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“Old Professor Dan is one important dude.”
“Don’t be sarcastic,” she said. “This could be very important for me.”
“Is that why you married Professor Dan? Because he’s good for your career?” Co
She was silent a second. “My marriage isn’t any of your business. It’s complicated.”
“Sure.”
“Look, I didn’t call to have a fight. I wanted to invite you to the reception. I wanted to see you.”
“Yeah, that sounds like big fun. Then all of your art friends can explain the pretty pictures to the dumb jock.” He couldn’t help himself. The conversation was a runaway train heading for a school bus parked on the tracks. He couldn’t make it stop, maybe didn’t want to. “A little too snobby for me.”
A longer silence this time. “It’s black tie, so you’ll need a tux. Show up or fuck off. It’s all the same to me.” She hung up.
Co
And he still needed two thousand bucks.
Tyra
Stubborn fucking asshole.
She felt the familiar rush in the blood, the roar in her ears surging. She clenched and unclenched her fists. Violence and sex and rage all boiled together inside her. She had a problem. She knew it. She wasn’t normal. Knowing it and making it stop were a million light-years apart.
“You okay?”
She started, looked up into Dan’s face suddenly in the doorway. Her husband. “What?”
He searched her face, eyes piercing and blue. “Who was that on the phone?”
“Nobody.” She unclenched her fists, realized how she must look, red-faced. Eyes wild. She pulled the plug on her rage, let it drain, offered Dan a weak smile. “It was nobody.”
He nodded. “Sure. Okay.” He returned the smile, a message: It’s okay if you don’t tell me. Dan’s teeth were white and straight. He was older, gray at the temples. Anchorman handsome.
Tyra
It was because Co
Something would have to be done.
Co
The couch cushions and the Plymouth ’s glove compartment produced $1.43 in loose change. Co
He called Odeski, begged for work, said he would repossess anything from anybody. The gruff Slav said to quit bothering him.
He picked the phone up three times, intending to call Tyra
A loud knock at the door.
That was fast. Praise Jesus.
Co
“Co
“Who’s asking?”
Her mouth twitched, almost smiling. “Joellen Becker. I have some questions about Derrick James and Teddy Folger.”
The cop at the crime scene had said somebody might be around to ask more questions. A detective. Great. You’re a fu
She entered the apartment, closed the door behind her, slipped her sunglasses into a shirt pocket. She sca
She spoke to Co
“I understand you were repossessing a sailboat for James,” she said. “Folger’s boat.”
“Yeah.”
“You repossess a lot of boats.”
“Just this morning I hot-wired the QE2,” Co
The corners of Becker’s mouth twitched again. Her mouth might have been trying to smile or grimace. “I can’t decide if you’re fu
Co
“I need some information, okay?”
“Am I under arrest? Last time I checked, repossessing boats wasn’t a crime.”
“I’m not the police, Samson.”
Co
“I’m an insurance investigator,” she said. “I talked to Derrick James, and he said he’d put you on to the boat repo.”
“I couldn’t find her,” Co
“I’m looking for Folger, not necessarily the boat.”
“Haven’t seen him.” Co
James was dead, the file missing from his office. And here was a woman who said she’d talked to James. Co
“You okay?” she asked. “You look pale.”
Co