The garage door was still down, the Lincoln left in the drive. "Dammit," she said, loud enough so a woman gardening across the street looked up at her. Tess bent over in what she hoped was a realistic-looking spasm of a pain, grabbing her leg as if it had just cramped up. With great show, she dragged herself to the curb and massaged her calf, all the time studying the Sterne house.
Was the Lincoln in the driveway because the garage was occupied? But they were rich people, they probably had many cars. Even as Tess watched, the garage door began to rise, revealing a glimpse of a Chevy Suburban and a small sports car. She didn't recognize the make, but it clearly was not Emmie's blue Nissan. The young blond man she had seen in the Lincoln convertible was coming down the drive, holding a plastic bottle of something bright green.
"Drink this," he said. It was a sports drink, a brand Tess found particularly vile.
"Thanks, but I prefer water after a run."
"You're cramping up, right? This helps."
What could she say? She took the bottle from him and forced down a swallow. Perhaps if she had been sweating, it wouldn't have been so bad. As it was, it was like drinking an over-sweet limeade with a tablespoon of salt.
"Better?" he asked.
"Mmm."
"So, are you going to keep circling our house, pretending to workout, or did you get to see what you wanted?"
"I'm not sure what you mean." She lifted her brows, trying to look as stupid as people sometimes assumed she was, what with the girlish braid and the overripe body that nature had given her to cart around. Sometimes she toyed with dying her hair blond, curious to see if people could condescend to her even more.
"I saw you outside the office today."
"What office?"
Clay Sterne was young, but he couldn't be fooled by the pretty little pout of consternation that Tess thought she did so well. "You were at Sterne Foods, about midafternoon. You were talking to Javier as we drove by. My father pointed you out to me."
"Why?"
For some reason, Clay blushed. "He thought you looked…healthy. All things considered."
"Healthy?"
"Robust." Clay's blush deepened. "I mean-he just thinks I should pay more attention to the world around me."
Tess knew exactly what he meant. "Your father should be pointing out women closer to your own age."
"Oh, it's not like he would want me to go out with someone like you."
"Someone like me?" Tess echoed. She suddenly felt as if she were in some fifties melodrama, the one about the waitress from the wrong side of the tracks, knocked up by the ne'er-do-well scion.
"Well, you know, radical."
How could someone project a political stance on someone after such a fleeting glimpse? Tess took the time to put herself in the passenger seat of the silver Lincoln, surveying the scene from Clay's vantage point.
"You think I'm one of the vegans."
"Aren't you?" Eye contact was not Clay's strong suit. He kept his head down, studying the grass. His blond hair was a shade darker than Emmie's, although his pale skin had the same bluish cast. His eyes appeared more gray than blue, but that might have been the effect of his silver wire rims, or the twilight. He also had those heavy dark circles beneath his eyes.
Tess was sprawled on the ground, still playing the part of the injured runner. She struck her quad muscle with a balled-up fist. "You could probably build a muscle like this with beans and grain, but I didn't. The only meats I don't eat are sweetbreads and scrapple."
"Scrapple?"
"If you don't know, you don't need to know."
Clay Sterne's smile was sweet, although he held it tight and close, the way a little old lady holds her purse on the street. "So if you're not with them, why were you at the office today? Why are you here now?"
To her dismay, Tess found herself without a ready lie. Even if she had one, she might not have used it. For some reason, she would have felt guilty lying to this young man. Like his cousin, Clay made one want to tread carefully, to protect and coddle him. The young Sternes were so very fragile. Emmie knew it, and used it. Clay didn't have a clue.
As she sat there, nonplussed, flexing her toes so her calf muscles winked on and off, Gus Sterne came out of the house and down the front walk.
"Supper's almost on the table, Clayton."
He was big, bigger than she had realized. Almost six-five, and large-boned, the thickness of middle age just beginning to settle at his waist. The extra ten or fifteen pounds were not unflattering, but Gus Sterne had refused to acknowledge them, so his dark green polo and khaki pants were just a fraction too tight. Frat boy going to seed.
"It's the woman from the office," Clay said to his father, in the manner of a little boy showing off an exotic butterfly he couldn't wait to impale on a pin. "The one who was talking to Javier. But she's not one of them. She eats meat."
Her fake cramp forgotten, Tess jumped to her feet, brushing grass from her jogging shorts.
"It's nice to meet you."
Gus Sterne nodded. "My pleasure. Who are you?"
"Tess Monaghan." Her voice scaled up, as if she wasn't quite sure.
"Is there something I can do for you?" His voice was pleasant, but wary. Maybe he was worried this was an ambush and her vegan friends were about to rush him from the bushes across the street and drench him in blood.
"I'm a private investigator from out of town, working with a local attorney. We're trying to find your niece, Emmie Sterne-"
"My cousin," Sterne corrected. "Emmie is the daughter of my first cousin, Lollie Sterne. That makes her my first cousin, once removed. Very much removed. We've had no contact for five years, by her design."
"But if she were in trouble-I mean, if she knew someone who was in trouble-"
"I think you had it right the first time," Sterne said dryly. "You might as well know the police have already been here, Miss Monaghan, and told us all about Emmie's latest adventure. A dead man at her godmother's place, and the murder weapon discovered under her roommate's bed. I wish I could say I was surprised."
"Has she contacted you?"
"No, and I don't expect her to. Being on the run from the law, a suspect in a killing, at the very least an accessory-those things aren't grave enough for Emmie to break her vow never to speak to me again."
"Where else would she go?"
Gus Sterne looked weary. The blue-black circles under his blue eyes were puffy, as if he had not been sleeping well.
"I'm sure I don't know. Trying to think the way Emmie does is a lost cause, Miss Monaghan. Succeed, and you'll be as crazy as she is."
"Dad!"
"I'm sorry, Clay, but we have to stop pretending. Emmie is a very sick girl. We can talk about the reasons forever, but we can't change the reality." He turned to Tess, anxious to explain his side to a new, apparently neutral party. "People assume Emmie was shaped by the horrible events of her childhood. But even when she was too young to understand what had happened to her, she was a spoiled, reckless child. She tried to drown Clay once, you know."
"That's not fair, Dad. She was only four at the time." Now it was Clay pleading his case before Tess. "We were playing Moses in the bulrushes. She honestly thought the wicker basket would hold me."
"Right, a sewing basket was going to carry you down the Blanco River. It sank less than three feet from our dock. But at least Emmie admitted what she did back then, without falling back on excuses. By the time she was a teenager, she'd scream and sob when anyone tried to thwart her. I can't help how I am. I crawled through my mother's blood. I saw her dead body, even if I can't remember it, the memory is there. I wish I had a dollar for every time I heard that lament."