Many Bloody Returns Part 41

friend's husband was a faux pas. Taking sugar in your tea was a serious sin.

"Doctor's orders," I said. "Sweeteners are out. Cancer in the family."

Actually, I liked real sugar. And it was only eighteen calories a spoonful.

"How are you?" I asked.

"I don't know," Margaret said. Two more tears escaped her swollen eyelids. "I thought Jack was seeing someone, and that's why

he worked late so often these last few weeks. I was furious, but I couldn't say anything. I was too afraid."

"I understand," I said.

She flushed with guilt.

"My husband went to see Jack," I said. "So I know how you feel."

Margaret had the grace to say nothing. I appreciated that.

"Do you think Jack's lover killed him?" I said.

"I don't know. I don't even know now if he had a lover. One of the firm's a.s.sociates found Jack in the parking lot when she came

to work at six this morning. Maybe he really had been working late. I had to identify him. Jack didn't look dead so much as... empty. Someone took all his blood. It wasn't some slas.h.i.+ng attack. Just two holes in the side of his neck. There were bruises, too. Terrible bruises on his wrists, legs, and shoulders."

"Was he beaten?" I asked.

"No. They think someone-or maybe more than one person-held him down while he was-while they-" Margaret couldn't go on.

"Do the police think it was a serial killer?" I asked.

"They won't say. But the way they're acting, I know it's strange. There were other attacks like this in Lauderdale. Jack wasn't the only person to die like this."

"No," I said. "Eric told me that the woman found off of Bayview had been drained dry, too. He heard that from the medical

examiner's office. The police kept it out of the papers."

"It's like some nightmare," Margaret said, "except I can't wake up. Mindy is flying home this afternoon from college. This will be so hard for our daughter. Mindy idolized her father." Margaret started weeping again.

I wasn't sure what to do. If we'd still been friends, I would have folded Margaret in my arms. But she had betrayed me. I knew it, and she knew it.

I was saved by a homicide detective and a lawyer.

"Margaret," the lawyer said, "I'm sorry to disturb you, but we have some more questions about your husband."

"I'd better go," I said. "I'll let myself out." I air-kissed her cheek. It took all my self-control to keep from running for my car.

Once, I would have called my husband and told him the awful news. Now I didn't. What could I say? You know that lawyer you hired to strip me of my last dime? The son of a b.i.t.c.h was murdered. Couldn't happen to a nicer guy.

I suspected Eric already knew about Jack's death. He was probably looking for a new bloodsucker.

I spent the afternoon taking calls from Margaret's shocked friends, pretending to be sad and concerned and hating myself because

I couldn't feel any of it. Instead, I felt oddly excited. I broiled a skinless chicken breast, steamed some broccoli, and waited for my husband to come home. At eleven o'clock, there was still no sign of Eric. He didn't bother to phone me. I didn't humiliate myself by calling around asking for him.

What if he turned up dead, like Jack? I wondered. Then my troubles would be over. I felt guilty even thinking that. But it was true.

At three in the morning, I woke up alone and drenched in sweat. Night sweats, another menopausal delight. I punched my soggy

pillow and tried to settle back to sleep. At three-thirty, I gave up. I reached for my jeans, then abandoned that idea. Instead, I pulled out a long, nearly sheer hostess gown that looked glamorous in the soft moonlight.

I wasn't going for a walk. I was going hunting. For Michael.

There was no party tonight. His condo was dark except for flickering candles in the living room and the opalescent light of a television. Michael was alone, like me. He couldn't sleep, either.

He was waiting for me down by the Dark Harbor docks. At first, I heard nothing but the gentle slap of the water and the clinking of the halyards as the boats rocked back and forth. It was a peaceful sound. A light breeze ruffled my hair and pressed my gown against my body.

"You dressed for me, didn't you?" he said.

Michael seemed to appear from nowhere. His white s.h.i.+rt, open at the throat and rolled at the sleeves, glowed in the moonlight.

His hair was black as onyx, but so soft. I longed to run my fingers through it.

"Yes," I said.

His hand touched my hair and traced the line of my neck. I stepped back. It wouldn't do to seem too eager too soon.

Michael smiled, as if he could read my mind. "You don't have to play games," he said.

"I'm not playing games," I said. "I'm being cautious. I don't know anything about you. Are you married?"

"My wife has been dead for many years. I live alone."

"You have such lovely parties." I couldn't keep the wistful note out of my voice.

"I have many friends. We enjoy the night."

"I do, too," I said. "I'm tired of the Florida sun. It burns the life out of everything."

"You may be one of us," Michael said. "I'd like to see more of you, before I go."

"Go?" The word clutched at my heart. "Where are you going?"

"I'm selling the condo. n.o.body stays long in Florida. You know that. Will you be here tomorrow night? May I see you again?"

"Three o'clock," I said. "Same time, same place."

There. I'd done it. I'd made a date with another man. My marriage was over, except for the legalities. It was time to face the

future. Maybe, if I was lucky, I'd have Michael in my life. If not, I'd find someone else. He'd shown me that I was still attractive. I

was grateful for that. I'd let Eric destroy my confidence.

I turned around for one last look, but Michael was gone. Only then did I realize he hadn't asked if I was married. I wondered if he knew. Or cared.

Eric was waiting for me when I returned, tapping his foot like an impatient parent.

"Where were you?" he said.

"I could ask you the same question," I said.

"I was with a patient," he said.

"Administering more special injections?" I said. "Patricia says they're wonderful for the complexion. I wouldn't know. It's been so

long I've forgotten."

"You're certifiable." Eric turned the attack back on me. He was good at that. "Jack is dead. Murdered! Some freak drank his blood. And you're roaming the streets at night like an Alzheimer's patient. I should hire a keeper."

I should hire a hit man, I thought. But I held in my harsh words. I didn't need Eric now. I had Michael.

"Good night," I said. "I'm sleeping in the guest room."

"You can't-"

I didn't stop to hear what I couldn't do. I locked the guest room door and put fresh sheets on the bed. What I am doing? I

wondered. I have a three a.m. rendezvous with a man I don't know. There's a murderer running loose in my neighborhood. Yet

I'd never felt safer or more at peace. I slept blissfully until ten in the morning. I woke up with just enough time to get ready for my

literacy board meeting.

As I walked into the dark paneled board room, I caught s.n.a.t.c.hes of conversation: "he was drained dry...don't know when they'll

have a funeral...Margaret is devastated."

All anyone could talk about was Jack's murder, at least until the board meeting started. Then we had to listen to Nancy blather on about bylaws changes. She'd kept the board tied up with this pointless minutiae for the last eight months.

Once I saw myself as a philanthropist, dispensing our money to improve the lives of the disadvantaged. But I'd sat on too many charity boards. Now I knew how little was possible. Here I was in another endless meeting, listening to a debate about whether the organization's president should remain a figurehead or have a vote on the board.

How did this debate help one poor child learn to read? I wondered.

"Katherine?"

I looked up. The entire board was staring at me.