way everybody was acting lately, I'd slipped far past being spooked and entered new realms of jumpiness. The cords in his neck stood out like steel cables. He frowned and let out a stream of breath that fogged the inside of the windshield. "It was an old love letter from his wife, for Christ's sake. Reading it made me feel like a pervert going through Clarice's underwear drawer."
"A love letter?" I repeated. Of all the possibilities I'd turned back and forth in my mind, that one came from way out in left field. "You sure?"
"What in the hell kind of question is that? Of course, I'm sure. Darling, I can't wait to make love to you again. You make my heart sing. That kind of stuff. I can't believe I let you talk me—"
I cut him off; his cop instincts were conflicting with his loyalties, and I proved the easiest target to foist blame on. I wasn't in the mood. "I didn't talk you into anything. You were the one who said you thought Richie's killer left a note, that something wasn't clicking on the night of the murder and the note made a connection."
His voice went smooth and quiet. "Well, I was wrong."
"You don't really believe that." A crust of falling snow came down on top of the cruiser as we drove under Chapel Bridge. "Did you read the whole thing?"
"Enough of it."
"What the hell does that mean, Lowell?"
"It's nothing for you and me to be concerned about. I was wrong."
"Even about Broghin being rattled?"
He paused. He didn't like me playing devil's advocate, but the reason he'd been waiting for me today was so I could do exactly that. Where this went was more a battle of wills than a matter of facts. Would my and Anna's pushy imaginations win out over the cut-and-dried police investigation? I'd been in Felicity Grove for three days and nothing had happened so far concerning the murder—if it was a murder. Richie's body being left on my grandmother's lawn appeared more like coincidence every day, and if that were true, I could leave for Manhattan anytime. Just so long as I could be sure she was safe.
"You were certain Broghin was on edge because he was hiding something," I said. "You thought he or his family had been threatened."
Lowell sternly faced ahead, stopping at a stop sign and waving a woman and her two children across. "He must be having troubles with Clarice. They get into their moods, and they've both got rotten tempers. I've seen them go at it a couple of times before. Afterwards, she cooks him his favorite dinner and he buys flowers and they're as cuddly as a couple of panda bears."
"Lowell, I know you're feeling divided right now but you should have read the whole note. That was sloppy, and you're not sloppy. Why would Broghin be sitting in his office rereading an old love letter from his wife?"
"He probably dug it up to remind himself of when things were better. Men do strange things when they're fighting with their wives."
"And their consciences," I said. "You know you're going to come around soon enough, so stop arguing."
His knuckles went white on the steering wheel and I thought: If he hits me in the center of my forehead I won't even look as good as a plateful of ham on the floor .
"What about the dry spot on Richie's leg?" I asked.
He shrugged his massive shoulders. "I don't know," he said half-heartedly. "I may have been mistaken."
"You're fighting yourself at every turn here, Lowell. This involves Broghin in some stupid way and you don't want to believe it. All right, I have a bias against the man and don't really think he's all that big a fool, but something's going on here. It's probably something dumb or macho, but it's getting in his way. He's your boss, friend, and mentor, I suppose, and you've seen him put his life on the line. That means a lot. That loyalty of yours proves you're a hell of a man, but maybe it's too thick for you to see the truth."
"Which is?"
"We still have to find out. And we aren't going to do it by playing blind civil servant."
His chin snapped up. "Christ.
"A love letter?" I repeated. Of all the possibilities I'd turned back and forth in my mind, that one came from way out in left field. "You sure?"
"What in the hell kind of question is that? Of course, I'm sure. Darling, I can't wait to make love to you again. You make my heart sing. That kind of stuff. I can't believe I let you talk me—"
I cut him off; his cop instincts were conflicting with his loyalties, and I proved the easiest target to foist blame on. I wasn't in the mood. "I didn't talk you into anything. You were the one who said you thought Richie's killer left a note, that something wasn't clicking on the night of the murder and the note made a connection."
His voice went smooth and quiet. "Well, I was wrong."
"You don't really believe that." A crust of falling snow came down on top of the cruiser as we drove under Chapel Bridge. "Did you read the whole thing?"
"Enough of it."
"What the hell does that mean, Lowell?"
"It's nothing for you and me to be concerned about. I was wrong."
"Even about Broghin being rattled?"
He paused. He didn't like me playing devil's advocate, but the reason he'd been waiting for me today was so I could do exactly that. Where this went was more a battle of wills than a matter of facts. Would my and Anna's pushy imaginations win out over the cut-and-dried police investigation? I'd been in Felicity Grove for three days and nothing had happened so far concerning the murder—if it was a murder. Richie's body being left on my grandmother's lawn appeared more like coincidence every day, and if that were true, I could leave for Manhattan anytime. Just so long as I could be sure she was safe.
"You were certain Broghin was on edge because he was hiding something," I said. "You thought he or his family had been threatened."
Lowell sternly faced ahead, stopping at a stop sign and waving a woman and her two children across. "He must be having troubles with Clarice. They get into their moods, and they've both got rotten tempers. I've seen them go at it a couple of times before. Afterwards, she cooks him his favorite dinner and he buys flowers and they're as cuddly as a couple of panda bears."
"Lowell, I know you're feeling divided right now but you should have read the whole note. That was sloppy, and you're not sloppy. Why would Broghin be sitting in his office rereading an old love letter from his wife?"
"He probably dug it up to remind himself of when things were better. Men do strange things when they're fighting with their wives."
"And their consciences," I said. "You know you're going to come around soon enough, so stop arguing."
His knuckles went white on the steering wheel and I thought: If he hits me in the center of my forehead I won't even look as good as a plateful of ham on the floor .
"What about the dry spot on Richie's leg?" I asked.
He shrugged his massive shoulders. "I don't know," he said half-heartedly. "I may have been mistaken."
"You're fighting yourself at every turn here, Lowell. This involves Broghin in some stupid way and you don't want to believe it. All right, I have a bias against the man and don't really think he's all that big a fool, but something's going on here. It's probably something dumb or macho, but it's getting in his way. He's your boss, friend, and mentor, I suppose, and you've seen him put his life on the line. That means a lot. That loyalty of yours proves you're a hell of a man, but maybe it's too thick for you to see the truth."
"Which is?"
"We still have to find out. And we aren't going to do it by playing blind civil servant."
His chin snapped up. "Christ.
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