rinsed off the diet Dr. Pepper. Emma cleaned up and, dressed in a bathrobe, returned to her guest on the living room couch.
“Why aren’t you at work?” Emma asked.
“How can I work when the man I love is missing?” asked Susan, no calmer, despite the tea. “I think something terrible has happened to him.”
Emma said, “I know where he is. But I’m not going to tell you. He’s out of his mind, Susan. Completely paranoid.
Possibly delusional. He thinks I’m spying on him.”
“You are spying on him,” she said, “And why haven’t you called me?”
“I’ve been busy with that other case,” said Emma. “Let me ask you something, and then we’ll get right back to wasting our breath on Jeff Bragg.” Susan nodded. “When you picture a scene in your imagination of, say, people in a room, are you in the room, too?”
“I don’t understand the question,” said Susan, who preferred reality to fantasy.
“I observe the scene, like I’m the audience,” said Emma. “But lately, in my daydreams, this one person seems to see me. He looks at me, talks to me.”
“Honestly, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“It’s like a movie, when a character looks into the camera, talks into it. It’s called breaking the fourth wall.”
“So?” asked Susan, impatiently.
I am that wall, thought Emma. She certainly felt broken into. Dearborn had somehow come to life in her fantasies.
“I’m wondering if I’m having a psychotic break,” she said. “Or an emotional breakthrough.”
“You’re not having a psychotic break,” said Susan. “But emotional breakthroughs are few and far between. You
certainly need one, so we’ll go with that.”
Emma liked her logic. “Jeff Bragg is staying in a hotel—I’m not telling you which one. He must have moved out of his apartment with a few days left before leaving on his permanent vacation.” Emma felt a chill remembering Friday night at Bull when Jeff literally made her blood run cold. “He’s moving to an island. To stay.”
Susan couldn’t believe it. “He’d never do that. It’s childish! It’s irresponsible!”
“From what I’ve seen, that fits.”
“You don’t know Jeff at all,” said Susan.
“How well did you know him?” she asked, having a sketchy idea of their relationship.
“Intimately,” challenged Susan.
“How many times did you go to his apartment?”
“He never invited me to his place, but he had good reasons. He traveled a lot. Or his apartment was too messy. Or he had no food in the fridge. Or he was out of toilet paper.”
Emma asked, “What about his friends? Colleagues? Did you meet any of them?”
“We didn’t socialize,” she admitted. “It seemed like a waste of time when what we really wanted to do was hole up at my place, order in Thai, and make love for hours.”
“Not all night long?” pushed Emma.
“Jeff was particular about sleeping in his own bed.”
“Did he ever leave stuff at your place? A shirt? A toothbrush?”
“You’re missing the point.”
Emma waved her off. “You never saw his place, met his friends—if he had any—or spent a whole night together. You don’t find that odd?”
“No.”
“Did he bother taking off his shoes when you had sex?”
Susan said, “Most of the time.”
The Good Witch could hardly believe her exceptionally sensitive ears. “You call this love?” she asked.
“I don’t expect you to understand,” said Susan. “You’ve never had phenomenal sex. You can’t appreciate how hard it is to lose it.”
Emma’s frustration with Susan rose to the boiling point. “I’m putting myself out for you,” she snarled. “In return, you remind me how empty my life is.”
Susan sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m acting reprehensibly. It’s the break up.”
Not good enough, thought Emma. “This is exactly why I don’t want to deal with the endings. I only get involved with the beginnings. The fun part. The joy, the bliss. I’m not supposed
“Why aren’t you at work?” Emma asked.
“How can I work when the man I love is missing?” asked Susan, no calmer, despite the tea. “I think something terrible has happened to him.”
Emma said, “I know where he is. But I’m not going to tell you. He’s out of his mind, Susan. Completely paranoid.
Possibly delusional. He thinks I’m spying on him.”
“You are spying on him,” she said, “And why haven’t you called me?”
“I’ve been busy with that other case,” said Emma. “Let me ask you something, and then we’ll get right back to wasting our breath on Jeff Bragg.” Susan nodded. “When you picture a scene in your imagination of, say, people in a room, are you in the room, too?”
“I don’t understand the question,” said Susan, who preferred reality to fantasy.
“I observe the scene, like I’m the audience,” said Emma. “But lately, in my daydreams, this one person seems to see me. He looks at me, talks to me.”
“Honestly, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“It’s like a movie, when a character looks into the camera, talks into it. It’s called breaking the fourth wall.”
“So?” asked Susan, impatiently.
I am that wall, thought Emma. She certainly felt broken into. Dearborn had somehow come to life in her fantasies.
“I’m wondering if I’m having a psychotic break,” she said. “Or an emotional breakthrough.”
“You’re not having a psychotic break,” said Susan. “But emotional breakthroughs are few and far between. You
certainly need one, so we’ll go with that.”
Emma liked her logic. “Jeff Bragg is staying in a hotel—I’m not telling you which one. He must have moved out of his apartment with a few days left before leaving on his permanent vacation.” Emma felt a chill remembering Friday night at Bull when Jeff literally made her blood run cold. “He’s moving to an island. To stay.”
Susan couldn’t believe it. “He’d never do that. It’s childish! It’s irresponsible!”
“From what I’ve seen, that fits.”
“You don’t know Jeff at all,” said Susan.
“How well did you know him?” she asked, having a sketchy idea of their relationship.
“Intimately,” challenged Susan.
“How many times did you go to his apartment?”
“He never invited me to his place, but he had good reasons. He traveled a lot. Or his apartment was too messy. Or he had no food in the fridge. Or he was out of toilet paper.”
Emma asked, “What about his friends? Colleagues? Did you meet any of them?”
“We didn’t socialize,” she admitted. “It seemed like a waste of time when what we really wanted to do was hole up at my place, order in Thai, and make love for hours.”
“Not all night long?” pushed Emma.
“Jeff was particular about sleeping in his own bed.”
“Did he ever leave stuff at your place? A shirt? A toothbrush?”
“You’re missing the point.”
Emma waved her off. “You never saw his place, met his friends—if he had any—or spent a whole night together. You don’t find that odd?”
“No.”
“Did he bother taking off his shoes when you had sex?”
Susan said, “Most of the time.”
The Good Witch could hardly believe her exceptionally sensitive ears. “You call this love?” she asked.
“I don’t expect you to understand,” said Susan. “You’ve never had phenomenal sex. You can’t appreciate how hard it is to lose it.”
Emma’s frustration with Susan rose to the boiling point. “I’m putting myself out for you,” she snarled. “In return, you remind me how empty my life is.”
Susan sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m acting reprehensibly. It’s the break up.”
Not good enough, thought Emma. “This is exactly why I don’t want to deal with the endings. I only get involved with the beginnings. The fun part. The joy, the bliss. I’m not supposed
Similar Books
