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“Isn’t that a rather ridiculous overstatement?”
“Not from where I’m standing. The Emory I know—knew—would have taken the girl to the emergency room if she were that concerned about her condition.”
“Lisa refused to go.”
“This mysterious man, Bannock, he didn’t factor into your decision to treat the girl at home?”
“He pleaded with her to call nine-one-one. He offered numerous times to drive her to an ER, despite the icy roads. It was only after she refused that he…involved me.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Emory.”
“Yes, I know. But that happens to be the absolute truth.”
He snorted with skepticism as he walked over to the bar that separated the living area from the kitchen.
They had rented a suite in a chain residence hotel that didn’t meet Jeff’s standards, but which he deemed a huge improvement over
where he’d spent the last several nights, courtesy of the sheriff’s office. The suite was bi-level, with the bedroom and bath upstairs.
On the way there from the sheriff’s office, he’d stopped at a liquor store and bought a bottle of the single malt scotch he preferred. He poured himself three fingers’ worth.
“Want one?” he asked.
“The Emory you know doesn’t like scotch.”
He frowned at her drollness. “This qualifies as an emergency. Can I get you anything from the minibar?”
“No thank you.”
“Let me know when you get hungry. I’ll have to go out and bring something back. No one in this town has heard of room service.” He sat down in an easy chair and placed his feet on the matching ottoman. Pressing his thumb and middle finger into his eye sockets, he sighed. “Jesus, what a nightmare. But stay tuned. There’s more to come.”
Emory, semireclined on the sofa, hugging a throw pillow to her chest, watched him. It disturbed her to realize that she was looking for dishonesty or perfidy, which, under the circumstances, was unfair. And yet…
“Jeff?”
“Hmm?”
“How did you know that my sunglasses got broken when I fell?”
He lowered his hand from his face and looked over at her. “What?”
“Last night, you asked me who had fixed my sunglasses. How did you know they’d been broken?” He looked stumped. She repeated, “How did you know they’d been broken?”
“Because of the sloppy repair job. You were wearing them on Friday when you left the house. They were fine. Yesterday, when you were changing out of your clothes in the ER, an orderly, someone, handed your things over to me. I had to sign an inventory form. As I was putting everything into the plastic bag they provided, I noticed that one of the stems on your glasses had been glued together.”
“It’s hardly noticeable.”
“I noticed. You know I have an eye for detail.”
She nodded.
“Anything else?” he asked tightly.
“Actually, yes. Are you having an affair?”
He seethed for a moment, then turned to the end table at his elbow and decisively set his glass of whiskey on it. “Let me get this straight. You’re the one who went missing without explanation, and, as it turns out, went on a crime spree with a man of mystery under whose roof you spent four nights, and I’m the one being put on the defensive?”
“Are you having—?”
