A few minutes later, she peeked into my room. “I had a thought. What are you doing?”
“Looking up Jennifer Eaton at that college in Idaho.” I grunted, a fair imitation of Avery Soto. “It’s taking too long. I need to spell Dog.”
“Ahem,” Kat said. Yes, Kat said things like ahem, but for those who knew her well, ahem was the alert for incipient mayhem.
Fingers frozen on the keys, I stared warily. “What are you planning?”
“Driving to Claremont and breaking into Professor Telemann’s office.”
“Kat…” I began, but she continued.
“Perfect time to leave. Traffic’s light. You must keep Dog occupied till I get back. After what happened at Praty’s last month, he’s gotten bent about my, what he calls, “extracurricular activities.””
I wondered why Dog thought a mere shooting and head trauma respectively at my first two husbands’ houses caused Kat’s PTSD. She chose trauma over normal her entire life.
“Why are you breaking into Doc T’s office? Sebastian’s going back and forth to Claremont. He can pick up what you need.”
“After that fit he just threw? I don’t think so. Besides, if he thinks we’re on the case, he’ll tell Dog. You know they’ll go all manly about protecting us for own good.”
“True,” I said. “That would impede our research.”
“I need those tests from last fall’s seminar. Especially the one that made the professor turn pale. Where the student, possibly Christopher Mayfield, solved the riddle.”
“Good thinking,” I said. “And bring back the picture of Jennifer Eaton. Henry might like it on his nightstand.”
She started to say something, checked herself, and only added. “Cover for me as long as you can.” Jingling Dog’s Saab keys, she paused at the door. “You’re not worried about Dèsirèe, are you?”
“Worried about what?” My attention had already returned to my own breaking and entering of file servers in Idaho.
“You know—her relationship with Sebastian.”
Cracked one and headed for another. Our housemate Stanley had amazing hacker skills. In exchange for some math tutoring, he gave me his program for breaking through server security walls. What she said registered, and I frowned. “The French girl has a relationship with Sebastian?”
Kat rolled her eyes. “You really need to pick up on physical cues, Les. I don’t think you need to worry—whatever they had going on, if they ever had anything going on, ended. At least on Sebastian’s side. So don’t worry.”
Totally confused, I said, “I wasn’t worried.”
She sighed. “Right. I’ll be back before dinner.”
During pauses for computer refreshes, I puzzled over what Kat had said. If Sebastian wanted someone vapid like the French girl, why shouldn’t he have her? My opinion of his good taste might dip but whatever.
I did feel a twinge thinking of them together. Which could be because I considered him a friend. Maybe because I’d been married to his grandfather and still cared about the family. His mom Tina would have a fit if he dated the help.
I felt the twinge again. Tina might like her. With that accent and elegant figure, she could easily be a rich man’s wife.
The twinge turned into a pang. Maybe I should talk to Sebastian. As his grandfather’s Abishag wife, I could counsel him about marriage. Having three nearly-dead husbands and dealing with their pasts taught me that marriage would be more than playing house in his Santa Monica bungalow.
The pang turned into something squeezing my heart. It felt almost worse than PTSD. I would talk to Sebastian before dinner, stop him from making the biggest mistake of his life.
Breaking through what I hoped was the Idaho college’s last security wall took longer than I expected. If I was late checking on Henry, that might arouse suspicions. As I tried to devise the perfect reason for Dog to remain on duty, rescue came. Not in the guise of a knight on horseback but more conveniently in a phone call.
I dashed into Henry’s room where Dog looked up irritated. “What took you so long? I haven’t had a break…”
“Sorry,” I interrupted him. “Henry’s doctor wants to drop by and check on him. You okay with that?”
“Sure.” His gaze wandered to his meticulous charts.
“You’ll stay on duty till he comes, right? I can’t answer his questions anyway.”
“That’s fine.” Irritation crept back into his voice. “You’ve had a nap, right? You’re sitting with him through dinner. Maybe Crowder can take over for awhile.”
My thoughts snagged on the nap. If I didn’t get one now, I might fall asleep tonight which broke the biggest Abishag rule of all. “I think Sebastian’s still with the students.” I didn’t actually know that for sure but thought I heard voices rumbling in the living room. That could be Sebastian and the French girl….
“I’ll check.” I escaped before he could say anything.
Dèsirèe was in the living room but not alone with Sebastian. She doled out new treats for a rapt audience, her long legs as much an interest with the guy students as the stuffed mushrooms and cheese board. I don’t know what Kat had been talking about—Sebastian seemed totally focused on the mule bone project. He said only the most cursory “thank you” to Dèsirèe before diving into a box of folders.
Nor did he notice me hovering in the hallway. The others didn’t see me either. So I took a long look at the newcomer, Christopher Mayfield.
Older than the other students, he had an easy camaraderie with them. Not especially tall, not especially handsome, he had a presence hard to ignore. Sebastian exuded the same easy confidence, probably because of his powerful, wealthy family. Mayfield’s went further. A tinge of arrogance glinted in his eyes.
He didn’t bother hiding his boredom with the mule bones. I couldn’t blame him for it but did wonder. Why had he chosen physical anthropology if he had no interest in bones?
Maybe I misinterpreted his physical cues, as Kat called them. Apparently I had no skills, so maybe I saw fatigue after his long drive to the desert. Maybe I saw grieving for the professor. Maybe even guilt for not making amends after shouting at Doc T. Maybe contact lenses caused the glinting.
I could so do the physical cue thing.
“Les?” Sebastian looked inquiringly in my direction. “You need something?”
Embarrassed to be caught lurking in the shadows, I stepped into the living room, wrapping myself in the dignity of an Abishag wife. “I’m about to take a nap,” I said. “I wondered if anyone had any questions about what Doc T worked on or his thoughts during his last days.” Since the men had switched their interest to me, I smiled graciously at Dèsirèe. “Doctor Telemann’s aide could use some refreshment. If you prepare a tray, I’ll bring it to him.”
The French girl nodded and floated away. I extended my hand to Christopher Mayfield. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Henry’s wife.”
He seemed startled by my declaration, and my hand hung in the air for an uncomfortable moment. He finally clasped it with all the enthusiasm of someone touching a rotting corpse. I couldn’t tell if me being an Abishag wife offended him (a not uncommon response) or me being Henry’s wife.
“I have a question,” Elaine said. “The mule skeleton you worked on—is it intact?”
“Intact?” I repeated.
“Intact, yes,” Sebastian said. “All bones accounted for. We have a total of 20 intact mule skeletons and partials of several dozen more. Since desert dwellers made full use of the mule carcass, we’re lucky to have what we do.”
I blinked. Lucky? I didn’t know there’d been so many. Thank God no one told me or I would have quit that first day.
“Mrs. Telemann worked on the bones designated PD007. If you have questions about the data collected on them, now would be a good time to ask.”
Mayfield appeared to rise above his revulsion and grinned. “I haven’t had time to review the database. I would welcome the opportunity to interview her in the futu
re. Extensively.”
I felt my cheeks warm. Sebastian looked pained. “Ignore him, Leslie. Most women do.” Avery laughed, but Mayfield winked.
“Miss?” Dèsirèe had snuck up on me and held a perfectly arranged tray in her hands. Grateful for an excuse to leave, I nodded at the living room in general, risking one last look at Mayfield as I left.
Something now thoughtful glinted in his eyes.
CHAPTER TWELVE
My cheeks felt more than warm now. Mayfield’s interest in me was so inappropriate. Even so, I went to Henry’s room with a lighter step. Maybe I did have more choices than Donovan Reid.
I wondered what the tests would tell us about Mayfield and hoped Kat would return quickly.
Dog greeted the tray with delight. I held Henry’s hand while Dog browsed among the cheese, grapes, apricots, and berries, popped a stuffed mushroom in his mouth, and took a long draught of iced peach tea. “Thanks, Les. This hits the spot.”
I patted Henry’s hand and stood. “The students are still here but Sebastian will spell you when they’re gone.”
Spreading pate on a toasted baguette, he generously smiled. “No problem. I’m catching a second wind. I have to wait for the doctor anyway.”
I froze at the doorway when he asked, “What’s Kat doing?”
“Kat?” I repeated as if I’d never heard of her before.
“I figure she’s bored out of her skull right now. Is she still helping with the translations?”
I remembered the notes that Sebastian gave her. With a spurt of inspiration, I concocted a story that should cover us. “Oh right, the translation. Kat left awhile ago to talk to a professor about some contextual data.”
He frowned, his fingers holding a cheese square, an impossibly perfect cheese square. “She didn’t tell me.”
“She figured she’d be back before you were off duty.”
“Okay.” He still looked puzzled, but I blew out a breath of relief.
“I’ll see you at dinner time.”
When I checked the computer, Stanley’s program had broken through the last wall and a search window now awaited my input.
I initiated a search for instructors named Jennifer Eaton. The college search engine churned like God’s windmills. Slowly. While I waited, I read the college’s history page, one so detailed an actual historian probably compiled it.
Third page down, I had excavated to the time Henry had been there and froze. No need to search further for Jennifer Eaton. She had never been a teacher.
* * *
Setting aside my laptop, I crawled into bed and tried to nap. My brain going a million miles a minute, I wished Kat here so we could discuss what I’d discovered about Jennifer Eaton and my observations about the students, especially Christopher Mayfield.
Impossibly I fell asleep, a deep sleep filled with disjointed dreams. Donovan Reid challenged Christopher Mayfield to a duel in the living room, who only laughed and said I was for the taking. Doc T appeared in the old checkered shirt he’d worn in the lab, holding one of the bones from the shoebox, the burnt femur sparking like a magician’s wand. In his mild voice, he said, “Not while she’s my wife.” Then in the muddled manner of dreams, Sebastian led the other students and the French girl in a country dance through the dining room, singing The Lusty Month of May drowning out all my suitors’ challenges.
The dreams vaporized with a knock. Blearily I checked the red numbers of my clock—I had slept two hours. Another knock.
“What?” I sounded cross.
Dèsirèe peeked inside. “There are three men at the door. They ask for you.”
Eyes wide with curiosity, she added, “Two detectives and a lawyer. Are you in trouble?”
I groaned and rolled off the bed. Of course Donovan would show up when I had nothing suitable to wear. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
I looked through the bureau as if something other than tees and shorts would have wandered into the drawers. Nothing. I checked the closet and found the Juicy Couture sleeveless top and white slacks washed and ironed. I would never complain about Dèsirèe’s superpowers again. Blonde hair twisted into a French knot, mascara, a sweep of blush, and lip gloss—I was ready.
So what if Donovan had seen the outfit before. I dressed for the detective Jeff Salinger, too. And the older one, Donald Hoyt.
Next to the detectives, Donovan in his Italian suit and Bruno Magli shoes seemed over-decorated. Salinger’s pale blue eyes glowed in his scarred face. “Miss Greene.”
Donovan automatically smoothed his close-cropped red hair. “Sorry to intrude during this delicate time, but the police had more questions.”
In full lawyer mode, Donovan set boundaries, his frown warning me to say nothing. I tried not to smile, thinking that Donovan had served as my lawyer more often than as my boyfriend.
“Please come in.” Directing them to the living room, I caught the scent of coffee before sighting Dog in the dining room, startled at the invasion, half-poised to leave.
“Is Sebastian with Henry?” I asked. A foolish question, since Dog sat there and I knew Sebastian planned on relieving Dog when the students left.
He nodded with a quick jerk of his head and directed a question at Salinger. “Is this about the shooting? Do you want me to get Crowder?”
Salinger inspected Dog with that mathematical gaze of his. “That would be helpful, yes.”
Donovan relaxed minutely. He only had to watch out for me. Sebastian could incriminate himself all afternoon as long as it took attention off the Abishag agency employee.
“Please sit.” I gestured again at the couch, and Salinger readily took the seat closest to the door. Hoyt strolled to the patio doors and leaned against the glass. Dèsirèe hovered discretely where the living room curved into the dining room. When she pantomimed pouring a coffeepot, I nodded. Really, she was handy to have around. If only she didn’t look and sound like the star of a romantic comedy where I’d be the short (but cute) sidekick.
Donovan waited politely for me to sit before taking the plushy, tweed loveseat with walnut clawed legs. I would have joined Salinger on the couch but chose a wing chair instead. It was the only piece of furniture where my feet touched the floor, and I needed to feel like a grownup.
“Do you have any leads?” I ignored Donovan’s frown. Really? Not asking would have been more suspicious.
“A few.” The detective’s gaze strayed to the hall. “That guy, the one who left, is he your boyfriend?”
That was the second time he had asked that question, the first being about Sebastian. I grinned. “He’s Doctor Telemann’s hospice aide and my best friend’s husband.”
Donovan frowned. “I don’t think this an appropriate line of questioning. Miss Greene, I advise you to let me answer the questions from now on.”
Salinger’s gaze never left my face. He jerked a thumb at Donovan. “How about this one?”
I blinked inquiringly at Donovan Reid. “You wanted to answer, Donovan?”
He glowered. “Miss Greene is married to Doctor Telemann. As an Abishag wife, she is not free to have a boyfriend.”
Salinger grunted and consulted his tablet. “Too bad.”
I ducked my head to hide my smile. Maybe flirting with me was just a technique policemen used with females to illicit more information. If it was, then it worked on me. Without Donovan present, I would tell Detective Salinger everything.
In his gravelly voice, he said, “We do have several leads. Two in particular, I’d like to discuss. Thank you for joining us, Mister Crowder.”
I hadn’t heard Sebastian arrive. He sat at the other end of the couch, eyes still blinking at the strong light pouring from the patio. Henry’s room was kept restfully dim.
No two men could have looked more different. Sebastian stood not much taller than me, dark like his Portuguese ancestors but with his father’s hazel eyes and Navaho cheekbones from his paternal grandmother. Not many years older, Salinger was a study in contrasts with baby fine, bleach
blonde curly hair, a face pitted with scars, yet bigger than Dog with a gladiator’s build.
Dèsirèe gracefully swept in. Salinger didn’t look like he minded the interruption as he watched her distribute the coffee. He accepted a plate of tiny tea sandwiches and pear slices dusted with nutmeg.
His gaze didn’t linger on her, and he didn’t watch her depart. With a jolt of surprise, I noticed his attention return to me even while devouring the egg salad and cucumber mint sandwiches. Still leaning against the glass, Hoyt turned down “the mighty fine-lookin’ vittles” with a tired “Thank ye kindly, miss.”
Donovan looked staggered. His mouth agape, he stared at the kitchen door as if hoping Dèsirèe would quickly return.
“I wanted to show you a couple of pictures and see if you recognize anyone.”
I glanced at Donovan, who roused himself from the stupor he had fallen into after Dèsirèe’s departure. With a flick of his eyebrows, he gave me assent to speak.
The first picture was of a man about Henry’s age, but who looked more like a lounge singer, burly, handsome, his fingers studded with rings. “I never saw him in my life,” I said. This man I would have remembered. “Who is he?”
Salinger ignored my question. “How about this one?”
I hesitated. A blurred photo was of a thickset someone half-turned as if striding away. The posture looked familiar, but I couldn’t pinpoint why. While Doc T’s assistant, I had met very few people in his world. After the shooting at the hospital, I’d met a flood of instructors, administrators, and students.
“I’m not sure,” I said.
Salinger passed the tablet to Sebastian. “How about you?”
I saw the same flicker of recognition in Sebastian’s expression that I’m sure showed in mine. “Maybe someone at the college,” he hazarded.
“Or the museum or the Institute?” I said.
He shrugged. “Maybe.” Still frowning, he passed the tablet back to the policeman.
“Maybe we’d recognize the name?” I suggested. “I might have taken a message or maybe Sebastian worked with one or both of them via email.”
Riddle in Bones: An Abishag’s Third Mystery (The Abishag Mysteries) Page 7
