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“He took vitamins—a whole buncha vitamins regularly. He had this, ah…crap, my brain—”
“Is begging you to turn it off.”
“It has to wait. He had this weekly dispenser deal. You fill up each day’s dose, so you don’t have to open a bunch of bottles or try to remember if you took the E and not the C—whatever. She could’ve pulled a switch.”
“So he fell asleep at his desk that morning, or while putting on the third green.”
“He took them at night.” She smiled in the dark. “He took them at night because he thought that helped them absorb better. That’s in my notes somewhere.”
“All right, then, she switched pills. How would you prove it, and what would you do with it should you?”
“Just another piece to poke at. I don’t remember seeing any sleep aids in her bathroom, in her night table. But she said she might take a soother, or take an aid now and then.”
“She was traveling,” he reminded her. “She might have taken them with her.”
“Yeah, I’m going to check on that. And what if—”
“Eve?”
“Yeah?”
“Remember that hammer I said I’d fetch you in the morning?”
She frowned in the dark. “Sort of.”
“Don’t make me get it now and knock you out with it.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Go to sleep.”
She frowned in the dark for another minute, but her eyes began to droop. She felt his arm go around her again, drawing her in, then the muffled thud as Galahad pounced onto the foot of the bed.
As the cat arranged himself over her feet, she dropped into sleep.
15
IN SLEEP, SHE ARRANGED THEM. THOMAS ANDERS at the center with the others fanning out like rays. Ava, Ben, Edmond and Linny Luce, Greta Horowitz, Leopold Walsh, Brigit Plowder, Sasha Bride-West.
But no. She shifted restlessly in sleep. No, that wasn’t right. He wasn’t the sun, he wasn’t the center. Not to her. He was only the vehicle, he was only the means.
Expendable, when the time was right. Steady, reliable, not very spectacular, predictable Tommy.
Left with a nice chunk of change. Dirk Bronson lounged in a deck chair behind Ava, sipping a frothy drink. Not a backward glance.
Seed money. The kickoff. The flashy lead-off batter.
Change the lineup.
In the dream, the ball field was summer green and rich brown, the white bases gleaming like marble plates. The players took that field in uniforms black as death. Brigit crouching behind the plate—catcher to Ava’s pitcher—Sasha fussing with her hair at short, Edmond at first, Linny at second, Ben playing the hot corner at third with Leopold and Greta patrolling right and left fields, respectively.
Short a man, Eve thought. They’re short a man at center field.
I’m always the center. Ava smiled, wound up, and winged a high, fast curve. At the plate, Tommy checked his swing.
Ball one.
The crowd, in their black mourning clothes, applauded politely. Nice call, ump. Eve glanced back, scanned the dugout. Even in the dream it seemed strange to see Mira in a ball cap drinking tea out of a china cup. Feeney sat on the bench in his pajamas, sneezing. He’s on the disabled list, she thought, but the rest of the team’s here. Peabody, McNab, Whitney, even Tibble. And Roarke, of course, watching as she watched.
Ava, set, glanced over her shoulder toward third. The pitch missed, low and outside. Ball two.
Ava took a bow, for the crowd, for the field. I can keep this up for years. Slow ball, fast ball, curve ball, slider. It’s not a strike until I’m ready to throw one.
