Dead Politician Society (25 page)

Annabel's gaze darted around the busy restaurant. Normally she loved the city. Crowds of people buoyed her up and gave her energy. But tonight, everywhere she looked she thought she saw someone listening in on her conversation.

Her eyes stopped moving when they came to Katherine. “Do you think she's misleading me? Maybe she's not really a student, has heard about that secret society some other way? Knows I'm dating Matthew?”

“No,” Katherine said. “In fact, I'd put money on most of what Utopia Girl says being true.”

“Why?”

“She's arrogant. Thinks they'll never catch her. So she throws out some clues. Adds to the adrenaline.”

“Like murder doesn't give her enough adrenaline. Why am I doing this again?”

“Reach for the stars, right?” Katherine picked up her wine glass.

“Yeah. Like Mom used to say.”

“Yeah, but,
Oh Honey, I didn't mean that star. It's the brightest one in the sky, for heaven's sake.
”

“So why shouldn't I reach for it?” Annabel impersonated her younger self, or her sister's.

“Yeah.” Katherine laughed. “And then she'd say,
Why don't you try this star, right here? It's a bit lower, it may be easier for you to reach.
”

“But Mom, that's a planet.”

“There's nothing wrong with planets. Planets can be wonderful.”

“So I shouldn't reach for the stars?”

“I'd hate to see you disappointed.”

“Good Lord.” Annabel drained her glass of wine. “And I wonder why I have no confidence. How'd you get so strong?”

“Me?” Katherine raised her eyebrows. “I might hide behind my law degree, but any confidence I have is skin deep.”

“Can I sleep at your place tonight?”

Katherine looked at her sister with concern. “Of course you can. Mike's out of town, so it'll be you and me and Lucy. Should we rent some '
80
s movies and pig out on sundaes and popcorn?”

“Really?” Annabel felt her anxiety begin to lessen. “Can we get the low-fat Cool Whip?”

“Have you tried that stuff recently?” Katherine made a puking gesture.

“Pretty gross?” Annabel motioned for the bill and gave the waiter her credit card.

“The worst. But I bet it tastes fabulous with
Footloose
and
Sixteen Candles
.”

“You'd let your six-year-old watch
Sixteen Candles
?”

“Sure.” Katherine shrugged.

They went to an all-night grocery store, and loaded up on the comfort food of their adolescence. By the time they arrived at Katherine's Gloucester Street townhouse, Annabel had all but forgotten the stress that had motivated the sleepover to begin with. So it was with not much trepidation that she pulled her BlackBerry from her pocket in response to the familiar beep.

Utopia Girl:
Having fun with your sister?

Katherine was in the kitchen blending margaritas. Annabel was supposed to be figuring out the
DVD
player, which couldn't possibly be as confusing as it seemed.

Death Reporter:
Come on, that's not funny.

Utopia Girl:
Cute kid. She your niece?

Annabel shut off her BlackBerry and collapsed on the sofa trembling. Katherine came in shortly with the oversized cocktails. She set them down on the coffee table and hurried to Annabel's side.

“Close the blinds,” Annabel said.

“You're worrying way too much.” But Katherine closed them.

“Utopia Girl just asked about you.”

“Come on. She isn't watching through the window.” Katherine pried open a slat and peered through. “She probably saw me pick you up at work, or saw us walking to the restaurant.”

Annabel looked at the drink tray, but the last thing she wanted was alcohol. She needed to stay lucid; she needed to win this war.

“She mentioned Lucy.”

Katherine froze. “Maybe it's time to go to the police.”

“I don't think I
can
go to the police anymore. I'm pretty sure that I'm already an accessory.”

“An accessory helps commit the murder, or cover it up. You've done neither.” Katherine took a sip from a margarita, then pushed her drink away. “I'll make some tea.”

Annabel followed her sister into the kitchen. “Obstructing justice, then? Aren't I obliged to give them what evidence I have?”

“Evidence, yes. But this is speculation.” Katherine filled the kettle from the sink. “You don't know this is the real killer. You don't know that what she's saying is true. You're not hiding anyone out in a basement or lying about something you've seen.”

Annabel pulled three mugs down from the shelf. “Do you think there's a possibility I'm not really talking to the killer?”

“Let's hope you're not. Where's Lucy?”

“Putting on her pajamas. I asked her if she wanted help but she looked at me like I had green cheese for brains.”

“She never wants help with anything.” Katherine smiled grimly. “Like her lunatic aunt.”

“Please. Like her mother.” Annabel pulled down the blind on the kitchen window. “We have to get Lucy out of here.”

“Where would we take her?”

“You're right,” Annabel said. “I'm being stupid. I'll leave. Then the danger leaves with me.”

“No! Don't go anywhere.” Katherine followed her sister back into the living room.

Annabel put on her jacket, grabbed her purse. “I have to. I can't believe I was selfish enough to come here in the first place.”

“Stay! It's not selfish. We'll block the doors, make a fort, and watch our movies. It'll be like an adventure.”

“Make a fort?” Lucy came stomping down the stairs in railroad train pajamas. “Really? Can we?”

Annabel put on her brightest smile for the kid. “You and your mom can. But I have to get going.”

Not into this tonight?”

“Sorry. It's nothing you're doing. Or not doing. I'm just stressed.”

“What's wrong?” Kevin shifted away a couple of inches, but still lay facing her. “Is it something to do with your uncle?”

“My uncle? Oh, the one you met this afternoon.”

“He isn't your uncle, is he?”

“Of course he is.”

“What was his name again?”

“Are you testing me?” Clare tried to act annoyed while she was panicking inside.

Kevin laughed. “Wow, you really are stressed. I just forgot your uncle's name.”

She relaxed a bit. “His name is Glen.”

“Wrong!” Clare could feel Kevin trying to meet her eyes. “It isn't Glen. It isn't Steve — which, incidentally, is the name he used to introduce himself.”

Clare decided on the hostile approach. “Jesus, Kevin. Why do you think you can interrogate me like this?”

“I like you. A lot.” Kevin shrugged the shoulder he wasn't lying on. “But you're afraid to talk to me. You act like you're protecting some great important secret, but I have no idea what that might be. Since we're not in an alternate universe, I'm thinking it's not the location of the Philosopher's Stone.”

“I've known you less than a week. I don't expect to know all your secrets by now. Why should you know mine?”

“The difference,” Kevin said, “is that I haven't lied to you.”

“Yet.”

“Forget it, then.” Kevin was out of bed and into his jeans within seconds. “I was worried for you. I thought that you might be in something over your head. Call me an idiot, but I thought I could possibly help you.”

Clare felt wretched. She wanted to pull him back into bed and tell him everything. But what kind of cop would that make her?

“Over my head?” Fine, her anger reaction was a few seconds delayed. But she made up for that with passion. “The guy's my fucking drug dealer. He sells me marijuana. Sometimes blow if I'm in the mood, which isn't often. I'm sorry he didn't introduce himself more candidly, but his job is illegal and he prefers to stay out of jail.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “So show me your weed supply.”

“What?”

“This is our fourth night together, and I've never seen you smoke anything stronger than cigarettes.”

This guy would make a better detective than Clare. It was breaking her heart to get rid of him.

“You don't get it, do you? I don't care if you think I'm a government spy or riddled with biker gang debt, or whatever it is you think I'm ‘into.' I am so not cool with being the object of your scrutiny.”

“Fine.” Kevin took his watch from Clare's dresser and put it on. “I get it. I'm out of here.”

Clare locked the door behind him, and trembled with frustration. She grabbed a beer from the fridge, and sat on her couch with the lights out. She dialed Lance, but got a stupid voice message where his floozy said that “we” were not in. Clare hung up, not wanting to leave “us” a message. Roberta was out — on a date, of all things. She couldn't call Matthew — she'd been with him the night before, and besides, she needed someone she could be real with.

The smallest tear fell down her cheek as she realized that only left herself. She lit a cigarette, and sat smoking in the light that came in from the street.

The country music in the background was probably not helpful to her mood. She remembered the old joke, and was tempted to play it backwards so she'd get her dog back, her truck back, her man back. She couldn't shake it; she was pining for the old days, when she and Lance would run around being stupid, when she wasn't over her head in an impossible job, when her parents were healthy enough to be present in a conversation.

I need to speak with Detective Inspector Morton. It's concerning the dead politicians.” Annabel was working to keep her voice from warbling. Despite her sister's assurances, she fully expected to be arrested for something. Still, that was better than dying.

After ages on hold, a man's voice came on the line. “David Morton here.”

“I'm Annabel Davis. You interviewed me after Hayden Pritchard was killed.”

“I know who you are.”

“I, um. I think I might have done something stupid.”

“You contacted the killer.” His voice was even.

“How did you know?”

“You had access. You're a reporter. It would have been nice if your concern for our investigation had prevented you from exploiting the opportunity, but I won't pretend that I'm surprised you took the low road.”

Ouch. “I'm coming to you now.”

“Why?” Morton's voice dripped with scorn. “Did you receive a death threat?”

“Um.”

“Surprised I knew that, too?”

“Yes.” Annabel didn't think her voice could get any smaller.

“You're dealing with a killer. The threat is real. And now — let me guess — you want protection.”

“Um.” Annabel clenched the telephone handset tightly.

“You're a criminal yourself, for impeding this investigation.”

“I accept that,” Annabel said weakly. “I'll take full responsibility. And obviously I'll share everything I've learned, all the transcripts of our conversations.”

“Obviously,” Morton said. “Okay. Come in with what you have.”

“Um.”

Morton groaned. “You think she's watching you.”

“I know she is.”

There was a long pause, and Morton finally said, “I'll send a car for you now, and we'll find you someplace safe to sleep. I'm not promising red carpet protection, but if you can live with a limited social life, we'll get you to and from work safely.”

“Thank you.” This was more than Annabel had hoped for.