One Hot Mess Part 37

"Whoever he is, he must be highly intelligent."

"Christ! Are you listening at all? I want you to drop this. Leave it alone. Do-"

"I have to go," I said, and hung up.

I called the senator immediately, but he wasn't in and I was forced to leave a message. The rest of the afternoon flew by, blowing me along with it. By the time I got home I felt like I'd been flagellated by a half dozen overzealous monks. I dropped my purse on the counter and got the Skippy out of the cupboard. I had left my blow-up boyfriend in the kitchen where Frangois couldn't see him and stared at the box while I ate peanut b.u.t.ter out of the jar. Chunky. I'm not a barbarian.

The phone rang while my mouth was gummed up, but when I saw it was a call from the senator I swallowed as best I could and picked up the receiver.

"'Ello?"

"Christina?"

"'Es."

"Christina, are you well?"

I swallowed, took a swig of milk from the carton, and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. I'm not sure, but I thought I could feel Blow-up Boy cringe even from inside his box.

"I need to talk to you," I said.

"Is something wrong?"

"Yes. I-"

"Shall I send the police? Are you in danger?"

"No," I said. "You are."

There was a moment of silence, then, "Chrissy please-"

"Who's the smartest person you know?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The brightest person in your acquaintance. Who do you think it is?"

He thought for a moment. "Bill was a Rhodes scholar."

"Bill..."

"I prefer the present administration, of course, but Bill had an appreciation for the finer things in life."

My mind felt a little murky. I was eating peanut b.u.t.ter out of the jar while conversing with a man who talked about presidents on a first-name basis. "Do you think he might have killed Kathy?" I asked.

There was a pause. "Have you been drinking, Christina?"

I shook my head and tried to clear my mind. "When was the last time you spoke to Kathleen Baltimore?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Someone called her recently Offered her a job in a campaign."

"Who was it?" His voice had lost some of its smooth self-a.s.surance. In fact, for the first time, he almost sounded shaken.

"I think it was the same person who killed her."

"I believe it was an accident, Christina. The police agree. She fell into her saw."

"Steve Bunting is dead. Did you know that?"

There was a short, soft pause. "I hadn't heard. How did it happen?"

"He died while scuba diving."

He said nothing.

"Off Kauai."

"Ahh, well..." I could all but hear him shrug. As if that explained everything. "It is a man's way to die at least and has nothing to do with-"

"He died on a Thursday."

"I don't know-"

"Manny drowned on a Wednesday. Kathy bled to death on a Tuesday, and your cousin's house burned to the ground on a Monday."

"What are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting you lock your doors and hire a bodyguard," I said, and hung up.

29.

He's an undersize p.i.s.sant with delusions of adequacy.

-Lily Schultz, Chrissy's

first employer (and

personal hero) regarding

all of her husbands and

most of her subordinates

WAS AS JITTERY as a virgin in a sorority house all day Thursday. By Friday I was certifiable.

My phone rang at 5:34 in the afternoon. I had twenty-six minutes before my next client. It was Solberg.

"Rebecca Harris died this morning in Fresno." Despite the news, his tone was unG.o.dly happy. I didn't want to know why.

I tightened my grip on the receiver and tried to breathe normally. "How was she involved with the senator?"

"His secretary when he was a mayor in some flyspeck in Texas."

"What else do you know?" Solberg may have been a myopic little dweeb, not good enough to wipe my best friends nose, but he was a first-rate snoop.

"Cause of death was a fall."

"A fall?"

"From a cliff. She was kinda an exercise fanatic. Some of them medical types are."

"Medical-"

"She went to the Denver School of Nursing. Married a carpenter type in 87. Moved to California in 91 and propagated five years later."

"They waited all that time to have kids?"

I could hear his shrug over the phone. "Some folks ain't so excited about motherhood as you, babekins."

"How old was she?"

"When she died? Forty-seven."

"When she worked for Rivera."

"Twenty-four."

My heart ticked away. The perfect age for a philandering senator. "Was she pretty?"

"Compared to what?"

I had forgotten that he now judged women by Brainy Laney standards. Ergo, everyone was as bland as rice cakes. "Compared to ... say, mortal women."

"I dunno. Brown hair, kinda plain maybe."

Not the kind to set the senator's world on fire, then. Although, as I've indicated, Solberg was hardly qualified to judge women's looks. "And this from a man who used to date amphibians," I said.

"Amphibians," he repeated, and chuckled.

Since he had begun seeing Laney, nothing much bothered him. Now that he was engaged, he was probably bulletproof. I scowled out the window toward the coffee shop next door. A chocolate chip scone would make the world a better place. "Was there anything odd about her?"

"What's that?"

"Anything the Moral Majority might disapprove of?"

"She was a registered Democrat."

"Always?"

"Probably not when she was an infant," he said, and snorted a laugh.

I closed my eyes and reminded myself I had missed my opportunity to kill him. Regardless of how insane it might seem, Laney was in love, and nothing short of an exorcism was likely to change that.

"What else?" I asked.

"Looks squeaky clean to me. Worked full time at Larker Medical Center. Was den mother for her kid's Cub Scout troop, volunteered at the Children's Hospital twice a week, and was leader for her circle at Shepherd of the Hills Lutheran."

spent Sat.u.r.day nervous and fatigued and breathless, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It didn't.

Sunday was slightly more productive. By evening I knew as much about Rebecca Harris as I could without sharing a dorm room. By two I had done everything I could think of to investigate the senator's affairs. By three I was pa.s.sed out in bed and Kathy Baltimore was whispering questions in my head again.

I awoke in full darkness, feeling spooked and breathless, listening to Harley's heavy breaths. Apparently Kathy wasn't bothering his dreams. Pattering to the bathroom, I stared at my reflection in the mirror and told myself it would be ridiculous to drive all the way to Fresno for Rebeccas visitation on Wednesday. But even as I fell back to sleep, I knew I would.

On New Year's Eve morning, I asked s.h.i.+rley to cancel my appointments for January 2. I saw three clients, went home early, and fell asleep on the couch long before the first glimpse of the famous dropping ball in Times Square.

I had no idea what time it was when my doorbell rang. I woke up with a start, scared and disoriented. The TV was on mute. Outside, it was as dark as my dreams. Someone knocked. Impatient and loud. Riveras face flashed through my mind, stopping my breath, freezing my thoughts. Harlequin barked, one deep, resonating note. I found my feet with some difficulty and wobbled to the bathroom. The woman in the mirror above the sink looked tired and pale. A crease ran the length of her right cheek. It was possible she was a ghost, but I wasn't holding out much hope.

My visitor knocked again, louder still. Harley was galloping between the door and the living room, nails clicking like castanets.

I smoothed down my skirt, ignored my hair, and headed toward the door. "Who is it?" Even my voice sounded pale.