piss-ant department. Hell, that shouldn’t be hard. I don’t plan on being a lieutenant all my career. I caught your name when the plates were run, knew you weren’t the type to foul your own nest, so if you were working on something right here in Del Moray it must be important.”
“It’s nothing for you,” Carver said. “If it turns into something, you’ll hear about it.”
“I better,” McGregor said. “And hear about it personally and confidentially, you to me, for my ears only.” His close-set little eyes got intense and mean. He was no hypocrite. He was a man who knew what he was and reveled in his own evil. “Even a mere police lieutenant can make things tough for private heat in the old hometown, hey?”
True enough, Carver had to concede.
McGregor stood up in sections, in the manner of six-and-a-half-feet-tall misplaced basketball centers. He extended his long arms and stretched languorously. Then he looked around and nodded approval, as if he were some kind of city inspector and everything checked out fine. “Hell of a nice place,” he commented. “You hooked yourself one with money. Hey, maybe you oughta marry her before she gets wise to you.”
“I’d show you out,” Carver said, “only I can watch from here and be sure you’re really gone.”
“S’okay. I wouldn’t want you following me around like a disabled Mary Poppins anyway.” He reached awkwardly behind his back, inside his ill-fitting suitcoat, and withdrew something and tossed it on the ground. Carver recognized the clatter of hard wood on bricks. He looked down and saw both halves of his broken cane. “Case you might wanna walk on your knees sometime,” McGregor said.
He ambled toward the gate, calling back over his shoulder, “You stay in touch.”
“Count on me,” Carver said.
He sat on the veranda and listened to McGregor’s car start. The bastard had parked it around behind the garage so it wouldn’t be visible and he could take Carver by surprise when he arrived. Maybe get him to say something while he was off guard. Gaining the advantage was McGregor’s way of life.
The smooth, pale roof of the unmarked Ford dipped out of sight as the car descended the winding driveway.
Carver sat where he was and stared out at the ocean while it got completely dark and the moon took over. It made luminous the whitecaps of the breakers rolling in. One day like today was enough in anyone’s life, he thought. The rush of surf on the rocks below was like the hectic whispering of gossips.
Where was Edwina this late?
Damn McGregor!
He got up and hobbled into the house, then to the front hall, where he got his spare cane from the back of the guest closet.
Carver felt whole again with the cane, more confident. It bothered him that he’d grown so dependent on it. He was a man who loathed dependency more than loneliness. That had caused problems in his life.
He heard the garage-door opener’s wavering hum, and he limped into the living room and waited for Edwina to come in.
When she saw him she did a double take, smiled, and said wearily, “The buyer brought his attorney to the closing with him. Lawyers! They don’t do anything but make things more confusing so they take four hours instead of one.”
She tossed her purse and attaché case on a chair and walked over to Carver and kissed him. He pulled her down, held her tightly, and kissed her back. They were the sort of kisses that might lead to something.
They did.
Carver was lying nude beside Edwina in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, perspiring and listening to the ocean’s now kindly whispers, when the phone rang.
Edwina stirred sleepily and beautifully. She kissed him on the arm, and then rolled to her side of the bed to stretch so she could lift the receiver. McGregor was right: the real-estate business knew no regular hours.
She mumbled a hello, then let her head drop back on the pillow and held the receiver out toward Carver. Her breasts and stomach were
“It’s nothing for you,” Carver said. “If it turns into something, you’ll hear about it.”
“I better,” McGregor said. “And hear about it personally and confidentially, you to me, for my ears only.” His close-set little eyes got intense and mean. He was no hypocrite. He was a man who knew what he was and reveled in his own evil. “Even a mere police lieutenant can make things tough for private heat in the old hometown, hey?”
True enough, Carver had to concede.
McGregor stood up in sections, in the manner of six-and-a-half-feet-tall misplaced basketball centers. He extended his long arms and stretched languorously. Then he looked around and nodded approval, as if he were some kind of city inspector and everything checked out fine. “Hell of a nice place,” he commented. “You hooked yourself one with money. Hey, maybe you oughta marry her before she gets wise to you.”
“I’d show you out,” Carver said, “only I can watch from here and be sure you’re really gone.”
“S’okay. I wouldn’t want you following me around like a disabled Mary Poppins anyway.” He reached awkwardly behind his back, inside his ill-fitting suitcoat, and withdrew something and tossed it on the ground. Carver recognized the clatter of hard wood on bricks. He looked down and saw both halves of his broken cane. “Case you might wanna walk on your knees sometime,” McGregor said.
He ambled toward the gate, calling back over his shoulder, “You stay in touch.”
“Count on me,” Carver said.
He sat on the veranda and listened to McGregor’s car start. The bastard had parked it around behind the garage so it wouldn’t be visible and he could take Carver by surprise when he arrived. Maybe get him to say something while he was off guard. Gaining the advantage was McGregor’s way of life.
The smooth, pale roof of the unmarked Ford dipped out of sight as the car descended the winding driveway.
Carver sat where he was and stared out at the ocean while it got completely dark and the moon took over. It made luminous the whitecaps of the breakers rolling in. One day like today was enough in anyone’s life, he thought. The rush of surf on the rocks below was like the hectic whispering of gossips.
Where was Edwina this late?
Damn McGregor!
He got up and hobbled into the house, then to the front hall, where he got his spare cane from the back of the guest closet.
Carver felt whole again with the cane, more confident. It bothered him that he’d grown so dependent on it. He was a man who loathed dependency more than loneliness. That had caused problems in his life.
He heard the garage-door opener’s wavering hum, and he limped into the living room and waited for Edwina to come in.
When she saw him she did a double take, smiled, and said wearily, “The buyer brought his attorney to the closing with him. Lawyers! They don’t do anything but make things more confusing so they take four hours instead of one.”
She tossed her purse and attaché case on a chair and walked over to Carver and kissed him. He pulled her down, held her tightly, and kissed her back. They were the sort of kisses that might lead to something.
They did.
Carver was lying nude beside Edwina in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, perspiring and listening to the ocean’s now kindly whispers, when the phone rang.
Edwina stirred sleepily and beautifully. She kissed him on the arm, and then rolled to her side of the bed to stretch so she could lift the receiver. McGregor was right: the real-estate business knew no regular hours.
She mumbled a hello, then let her head drop back on the pillow and held the receiver out toward Carver. Her breasts and stomach were
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