“What makes you say that, other than the obvious?”
“Long time ago I took part in some parapsychology tests at Duke University. You know, ESP. I could guess cards that were facedown on a much higher percentage basis than any of the other student volunteers. I’d have made a terrific professional gambler, Carver.”
“So why aren’t you betting in Vegas?”
“ ’Cause I had a hunch I’d make an even better detective. My hunches are like my guesses at cards: hardly ever wrong.”
Carver limped toward the door. “I suppose I’d better find Laura and see what she wants.”
“Don’t trip over her,” Van Meter said.
Chapter 25
Laura was on the porch of his cottage waiting for Carver. Score one for Duke University. She was sitting in the aluminum lawn chair facing the ocean, wearing white thigh-length shorts, straw sandals, and a bright flower-print blouse. She had on a wide-brimmed straw hat with a blue ribbon around it tied in a big bow. The upper half of her was in the deep shade of the porch roof, the sun beating on her tanned calves and emphasizing the neat turn of her ankles. She was shorter than Edwina and not as leggy, but her body was still attractive in a lithe, compact way reminiscent of cheerleaders. And of youth. Carver’s youth.
She didn’t move when he stepped up on the porch. “I was by here earlier looking for you,” she said. She crossed her legs and one brown calf began a rhythmic pendulum motion.
“I know. A psychic told me. How are you?”
She smiled beneath the wide brim. “Your psychic didn’t tell you that?”
“No. He’s limited.”
“I’m as good as you can be two weeks after the death of a son. Probably better than you are.”
“Well, you always had more spring to your soul.”
A large fly lit on the plastic arm of her chair. She didn’t try to brush it away, but watched it until, of its own accord, it spiraled away into the sunlight. “I’ve been every day to the county library in Saint Louis to read the Florida papers,” she said, “so I could follow the hunt for Chipper’s killer. I read that a young man named Paul Kave is the leading suspect, and the family hired you to help find him. Is that how it is?”
“That’s it,” Carver said.
“Does the family know who you really are?”
“Of course not. They think I’m trying to find him so I can protect him from overzealous law officers with itchy trigger fingers. They go to the movies, watch television; they understand what can happen.”
“But you want him to die. You want to kill him.”
“He should pay with his life,” Carver said. He considered telling Laura about that night outside the Mermaid Motel, but he decided it was something he didn’t want to share with her. “Paul Kave’s a threat to kill again any time or place. I want him found and stopped. He’ll keep on burning people. People like him can’t help what they’re doing even if they try.”
“People like him, huh?”
Carver wondered what she meant by that, but he didn’t ask.
“The police don’t need you to find him,” Laura said.
“They think they do.” The surf hissed on the beach.
“I talked to Alfonso Desoto. He told me about the arrangement you have with that Fort Lauderdale policeman. Jesus, Fred, what are you thinking of?”
“Desoto should have kept quiet.”
“No. He’s your friend. So am I.”
Carver thumped across the porch so he’d be in the shade, too. The sun was vicious, glancing blindingly off the sand. “You also talked with Edwina Talbot,” he said. He couldn’t see Laura’s eyes beneath the hat’s wide straw brim, but her lips drew tight, shadowed at the corners.
“Sure. I didn’t know how else to go about trying to find you as soon as possible. But she wouldn’t tell me where you were. The loyalty of love. She’s an attractive woman, in her way, though there seems to be some ice floating in her blood.”
“There is,” Carver said.
Now Laura’s lips arced in a smile. She’d acquired permanent lines, indentations where he thought he’d seen shadows. “I suppose you know how to melt that occasionally.”
Carver didn’t acknowledge that one. “Why are you here, Laura?”
“To stop you from finding and killing Paul Kave.”
“I don’t understand. He murdered our son.”
“Of course you don’t understand. You don’t see much beyond your own personal wants. Never did.” Anger now, lips drawn back from strong white teeth perfect for ripping meat. Sexy, Carver realized. Middle-aged, like him, but still as sexy as she’d been years ago. Don’t think it, not for a second! “I don’t want our daughter to suffer the loss of her brother and her father within weeks of each other,” Laura said. “Or doesn’t her welfare enter into your calculations?”
Carver stood sweating, squinting out at the surf. She had him; how would it affect Ann if he were killed by Paul or taken into custody for murder? There was an angle he hadn’t considered.
“It’s something I’ll think about,” he said. It sounded weak even to him.
“Thanks so much,” Laura said wryly. “That makes it worth the trip.” She stood up and moved close to him. “I came here because I don’t want you hurt any further, either, Fred. And that’s the way it’s headed. Sam tells me the legal ramifications of what you’re doing are a tangle that might snarl you up and maybe send you to prison.”
Carver was uncomfortable with her so near. He could smell her perspiration and perfume; it wasn’t unpleasant. Something tightened at the core of him. Christ! “Sam, huh? How are you and Sam getting along?”
“Getting along,” she said. “That pretty well sums it up.” She looked out at the sea again. “This is peaceful, with the ocean and the boats and gulls. Are you at peace here, Fred?”
“No.”
“At peace when you’re with Edwina?”
“Sometimes.”
“You going to ask me inside where it’s cool?”
“I’d better not, Laura.”
She gave him a slow, silky smile. She knew, all right. She said, “Worried about those statistics concerning sex after divorce?”
“What statistics? Where’d you see them?”
She waved a hand. “People. Cosmopolitan. Someplace or other.” Baiting him. “Anyway, one in three couples sleeps together at least once after the divorce. Worried about that?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. Why not be honest with her? She was being disturbingly honest with him.
“I won’t try to convince you that way to stop searching for Paul Kave,” she assured him. “But I want you to stop. If you won’t, I’ll go to the Kave family and tell them who you are and what you’re doing.”
He gripped her upper arm and squeezed. “I want you to promise you won’t do that, Laura.”
Anger flared in her eyes. “Trying to make my arm like your leg?”
“Why did you come here? The entire reason.”
She locked stares with him; didn’t blink. “I told you, I want you to stop hunting Paul Kave. Remember what Sam said, about how some things should be left alone.”
“You didn’t tell me everything.”
“You hear what you want to hear. Always did.”
He released her and moved back, leaning on his cane and breathing heavily. He wouldn’t have minded crippling Laura just then, for coming here taunting and threatening. As if she were in control of things and he weren’t. Her hand moved toward her reddened bicep, then withdrew. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him see her rub where he’d hurt her.
“You’re sick with this thing,” she told him. “Edwina told me about the fire. You need someone to save you from yourself. She won’t, apparently.”
“You don’t understand how it is between us.”
“Somebody doesn’t.”
“I don’t want you talking to the Kaves. I mean that.”