“Yes. She ate lightly. She wanted to lose five pounds.”
Maggie said, “Was she taking any weight-loss pills?”
“Not that I know of. I’ll check in the medicine cabinet and see what’s there.”
“Okay.”
“Is it true you made love to Jilly every day, Paul?”
I’d swear that Paul turned red to his receding hairline. “What the hell kind of question is that, Mac? Why is that your business?”
“In February, Jilly told me about her love life. She’d never spoken so frankly about sex with you before that. Thinking back on it, something was off. She spoke about a number of things, going from one subject to the next, without pause, without emphasis on anything.”
“What did she say, Mac?”
I looked at Maggie. In that moment, I would have sworn she had more than just a professional interest in what was going on here. Well, why not give her details? I said, “She spoke about her new dress, how Paul made love to her all the time, how she loved her Porsche, and she spoke about a brother and sister, Cal and Cotter Tarcher. Everything she said was in the same tone of voice, almost without emotion. Now, in hindsight, it wasn’t quite right.”
The doorbell rang.
Paul jumped to his feet. “Oh, God, what if something’s happened to Jilly?”
He ran out of the living room. Maggie said to me, “I realize you don’t want to hear this, Mac, but there was talk. Just maybe it wasn’t Paul she was having all that sex with.”
I wanted to punch her. Jilly screwing around? I’d never believe that. Not Jilly. I didn’t have time to question Maggie about it before Paul returned to the living room. Standing beside him in the doorway was a small girl- no, a woman-perhaps twenty-five. She had dark brown hair, thick and curly, pulled back with two plastic clips. Her skin was whiter than a pair of my boxer shorts fresh out of the drier. No freckles. She wore glasses with rounded gold frames. She was wearing jeans that were too loose on her and a white shirt, probably a man’s, that hung halfway down her legs and was rolled up to her forearms. “Hello, Cal,” Maggie said, rising slowly. “What brings you here?”
Good grief. Cal Tarcher, in the flesh. The girl who was going to be jealous of Jilly’s new dress. Sister of Cotter, the vicious bully.
I watched Cal raise her head, look furtively toward Paul, and say, “My father sent me. I’m glad you’re here, Maggie. All of you ate invited to our house tomorrow night.” She looked toward me. “Are you Jilly’s brother?”
“Yes. I’m Ford MacDougal.”
“I’m Cat Tarcher. Is Jilly all right?”
“She’s still the same. In a coma.”
“I’m so sorry. I went to see her yesterday afternoon. The nurse told me to talk to Jilly, just talk about anything- the weather, the latest Denzel Washington movie-whatever. Anyway, the party. Will all of you come?”
“Of course we’ll come,” Paul said, a hint of impatience in his voice. “Your father commands and we struggle to be first in line.”
“It’s not like that, Paul,” Cal said, without looking at any of us.
Cal looked over Paul’s right shoulder, toward a painting with two long diagonal slashes of stark black paint slapped on dead-white canvas. “We’re all very worried about Jilly, Paul. Dad hopes you’ll be able to make time and come to our house for at least a little while tomorrow night. He really wants to meet Jilly’s brother. Maggie, do you know if Rob is working tomorrow night?”
“That’s a loaded question. What makes you think I know his schedule?”
Cal Tarcher shrugged. “You’re both law officers.” “Yeah, right.”
Cal Tarcher was very uncomfortable with this, probably embarrassed. What was going on here? I felt as though I’d been dumped in the middle of a play and I didn’t have a clue what the plot was. “I’ll call him,” Cal said in a low voice. Then she raised her head and looked directly at Maggie. “It’s just that he’s more likely to come if you ask him. He’ll do whatever you ask. You know he doesn’t like me. He thinks I’m stupid.”