Seeing him smile at me, Annalisa actually takes his arm and turns him physically, so he’s facing away from me. What the hell? I don’t understand why she acts so territorial. I have a boyfriend. I don’t cheat.
The man unfolds her fingers from his arm and starts to slip through the crowd. I find myself craning my neck to see where he is going. He stops to talk to the blond woman. At one point, he turns, catches me staring, and gives me another slow smile.
Annalisa sees our exchange, and her mouth flattens into a thin line. She tosses her hair and stalks off into another room. What is her deal?
And why did she give us a free ticket to this private and intimate gathering anyway? I’ve absorbed enough of the atmosphere and taken enough notes that I can write a decent story about both the funeral and reception. I’m ready to leave. So is Lopez.
“Let’s blow this joint, man. This scene is too bizarre,” he says.
“Yeah, totally. Can you call a cab? I’ll meet you out front.” I have to use the bathroom. Which is too bad because, all at once, I’m desperate to get out of this house. I wonder if Annalisa invited us just so we would feel out of place. So I would know just how much I don’t fit into this world? Well, I already knew that.
When I come out of the bathroom, Annalisa is slumped on a chair outside. Her legs are curled under her, and her head is lolling back on a velvet cushion. She absentmindedly fingers a silky red scarf slung across her shoulders. She was waiting for me.
“Gabrieallllaaa.” Her words are slurred. She’s drunk. “Did Sean tell you he was over at my house last night?”
I freeze. A jolt of jealousy streaks through me. I didn’t see him last night because he said he had to work late. He didn’t say he was going to Annalisa’s, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to tell her that. “I feel bad when he has to work in the evenings like that.” I place a heavy emphasis on the word “work.”
“Oh, honey, he wasn’t working.” She smirks.
So, this is why I was invited here. This conversation. My blood is boiling at her words, but I won’t give her the satisfaction of knowing that.
“I don’t know what you’re implying, Annalisa, but I’m not buying. I trust Donovan.”
“His name’s Sean.” She practically spits the words out. And then she crosses her legs seductively, and a smile comes across her face that makes me worry about what she’s going to say next. “We did a little reminiscing when he was over. You know, down memory lane. We were having so much fun we decided to look at some old pictures of us as a couple.”
I clamp my mouth shut tight. I will not react. I will not react.
“He was so surprised I still had an old picture of his. A drawing. You see, when he was fifteen years old, he drew a picture of his dream woman. Did he ever tell you that?” Her words are slurred, and she has a little smug, self-satisfied smile on her face. She looks off into the distance. “Well, he drew this picture of his dream woman—the woman he wanted to marry. And guess what? When he met me, he about keeled over because I was the spitting image of the woman he had drawn.”
A sour taste fills my mouth.
“Did he ever tell you about that? It looks exactly like me. Someday, I’ll have to show it to you. I actually had it framed. It was so sweet. It proved to both of us that our destiny is to be together. It is written in the stars.”
Her words hit their mark once again. It hurts. But I will die before I let her know that.
“Isn’t puppy love fun? Too bad it never lasts,” I say.
“It is fated. It cannot be altered.” Her voice rises in pitch, and she speaks even faster. “You cannot change destiny. And now, with the other men I’ve loved gone—” A sob escapes her, and she closes her eyes tightly for a moment. “Now it is even more clear what path I am supposed to take.”
I swallow. I must not react. It takes me a few seconds to pull myself together. She is attributing the murders of Laurent and Grant to fate and believes it is a sign that she is supposed to be with Donovan. I’m dealing with a crazy woman. She could’ve killed both men. Despite what Donovan says, I know it. Time to leave before I lose my temper. But not before I show her my own brand of craziness. I start to walk away, then turn back.
“By the way, Annalisa, when Donovan was at your place did he tell you our good news?”
She’s not as good an actress as I am. She practically chokes on her wine.
“Oh, I can see he didn’t tell you.” I pause dramatically and watch her eyes widen. “He wants to get married. Isn’t that romantic?”
Her eyes narrow to slits, and her lips purse. Not prettily.
It’s a blatant lie. I’m nearly as astonished as she is at the words I’ve said. Although I’m pretty sure Donovan was about to propose as we walked around the lake, I stopped him before he did. So maybe instead of a lie, it’s a bit of an exaggeration. I know I’ve taken poetic license to a whole new stratosphere, but it is so worth it when I see the look on her face before I walk away.
“That can’t be. Sean is supposed to be mine.” She is mumbling to herself, but then her words next stop me dead. “That’s not what the plan was. He’s protected. The others . . . not my fault. I didn’t know.”
I whirl back around.
“Sean is protected? What are you saying?” I grab both her arms and look into her eyes. “Speak. What the hell are you talking about? What plan? Was your plan to kill all your boyfriends? Was it?”
She stares at me, her mouth wide open in amazement.
“Answer me,” I say.
People are starting to stare. A woman who had introduced herself earlier as Grant’s cousin rushes over, extracts Annalisa from my grip, and swoops her away from me. “Come on, darling. ABC News is ready to talk to you in the dining room. First let’s freshen up your makeup.” She quickly whisks Annalisa into the bathroom. And locks the door. I try the door and pound on it.
“You’re going to explain what that meant,” I say to the muffled sounds inside as Lopez drags me away by the arm. “I’m not done with you yet.”
Chapter 26
WHEN I GET to my car, I check my cell. One missed call. Donovan left a message saying he picked up a night shift for a sick colleague and won’t be home until late, so we can’t get together tonight. Two nights in a row.
I’m still trying to figure out how to deal with the news that he was over at Annalisa’s house last night. For one fleeting second, I wonder if he’s having an affair with her. What if there is no sick colleague, and he’s at her place again tonight? My stomach does a loop de loop, and I remind myself to call Marsha, my therapist. My jealousy is getting out of hand. I need to run all my fears and irrational thoughts by someone who is objective and can tell me whether I’m completely out of whack.
Later, at my desk, I take my time packing up. Being alone tonight sounds like a bad idea—an invitation for anxiety to creep up and clamp its fingers down on me. At the last minute, I dial Nicole.
JAX RESTAURANT IS the sheriff’s favorite hangout and the spot I like to wine and dine my cop sources on the company credit card. Sure enough, when I walk through the chandelier-and-candlelit room, past the piano player, I spot a few cops I know.
I head to the bar, but Art, the bartender, jerks his thumb toward the French doors. Nicole is waiting for me on the brick patio. Parisian cafe tables are scattered under a latticed pergola strung with vines and twinkling white lights. Nicole’s eyes are sparkling, too, and she has a secretive smile.
“I’ve got some news,” she says, shyly looking down.
“What? Did you scoop the Trib on your story?” I pull up a chair.
“I’m sorry I didn’t wait to order, I’m starving,” she says as a waitress drops off a huge chef salad for her. I gesture toward her soda and salad. “What gives? You worried about your liver still?”
“I have some news. I wanted to tell you i
n person . . .”
News? Fear spurts through me. “You got another job? Please, please, please don’t tell me you’re going to the Trib. I’ll die. I swear. Please don’t leave me!”
Nicole starts laughing. “No, but I will be gone for a few months next year.”
“Huh?”
“I’m pregnant.”
I look blankly at her.
“As in—having a baby. Knocked up. Bun in the oven. In the family way. Eating for two.”
I leap to my feet and hug her. “Congratulations! That’s—great. I had no idea.”
“I wanted to tell you the other night, but I thought I’d wait until the doctor’s office confirmed it at my appointment this morning.”
“I just . . . I guess I didn’t think . . .” you guys were going to have kids.
“Now that Ted has a new job, his traveling days are over. It seems like the right time.”
“Wow.”
Nicole beams at me. I force a grin onto my face—this is her night and her celebration. And I am happy for her, truly, so I don’t know exactly what my problem is.
We spend the rest of the night talking about baby stuff. I try to act interested, but I’m relieved when she yawns, saying she’s exhausted and has to go home. She never asks how my conversation with Donovan went the other night, and I don’t bring it up.
Driving home, I try to wrap my head around her news. Nicole having a baby? Have I lost my tough, courts-reporter friend? Does this mean we have to talk about diapers and that kind of crap for the next nine months? And beyond? I know I’m being selfish, but I want my old friend back. I feel like I’m about to lose her. I want to pore over pictures of dead bodies and talk about horrific crimes with her. Not booties and bassinets.
Chapter 27
AFTER SAYING GOOD-BYE to Nicole, I head to Donovan’s place and let myself in. I fall asleep before he gets home, only vaguely sensing him crawl into bed with me.
In the early morning, I wake, sensing something is off. Opening my eyes in the dim light, I’m half-asleep as I make out Donovan’s silhouette standing in the doorway. It seems like he’s watching me. He’s so still, it sends a chill through me. I shake it off. My eyes are heavy, so I give in and fall back asleep. When I wake, he’s already gone.
It’s Saturday, but I head into the office to polish my Sunday story on Adam Grant. I give Donovan a call on the drive in, but he doesn’t pick up. At work, I can’t shake the odd, out-of-sorts feeling I have today. Everything in my life seems off-kilter, yet there is nothing I can really put my finger on that is wrong. My relationship with Donovan seems okay on the surface, but there is something beneath that sends a ripple of fear through me. Are we okay?
Later, in the afternoon, when I see Donovan’s name on my cell phone, I clamber to answer it as fast as I can.
“Hey, Ella, I miss you.” Donovan’s husky voice on the other end of the phone line sends a happy thrill through me just like it has since the first time we spoke. He’s using my family’s nickname for me. It took a long time for me to feel comfortable with it, but now the name on his lips makes me feel wanted and safe and instantly erases my unease. “Seems like lately we only see each other when we’re both asleep in bed.”
“I miss you, too,” I say, barely above a whisper. “You working tonight?”
The police scanners on the desktop beside me crackle loudly. I turn the volume completely down. I don’t care if the Bay Bridge has collapsed. All I want to do is hear Donovan’s voice right now. I haven’t really talked to him since Annalisa tried to imply there was something between them. I need to see him to stifle this jealousy.
“Hell no,” he says. “It’s Saturday night! That’s why I called. I was thinking about having dinner in North Beach. I’ve got a craving for Bocce’s ravioli.”
Perfect. I have to drop by my place to feed my cat, Dusty, tonight, anyway.
“Let’s do it.”
WE TAKE MY car. I move over to the passenger seat when I pull up in front of his place. He likes to drive, and I don’t mind relaxing and letting him deal with Saturday night Bay Bridge traffic.
He gets in, gives me a sexy smile, and leans over to give me a long kiss.
“Geez, I feel like we haven’t seen each other for a week. You’ve put a spell on me.”
I smile, but inside I keep remembering Annalisa’s words—that Donovan was at her house the other night.
I brush it off. I will not let her viper venom poison my relationship. If he was at her house, I’m sure it was for a good reason. I need to learn to trust him. If I don’t, our relationship is doomed. I will not ask him about it. Instead, I lace my fingers through his on the gearshift as he drives.
I always get a thrill crossing the Bay Bridge with the city lit up before me. The skyline always energizes me and makes me feel like anything is possible.
Donovan drops me off at the entrance to my building and leaves to find a parking spot for the car. Parking in North Beach is a nightmare, especially on a weekend night, so I know he might be a few minutes.
My place is a fourth-floor walk-up. No elevator means that although it’s a pain in the butt, it keeps me in shape since I’d rather eat than go to the gym. When I get to the top floor, I try my key, but it doesn’t seem to work. Donovan arrives, fiddles with the key, and pushes the door. This time it yields, swinging open. Dusty immediately streaks out between my legs and barrels down the stairs. It takes me a minute to comprehend what I see on my bed. When I do, I scream.
A dead man with bulging eyes looks my way. I take him in as snapshots, as if a flashbulb is going off, giving me tiny glimpses of a crime scene. White man. Mid-forties. Duct tape over his mouth. Bullet hole through his forehead. Receding hairline. Shirt untucked. Too-snug khaki pants. Slight beer belly hanging out. Scuffed brown shoes. One shoe has its laces untied.
Before Donovan yanks me back, I take in another detail—something shiny stuck to the duct tape over his mouth.
Donovan shields my view and makes me wait in the hall while he searches my place. His voice filters through the crack in the door as he calls 911.
I vomit into a bag of recycling on the floor outside my door, then, worried about Donovan, I peek in. He’s standing over the body, making the sign of the cross. In my detached-from-reality state of shock, I idly wonder if he does that over every dead body he investigates. Then, he does something else, something that sends confusion coursing through me.
WITHIN TWENTY MINUTES, police are tromping through my apartment. Donovan is somewhere inside with them. I’m huddled on the rug in the hallway with my back against the wall, clutching Dusty to my chest. I can’t stop thinking about what I saw on my bed. My bed.
Now, sitting in the hall, trembling, I think about what else I saw. Donovan reaching over to the dead man’s mouth, picking up the shiny thing, and pocketing it. It was a police badge—like the one I found on my windshield.
I don’t say anything about it when a nice female detective questions me in the hallway later. I tell her everything that happened. Except that.
Why in the hell would Donovan tamper with evidence at a murder scene? I realize I haven’t told him about the badge I found on my windshield. When Donovan comes into the hall and tells me it’s time to leave, I stare at him as if I’ve never seen him before.
How well do I know this man? I’ve been fooled in love before. Not long after my wedding was called off, I found out that my fiancé, whom I’d known since childhood, had been cheating on me for a year. I had never suspected a thing. Within two months of our breakup, he’d knocked her up and married her.
I eye Donovan’s back. What secrets is he keeping? Ones that keep him up at night tossing and turning?
The detective brings Dusty’s carrier out in the hall. She tells me I probably won’t be able to come back until at least tomorrow night. I put Dusty in it
and set it down in a corner of the hallway. Donovan turns and takes my hand.
“Come on. Let’s go to Bocce. We’ll pick him up on our way back.”
I draw back, surprised. “We’re going to have dinner like nothing happened? Like I didn’t just find a dead man in my bed?”
“You need a stiff drink,” he says.
I can’t argue with that.
Donovan turns to the detective. “We’re going out for a bit, then we’ll come back to get the cat if you have any questions.”
“Sounds good,” she says. “You should be able to get in here and at least grab a change of clothes by the time you get back.”
He takes my hand and leads me to the stairs. He’s so calm. I feel like I’m going to explode, but I follow him.
Detectives Jack Sullivan and Harry Gold are pounding up my stairs as we head down. It’s hard to believe that it’s only been a week since the mayor of San Francisco was murdered. I bet the cops are going crazy that the case hasn’t yet been solved. On the stairs, Sullivan wiggles a toothpick that is sticking out of his mouth. Donovan slings his arm around me protectively. All three detectives pause on the stairs, giving each other looks.
It’s like a standoff.
“Hey Sully, awful nice that you have Napa’s help to investigate crimes in your city,” Donovan says to Sullivan, whose neck flushes red at the insult.
“We were just in the area and heard the call.” Gold’s tone is friendly and casual as if he is trying to defuse the tension in the air. “Thought we should swing by when we heard you were here. See if you needed some help. Make sure everything was okay.”
Donovan nods, accepting the peace offering.
But Sullivan clears his throat. “Detective Donovan, I’m only a wet-behind-the-ears detective and probably should mind my own business,” he says, teeth clenched on the toothpick, “but it seems to me there are an awful lot of dead bodies connected to you and the women in your life.”
Blessed are the Meek Page 13
