silk was thoroughly wrinkled from being slept in, and one high-heeled shoe was lying under the coffee table. Where the other shoe was, she could not remember.
She could not remember a lot of things. How she’d gotten home. How she’d made it through her front door.
Slowly she straightened again, and this time the room stayed steady. She spotted her purse on the floor, with her keys lying beside it. I must have driven myself home, she thought. Unlocked my front door, and collapsed onto the sofa.
Why can’t I remember any of it?
She stood up, reeling like a drunken woman, and stumbled down the hall into the kitchen. There she drank two full glasses of water, gulping it so greedily it dribbled down her chin and splattered her silk dress. She didn’t care. Thirst quenched at last, she propped herself against the countertop, feeling steadier. Stronger. Her head still throbbed, but she was awake enough now to feel the first prickles of fear. The kitchen clock read eleven thirty-five. It was a Sunday, but even on weekends she never slept this late.
What happened to me last night? Why can’t I remember?
She looked down at her dress. Except for the wrinkled fabric and the fresh water stains, it appeared intact. She was still wearing her pantyhose, although a fat run had streaked its way up her left stocking. She hadn’t been robbed, since her purse and keys were in the …
My purse .
She hurried back to the living room and scooped up her evening bag. Inside it, she found her business card case, lipstick, and wallet. The wallet was unsnapped. With a rising sense of panic she flipped it open and was relieved to see all her credit cards; only her driver’s license was missing. No, there it was, lying loose at the bottom of the purse.
The doorbell rang.
She turned, heart suddenly pounding. Could the answers be waiting on her front porch? Though she had just downed two glasses of water, her throat felt parched again, this time from anxiety, as she opened the door.
Detective Jane Rizzoli pulled off sunglasses and frowned up and down at Maura’s evening gown. “Isn’t there some rule about formal wear before noon?” she asked.
Maura lifted a hand to her throbbing head. “Oh God, Jane. I’m so confused.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong.”
Jane stepped into the house and shut the door. “You look like you need to sit down,” she said, guiding Maura to the sofa. “I’ve been calling you for the last hour. Where were you?”
“Here.” Maura looked down at the white cushions and suddenly gave a laugh. “ Right here, in fact. This is where I woke up.”
“On the sofa? Must’ve been a wild night.”
Maura closed her eyes against the headache. She didn’t have to look to know that Jane was eyeing her with a cop’s unrelenting stare, exactly what Maura didn’t want to face right now. Head in her hands, Maura said, “Why are you here?”
“You didn’t answer your phone.”
“It’s Sunday. I’m not on call.”
“I know that.”
“So why were you trying to reach me?” Her question was met with silence. Maura lifted her head and found herself looking straight into Jane’s eyes. It was Maura’s job to wield a scalpel, but now Jane was the one doing the dissecting, and Maura didn’t like being on the receiving end.
“I just came from a death scene,” said Jane. “Olmsted Park. A body was found on the bank of the Muddy River, just south of Leverett Pond.”
“It’s not my case, not today. Why are you telling me about it?”
“Because we have reason to think you might know him.”
Maura sat up straight, staring. “Who?”
“That’s just it, we don’t know. There’s no wallet, no phone on the body. At the moment he’s a John Doe.”
“Why do you think I know him?”
“Because we found your business card tucked into his breast pocket.”
“He could have it for any number of reasons. I give my cards out to anyone who does business
She could not remember a lot of things. How she’d gotten home. How she’d made it through her front door.
Slowly she straightened again, and this time the room stayed steady. She spotted her purse on the floor, with her keys lying beside it. I must have driven myself home, she thought. Unlocked my front door, and collapsed onto the sofa.
Why can’t I remember any of it?
She stood up, reeling like a drunken woman, and stumbled down the hall into the kitchen. There she drank two full glasses of water, gulping it so greedily it dribbled down her chin and splattered her silk dress. She didn’t care. Thirst quenched at last, she propped herself against the countertop, feeling steadier. Stronger. Her head still throbbed, but she was awake enough now to feel the first prickles of fear. The kitchen clock read eleven thirty-five. It was a Sunday, but even on weekends she never slept this late.
What happened to me last night? Why can’t I remember?
She looked down at her dress. Except for the wrinkled fabric and the fresh water stains, it appeared intact. She was still wearing her pantyhose, although a fat run had streaked its way up her left stocking. She hadn’t been robbed, since her purse and keys were in the …
My purse .
She hurried back to the living room and scooped up her evening bag. Inside it, she found her business card case, lipstick, and wallet. The wallet was unsnapped. With a rising sense of panic she flipped it open and was relieved to see all her credit cards; only her driver’s license was missing. No, there it was, lying loose at the bottom of the purse.
The doorbell rang.
She turned, heart suddenly pounding. Could the answers be waiting on her front porch? Though she had just downed two glasses of water, her throat felt parched again, this time from anxiety, as she opened the door.
Detective Jane Rizzoli pulled off sunglasses and frowned up and down at Maura’s evening gown. “Isn’t there some rule about formal wear before noon?” she asked.
Maura lifted a hand to her throbbing head. “Oh God, Jane. I’m so confused.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong.”
Jane stepped into the house and shut the door. “You look like you need to sit down,” she said, guiding Maura to the sofa. “I’ve been calling you for the last hour. Where were you?”
“Here.” Maura looked down at the white cushions and suddenly gave a laugh. “ Right here, in fact. This is where I woke up.”
“On the sofa? Must’ve been a wild night.”
Maura closed her eyes against the headache. She didn’t have to look to know that Jane was eyeing her with a cop’s unrelenting stare, exactly what Maura didn’t want to face right now. Head in her hands, Maura said, “Why are you here?”
“You didn’t answer your phone.”
“It’s Sunday. I’m not on call.”
“I know that.”
“So why were you trying to reach me?” Her question was met with silence. Maura lifted her head and found herself looking straight into Jane’s eyes. It was Maura’s job to wield a scalpel, but now Jane was the one doing the dissecting, and Maura didn’t like being on the receiving end.
“I just came from a death scene,” said Jane. “Olmsted Park. A body was found on the bank of the Muddy River, just south of Leverett Pond.”
“It’s not my case, not today. Why are you telling me about it?”
“Because we have reason to think you might know him.”
Maura sat up straight, staring. “Who?”
“That’s just it, we don’t know. There’s no wallet, no phone on the body. At the moment he’s a John Doe.”
“Why do you think I know him?”
“Because we found your business card tucked into his breast pocket.”
“He could have it for any number of reasons. I give my cards out to anyone who does business
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