Candy Apple Red. Nancy Bush

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      “Murphy was close to Bobby and Cotton. Tess thinks you can use that connection—”

      “No,” I said again, with more force. “I’m outta this. I’d be useless.”

      “She stopped by my office the other day, and we started talking about Bobby a little. She never could before. But it’s like she’s suddenly gotta get it out.”

      “You’re a divorce attorney,” I reminded Marta tonelessly. I couldn’t keep up with this. My head reeled. I felt ill.

      “I’m her divorce attorney,” Marta agreed. “But I’m also a friend. After she started talking, your name came up. She remembered you.”

      If I hadn’t been so overwhelmed I would have been surprised. Tess had barely seen me. She’d been divorced from Cotton in those few months before Bobby’s deadly deed was discovered. I hadn’t known Bobby very well, as he and his family had moved to Astoria. I mostly knew about them through Murphy. I’d only met Bobby and his wife Laura a few times, so when their pictures were in the papers they’d looked like the strangers they were to me. I said, “It would be a miracle if Cotton remembered me.”

      “He knows Murphy. That’s all that matters.”

      I didn’t like it. It was sneaky and wrong. Oh, sure, I can be a snoop, but this tragedy was epic. I felt small and mean even talking about it with Marta. “What kind of information does she expect?” I asked. “I don’t get it.”

      “Whether she’s right or wrong, she thinks Cotton’s been in touch with Bobby. I know the police and F.B.I. have wrung him dry, and he’s been more than cooperative. I’m just telling you what she wants. And she’s willing to pay well.”

      “I’m not a private investigator.” Or information services specialist.

      “As good as,” Marta dismissed, but then she was always saying things like that when she wanted something.

      “How much is she willing to pay?” I asked cautiously, lured in spite of myself. I inwardly shuddered. It was like dipping a toe in cold, cold water.

      “An initial five hundred dollars and then whatever you work out. She wants you to develop some kind of relationship, Jane,” Marta went on. “She says Cotton always admired you when you were there with Murphy. She thinks you could…have some sway.”

      “I doubt it.”

      “Are you saying you won’t do it?”

      I didn’t know what I was saying. I was out of my depth and I knew it. I’m not all that hot at self-delusion. If I were really thinking about taking the jump to information specialist, I’d sure as hell like to start with something smaller. Like grand larceny. Or…corporate tax fraud. Or that Erin Brockovich deadly chemical thing. I did not want to be personally involved in the investigation, no matter how distantly, as I was in this one.

      “Cotton remembers you,” Marta insisted. “Bobby told Tess how his dad liked you.”

      “Bobby told his mother that his dad liked me? That’s just great. When was that, Marta? I was only here for a few months before it happened.”

      Marta sighed at my obstinance. “Are you going to do it, or not?”

      “All signs point to not.” I paused, belatedly hearing some innuendo between the lines. Why did Tess want me to get close to Cotton? My thoughts took a turn toward the salacious. “I’m not going to sleep with him.”

      “Oh, for God’s sake, Jane. Tess just wants you to suck up to him a little, show some interest in the guy. He’s been living like a hermit with his young wife ever since Bobby slaughtered his family and ran.” I cringed at her words. “Tess thinks this is the perfect time to lend a sympathetic ear.”

      “I won’t get any results the police haven’t.”

      “Five hundred dollars plus, whether you learn anything or not,” Marta coerced.

      Five hundred dollars plus. My brain started calculating, taking a trip of its own, as I wondered how many “sessions” I could squeeze out of the deal. It’s hard to turn down pure, cold cash. Dwayne would be proud of my way of thinking.

      “Cotton’s having a party next Saturday night.” Marta sweetened the pot. “I can get you an invitation.”

      “How?”

      “Well…Murphy’s been invited. He’s coming into town this week.”

      I swore beneath my breath, loud enough for Marta to hear. Murphy? “What a setup. I’m not interested, Marta. Not one little bit.”

      “He knows you might be there. He wants to see you.”

      “Not a chance.” Marta knows what she’s doing at all times. She’s an operator, someone who sees what she wants and goes after it, no matter how many souls she grinds into the pavement along the way. I almost admired her.

      “Murphy still talks to Tess,” Marta went on. “He mentioned you the other day. That’s what got Tess thinking.”

      “Murphy and I don’t talk.”

      “Jane, Tess is going to be in my office at three today. She’d really like to meet you.”

      “You’re railroading me. I can hear the train whistle.”

      “I thought you might want to see him.”

      “Bullshit. You thought of a new way to squeeze money out of a client. How much is Tess paying you for this setup?”

      “Plenty,” was her equable answer. “Tess is a grateful client.”

      I almost laughed. I could imagine how well Marta had put the squeeze on Cotton as Tess’s representative in the divorce. Her unabashed greed appealed to me, maybe because deep inside I’m a kindred spirit. Okay, maybe it’s just that I’m not that deep inside.

      She seemed to sense my lessening fury. “Is that a yes?”

      Distantly, I heard the sound of a buzzing boat’s engine. I walked toward the rear windows for my peek-a-boo view of the water. It was a beautiful, 75-ish afternoon in late July. The weatherman had said the temperatures were going to rise through the weekend, peaking at about 88 degrees late afternoon Saturday. The night of Cotton’s party. Great boating weather.

      I had an instant memory of a hot midnight on Murphy’s boat, illegally docked in the shelter of Phantom’s Cove, two hundred feet beneath the houses perched on the bluff above, hidden by the canopies of oaks and firs which kept the cove under shadow most of the time. I remembered fevered bodies wrapped tightly together, sweat and silent laughter that remained caught in the back of my throat. And pleasure.

      An ache filled me inside. I’d fallen in love once in college, but Murphy was the next, and last, man who’d ever filled my senses so completely. I half-believed now that it would never happen to me again. Maybe it would, but right now it felt impossible.

      The thought that he might actually be at this party was enough to send me into the kind of female panic I loathed seeing in others. I couldn’t СКАЧАТЬ