“It wasn’t wrong in the hospital, was it?”
“Not at all,” Jenna said. “It was perfect in the hospital.” She kissed him on the forehead; a polite little kiss that told Keyes his time was running out. She might as well have tapped her foot and pointed at the clock.
He stood up and took her hands. “Please help me.”
“I can’t,” Jenna said firmly. She looked him straight in the eyes, and Keyes realized that, for her, this was no dilemma. She wasn’t torn over loyalties. Skip Wiley came first, second, and third.
Keyes guessed how it must have started: a spark of an idea—maybe Jenna’s, maybe Skip’s—something mentioned over dinner, maybe even in the sack. A fantastic notion to turn back time, to drive out the carpetbaggers, to reclaim the land by painting it as treacherous and uninhabitable. And to do it all with sly tricks and egregious pranks—Armageddon, with mirrors. Wiley would have embraced the idea, embellished it, talked it to life, and made it all seem possible. And Jenna, having started the spark or at least fanned it, would have slipped back to watch her passionate genius turn the whimsy into reality—watching with love and amazement, but not paying quite enough attention. So that when the killing started, and she finally understood how far he had carried the scheme, there was nothing to do but let him finish. The alternative was betrayal: to destroy Skip and orphan this dream, the thing they had created together.
“Is he going to stop this craziness?” Keyes asked.
“I don’t think so,” Jenna said, looking away.
“Then he’ll be caught,” Keyes said, “or killed.”
“Oh, I doubt that.” She removed her headband and plucked off her tiny gold earrings. “I know Skip, and he’s way ahead of everybody. Even you, my love. Now, scoot out of here and let me pack. I’ve got a ten-o’clock plane.”
Brian Keyes retreated to the living room and sat dejectedly on the coffin-turned-coffee-table.
“What are you doing?” Jenna asked from the kitchen doorway. “Brian, it’s time to go.”
“Did you hear what happened today? Today it was a goddamn bomb. Three people blown to bits. You think that’s cute? The old Wiley sense of humor—you find bombs amusing?”
“Not particularly.” Jenna paused, frowning briefly, and something crossed her face that Keyes seldom had seen. Guilt, remorse … something. “Don’t jump to conclusions about Skip,” she said finally. “That shrink had lots of enemies.”
“This isn’t a game of Clue,” Keyes said. “Your boyfriend has become a murderer.”
“It’s not like you to get so melodramatic,” Jenna said impatiently. “Why can’t you just leave it alone? Get busy on your other cases and forget about it. You did your job: you found Skip. When he’s ready to come back, he will. That’s what I told Cab this morning, but he’s just like you. He thinks Skip has some kind of crazy death wish. Nothing could be sillier, Brian. I’m really disappointed in you guys.” She was twirling the headband on her index finger, and looking very self-assured.
“Brian, you’ve got two problems Skip doesn’t have.”
“What’s that?” Keyes asked, sensing defeat.
“Your ego and your heart.”
“Well, pardon me.” Now it was time to go. He didn’t have to take this Joyce Brothers shit from a woman who bakes her own granola bars.
Halfway out the door he turned and said, “Jenna, what about the other night in the hospital? What was all that?”
“That was a moment, Brian, yours and mine.” She smiled; the first soft smile of the whole evening. “It was one lovely moment, and that’s all. Why does there have to be more? Why do you guys think there’s always a Big Picture? Honest to God, Brian, sometimes I think the newspaper business fucked you up forever.”
Jenna hardly ever used the word “fuck.” Keyes figured she really must be agitated.
“Have a good trip,” he said. “Give your parents my best.”
“Aw, you’re sweet,” Jenna said. “You get some rest while I’m gone. Forget about Skip, forget about me, forget about the Big Picture. Everything’s going to work out fine.”
Ninety minutes later she left the house carrying a canvas travel bag and a tin of hot granola bars. She wore tight jeans, a loose long-sleeved blouse, and white heels. Her hair was pinned in a prim bun.
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