A Sexy Time of It. Cara Summers

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СКАЧАТЬ was right. The armchair detectives was what she and Linc had dubbed the group of three seniors from the neighborhood who met every Thursday night. Though the subject had never come up, Neely figured Sally was the oldest of the trio and that both Sam and Mabel were in their mid-seventies. Unlike other discussion groups that selected a book and talked about it, the armchair detectives chose a murder—or a series of murders—that had occurred in the past and tried to find the killer. Last year they’d proven Shakespeare’s Richard the Third innocent of the murders he’d been accused of.

      Linc rose and took her hands. “Last, but not least, it might be better to get a good night’s sleep before you go to the Rhoades lecture.”

      “I always forget how good you are at persuasion.”

      “Was I successful?”

      She smiled at him. “I’ll think about it.”

      The grandfather clock in the corner chimed.

      Linc squeezed her hands before releasing them. “That’s our cue to open up and start the day.”

      

      IT HAD BEEN the longest day of her life. And it wasn’t over yet.

      The armchair detectives, consisting of her grandmother’s two best friends and a burly retired NYPD sergeant, were still firmly ensconced in the front room of Bookends. Currently, they sat in stony silence on leather couches doing their best to ignore each other. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the grandfather clock. In Neely’s mind, it sounded like the clanging of Big Ben.

      Mabel Parish, a tall, thin woman who’d been her grandmother’s closest friend and confidante, had lost her temper and swung her book bag at Sam Thornway, but Sam—thanks, no doubt, to excellent police training—still had some good moves in him. He’d pivoted, ducked and avoided the blow.

      Neely had grown up knowing Mabel. Keeping her temper under wraps had never seemed to be a problem for the woman until she’d rented one of the rooms in her nearby brownstone to the retired policeman. The two of them just seemed to rub sparks off each other. True, Mabel was strong-minded and Cornelia had once said that she had the personality of Alice’s Queen of Hearts. But usually, she got her way by using more subtle strategies, such as staring people down.

      Sam seemed to be immune to her stares. A large, imposing man, he was every bit as stubborn as Mabel and rarely gave an inch. Whenever the two clashed, Sally Lansing, the third member of the group and also one of Mabel’s tenants, threatened to hyperventilate—which added a lot to the drama. A tiny, frail-looking woman, Sally reminded Neely of an absentminded fairy godmother, but she frequently provided the voice of reason that calmed down the other two.

      Not tonight, however. The way Neely saw it, Mabel, who’d been a single woman all her life, was used to being the boss—a role that no one had challenged before Sam. Neely had checked into Sam’s background and discovered that he’d been a widower for eight years—a long time to live without the challenge of dealing with a woman.

      This wasn’t the first time that he and Mabel had gone head to head, and Neely was beginning to wonder if they were both enjoying the clashes on some level.

      Tonight’s argument had centered on just how many victims could be attributed to Jack the Ripper’s killing spree in the Whitechapel district of London. None of the criminologists who’d made it their life’s work to study Jack the Ripper could agree. But both Mabel and Sam were positive they were right.

      As the seconds ticked by and the silence grew thicker, Neely caught Linc’s eye and sent him a silent plea. Left to their own devices, Mabel and Sam were going to sit there all night.

      Linc’s response was a barely perceptible but firmly negative shake of his head. He mouthed the words I don’t want to be collateral damage. Then he grinned and rolled his eyes at her.

      It was Sally who finally took the initiative, by rising. “Neely looks exhausted. I think we should finish this discussion at our next meeting and let her get some rest.”

      Saved by the little fairy godmother, Neely thought. Now, neither Mabel nor Sam had to make the first move. They immediately turned appraising and concerned eyes on her.

      “You’re right, Sally.” Sam rose and shoveled notes and books into the backpack he always carried. “We’ll sleep on this.” He shot a look at Mabel. “That will give someone’s temper time to cool.”

      Though her hand tightened on her book bag, Mabel merely sniffed in reply. Then she narrowed her eyes on Neely. “Are you feeling all right?”

      “I’m fine.” Neely had no trouble summoning up a smile. She had to stifle the urge to do a little happy dance. They were finally leaving. Rising, she led the way to the door to exchange hugs with each of them. Mabel brought up the rear. Waiting until Sally and Sam had started down the steps, she took Neely’s hands in hers.

      “You’re having those vivid dreams again, aren’t you?” she asked. “The same ones your grandmother used to have about times gone by?”

      Neely nodded. Mabel was studying her very closely.

      “Do you mind my asking what they’re about?”

      “No.” Neely knew her grandmother had trusted Mabel implicitly. They’d been so close that at times, she’d felt jealous of the relationship. “Lately, they’ve been about the London of the Ripper—Jack the First.”

      Frowning, Mabel nodded. “I should have guessed, what with all the research we’ve been having you do.” She glanced out the open door at Sam’s retreating back and spoke in a voice that carried. “I knew we never should have started this investigation into the Ripper. It was all Sergeant Thornway’s idea.”

      Sam neither stopped nor glanced back.

      Mabel shifted her eyes back to Neely’s. “Your grandmother always used to try and dream about safe places. Be very careful.”

      Apprehension moved through Neely. She and Mabel had talked about her dreams before, but what she saw in Mabel’s eyes looked suspiciously like a warning. Did Mabel suspect that her dreams might be real? How? More importantly, why? But before she could ask, Mabel gave her a brisk, hard hug and hurried down the steps after her tenants. Neely closed the front door of Bookends, then turned and sagged against it. “I’m going to bed.”

      “It’s no wonder you’re exhausted.” Linc strode through the room, turning off the Tiffany-style lamps that graced various end tables. “What beats me is how the two of them can get so fired up about something that happened in 1888. Whoever killed those women in the Whitechapel district is long dead and buried. Case closed.”

      “But the case wasn’t closed. Jack the Ripper was never caught.” Neely loaded cups into the dishwasher in the small alcove that served as a coffee bar for their customers. “That’s what fascinates them.”

      “And you.”

      “And me,” she agreed.

      “No one can change the past. If you ask me, our armchair detectives ought to focus their energy on investigating the bastard who has every woman in Manhattan carrying pepper spray and purchasing handguns. So far the police are batting zero.”

      Neely had no comment on СКАЧАТЬ