“What time is it?” she finally asked. Mundane thing, but the small and unimportant were the anchors of life, the constants that held one steady.
“Almost one. You need to eat; come on in the kitchen and I’ll put on a pot of fresh coffee, then fix breakfast for you.”
She remembered his coffee. She gave him an appalled look. “I can do the coffee.”
He accepted the rejection of his coffee with good grace, being used to it. She was coming out of it; she could say anything she wanted about his coffee. She was more alert, though her face was utterly colorless, except for the shadows under her eyes, and tight with strain. He put his arm around her waist to support her as they slowly made their way to the kitchen.
She leaned against the cabinet while she made coffee, then sat and watched Dane competently assemble a meal of toast, bacon, and a scrambled egg. She ate a couple of bites of egg and bacon, and one slice of toast. Dane ate the rest.
When she crumpled, without a word he scooped her onto his lap and held her while she cried.
11
TRAMMELL ARRIVED ABOUT FOUR THAT AFTERNOON, DRIVING A pickup truck he had borrowed, with the replacement door in the truck bed. Dane paused for a moment to savor the incongruity of Trammell driving a truck, then went out to help him unload the door. “Whose truck is it?” he asked.
“Freddie’s husband’s.” They each grabbed one side of the door and slid it off the bed. They didn’t have to ask if anything had been reported; if it had, they both would have heard. Next door, Lou came out on her porch to watch them with open and suspicious interest. Dane took the time to wave to her. She waved back, but frowned disapprovingly. No doubt she had looked out her window first thing this morning and seen his car in Marlie’s driveway; he had undoubtedly besmirched Marlie’s spotless reputation.
“New lady friend?” he inquired delicately as they carried the door to the porch.
“Um, no.” Trammell was being unusually reticent, and Dane was instantly suspicious. It wasn’t that Trammell was the kind of guy who regaled the squad room with play-by play details of a hot night, but he was usually forthcoming enough to at least give the lady a name.
“I thought the date was called off”
Trammell cleared his throat. “She came over anyway.”
“Anything I should know about?”
“No. Maybe. But not yet.”
Dane didn’t get to be such a good detective by being stupid. He wondered why Trammell would feel it necessary to protect a woman’s identity, and only two possibilities presented themselves. One: The lady was married. Trammell wasn’t a poacher, though; married women were off limits to him. Two: The lady was a cop. That made sense; it fit. Immediately he began running through names and faces, trying to match them to the voice he’d heard last night. Everything clicked into place like three cherries in a slot machine. Ash blond hair sternly subdued to fit under her patrolman’s cap, a rather austere face, quiet brown eyes. Not beautiful, but deep. She wouldn’t enjoy being the butt of the raucous gossip that squad rooms specialized in, and she wasn’t the kind of woman to be trifled with. “Grace Roeg,” he said.
“Goddammit!” Trammell dropped his end of the door to the porch with a thump, and glared at him.
Dane set his end down with less force. “I’m good,” he said, shrugging. “What can I say?”
“Nothing. Make sure you say absolutely nothing.”
“No problem, but you’re really getting in deep with me. That’s two secrets I have to keep.”
“God. All right. If you feel the need to blab about something, if you just can’t stand the pressure, then tell them about the beer. I can live with that. But keep Grace out of it.”
“Like I said, no problem. I like her; she’s a good cop. I’d spill the beans on you, but I wouldn’t upset her for anything. Watch yourself, though, pal. You could be asking for major trouble. You outrank her.”
“There’s no question of sexual harassment.”
“Maybe not to you, maybe not to her, but the paper pushers may not look at it that way.’” Though the concern was a legitimate one, Dane was enjoying himself immensely. Trammell was glaring at him, black eyes as hot as coals. It was nice to get back at him, after the way he’d silently laughed at Dane’s predicament with Marlie. “How long has it been going on?” Not long, he’d bet. He’d have noticed it before now.
“A couple of days,” Trammell said grumpily.
“Moving a little fast there, partner.”
Trammell started to say something, shut his mouth, then mumbled, “I’m not.”
Dane started laughing at the helplessness in Trammell’s tone. He knew exactly how it felt. “Another good man bites the dust.”
“No! It’s not that serious.”
“Keep telling yourself that, buddy. It might keep you from panicking on the way to the church.”
“Damn it, it isn’t like that. It’s—”
“Just an affair?” Dane inquired with lifted brows. “A good time in bed? It doesn’t mean anything?”
Trammell looked hunted. “No, it’s … ah, shit. But no wedding bells. I don’t want to get married. I have no intention of getting married.”
“Okay, I believe you. But it’ll hurt my feelings if I’m not your best man.” Smiling at Trammell’s frustrated curse, Dane went inside to get a screwdriver, and Trammell followed him. Marlie was lying curled on the couch, asleep. Dane paused to look down at her and tuck the light coverlet around her feet. She looked small and pale, utterly defenseless as her mind recovered from the devastating exhaustion.