”
“Scott-” Marge interrupted.
Oliver said, “Don’t Scott me, Marge. Rina could be sitting on the entrance to a gold mine. We’ve got a murder to solve here.”
“Rina should be locked up with a zipper on her mouth,” Decker said.
Marge regarded him, said nothing.
Rina returned with a salver of hors d’oeuvres. She started with Marge. “I had mini-hot dogs. Before I turned around, they had been consumed by marauding teenaged boys.”
Marge said, “Where are the boys?”
Rina served Oliver. “In their room, I think.” She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t go in when the door’s closed. Don’t want to get my head bitten off.”
“And the baby?” Marge asked.
“The baby, Baruch Hashem, is sleeping.”
“How’s she doing?” Oliver asked.
“She’s a great kid. Very, very active. I’m always ru
“You’re too old?” Decker said.
Rina brought the tray over to Decker. She kissed the top of his ginger head. “You’re only as old as you feel.”