Dinner had been quiet; that is, no one had had much to say about anything, which to Savich, was a relief. Evelyn Sherlock ate delicately, gave Savich disapproving looks, and said again that he was too good-looking and not to be trusted. She said nothing at all to her husband, except over a dessert of apple pie, she finally said, not looking at him, but down at her pie, "I spoke to one of your law clerks-Danny Elbright. He said he needed to speak to you but I told him you'd gone to the gas station. I asked him if I could help him and he said no, it was something really confidential. Even your wife couldn't know."
"It was probably about a current case," Judge Sherlock said and forked down another bite of pie. He closed his eyes for a moment. "This is delicious. I need to give Isabelle another raise," he said.
"No, she makes too much already," said Evelyn Sherlock. "I think she bought the pie. She's rarely here except when she knows you'll be here. I don't like her, Corman, I never have."
"How is your companion, Mother?" Lacey said. "Her name is Mrs. Arch, isn't it?"
"She's fine. She never says anything, just nods or shakes her head. She's very boring, but harmless. She's younger than I am and looks the way my mother would look if she were still alive. She doesn't try to seduce your father and that's a relief."
"Mrs. Arch," the judge said, "is not younger than you are, Evelyn. She must be all of sixty-five years old. She's got blue hair and is a good size sixteen. Believe me, your mother never looked like Mrs. Arch."
"So? She's not dead yet," said Mrs. Sherlock. "You've slept with every size and age of woman. Did you think I didn't know? I remember everything once I'm reminded."
"Yes, dear."
It was an hour later in Judge Sherlock's library that Savich finally said, "Sherlock didn't realize until just recently that Belinda had had a miscarriage. Why didn't this come out?"
Judge Sherlock was stuffing a pipe. The smell of this particular tobacco was wonderful-rich and dark and delicious. He didn't answer until the pipe was lit and he'd sucked in three or four times. The scent was like a forest. Savich found himself breathing in deeply. Finally, Judge Sherlock said, "I didn't want any more publicity. What difference did it make? Not a bit. What do you mean that Lacey didn't remember?"
"Evidently she'd blocked it out, for some reason neither of us can figure out. She remembered under hypnosis. Do you know why she'd block it out, sir?"
"No, no reason to as far as I can see. It was seven years ago. It no longer matters," Judge Sherlock said and sucked on his pipe. The library was filled with the delicious, rich smell. Savich took another drink of his espresso, every bit as rich and delicious as the pipe smoke.
Lacey took a deep breath. "Do you know if Douglas was the father?"
"Look, Lacey, Mr. Savich, Belinda shouldn't have been pregnant in the first place. I told you, Lacey, that Douglas knew they shouldn't ever have children because of her defective genes. Look at her mother. Her father is even worse. Yes, I keep tabs on him. He'll be out one of these days, despite my efforts to the contrary. I don't want that crazy man coming here."
"But she was pregnant," Savich said.
"Yes, evidently, but not very far along, not more than six or seven weeks. That's what the doctor said. After the autopsy, they knew, naturally, that she'd just miscarried, but since it wasn't relevant to anything, they didn't mention it. The press never got hold of it, thank God. It would have just caused more pain. Was Douglas the father? I've never had reason to suspect that he wasn't."
"It would have also caused more outrage," Lacey said.
"No, not unless they led the public to think that the miscarriage was tied to her murder, and it wasn't."
But Lacey wasn't so certain. Actually, as she told Dillon later as she walked him to the guest room where he was staying, "There are more than just loose ends here. There are ends that don't seem to have any beginning." She sighed, staring down at her navy pumps. Candice was right. She looked dowdy and uninteresting. How then could she be a slut at the same time?
Savich pulled her against him, lightly pressing her face against his shoulder. "I know what you mean. It's infuriating. Everything that comes out of your mother's mouth makes Alice's Wonderland look like MIT. How long has she been like this, Sherlock?"
"As long as I can remember. She's more so now, I think. But I don't see her all that often anymore."
"Do you think she could be doing some of this to gain your father's attention?"
"Oh yes. But how much of it is real and how much is her own playacting? I don't know."
"I don't either."
"And my father?"
"I don't know," he said slowly, leaned down and kissed her left ear. "I just don't know. He's slippery, hard for me to read. But you know, Sherlock, it's tough not to like him."
"I like him too, most of the time," Lacey said and looked up at his mouth. "Do you really want to marry me now that you've seen my mother and father?"
"Unfair. But you haven't met my family yet. Now there's a scary bunch. Actually, they're going to be so grateful that you're taking me on that they'll probably try really hard not to be weird around you, at least until after we're married.
Then, no guarantees. Oh yes, Sherlock, we're all alone here in the corridor. I think now's the time. Will you marry me?"
"Yes, I will."
He kissed her. It was sweet and warm and he tried very hard not to overwhelm her with his need, which was growing by leaps and bounds. But then she pushed him against the wall, pressing herself up tight against him. "You feel delicious," she said into his mouth, her breath warm and dark from the espresso. "You taste even better. Dillon, are you sure you want to marry me? We haven't known each other all that long. We've been stressed-out since we met, nothing's been normal or natural."
"Sure it has. I kicked your butt in Hogan's Alley and at the gym. What's more natural than that? I've cooked my pasta for you, I've fed you pizza at Dizzy Dan's. You've slept in my house. I think we've got great experience going into this. Besides, the sex isn't bad either, except it's been so long that I'm having a tough time remembering all the details, any of the details, actually."
She kissed his chin, his jaw, lightly bit his earlobe. "I don't understand how you've managed to stay footloose for five whole years."
"I run fast and I don't chase too well. Actually, I guess I was waiting for you. Nobody else, just you. I'm more surprised that no one snapped you up."
"I was just so locked in the past, locked into only one path, all of it focused on Belinda. What will we do?"
He said as he slowly traced the buttons of her blouse, "I have this inescapable feeling that everything revolves around Belinda, not Marlin, not Douglas, not anybody else, just Belinda. I don't think anyone ever really knew who she was. I'd like to see pictures of her around the time she was killed. Do you have any albums?"
"Yes. I hope Mother didn't throw them away. Would you like to see them now?"
"Nope. We're still on East Coast time, so it feels like three hours later than it is. I want to get some sleep. Actually I want to sleep with you, but that wouldn't be right, not in your parents' house. Besides, your mother is so worried that we're shacking up, she just might go on patrol tonight to make certain we're separated."
She laughed. "Mother is a hoot, isn't she? You never know what will come out of her mouth. But it seems she's gone even more around the bend just lately. Lots of it might be an act, who knows? She's not going to change. But it still scares me because some of what she says just might be true. Did my father really try to kill her? Run her down in his BMW?"
"God knows, I don't. If he did do it on purpose, at least he knows she's told us about it. Your father isn't stupid. If he did do it deliberately, it won't happen again."