Marino wanted to talk. He did not want to be with the guys or alone. He wanted to be with me, but he would never admit that. In all the years I had known him, his feelings for me were a confession he could not make, no matter how obvious they might be.
"I can't compete with a poker game," I said to him as I fastened my shoulder harness, "but I was going to make lasagne tonight. And it doesn't look like Lucy's going to get in. So if-"
"It don't look like driving back after midnight would be a smart thing," he cut me off as snow swirled across the tarmac in small white storms.
"I've got a guest room," I went on.
He looked at his watch, and decided it was a good time to smoke.
"In fact, driving back now isn't even a good idea," I stated. "And it looks like we need to talk."
"Yeah, well, you're probably right," he said.
What neither of us counted on as he slowly followed me to Sandbridge was that when we arrived, smoke would be drifting up from the chimney. Lucy's vintage green Suburban was parked in the drive and blanketed with snow, so I knew she had been here for a while.
"I don't understand," I said to Marino as we slammed car doors shut. "I called three times."
"Maybe I'd better leave." He stood by his Ford, not sure what to do.
"That's ridiculous. Come on. We'll figure out something. There is a couch. Besides, Lucy will be thrilled to see you.
"You got your diving shit?" he said.
"In the trunk."
We got it out together and carried it up to Dr. Mant's house, which looked even smaller and more forlorn in the weather. At the back was a screened-in porch, and we went in that way and deposited my gear on the wooden floor.
Lucy opened the door leading into the kitchen, and we were enveloped by the aroma of tomatoes and garlic. She looked baffled as she stared at Marino and the dive equipment.
"What the hell's going on?" she said.
I could tell she was upset. This had been our night to be alone, and we did not have special nights like this often in our complicated lives.
"It's a long story." I met her eyes.
We followed her inside, where a large pot was simmering on the stove. Nearby on the counter was a cutting board, and Lucy apparently had been slicing peppers and onions when we arrived. She was dressed in FBI sweats and ski socks and looked flawlessly healthy, but I could tell she had not been getting much sleep.
"There's a hose in the pantry, and just off the porch near a spigot is an empty plastic trash can," I said to Marino.
"If you'd fill that, we can soak my gear."
"I'll help," Lucy said.
"You most certainly won't." I gave her a hug. "Not until we've visited for a minute."
We waited until Marino was outside, then I pulled her over to the stove and lifted the lid from the pot. A delicious steam rose and I felt happy.
"I can't believe you," I said. "God bless you."
"When you weren't back by four I figured I'd better make the sauce or we weren't going to be eating lasagne tonight."
"It might need a little more red wine. And maybe more basil and a pinch of salt. I was going to use artichokes instead of meat, although Marino won't be happy about that, but he can just eat prosciutto. How does that sound?"
I returned the lid to the pot.
"Aunt Kay, why is he here?" she asked.
"Did you get my note?"
"Sure. That's how I got in. But all it said was you had gone to a scene."
"I'm sorry. But I called several times."
"I wasn't going to answer a phone in somebody else's house," she said. "And you didn't leave a message."
"My point is that I didn't think you were here, so I invited Marino. I didn't want him to drive back to Richmond in the snow."
Disappointment glinted in her intense green eyes. "It's not a problem. As long as he and I don't have to sleep in the same room," she dryly remarked. "But I don't understand what he was even doing in Tidewater."
"Like I said, it's a long story," I answered. "The case in question has a Richmond connection."
We went out to the frigid porch and quickly swished fins, dive skin, wet suit and other gear in icy water. Then we carried all of it up to the attic, where nothing would freeze, and placed it on multiple layers of towels. I took as long a shower as the water heater would allow, and thought it unreal that Lucy, Marino and I were together in this tiny coastal cottage on a snowy New Year's Eve.
When I emerged from my bedroom, I found them in the kitchen drinking Italian beer and reading about making bread.
"All right," I said to them. "That's it. Now I take over."
"Watch out," Lucy said.
I shooed them out of the way and began measuring high gluten flour, yeast, a little sugar and olive oil into a large bowl. I turned the oven on low and opened a bottle of Cete Retie, which was for the cook to sip as she began her serious work. I would serve a Chianti with the meal.
"Did you go through Eddings' wallet?" I asked Marino as I chopped porcini mushrooms.
"Who's Eddings?" Lucy asked.
She was sitting on a countertop, sipping Peroni. Through the windows behind her snow streaked the gathering dark.
I explained more about what had happened today, and she asked no further questions, but was silent as Marino talked.
"Nothing jumped out," he said. "One MasterCard, one Visa, AmEx, insurance info. Crap like that and a couple receipts. They look like restaurants, but we'll check. You mind if I get another one of these?" He dropped an empty bottle into the trash and opened the refrigerator door.
"Let's see what else." Glass clattered. "He wasn't carrying much cash. Twenty-seven bucks."
"What about photographs?" I asked, kneading dough on a board dusted with flour.
"Nothing." He shut the refrigerator. "And as you know, he wasn't married."
"We don't know that he didn't have a significant relationship with someone," I said.
"That could be true because there sure isn't a hell of a lot we know." He looked at Lucy. "You know what Birdsong is?"
"My Sig's got a Birdsong finish." She looked over at me. "So does Aunt Kay's Browning."
"Well, this guy Eddings had a Browning nine-mil just like what your aunt's got and it has a desert brown Birdsong finish. Plus, his ammo's Teflon-coated and has red lacquer on the primer. I mean you could shoot the shit through twelve phone books in the friggin' pouring rain."
She was surprised. "What's a journalist doing with something like that?"
"Some people are just very enthusiastic about guns and ammo," I said. "Although I never knew Eddings was. He never mentioned it to me-not that he necessarily would have."
"I've never seen KTW in Richmond at all," Marino said, referring to the brand name of the Teflon-coated cartridges. "Legal or otherwise."
"Could he have gotten it at a gun show?" I asked.
"Maybe. One thing's for sure. This guy probably went to a lot of them. I ain't told you about his apartment yet."
I covered the dough with a damp towel and put the bowl in the oven on the lowest setting.
"I won't give you the whole tour," he went on. "Just the important parts, starting with the room where he's apparently been reloading his own ammo. Now where he's been shooting all these rounds, who knows. But he's got plenty of guns to choose from, including several other handguns, an AK-47, an MP5 and an M16. Not exactly what you use for varmint hunting. Plus, he subscribed to a number of survivalist magazines, including Soldier of Fortune, U.S. Cavalry Magazine, and Brigade Quartermaster.
Finally"-Marino took another swallow of beer-"we found some videotapes on how to be a sniper. You know special forces training and shit like that."
I folded eggs and Parmesan reggiano with ricotta. "Any hint as to what he may have been involved in?" I asked as the mystery of the dead man deepened and unsettled me more.
"No, but he sure as hell seemed to be after something."
"Or something was after him," I said.
"He was scared," Lucy spoke as if she knew. "You don't go diving after dark and carry along a waterproof nine-mil loaded with armor-piercing ammo unless you're scared. That's the behavior of someone who thinks there's a contract out on him."