Stones were piled on top of my tongue. “It might be nice to have a bed this time instead of the floor. What do you think?”
“Cal,” I said, “this isn’t the time, really. Laura can’t be alone. This isn’t a game-someone’s trying to kill her.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Mac,” Laura said, grinning, not six feet away, “I think I’d like a walk on the cliffs. You two can just go tangle up the sheets. Would you like me to make the bed before I leave?”
I knew it. I just knew it. There was no justice, no fairness in the world. What there was, was Laura standing two feet away from Cal, no expression at all on her face, and I knew that was a bad sign.
“You see, Mac?” Cal said. “Laura doesn’t mind. You’d really make up the bed for us?”
“It’s not all that messed up,” said the woman I’d made love to the previous night, the woman who Savich said was nuts about me. “We both slept like logs, little movement. Hey, I could just spread the covers and you two could tussle on top. How about that?”
Cal was suddenly very quiet. “You two slept together last night?”
“Yes,” I said, standing. “We did. Now, Cal, we’ve got lots of stuff to do. Was there anything specific you wanted?”
“No, just you, Mac.” Cal slid off the bar stool. She took the last bite of her toast. She wiped her hands on her jeans’ leg. “I thought this was just a cop assignment for you, Mac,” she said slowly.
“It’s a lot of things, Cal. Is there any word on Jilly?”
Cal shook her head. “Surely Maggie would call you first if she found out anything.” She looked over at Laura, for a very long time. “Do you know what, Laura?”
“No, what?”
“I sure would like to paint you. Your face isn’t all that interesting, but your clothes are so tight I can tell you’ve got a great body. How about it?” I pictured Cal jumping Laura after she’d sketched her body.
Laura was staring at Cal like she was two boards shy of a floor. Then, slowly, she turned to me. “What do you think, Mac?”
“Cal’s a good artist,” I said.
“No, do you think I’ve got a great body?”
“Yes, and Cal’s still a good artist.”
“Okay,” Cal said, rubbing her hands together. “We can set up a time for next week. About us, Mac, we can talk about it another time, since you say you’re so busy. Oh yeah, I got some of those French condoms, you know, the ones that are real slippery and ribbed?”
I thought I’d be smart and not say a single word to that. I don’t think I even breathed for at least ten seconds. I watched Cal leave the cottage, heard the soft roar of the BMW’s engine.
“Well,” Laura said, eyeing me, then the toast crumbs all around Cal’s plate. “I guess that took care of my idea of actually questioning her.”
I grinned at her, grabbed her, and jerked her into my arms. I was kissing her when Savich and Sherlock walked back into the room.
I kept kissing Laura until I saw that she was laughing. “Good,” I said, and rubbed my hands down her arms. “I barely knew you, Laura. It just happened. Okay?”
“No, it’s not at all okay, but I won’t break you into parts about it just now.”
“What sort of punishment do you have in mind?”
She laughed again and poked me in the belly.
I said to Savich, “Why didn’t you guys stay out here to meet Cal?”
“You had a great dynamic going there, Mac. If we’d come out, everything would have changed.”
“Thanks for the entertainment,” Sherlock said. “You guys just keep enjoying your own jokes,” I said as I dialed Ted Leppra, the M.E. up in Portland.
A minute later, Ted Leppra, boy wonder, told me it was indeed a blow to the head that had killed Charlie Duck. “He survived maybe ten to twenty minutes after someone hit him,” Ted said in his smoker’s hacking voice, “and bought it, I was told, on the floor of the local doctor’s house. It was a pretty fast bleed into and around his brain. His brain was crushed by blood, if you prefer a more colorful description.” “You’re sure?”