I drive to Laurie’s house, let myself in, and wait for her to finish the myriad of interviews and paperwork that will follow today’s chaos. We’ve both agreed that after what we’ve been through, we deserve at least one more night with each other.
I am emotionally exhausted and fall asleep on the couch within minutes. Laurie’s entering the house wakes me, and a check of my watch indicates that I’ve been sleeping for three and a half hours.
Clearly exhausted herself, Laurie comes over and lies down next to me on the couch. I wouldn’t describe it as a hug exactly, it’s more that we just hold on to each other.
After a while we both fall asleep in that position. Laurie wakes me up at about two-thirty in the morning, takes my hand, and leads me into the bedroom. We make love, then sleep until eight in the morning. The entire time she’s been home, I don’t think we’ve said ten words between us.
It’s not until we’re having breakfast that we talk at all about yesterday’s events. Neither of us really wants to relive it, so there isn’t that much to say.
Laurie has concluded that Calvin was most likely not trying to reach her when he called the station on the night he died. She thinks he was calling Parsons, who was in the process of setting him up to be killed.
“How did you know it was Parsons that was behind it all?” she asks.
“The pieces all fit, but it wasn’t until I got your message that I tried to fit them. After listening to how Drummond and everyone else in that town talked and felt about Wallace, I just didn’t believe that Wallace was a crook.”
“Richard Davidson was instrumental in my getting this job instead of Parsons,” she says. “I wonder if that played into all this.”
“It certainly could have. Who has jurisdiction over the investigation now?”
“The FBI is coming in, because the smuggling was from Canada,” she says. “They’re going to turn Center City upside down to find everyone involved. The people living there don’t know what they’re in for.”
“They’ll survive it, and in the long run nothing will change. They believe what they believe.”
She nods. “I know. Madeline’s ready to go back to live with her mother.”
“Where’s Marcus?” I ask.
“He just left. Had you told him to stay and watch over me?”
I shake my head. “No, and that’s not what he was doing. He was still watching out for me, and when I came back, so did he.” I raise my glass of orange juice in a toast. “To Marcus.”
“To Marcus,” she agrees, and we drink the toast.
“Actually, it’s lucky he was here,” I say. “If not, I might have killed Parsons with my bare hands.”
She smiles. “Andy, coming back like you did was incredibly brave. And incredibly loving.”
“Oh, pshaw,” I say. My ability to receive compliments hasn’t shown much improvement, probably because I haven’t had that many opportunities to work on it.
We’re silent for a few moments, since we both realize that another wrenching moment is approaching. “I think we’re about to break the indoor record for painful good-byes,” she says.
“I know,” I say, but then I shake my head. At this particular moment my mind has no idea what’s coming next; it’s like my mouth is on its own. “No, I don’t want to say good-bye again. Been there, done that.”
“Andy…”
“No,” I interrupt. “Hear me out. I’m going back, and you’re staying here, but you can spend your vacations back East, we can meet for a hell of a lot of weekends, and I’m going to come here whenever I have time. It’s not like I have a lot of clients.”
“That’s true,” she says.
I continue, since I feel like I’m on something of a roll. “So we try it. We do more than try it… we make it work. And it keeps us at least somewhat together.”
She nods. “And being with you part-time beats the hell out of being with you no-time.”
“I’m sure it does.”
“This will not be easy, Andy.”
I nod and wait for her to continue.
“But it will be worth it,” she says.
“Good. Now we just have to work out the details. What about seeing other people?” I ask, sounding a little like a high school freshman in the process.
She shakes her head. “No way. It’s you and me, buddy boy. Rita Gordon will just have to deal with that.”
Did she really just say what I thought she said? “You spoke to Rita Gordon?”
“I speak to everybody back there,” Laurie says. “That’s my home also. Those are my friends.”
“And she told you about…” I end the sentence there, since I have no idea how to finish it.
“No, but I read through the lines.” I know what she means: Rita’s lines are really easy to read through.
“Tell me the part again about how being with me part-time beats the hell out of being with me no-time,” I say.
She ignores that. “Andy, we love each other. Let’s just hold on to that for now. Okay?”
I have never been as okay with anything as I am with that.
ACCLAIM FOR DAVID ROSENFELT’S PREVIOUS NOVELS
SUDDEN DEATH
“Rosenfelt’s usual pleasures: a twisty plot, sparkling courtroom scenes, and a thousand wisecracks.”
– Kirkus Reviews
“Rosenfelt scores another touchdown… He’s in the game to stay… Andy Carpenter’s wit seizes the reader’s attention.”
– Publishers Weekly
BURY THE LEAD
“A clever plot and breezy style… absorbing.”
– Boston Globe
“Exudes charm and offbeat humor, sophistication, and personable characters.”
– Dallas Morning News
FIRST DEGREE
“Entertaining… fast paced… sophisticated.”
– Marilyn Stasio, New York Times Book Review
“Entertaining.”
– Cleveland Plain Dealer
OPEN AND SHUT
“Splendid… intricate plotting.”
– Cleveland Plain Dealer
“Engaging and likable… The action is brisk.”
– San Francisco Chronicle