Inside, she said, "You really ought to do some shoveling."
"Can't, bad knee." David took the bags and placed them on a chair.
"Then have some kid do it for you."
"Can't."
"Why not?"
"They charge."
She was about to reply when he picked her up with his left arm and covered her mouth with his right hand, whereupon he lowered the uppermost two fingers and replaced them with his lips, but only for a moment. He relaxed his hold and allowed her thin frame to slither down his body.
"We'd better go straighten out your bed," she breathed as she ran her tongue over moist, plum lips. "It doesn't need straightening."
"It will in half an hour," she said, her voice now throaty.
On the way to the bedroom, she stopped abruptly. "Wait!"
"What's the trouble?"
"Your knee."
David led her by the hand and said, "I'll grit my teeth."
An hour later in the kitchen, he poured Kathy her usual Chardonnay. She wore one of his shirts, a potato sack that reached her knees. She tugged on white athletic socks she had selected from his dresser drawer.
"What next?" she asked.
"Eat. Check the freezer. There's probably something there for two."
She did and there was.
In a minute, Kathy was at the stove. Off to the side, David sat at the table, pretending to read a magazine. He studied her face, heart-shaped with skin like China silk, trying to dislodge the thought that she was a cop. She cast an occasional blue-eyed glance his way, while he reprised the cologned fragrance and the movement of buoyant breasts against his skin.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Wondering how such a wisp can do police work." "I avoid trouble. Plus I get hulks like you to do my dirty work."
David pinched the blond stubble on his chin. "That reminds me," he said. "I've got some dirty work for you. But let's wait till we start eating."
"You sound famished," she said.
"Not any more." His eyes ranged freely up and down her body.
"David!" she said with feigned annoyance. He sprung to her side and said, "You called?"
She pulled down on his shoulder in an unsuccessful
attempt to lift up to his ear. He hardly heard her words:
"Get out two forks."
They sat on a blanket before the fireplace, prepared to picnic on hamburgers, salad and soggy potato chips. Kathy said, "I never realized the color of your hair and mustache were different"
"They are?"
"In the firelight they are. The mustache is darker. Smile."
"What?"
"Smile. Let me see your teeth."
He flashed a row of teeth, perfectly aligned save for a single lateral incisor. "I feel like a horse that's up for sale," he said. "Why not spread my mouth so you can get a look at my molars?"
Kathy giggled. "Well, yesterday you called me a Shetland." She lifted his upper lip. "They're a little off-white. The fire must shade things differently."
"Kathleen?"
"Huh?"
"Do me a favor?"
"What?"
"Eat."
Over time, David added logs and stoked, and added logs again. The fire dwindled and raged, its finicky glow playing off the walls and off Kathy's face in a manner he hadn't ever noticed before.
She was first to finish eating but remained stretched out on her side, her head braced against a hand. "So what did you accomplish today?" she said.
"Medically, only a few house calls. I've decided to ease up for the time being. And I went to Bugles' post, or at least the start of it. Learned nothing I didn't already know."
David played with her knee. "But I got my main interviews out of the way-Foster, Tanarkle, Spritz. Foster's a phony tightwad. I still don't know how I wangled that so-called office from him."
"David, darling. Think about it. You make house calls for doctors who are kept happy because they have the time to see more patients in their offices. Therefore, more patients might get admitted to Foster's hospital. Therefore, Foster's happy-and he wants to keep you happy."
"I suppose you're right. Anyway, Spritz is a dingbat and Tanarkle? Well, you know how I feel about Ted. I owe him-wish that stupid blood didn't lead to the lab."
"Stay objective, David."
"I know." He swallowed the last of the food. "I spent a lot of time with Sparky-he's really with it. Tomorrow, we'll see if Coughlin cooperates. You can get off for Bugles' funeral?"
"Yes."
"Okay, good. Afterwards, there's a little get-together at Foster's house. What a laugh-he's got to keep an image. Maybe you can scout around."
"Sure, but what's your take on the guys you questioned so far?"
They had been lying on their sides. He straightened to a crossed-legged position. "Kath," he said, punctuating the air with his fork, "any one of them could have done it. They all had the motive and the opportunity and the means, that's for sure. And that had to be a payback crime. Lots of bones to pick around there. Forget Cortez, he was just in the way. Someone wanted to commit as preposterous a murder as he could think of. Why? Well, first, he's nuts. And, second, he wanted not only to eliminate Bugles, but also to do something else at the same time."
"Like what?"
"I'm not sure, but possibly like ruining the hospital's reputation."
"He'd go to that extreme?"
"As I said, he's off his rocker but that's a very determined thing he did. And if the reputation angle is part of it, I hate to imagine what could still happen around here. My read is those guys would think spit's a nice aftershave for each other."
Kathy changed to a sitting position. "You mentioned dirty work," she said.
"Well, it ties in. Let's wait for now, but if someone needs shadowing, can you arrange it for me? I know you're short-handed, but … "
"No problem. We can always scrape up a body from somewhere."
"And, another thing," David said. "You think these hospital people find trouble with my wearing two hats?" "Do they answer your questions?"
"Yeah, but I recoil inside."
"So? Look, if you ask and they answer, why sweat it? Personally, I think you can get more out of them than we could." She took hold of his hands. "And also, David, one thing Nick and I won't do, I promise. We won't ever press you for minutiae. `Nit-reporting', we call it. That smothers an investigator. He and I both know. We've had it done to us. You plow ahead just give us broad updates. If you think we can help-like that shadowing-give me the word."
"What's with Nick?"
"Him? He's testing your commitment. It'll work out"
"No further questions, your honor," he said. He dabbed his lips with a napkin which he then made into a ball and hurled across the room before wrestling her to the floor. They retired early.
Chapter 7
In several years of solving cases as an amateur detective, David had tracked stolen goods, runaway teens, missing records, embezzlers-but never a matching, pearl-handled dagger, particularly a facsimile of those the samurai wielded centuries ago, or, perhaps an original. He was prepared to devote the whole day, Thursday, to some serious legwork before attending his martial arts class at five.
At ten in the morning, he accessed the Internet and contacted three resources he estimated might be helpfuclass="underline" Defense/Link of the Department of Defense, the National Technical Information Service, and the Smithsonian Institute. Neither their web sites nor the software he down-loaded gave any indication they might provide a clue in locating a Japanese dagger. Next, he phoned an Information Broker he had dealt with before. The broker said he couldn't begin that type of case for three weeks, but David couldn't wait that long.
So, after scowling at the computer, he set out on a clandestine search he was sure had no precedent in the greater Hollings area, and a quickened pace belied his confusion over where to turn first. He simply wanted to accomplish as much as he could before predicted gale winds struck.