A familiar deep, gravelly voice said, “Hello, Mrs. Hanover.”
Leon!
Claire’s hand gripped the chair beside her. How had he gotten her number? She glanced at the phone directory on her desk. Dummy! The same way the reporters had. The same way he could have learned her address and sent a henchman to polish off Enrique. “Hello.”
“Now don’t you go hanging up on me, or I might need to make a personal visit. I know where you live.”
The phone felt hot. Then Claire realized her hands had gone cold and clammy. “I understand.”
“I’ll get to the point. Travis told me an interesting story about a lady visitor he had this afternoon.”
Claire gulped. “Did you tell him who I was?”
“Didn’t see the need to.”
Thank God
.
Leon’s voice turned stern. “I thought I told you he didn’t do it.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I also told you I don’t allow no one to mess with my business.”
“I remember.” Trembling, Claire wondered if Leon planned to harm her.
Or Roger
.
Leon exhaled in what was almost a sigh. “I admire your loyalty to your husband, Mrs. Hanover, but you gotta stop this now. Don’t talk to Travis or Condoleza again.”
Claire sank into her chair. “Yes, sir.” Why did she say “sir”? She felt like an idiot.
“I’m glad we understand each other.”
After he’d hung up, Claire stared at the phone. He hadn’t said what he would do to her if she disobeyed him, but she sure didn’t want to find out. She wiped her damp hands on her jeans. Her fledgling plan to search Condoleza’s apartment the next night seemed like a bad idea.
But wait a minute
.
Claire stood again and paced the kitchen. Leon had said not to
talk to Travis or Condoleza. She wouldn’t do that. So, technically, she would keep her promise. And if she succeeded in get
ting in and out of their apartment, Leon would never know. If she failed to find a way in, he would never know that either. If she got caught—
She shuddered.
I won’t get caught.
She realized she’d already made her decision.
Claire pictured her previous visit to Enrique’s apartment. She remembered hearing a deadbolt slide open before Condoleza cracked the door. Claire walked to her computer and accessed a website about how things worked that she had bookmarked for Judy’s high school homework. Lock picking was a topic, along with a warning that breaking into private property was both illegal and unethical.
When she read about the tools required, she raced upstairs into the kids’ bathroom. She rummaged through a couple of drawers until she found the dental pick Judy had used to replace medicated
strips when her wisdom teeth were removed and one socket
refused to heal. Clutching the pick, Claire entered the garage next and grabbed Roger’s smallest flathead screwdriver.
After printing the directions for picking a pin-and-tumbler lock, she grabbed her keys and coat, ran out on the deck, and dead-bolted the kitchen door behind her. As winds from the approaching storm whipped her hair, she inserted the tools into the keyhole and turned the screwdriver. Biting her tongue, she worked the pick, feeling and listening for each pin to drop.
The first try took twenty frustrating minutes. Her frozen ears felt like they would fall off, and she crammed her stiff fingers under her armpits to warm them. But each attempt went faster until, on her seventh, she opened the door in three minutes. Exhausted and numb with cold, she trudged inside to warm up some soup. Then she planned to tackle the front door.
TWELVE:
DECISION TIME
After another restless night
in Judy’s bed, tossing covers
off and on as she alternated between hot and cold flashes, Claire made up her mind. She’d talk to Roger sometime this afternoon. But first
she’d attend her Wednesday-morning exercise class. Facing the silent
censorship of her classmates had become a personal challenge.
She made it through the class with Jill’s support. She wished she’d had Ellen’s too, but Ellen had had to switch her regular Thursday workday to Wednesday that week. After showering, Claire waited while Jill applied her makeup. Claire was looking forward to their lunch, a pure social occasion after all her tense confrontations with potential suspects.
“All done,” Jill announced. “You still want to go out to lunch in this weather?”
The snow squall that had threatened the night before had blown in fast, spitting a couple of inches of snow on the ground before settling into a steady dusting of tiny flakes. But a light snowstorm wasn’t going to stop Claire. “I deserve this lunch. If you want, I’ll drive and bring you back here to get your car.”
“Thanks. Even with snow tires, I’m still not confident on slippery roads. Let’s go eat sushi at Jun. I love their lobster rolls.”
While Claire negotiated streets swirling with Colorado’s famous
champagne powder, she half-listened to Jill bemoaning the lack of good Japanese restaurants in town—except Jun, of course. Upscale real estate agents brought their California clients there to show them Colorado Springs wasn’t all white bread.
Once inside the restaurant, the waitress asked if they wanted the last unoccupied tatami table, where patrons sat on cushions on the raised floor with their feet dangling in a pit under the table.
Jill wrinkled her nose. “I’m too old to sit on the floor.”
Claire had been looking forward to it, but demurred. She also let Jill choose which types of sushi they would share and order some hot sake.
As they waited for their food, Jill said, “What’s going on with the murder investigation?”
“The police haven’t done much.” Claire summarized what she had accomplished and her conversation with Ellen, pausing when the waitress served the sake.
Jill’s eyes had grown wide during the summation. “Jeez, Claire, I have to agree with Ellen. You’re getting into dangerous stuff. You should let the police handle it.”
“I can’t just sit still and let them convict Roger of a crime he didn’t commit.”
“But you’re making things worse, getting these drug guys mad at you.” Jill’s brows furrowed, giving her a troubled look. “You really need to stop.”
Claire didn’t feel like arguing with her friend. “I’ll consider it, but right now we’ve got sake to drink.” She poured the hot wine into their cups and took a long sip of the steamy, pungent brew.
Jill stared at Claire for a moment, as if appraising her, then raised her sake cup in salute. “I admire your spunk, though. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
Claire raised her cup to accept the compliment then grew serious. “You don’t realize what you’re capable of until something like this comes along and tests you.”
A cloud passed over Jill’s face. She leaned forward and peered at Claire. “Are you handling this okay?”
Claire nodded, but felt her throat catch. “I think so.”
“If you need anything, or someone to talk to—”
The waitress arrived with a huge platter brimming with sushi rolls stuffed with Oriental vegetables, salmon skin, smoked eel, and lobster.
After the waitress had left, Jill picked up a lobster roll between two chopsticks and waved it at Claire. “I’m here for you, is all I wanted to say.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
Jill washed down the lobster with sake and pinched a vegetable roll. “What’s your next step?”
“Huh?” The question caught Claire unaware. She couldn’t divulge her plan to break into Condoleza’s apartment, but she had no other cover story to tell. “I . . . I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” Jill’s lips curled. “You just don’t want to tell me. Your face is an open book.”
Claire felt her face redden. She had to change the topic fast. “Enough about me. Tell me what Paul thought of that ‘Hot Anniversary Night’ basket you ordered from me.”
Jill swallowed. “It didn’t have the desired effect.”
“Oh, dear. I’m sorry. Not even the massage oil? Ylang ylang is supposed to be a very sensual scent.”
Jill shook her head.
“So things haven’t improved between you two?”
“No, they haven’t.” She pointed a chopstick at Claire. “What do you mean by improved? Did Ellen say something to you? She did, didn’t she? I’ll kill her.”
Claire scrambled to recover. She had promised Ellen she wouldn’t tell Jill she knew anything. “I assumed—”
“No.” Jill’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t assume, just from a basket order, that my marriage was falling apart. Ellen must have told you.”
Claire realized she had blown it. “Don’t be mad. Ellen cares about you, and so do I. She only told me that you asked about a divorce lawyer because she was trying to convince me to see one, too.”
“Damn. Now I’ve lost my appetite.” Jill threw down her chopsticks. “That’s the problem, my appetite. Paul says I’m getting too fat. He says I disgust him.”
“Oh, Jill. So that’s why you’re taking the exercise class?”
“It’s not doing any good, though. You know me.” Jill stared at her full plate then looked up. A tear rolled down her plump cheek. “I love to eat.”
Claire tried to think of a soothing reply, but all she could come up with was, “I’m sorry.”
Jill glanced at the chalkboard listing the daily specials. “Too bad there’s no such thing as chocolate sushi. I could use some now.”
Claire smiled politely at Jill’s joke, but frankly, chocolate was the last thing her friend needed. “What can I do?”
“Be a friend. Tell me I look nice, like you did yesterday. It felt so good to hear something positive after all the negative comments I got from Paul and Enrique.”
“Enrique?”
Jill looked embarrassed and fumbled in her purse for a tissue. “Boy, that slipped right out, didn’t it?” She wiped the tear from her cheek and blew her nose.
Claire waited in silence.
When Jill had composed herself, she grinned sheepishly at Claire. “Enrique was quite a ladies’ man, wasn’t he? You’ve experienced that firsthand.”
With a rueful wince, Claire nodded.
“With the problems Paul and I had been having, you know, with him being disgusted with me and all . . .” She leaned toward Claire and whispered, “We haven’t made love in a long time.”
Jill leaned back. “I had heard about Enrique and thought maybe he and I . . .” She shrugged. “I needed someone to hold me and tell me I’m still desirable.”
“So did you and Enrique . . . ?” Claire couldn’t finish the question.
“He didn’t say it directly, just kept putting me off, but I could tell. He was as disgusted with me as Paul.”
Claire grimaced. “Ouch.”
“He kept suggesting I talk to the gym’s dietician.” Jill made a sour face.
“Double ouch. So that’s why you said those nasty things about him.”
“He was an asshole.” A smile played at the corner of Jill’s mouth as she picked up her chopsticks again. “Can’t say as I miss him.”
___
An hour later, Claire stood on the front stoop of Dave Kessler’s brick-fronted townhouse. It was situated in a prime development facing the Kissing Camels formation in the Garden of the Gods Park. She glanced up at the towering red sandstone rocks that the Ute Indians believed had been a magical place and whispered, “Wish me luck.” She needed more than a rabbit’s foot, maybe a whole bunny. Girding herself, she brushed snow off her shoulders and rang the doorbell.
Roger opened the door. He looked as if he hadn’t showered that morning. He wore gray sweatpants and an old stretched-out Colorado Rockies T-shirt. His feet were bare, and his cheeks were unshaven.
When he made a move to close the door, Claire braced her hand against it. With a firmness that surprised her, she said, “We need to talk. Face-to-face. Let me in.” She pushed against the door.
Without a word, Roger turned aside to let her brush past him and walk down the hall into Dave’s living room. The furnishings declared this was a man’s place—all leather, burnished metal, and glass, with no softening feminine touches. It even smelled masculine, with its essence of grilled meat, gym socks, and stale beer. The young lady lawyer had lost interest in Dave a few months after his divorce from Ellen. Now he lived alone.
What a waste
. Claire looked around but saw no sign of Ellen’s ex-husband. “Where’s Dave?”
“At work.”
“Good.” Claire took off her coat and wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. Her fluttering heart and dry mouth gave her an extra reminder that the next few minutes would be crucial. She sat on the squeaky leather sofa and patted the matching chair next to her. “Sit.”
Roger cast about as if looking for an escape route, then slumped into the chair with a sigh.
Determined to plead her case, Claire leaned forward and stared at him until he looked her in the eye. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?”
Roger looked away and cleared his throat. “I don’t think I do.”
Claire reached for his hand. She caressed the familiar, rough skin on the back of his hand, tracing the veins whose pathways she knew so well. “I made a mistake, a horrible mistake. I realize that now and feel awful about it. But don’t you see? I was so lonely for you.”
“Lonely for me?” His expression skeptical, Roger tried to withdraw his hand. “You sure picked a weird way to show it.”
Claire clutched his hand tighter, refusing to release it. “Yes, lonely for you. With Judy and Michael gone, I had hoped we could spend more time together, just the two of us, and rekindle the romance we had before the kids came along.”
“C’mon, Claire. We’re not young anymore.”
“We’re not dead yet, either. Remember how we’d lie in bed together Sunday mornings with the newspaper and breakfast plates scattered around us and talk about our future?”
A smile tugged at the corner of Roger’s lips. “It wasn’t all talk.”
She returned the smile. “No, it wasn’t. And I want that, too. Do you realize how seldom we’ve made love the last few months? Hell, the last couple of years.”
Roger rubbed his forehead, as if trying to knead away a headache. “You’ve got to understand how exhausting my job is. I can’t just rise to the occasion whenever you need stud service.” He curled his lip in disgust.
Frustrated, Claire’s voice rose. “You know that’s not what I mean.
I need you to love, to hold, to talk to, to plan our future with.
Sex isn’t what’s important.”
Roger frowned. “It sure seemed that way to me, with that young
stud in our bed.” He ground out the last two words.
Claire stared at her hands, still clenched around Roger’s. How to choose the words? A tear slid down her cheek. She sniffed. “That was a cry for attention. A stupid cry, yes. He was giving me a massage. I didn’t plan to have sex with—”
“You were in your underwear!”
She held up her hand. “I told you I had to take off my clothes for the massage. He said clothes would get in the way.”
“You can’t expect me to believe you were stupid enough to fall for that line.” His nose wrinkled with disgust.
Claire’s face flushed.
Yes, I was.
“I think I needed to believe him. It’s just that he made me feel desirable, wanted, like a woman wants to feel. And he touched me.”
Roger flinched.
“Not sexually. I mean like this, like I’m stroking your hand.” She had to make him understand. “Do you remember the last time you touched me?”
Distress and confusion warred for control of Roger’s expression. “I touch you.”
Claire shook her head. “I don’t mean just a quick hug or a peck on the cheek as you’re rushing out the door. I mean
really
touch me, like you enjoy the feel of my skin, instead of just going through the motions.”
Roger turned his face away and covered his eyes with his hand. His jaw worked as he tried to hide his emotions.
Gently, belying the tension gripping her, she placed her hand on his knee. “I didn’t really want him. I wanted you. But you wouldn’t have me. You were too busy building your career. Please, Roger, search your heart. Don’t you feel anything for me anymore?” Tears streamed down her cheeks, unabated.
A tear inched its way out from under the hand covering Roger’s eyes.
Claire felt a tiny spark of hope. She clutched his knee and waited.
Suddenly he groaned. “Of course I still feel something for you, Claire. That’s why this hurts so much.” His voice was raw with pain.
She sat on the arm of his chair and hugged him, burying his head in her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” The dampness from his tears soaked into her blouse. When his shaking arms encircled her, her hope surged. He had not pushed her away. She gripped him tighter and rocked him gently in her arms, as she had rocked her children to sleep. This man was hers, her husband, her life mate, and she would never let him go. She kissed the middle of his bald spot and laid her cheek on the warm skin of his familiar brow.
When Roger raised his head, she shifted and settled into his lap. She placed her hand on his cheek and looked into his red-rimmed eyes. “Do you understand that you hurt me, too, by pushing me aside to focus on your work?”
He stared at her, then swiped his wet cheeks with the back of his hand, gently pushing her hand aside. “I do now. But I was working for both of us, to improve our lives. With more money, we could buy whatever we wanted, travel—”
“When would you have time to enjoy those things with your work schedule? And did you ask me if that’s what I wanted?”
Roger shook his head. “I just assumed—”
“We have enough money now, Roger. The kids’ education and our house are mostly paid for, and we’ve got a nice retirement fund.”
“My defense could get expensive.”