Dead Over Heels by Charlaine Harris Page B

true.
    “Did that woman really get hurt badly, Aurora?” My mother was back on track, even if I wasn’t.
    “Sam told me that she might die.”
    “What a terrible thing. And since you had an argument with her the same day, I know what you must be feeling.”
    She did, too. It was a milder version of having a fight with your spouse, who subsequently drives off and has a car wreck. That had happened when Mother was still with my father, when I was twelve. He’d left soon after, neck brace and all.
    We talked about Beverly Rillington for a little longer, and then my mother asked me which policeman I’d talked to today.
    I’d been dreading that question. “Arthur,” I told her reluctantly.
    I swear, I could hear the phone line sizzle. My mother has never forgiven Arthur for dating me and then dumping me to marry Lynn Liggett, who was visibly pregnant at the wedding. (Well, it certainly hadn’t been my favorite episode in the Life of Roe either, but I’d weathered it and eventually let it go.) God bless my mother, in some respects she was totally motherlike; anyone who made me suffer was in her black book forever.
    “Roe, you stay away from that man,” she said, in her Absolute Last Word voice. “He has separated from his wife. Last week Patty showed him a townhouse over where you used to live, and he was moving in by himself. You don’t want to look as if you’re paying him any attention whatsoever.”
    “I hope they work it out and get back together,” I said fervently. My suspicion that Arthur had called me in to the station to wave me in Lynn’s face was correct. I’d gotten over my initial rush of anger, and now felt simply appalled that Arthur would do something so low. I’d never seen that side of him, and I didn’t want to believe it had always been there.
    As I microwaved a low-fat dinner I’d gotten at the grocery for just such an evening, I realized I wasn’t exactly looking forward to Martin’s nightly call. It was going to be hard to explain some of the things that had happened to me today, and harder still (actually impossible) to explain them in a way that didn’t make him angry at someone. And it would be futile anger, since he was too far away to act on it. Also, I didn’t want the peculiar incident of the ribbon on Madeleine’s neck to cause him concern.
    But I don’t like to lie, and I’m not good at it.
    Luckily for me, it was late when he called. He’d gone out to dinner with some other executives, and they’d made an evening of it. Martin is not much of a drinker, since he despises people who lose their control; but I could tell he’d had up to his limit. So he was sleepy and sentimental over the phone, and it was easy to tell him that I’d give him a rundown on the day’s happenings when he came home.
     
     
     
     
     
    T hat night I tossed and turned, suffering an unusual episode of sleeplessness.
    I couldn’t track down the source of the anxiety that was keeping me awake.
    The security system was on, so I knew no one could break in; but it was gusty and raining outside, and I could hear the wind moaning around the corner of the house. I would doze off, only to jerk awake with the feeling of having just missed something vital, something to which I should have been paying close attention.
    Every time I woke up, I thought of something new to worry over, either Angel’s pregnancy and its effect on her marriage, or the bizarre episodes of the ribbon and the purse, or the sight of Jack Burns falling, falling . . . and Angel and Shelby would need a bigger place, they could never live in that glorified one-room apartment with a baby . . .
    I got up to go to the bathroom, I went downstairs to get a drink of water, I worked a crossword puzzle, I finished the book I’d started in Dr. Zelman’s office.
    At four-thirty, I gave up. I wrapped myself in the dark blue robe Mother had given me for Christmas, slid into my slippers, and went downstairs, officially up for the day. The