The teapot sang, momentarily sparing Tess a reply. She poured the water over the tea bags-good old Lipton's, nothing flavored or new-fangled for Judith-wondering why the men would come here. Spike would never implicate her parents in any part of his gambling operation, given her father's job as a city liquor inspector. Yet this was the second time they had been here in four days.
"They tried to get into Dorothy's house on Saturday, but she didn't even take the chain off," her mother said. "They told her they were looking for a dog. You know what I think? I saw something on television about burglars who tell some story in order to get into your house, to see what you have worth stealing. Then they back up a truck as soon as you go to work and cart everything away."
Tess almost scalded herself with water as she swung around, still holding onto the teapot.
"They were looking for a dog?"
"That was the story they used Saturday, down at Dorothy's."
"Did they say what kind of dog?"
"They didn't have time to say much. Dorothy blew her police whistle in his face and slammed the door on him."
The greyhound-of course, they wanted the greyhound. But why? Why would anyone want that dog under any circumstances?
"Esskay," she said.
"You want a piece of sausage? Oh, honey, you know your father and I don't eat those fatty foods any more. But let me see what I have for a snack."
"I'm sorry," Tess said, putting her untouched mug of tea on the kitchen table. "I have to go."
"Why?" Her mother called after her. "What's going on?"
She searched for the only reason her mother would accept. "I just remembered, I left my iron on."
There was no brown-over-salmon car wheezing down Bond Street, or waiting in the alley outside her apartment. Inside, Esskay was in bed with Crow, napping. Tess stood over them, watching them, feeling an odd mix of tenderness and responsibility toward both. I didn't ask for this, she thought. I can't handle this.
Crow's breathing was slow and measured. The dog's inhalations were quick and sharp, her lip curling back over her teeth, her legs moving as if she were chasing rabbits in her dreams. Crow wrapped himself around the twitching dog, nurturing even in his sleep. Tess took off her clothes and took her place behind Crow, joining in their conga line. She began to fall asleep, only to jerk awake at the sound of a car moving slowly through the alley. She got up, looked out the window, snorted down a quick whiff of bourbon. Back in bed, she had barely surrendered to the not unpleasant mix of hot flesh and warm fur when the phone rang, waking everyone entwined there.
"Hello," Crow whispered dreamily to her, as she reached over him to pick up the phone. He squeezed her thigh in welcome.
"Hello?" Jack Sterling's voice came over the line, tentative and shy.
"Yeah," she said to both men, a little groggy from being right on the edge of sleep.
"I'm sorry to call you at home, but I admit I couldn't wait. Did you talk to Lea Wynkowski?" Crow rolled toward her and pushed his leg between hers, as if trying to warm himself.
"Yes, I did talk to her," Tess said, feeling a rush of shame as she recalled her heartless trick.
"Does she blame the paper? Does she think we killed her husband?"
What was it about Jack Sterling that made her want to say whatever he longed to hear? "Right now, the only person she really seems to blame is Wink."
"Did he call her before he…did what he did?"
She was fully awake now. "No, the last time she talked to him was Friday. And he was in a pretty good mood then. Said he thought the deal would still go through." She glanced at Crow, who was looking at her expectantly, the way Esskay sometimes stared at the kitchen table, even when there was no food on it. "She didn't even know about the story until Sunday night."
"I guess that's something. Although even if she absolves us, I'm not sure I can. Did she say anything else? Anything at all? Don't spare my feelings, Tess."
"Nothing, really. Did I do okay? Or does this mean I have to go back to sitting in that office six hours a day?"
Sterling laughed. "You do whatever you like. I told Colleen I've given you a special assignment." His voice changed, warming a shade. "Tess?"
"Hmmmm?"
"You sounded hoarse when I called, as if you were sleeping. Are you in bed?"
"Uh-huh."
He hesitated. "Are you alone?"
Again, she told him what she assumed he wanted to hear, what she wanted him to want to hear. "Uh-huh."
"Go back to sleep, Nancy Drew." He hung up the phone, as did Tess. But she did not go back to sleep. It was only 7 o'clock. She rolled into Crow, and they made love like an old married couple, quickly and silently, with small, efficient movements that barely rocked the bed. Esskay slept on, undisturbed by their rhythms, still chasing rabbits.
When they were finished, Crow put on his jeans and went whistling into the kitchen to prepare everyone's supper. Tess, who had never been a stare-at-the-ceiling sort, found herself studying the old-fashioned light fixture over her bed as if she had never seen it before. Something worrisome was skulking around the edges of her mind. Not one thing. Three things.
One: the men in the salmon-under-shit car wanted Esskay, whom Spike expected her to protect. She had to find a safe place for the dog, someplace with no connection to Spike. Then she had to make Tommy tell her whatever he knew.
Two: she and Crow, usually so conscientious, had forgotten the whole safe sex routine tonight.
And three: she hadn't thought about this until now, because she had been thinking about Jack Sterling all along.
Chapter 16
"Did you get her blanket?" Tess asked Crow the next morning. "And the kibble? What about her Teddy bear?"
"I got everything," he assured her, slamming the trunk of his Volvo. "Even the Teddy bear. I know Esskay considers him her own personal boy toy."
"Everybody needs a little Crow. And it's toy boy. Girls have toy boys. Think about it."
Toy boys, smart ones, had their uses. Last night, after a skittish Tess had gone to the window a third time to check for the two-tone Buick in the empty alley below, Crow had demanded an explanation. It was Crow who had come up with the idea of asking one of Tess's friends, someone who considered himself forever in her debt. That was Plan One. Tess had figured out Plan Two, how to force Tommy to talk.
They drove south in silence, heading toward Annapolis, then veering down Route 2, into one of the old summer towns along the Chesapeake's western shore. These villages had once seemed remote, appropriate only for August-desperate escapes from Washington and Baltimore. Now the houses here were considered within commuting distance of both cities and tear-downs were common, as shacks made way for million-dollar mansions. A few rough cottages still stood along the South and West rivers, but only a hardy soul would consider them tolerable in the winter. Darryl "Rock" Paxton, the nationally ranked sculler who Tyner always held up as a role model for Tess, was the very definition of a hardy soul.
Some people chose to live close to work; Rock had chosen to live close to his workout. He had found the cottage a few months ago and used his savings to buy it. The house needed much in repairs and updates-a new roof, siding, double-hung windows to keep out the drafts. The long, twisting driveway from the main road had lost most of its gravel and was little better than a dirt trail. Those things could wait. Rock's only improvement project so far had been to clear the overgrown path to his dock. It gave Tess a pang to realize she wouldn't see Rock on summer mornings along the Patapsco any more, now that he had this place.
Today's workout behind him, Rock was waiting for them in his kitchen, a homely room furnished with one table, two chairs, and an elaborate array of coffee-making accessories. Despite the coffee consumed on the way down, Tess and Crow quickly accepted Rock's offer of a fresh cup. Rock was famous for his coffee.