Beautiful Lie the Dead by Barbara Fradkin Page B

didn’t fit with the Meredith he knew. She loved him, she wanted to change her whole life course to go with him to Ethiopia. She could have—no, would have —just said, “The hell with it all, let’s elope.”
    * * *
    When Sue Peters came out the front door of the Longstreet house, Detective Bob Gibbs was leaning against her car with his arms folded. She could tell he was trying to look fierce, but he couldn’t hide the delight in his eyes. He had pulled his hat down low and turned the collar of his parka up over his ears, but even so he looked frozen. Adorably so.
    That was the trouble with Bob. She wanted to be mad at him for checking up on her and not believing she could do anything by herself. For hovering like a mom on the first day of kindergarten. She’d even gone so far as to wonder, during their pricklier moments, if he really wanted her to get well. But then she’d see his goofy face at moments like this one, and she knew he just plain loved her and was terrified to let her out of his sight. Terrified she’d discover a life without him, or terrified someone would jump out of a dark alley and beat her up again, this time for good.
    She knew he was watching her as she negotiated the slippery path to the road. Watching for a limp or a slight stumble that would betray her fatigue. She drew herself rigidly upright and summoned every ounce of will to force her muscles to obey. The truth was, she was dead on her feet. She’d felt it during the interview, when she could barely persuade her fingers to write and her brain to form words. She’d been at work more than seven hours now, much of it in the field. She’d forgotten lunch and had had no time for a ten-minute power nap to refresh her.
    She smiled up at him as he welcomed her into his arms. “You weren’t supposed to do this,” he said.
    Ignoring his attempt to look fierce, she punched him playfully.
    â€œWe have a lead.”
    He kissed her. She loved his kisses. They weren’t very smooth, but they were all quivery with passion he didn’t know what to do with. Who needed slick when you had real?
    â€œYou’re bad,” he whispered when they came up for air. He headed towards his own car, an identical beige Impala parked behind hers.
    â€œYou can tell me all about it while I drive you home.”
    â€œNo, you don’t. What about my car?” She wasn’t sure she even had the strength to turn the key, but he wasn’t to know that. “What about the Kennedys? We have to ask them about Montreal. And about the ATM.”
    He opened his passenger door. “Someone can pick up your car. And I’ll handle the Kennedys.”
    She sank into the seat, finally letting her muscles go and feeling the last vestige of energy drain from them. She opened one eye. “Only if you let me come with you, so I can tell you what questions to ask.”
    â€œBut Inspector Green—”
    â€œInspector Green knows. And he didn’t exactly say no, did he.” He sighed as he navigated the snowy street, and after a while he glanced over at her. “You learned something useful?”
    She smiled inwardly. She felt too tired to make sense of the nagging suspicion in her brain, but there was something... If the person I loved went missing, she thought, I’d be excited to learn about the trip to Montreal. It signalled hope, a possibility that the person had gone off on some secret quest. Why had Brandon seemed determined to downplay the importance of the whole thing?
    The Kennedys displayed no such ambivalence. Norah Kennedy came alive as soon as the Montreal trip was mentioned.
    For the first time, Sue Peters saw a hint of warmth in the woman’s haggard face.
    â€œThat means she’s alive!” she exclaimed. “Maybe she realized it would never work if she married into that family. Brandon’s a lovely boy, I’m not saying he’s not, but she’d be