Twilight Whispers

by Barbara Delinsky

  “But since then I’ve met her. I can see how a man could be totally enthralled.”

  “Were you?”

  “I’m a cop. I was interviewing her.” He didn’t bother to mention the theater date since Jordan seemed not to know about it.

  “Don’t give me that crap,” Jordan said quietly. “You’re a man. Did she enthrall you?”

  “In a way.”

  “She told me that you already have a girl.”

  “Did she tell you everything we said?”

  “She told me a lot. You impressed her.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “I thought you said you were a cop. You sound more like a psychiatrist.”

  “There’s a little of the analyst in every good cop. So I’m asking. Does it bother you that she liked me?”

  “In that you’re a cop, not particularly. I’m not hung up about occupations.”

  “In that I’m a man. In other words, do you or do you not welcome the competition?”

  “I thought you already had someone.”

  “That’s beside the point.”

  “The hell it is,” Jordan returned, growing agitated. “I won’t have you chasing after Katia, only to catch her and then leave her for a woman you’ve got back home.”

  “Do you want her?”

  “Of course I want her!” he yelled. Realizing what he’d done and said, he hung his head, rubbed the back of his neck, then allowed a self-conscious grin to surface. “You should have been a shrink. You’ve got the talent.”

  “Nah. I like being a cop. And I like the woman I have at home. Katia’s safe from me. But I’m telling you, you’d better do something about her before someone else does. Women have only so much patience, even when it comes to the men they love.”

  Which, in effect, gave them both something to think about.

  * * *

  Cavanaugh didn’t have much time to do that in the days that immediately followed, however. He had no sooner returned to Boston when Ryan was on his back. “Well? What have you got?”

  “I have a handful of possible suspects on the coast, each with ironclad alibis.”

  “And the family?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  “If you’ve ruled out everything else, don’t you think that’s the way to go?” Ryan demanded, drumming fat fingers on the desk.

  “I’m doing it. I met with Jordan Whyte again yesterday. He says he was in New York at the time of the murders. I’ve put someone on it. We’ll see if his story holds.”

  “What about the others?”

  “Nothing suspicious yet. Jordan was the only one who knew that Mark was involved in pornography. He was on the coast, had a couple of arguments about it with his brother.”

  Ryan looked pleased. “Any witnesses to the arguments?”

  “Deborah, but she’s gone. We’ll have to see if we can find others.”

  “Anything else interesting?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “What about the tapes?”

  “We’ve been through them. Nothing.”

  “There has to be something!” Ryan shot at him, then calmed himself. “You viewed all of them?”

  “Every one we found.”

  “Maybe there were others.”

  “We didn’t see any.”

  “Did you look everywhere?”

  Cavanaugh was getting the uneasy feeling that Ryan knew something he didn’t. “Just about.” He gnawed on his lower lip for a minute. “Did you have something specific in mind?”

  “Of course not,” the man answered brusquely, or as brusquely as his high voice would allow. “This is your case, not mine. You’re the one who knows what the setup is out there. But I read somewhere that filmmakers often get their jollies filming everything. Even visitors in their homes.”

  “Like Nixon with his recordings?”

  Ryan liked that. “Good thought.”

  “If Whyte did that he hid them. There was nothing with the other reels.”

  “If he was strange enough to film his personal doings he’d have been strange enough to hide them. Check it out, Cavanaugh. It may be that there’s nothing, but damn it, if there’s a chance it’s worth the effort. We need to make some progress on this one. It’s stagnating.”

  Cavanaugh nodded curtly and left the room before he said something he’d regret. Stagnating? Not quite. The investigation was moving along at a reasonable rate. What did Ryan expect? Any why was he so impatient? It occurred to Cavanaugh—and was supported by his colleagues—that Ryan’s sole interest lately was the Whyte-Warren case. Other investigations were ongoing, but his focus was narrowed on this one. Cavanaugh wondered whether the man had his own personal gripe against one or another of the families. It would certainly explain why he had kept such a detailed file.…

  * * *

  Jordan thought a lot about what Cavanaugh had said, but he was in the same bind as always. Katia was his sister—figuratively, and probably literally. He’d always sensed that Henry wasn’t her biological father, but he hadn’t taken the matter to heart until the fateful day when he had overheard his own father talking. On that day, his world had fallen apart. He positively worshiped Katia, but he didn’t know what to do about it. He tried to forget her in Nancy, whom he took out on Tuesday night, in Judy, whom he took out on Thursday, in Alexis, whom he took out on Friday night. And though he had seen Katia under the guise of work twice that week, by Saturday he was aching to see her again.

  So he popped over to her apartment at noon that day in the hope that she would take pity on him and share a little of her sunshine.

  After her initial surprise she was less than receptive. “I wish you’d called ahead of time, Jordan,” she sighed. “I’ve got a million things to do today.” The first of those things was to clean the apartment, which—given the fact that she had stayed in bed until eleven because she hadn’t fallen asleep until three—she had been doing when he had rung the bell. She was wearing a pair of ragged cut-offs and an old t-shirt, and she felt like something the cat had dragged in.

  “That’s okay. I’ll wait. In fact, maybe I can help. You look beat.”

  “Always full of compliments,” she muttered, but she left him at the open door, silently bidding him enter if that was what he wanted.

  He did. Closing the door behind him, he watched her spray polish on the lacquered coffee table, then rub it for all she was worth.

  “Nervous energy?” he asked.

  She looked up, startled, then as quickly returned to her work. Yes, damn it. It was nervous energy. And he was its cause. During the week she could bury herself in work; even on the weekends she did it at times. This weekend, however, she felt too frustrated to work, too frustrated to do much of anything but take out her grievances on the hapless furniture.

  “I thought you’d be in Maine,” she grumbled.

  “Cassie told me you weren’t going, so I decided to stay here.”

  Katia gritted her teeth. “You should have gone. Your family needs you.”

  “They need you, too. Why did you stay?”

  “I have too much to do.”

  “Cleaning can wait.”

  “I have to work.” She tossed her head toward the stuffed portfolio that lay on the dining room table untouched.

  “You could do it up there.”

  “Easier to do it here.” She shot him a glance. “If you really want to help, you can do this.” She dropped the can of spray polish and the cloth, and stalked toward the kitchen. Jordan had started after her when she returned carrying the vacuum cleaner. A self-contained stereo headset was curled around her neck.

  “Is something wrong, Katia?”

  “What could possibly be wrong?” She bent to plug in the vacuum.

  “Something happen at work?”

  “Work’s fine.” She turned on the vacuum, then balanced the handle between her thighs while she put the headphones to her ears.

  “Are you having man problems?”

 
; She lifted the speaker from one ear and looked at him. “What did you say?”

  “I asked,” he repeated more loudly in an attempt to be heard over the steady wheeze of the machine, “if you’re having man problems.”

  She replaced the speaker and started vacuuming. “I’m always having man problems. I think it’s my fate in life.”

  “If someone’s giving you trouble—if someone’s giving you—damn it, Katia, I can’t compete with music or whatever the hell it is you’re listening to!”

  Katia looked up at him, but she neither turned off the vacuum nor lifted the headphones. “I can’t hear you, Jordan. I have headphones on.”

  He swore. But she didn’t hear that either. So he strode to the side of the room, pulled the plug on the vacuum, then returned to physically remove the headset from her head.

  “Jordan,” she protested, “I have to get this done!”

  “Not until you tell me what’s wrong. You’ve been like a walking thundercloud since I got here. I want you to tell me what’s bothering you.”

  You, you big oaf, she wanted to yell, but she didn’t. Instead she simply put her hands on her hips and stared right back at him. “Nothing’s bothering me that a little, good old-fashioned physical exertion won’t cure.” She had been referring to cleaning. Only after she made the statement did she recognize it for the Freudian slip it was. She hurried on. “It’s been a long and tiring week. I’m feeling pressure. Just leave it at that, okay?”

  But when she reached for the headset, Jordan held it out of reach. “There’s something else. I know you too well.”

  “If you know me so well you can respect the fact that I want to be left alone.”

  “You don’t usually want to be left alone. It’s not like you.”

  “Then I’ve changed! Okay?” Again she reached for the headset; he simply held it farther away. “Jordan.…”

  “What is it, sweetheart?” he asked with such tender concern that she closed her eyes and hung her head.

  She stood like that for several moments before whispering a defeated, “Oh, Jordan, I’m so tired of all this.”

  “All what?” When she simply shook her head, he closed the small distance between them and folded her into his arms. “Tell me, honey. What’s getting to you?”

  What was getting to her was the sound of his voice, his gentle endearments, the strength of his arms, the solidity of his body, the heat of him, his smell. And she could do nothing but melt into him. It was the only thing she had ever wanted.

  He held her close, stroking her hair with his cheek. He knew what was bothering her. Damn it, he knew. Her need for him was every bit as great as his need for her, except that she didn’t know what he did. She hadn’t overheard the conversation he had; she hadn’t spent the last eleven years of her life waiting for the hand of God to reach out and, by some miracle, make everything all right.

  What killed him most was that little bit of doubt that niggled in his mind from time to tune. He wished he could confront his father and ask point-blank whether what he had heard had been right, but the two were on the most marginal of speaking terms and such a confrontation would shatter what token peace existed between them. He had even considered approaching Cassie, but when he thought of putting the words to her he cringed. No matter how gently he phrased his thoughts he would be accusing her of infidelity. He didn’t have the guts to do it.

  Bold, irreverent Jordan—gutless when it came to the one thing that mattered most to him. That thought bothered him, too, but he was helpless to change it. Something had to give, some card had to be turned, some hand shown. He’d tried to keep his distance from Katia, but it was getting harder by the day. Especially now, since Mark’s death, when he was so keenly aware of the meaning of life and the passage of time.

  “Let’s go to Maine, you and I,” he murmured into her ear. “The others will already be there. It’s Labor Day weekend. We deserve a break.”

  Katia moaned. She had decided against going in the first place because she was seeing Jordan so often that the painful pleasure of it was killing her. She hadn’t enjoyed any of the dates she had been on lately. She couldn’t seem to sleep the night through. Work was work. Friends were friends. Cooking was cooking.

  And Jordan was Jordan, asking her to subject herself to further torment. What was wrong with him that he couldn’t see what ailed her? How could he punish her this way?

  “I really should work,” she murmured against his polo shirt.

  “Like I said before, you can work there. And mix a little relaxation in with it. You’re tired. You need a rest.”

  “If I had any sense I’d take the next plane to an uninhabited island in the Caribbean. Then I’d get some rest.”

  “Planes don’t go to uninhabited islands in the Caribbean.”

  “Struck out again, did I? Boy, am I getting good at that.”

  “Come on, Katia,” he said, rocking her gently. “Ease up.”

  Ease up? Any more and she would be a puddle at his feet. She felt like jelly cradled against him this way. “I’m sorry, Jordan,” she managed in a weak voice. “You’ve just caught me at a bad time.”

  “If you come with me to the island, things will be better. Everyone’s there, even Nick and Angie and the kids. Anne and Em and your mother—she doesn’t get to see you often. Do her a good turn and visit.”

  “Guilt trip. Not fair.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to see her?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the others?”

  “Yes.”

  He held her back, his hands on her shoulders, and ducked his head until his eyes were level with hers. “Then let’s go. We can fly into Portland and be at the island by dinnertime. Come on, Katia. Say yes.”

  So many times he had done it this way, and each time she was lost. She moaned once and rolled her eyes, then spoke through gritted teeth. “Yes, Jordan, yes. Is that what you want to hear? Yes!”

  His shoulders relaxed and he let out a breath. Two days. Nothing could happen, but he would be with her for two days. Two days. He grinned. “That’s my girl. Now—” he looked around, “you go do whatever it is that you have to do to get ready, and I’ll just zip around with the vacuum. The place will be spotless by the time you’re ready. Everything will be perfect for you to come back to on Monday.”

  Just then Katia didn’t want to think about returning on Monday. Having capitulated—once again—she was determined to make the most of it. And if that meant that she would flirt with Jordan mercilessly, so be it. She knew she could arouse him; let him feel the frustration for a change!

  * * *

  The sound of the launch pulling up to the dock brought out the entire island contingent, and there were delighted smiles and hugs when they discovered who had come. Natalie and Cassie, in particular, were pleased. Jordan and Katia’s surprise appearance was what they needed to make the holiday special.

  And it was special. Katia was the first to admit it. For one thing she had time to spend with her mother. Though she and Cassie spoke weekly on the phone they hadn’t seen each other since the funeral six weeks before. Cassie wanted to hear about Katia’s work, about friends she had spent time with, about men she had dated, and Katia told her everything. There was a kind of catharsis in it, for she was able to see her life from Cassie’s perspective, and, inevitably, she appreciated it more.

  Only on the matter of Jordan was she somewhat circumspect. She knew that her mother would love to see her married to him, and though Cassie didn’t harp on it or pester her openly, she was always eager to hear about anything and everything regarding that relationship. So Katia had learned to downplay it, particularly now that she no longer had Sean as a shield. She didn’t want to raise Cassie’s hopes unfairly. And she didn’t want to admit that she apparently lacked something that Jordan sought in a mate.

  As had always been the case, Cassie seemed to accept that Katia was too career oriented to view marriage as an immediate necessity. Still, she was delig
hted to learn that Katia was working for Jordan. It was a step in the right direction.

  Gil, on the other hand, was far more pensive. Katia had sought him out at a time when all the others were by the swimming pool. He was in his den, sitting quietly. She was immediately worried.

  “Gil?” she asked softly.

  He raised his chin from his chest and saw her, then broke into a smile. “Katia.” He sat forward. “Come on in. You’re just in time to rescue me from an old man’s morbid thoughts.”

  “You’re not an old man,” she chided, walking quietly toward the desk and putting her hand in the one he offered.

  “Maybe not in the eyes of a ninety-year-old, but I’m seventy-four. That must seem ancient to you.”

  “Ancient? You? You’re one of the most active and energetic men I’ve ever known.” Which was why she had been doubly concerned to find him sitting alone, neither working nor talking on the phone. Even his pipe sat forgotten in the ashtray, the cherry scent of tobacco barely lingering.

  “Sometimes I wonder if I’m running out of that energy,” he said, and for a moment he looked every one of his seventy-four years. He was as handsome as always, straight, slim and dignified, but his features were paler than usual and weighted down by fatigue. He looked much as he had when she had seen him after the funeral. She wondered if he had had any peace since.

  “Are you feeling all right?”

  He dismissed her concern with the wave of his free hand. “Oh, I’m fine. Just not much of a companion for myself.” The hand that held hers gave a quick squeeze. “But now you’re here. I’m glad you decided to come after all, Katia. It means so much to your mother to see you.”

  “I know. I like seeing her, too. There are times in the city when I get so wrapped up in everything that it’s hard to think of getting away—”

  “Don’t do that. It’s a mistake. Your family is where you come from, what you are. And if you isolate yourself now, some day down the road you’ll find yourself alone.”

  His message was clear, but there was more. “Is that what you’re feeling right about now?” she asked softly.

  He studied her without blinking. “Could be.”

  “But you have your work—”