She said, “Look at this, he’s guilt-tripping me.”
“The joys of parenthood.”
Spike nuzzled her jeans. Tight jeans above suede boots. She wore a black silk T-shirt under a tapestry vest. Her auburn curls were loose, her face was scrubbed and fresh. Those big, liquid brown eyes. The clean sweep of jaw and thin, straight nose.
Those lips; the oversized incisors.
I said, “Let me take him, and you go. He’ll fuss, then he’ll be fine.”
“You’re right,” she said. She took Spike’s face in both her hands. “Listen, you rascal. Daddy will take good care of you, you know that.”
What did she call Tim? Stepdaddy?
Spike’s trapdoor mouth dropped open, teeth flashed, a purplish tongue flapped.
Beseeching the heavens, he bayed.
I swooped him into my arms, held his taut little body tight against my chest as he sniveled and writhed and hyperventilated. It was like restraining a bowling ball with legs.
“Oh dear,” said Robin.
I said, “Bon voyage, Rob.”
She hesitated, headed for her truck, changed her mind, and came back. Throwing her arm around my shoulder, she kissed Spike full on the snout.
She was kissing me on the cheek just as Allison drove up in her black Jaguar XJS.
*
The convertible top was down and her black hair blew like something out of a crème rinse commercial. She wore blue-tinted sunglasses and cream-colored knits with an aqua scarf. Glints punctuated her ears, neck, fingers, wrists; Allison is unafraid of adornment.
She switched off the engine and Robin’s arm dropped. Spike tried to leap out of my arms and reacted to his failure with a heart-wrenching howl.
“Hey, everyone,” said Allison.
“Hi,” said Robin, smiling.
Spike tried his I’m-strangling-do-the-Heimlich bit.
“Well, look who’s here.” Allison patted Spike’s head, then she kissed my lips. Robin backed away a few steps.
Spike froze; his head shifted from woman to woman.
It can get like that, buddy.
He moaned.
*
After Robin drove away, I trailed Allison up the stairs to the terrace, carrying a still-shuddering dog. When we reached the landing, she looked at me—no, at him. Touched his whiskered flews tentatively. “Look at this little guy. I forget how cute he is.”
Spike licked her hand.
“You are very, very cute!”
Spike began panting heavily, and she petted him some more. He wriggled, twisted his head back and managed to make eye contact with me.
A knowing look, rich with triumph.
Moments later, he was lying at Allison’s feet, nibbling on his second chew stick in as many minutes, damning my approach with a jaundiced eye.
Some guys have all the luck.
*
Mary Lou Koppel’s murder had shaken Allison, and that seemed to be why she’d dropped by. As I made coffee for both of us, she pressed for details.
I told her the little I knew.
“So it could be a patient,” she said.
“At this point anything’s possible.”
Her hands were tight around her mug.
I said, “You’re upset.”
“Not on a personal level.” She took a sip. “I have had patients—mostly husbands of patients—who made me uneasy. But that was mostly years ago, when I was taking more referrals from agencies . . . I guess Mary Lou’s death hits close to home. Thinking we know what we’re doing and maybe we get overconfident. It’s not just me. I’ve gotten calls from three other psychologists who just wanted to talk about it.”
“People who knew Mary Lou?”
“People who know I’m seeing you and thought they could get some inside information. Don’t worry, I was discreet.”
“What was on their minds?”
“Our line of work, the unpredictablity of human beings. I guess they want to convince themselves that Mary Lou was different, and that’s why it happened to her.”
I said, “They’re hoping she ticked off some talk-show nut, and it had nothing to do with her practice.”
“Bingo. But from what you’re telling me, it could be a patient. Someone who met the Quick boy in the waiting room.”
“Given the Quick boy’s impulsiveness—his behavior with women—the suspect pool has grown beyond the waiting room.”
“But Mary Lou’s murder,” she said. “It has to be something related to her work.”
“Any idea about gaining access to her patient files?” I said. “I can’t figure out a way to get around confidentiality.”