Pulse by Edna Buchanan Page B

died.” The curved jaws of the sharp little tool in her hand gaped open as she turned toward him.
    Perhaps, he thought, she will snip out my new heart right here. He envisioned it flying through the air and bouncing messily onto the marble floor.
    “Your detective Lucca was here,” she said, blue eyes frosty. “So were the alarm people, ready and able to carry out your instructions—but you weren’t here to give them.”
    “Oh, for Pete’s sake. I forgot all about it.” He put down his briefcase and nuzzled her neck. “Sorry. It’s just security cameras. I didn’t ask them to coordinate the Manhattan project.”
    “But they kept asking questions.” She placed the tool on the polished tabletop with a click and faced him. “Do you want split-screen monitoring? Should the cameras be fixed or scanning? Should they use one of the empty cable channels on our television sets? Should all the sets be used to monitor, or only those with the picture in a picture?”
    “I’ll call them in the morning.”
    “No need,” she said lightly. “I handled it, made all the decisions myself.”
    “So okay, what’s the uproar about?”
    “You.” She crossed her arms, her expression wounded. “It was as though you had vanished between here and the office. I didn’t know whether you were okay or I should report you missing.”
    He gently pushed back her wispy bangs. “Missing? You know I’m okay.”
    “With everything that’s been happening to you”—she gave him a meaningful look—“I wasn’t sure. You’ve always stayed in touch with me and Sue Ann before. Disappearing is so out of character for you, Frank. I even called the hospital to see if the team had heard anything.”
    “You shouldn’t have done that.” He felt embarrassed that she’d called the transplant unit looking for him. What would they think? “You know that if anything happened to me, you’d be the first to know.”
    She shrugged. “I wanted to call the police,” she said matter-of-factly, “if it hadn’t been for that detective, Lucca. He insisted that I wait until dark. Said I should call him first if you weren’t back.”
    Thank God for Lucca, he thought. “Look, sweetheart,” he said patiently. “You will not believe the day I just had.” He checked his watch. “Let me make a couple of quick calls, then I’ll tell you and the girls all about it. I’ll be right back.”
    Frank burst into his study, called his lawyer first, then reached Sam Townsend, a man in a hurry, about to leave for a fund-raising cocktail party. “I’ll see you there,” he said.
    “Maybe not.” Frank frowned. “Kathleen didn’t mention it. She’s the one who keeps track of our social calendar. But, Sam, you’ve got to listen to this.” He quickly filled him in onthe financial trials and tribulations of the widow Alexander. “Lousy PR for your institution,” he said in conclusion.
    “Jesus Christ!” Townsend replied. “Give me the customer’s name again. I’ll track it in the morning and find out who the hell is responsible. Just like you, you son of a bitch, to drop this on me when I’m on the way out for the evening. But thanks, we’ll roll out the red carpet, make it up to her.”
    Frank smiled and hung up. He dialed Lucca’s office expecting his machine, but the man himself answered.
    “You safe and sound?” Lucca asked.
    “Yeah, sorry I missed our meeting this afternoon.”
    “Your bride was ready to send out the bloodhounds. She wanted your picture on milk cartons. Classy woman, by the way.”
    “Thanks. I’m glad you kept her from calling the cops.”
    “Try to stay in touch, boss. People worry.”
    “Listen, I talked to the widow in that other thing.”
    “And?”
    “I need you to check something out.” He lowered his voice even though he was alone. “I know it’s highly unlikely, but she’s convinced”—he rubbed the back of his neck, pacing up and down in front of his desk—“that her husband was murdered, that