Isn’t that what Mr. Plattsmier said? That means you follow me. So I suggest you get some sleep so you’ll be on your toes in order to do that. I’m a busy woman.”
Kate stood from the sofa and walked toward the hallway. She tried not to hurry, as if she wanted to escape his reaction. As she passed the sideboard and the little lamp, she reached and flicked it out, plunging him into darkness.
“Good night.” Then she went to her bedroom and slammed the door shut behind her. Purely for the satisfaction of it, she threw the lock just as hard.
Chapter 4
The exclamation of Kate’s bedroom door shot through Raphael’s head like a bullet. His accommodations sent his mood spiraling downward even more.
He bunked down on the sofa to find that there was a popped spring in the middle of her center cushion. In the thin darkness, it took on the proportions of the tire of a truck. The darkness was incomplete because a yellow neon sign pulsed right outside her living room window and wouldn’t let shadows gather. Raphael considered closing the blinds but the August breeze was like the breath of an aging dowager—warm, fitful and without substance. Scant as it was, if he blocked it, he would suffocate.
Kate Mulhern didn’t seem to own an air conditioner. Or if she did, she was hogging it for herself in her ramparted bedroom.
Raphael rolled, putting his back to the window, and punched his fist into the pillow. Then his cell phone rang. He sat up, grabbed it from the coffee table and snarled into it.
“Are we having fun yet?” his partner asked.
“She’s a lunatic!” Raphael considered adding a string of adjectives but his mind went blank. He felt that overwhelmed by his situation.
“And here I’d thought she’d be just your type,” Fox drawled.
“Yeah? What type’s that?”
“Breathing.” It was a low blow. They both knew the reason behind Raphael’s somewhat frenetic dating patterns this past month. “It wasn’t your fault,” Fox said a silent moment later.
Raphael’s tone turned caustic. “You taunt a killer, you can’t expect him to strike back, is that it?”
“You didn’t taunt him. We were closing in on him. Damn it, Rafe, you’re smarter than this. What are you going to do, spend the rest of your life never going out with a lady more than once because some scumbag might decide to make her pay for her association with you?”
That was pretty much exactly what he had decided. There was no doubt in Raphael’s heart that Anna Lombardo’s blood was on his hands. Gregg Miller had targeted her, had chosen her, had strangled that calm, cool light right out of her eyes because of him. To warn him off. But Raphael was damned tired of talking about Anna tonight.
“What did Allegra have to say?” he asked.
Fox sighed, but he changed the subject. “Not a word worth repeating. She saw nothing, heard nothing, smelled nothing. She says she was in the bathroom and when she came back, Phil was dead.”
It was pretty much what Kate had said. Raphael got up from the sofa. His stomach was rumbling. He headed for her kitchen.
“How about why McGaffney opted to dine at home tonight?” he asked finally. “Did Allegra have any insight on that?”
“Sure,” Fox said. “Something about her knickers.”
“That’s a crock.”
“It is. He wanted to ply her for information about what Charlie Eagan’s boys have been up to. We know that. But we’ll never get her to say so.”
Raphael flicked on the kitchen light. He opened Kate’s refrigerator, then stared.
“You still there?” came Fox’s voice.
“She’s got her leftovers labeled.”
He saw a plastic container that said Beef. Raphael grabbed it and pried the lid off. Red and rare. He found bread, then horseradish sauce in a small glass jar that said Horseradish Sauce. He made himself a sandwich. As an afterthought, he grabbed a carton of milk from the refrigerator, as well. He opened a cupboard door. Where the hell were her glasses? He found metal utensils that looked like they could have been used in the Inquisition, but nothing resembling an object that one might drink out of. Disgusted with Kate’s orderliness, he swigged from the carton.
“Did Allegra mention a dog?” he asked, swallowing.
“A what?”
“A dog.”
“No,” Fox said slowly, “I can’t say that she did. Why?”
“There was one there tonight. Seems it wandered in through the back door while the lady was cooking. It stole a steak off one of her plates and beat it.”
“A dog,” Fox repeated.
“Right.”
“You’re thinking that it was some kind of a setup to divert the caterer’s attention?”
“Well, it’s weird, what with the timing and all.”
“We’ve come across some far-fetched things over the years, but I think that’s reaching.”
Fox was probably right. “Damn, this is good.” Raphael swallowed another bite of the sandwich and marveled. Then his voice darkened. “Let’s wrap this thing up, pal. I don’t know how many days of Betty Crocker I can stand.”
“I’ll make the rounds of Eagan’s men in the morning.”
“I’ll take McGaffney’s boys and see what I can find out there.”
“Not to bring up a sore subject, but what about the caterer?”
Raphael licked the last crumb of sandwich from his finger. “She’s coming with me.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Damned right it is.”
Suddenly, the last of the caffeine rush from her coffee left him and Raphael was bone-tired. “I’ll check in with you at midday,” he said and disconnected.
He hit the light switch in the kitchen and flopped down on the sofa again. He stuck the whisper-thin pillow beneath his backside to provide some minimal padding against the torture spring. He covered his eyes with his forearm to shut out the pulsing yellow light, then, instantly, he slept.
The next thing he heard was her screeching.
Kate had not ever known that a man could snore in such a fashion. Oh, she’d heard it spoken of, joked about. But the constant, deep sound that came from her living room all night was beyond the realm of her wildest imagination.
Sometime just before dawn she got up to stuff an extra blanket against the crack beneath her bedroom door to buffer the sound. It helped a little, but she was still agonizingly aware that he was out there. He was
