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He spent most of the morning on the phone. Who said detective work wasn’t dangerous and exciting?
Last night had been a little more dangerous and exciting than he liked, he thought grimly. He didn’t like playing “what if,” but in this case he couldn’t help it. What if he had been called away? What if Jaine hadn’t been late, he hadn’t been worried, and they hadn’t argued? They might have parted with a good-night kiss, Jaine going to her house alone. Considering the destruction of her house, he shuddered to think what would have happened if she had been there. Marci Dean had been both taller and heavier than Jaine, and she hadn’t been able to fight off her attacker, so the chances of Jaine doing so were practically nil.
He sat back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head, staring at the ceiling and thinking. Something was getting by him here, but he couldn’t put his finger on
it. Not yet, anyway; sooner or later, it would come to him, because he wouldn’t be able to stop worrying it until he found the answer. His sister Doro said he was a cross between a snapping turtle and a rat terrier: once he had his teeth in something, he never let go. Of course, Doro hadn’t meant it as a compliment.
Thinking of his Doro reminded him of the rest of his family, and the news he had to break. He scribbled on his notepad: Tell Mom about Jaine. This was going to come as a big surprise to them, because the last they’d heard he wasn’t even dating anyone regularly. He grinned; hell, he still wasn’t. He was skipping that part, as well as the engagement, and just going straight to marriage, which was probably the best way to get Jaine there.
But the family stuff would have to wait. Right now he had dual priorities: catch a killer, and keep Jaine safe. Those two tasks didn’t leave time for anything else.
Jaine woke up in Sam’s bed a little after one P.M., not really rested but with her batteries recharged enough that she felt ready to take on the next crisis. After dressing in jeans and a T-shirt, she went next door to check on the cleaning progress. Mrs. Kulavich was there, walking from room to room to make certain no shortcuts were taken. The two women who were doing the cleaning seemed to take her supervision in stride.
They certainly were efficient, Jaine thought. The bedroom and bathroom were already clean; the savaged mattress and box spring were gone, the shreds of cloth swept up and put in trash bags that sat bulging beside the stoop. Before going to sleep, she had called her insurance agent and found that her homeowners’ insurance, so recently converted from renters’ insurance, would cover part of the replacement cost of the household goods. Her clothes weren’t covered at all.
“Your insurance agent was here not an hour ago,” Mrs. Kulavich said. “He looked around and took pictures, and was going to the police department to get a copy of the report. He said he didn’t think there would be any problem.”
Thank goodness for that. She had been out a lot of money lately, and her bank account was seriously shriveled.
The telephone rang. It was one of the nonfeminine things that hadn’t been damaged, so Jaine picked it up. She never had gotten around to hooking up the Caller ID unit, she remembered, and the bottom dropped out of her stomach at the thought of answering without knowing in advance who was calling.
It could be Sam, though, so she hit the talk button and put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
“Is this Jaine? Jaine Bright?”
It was a woman’s voice, vaguely familiar.
Relieved, she said, “Yes, it is.”
“This is Cheryl… Cheryl Lobello, Marci’s sister.”
Pain shot through her. That was why the voice sounded familiar; it reminded her of Marci’s. Cheryl’s voice lacked the smoker’s rasp, but the underlying tone was the same. Jaine gripped the phone tighter. “Marci talked about you a lot,” she said, blinking back the tears that hadn’t been very far away since Monday when Sam had told her about Marci’s death.
“I was going to say the same thing to you,” Cheryl said, managing a sad little laugh. “She was always calling to tell me some remark you had made that cracked her up. She talked about Luna a lot, too. God, this doesn’t seem real, does it?”
“No,” Jaine whispered.
After a choked silence, Cheryl marshaled her control and said, “Anyway, the medical examiner has released her b-body to me, and I’m making the funeral arrangements. Our parents are buried in Taylor, and I think she would want to be close to them, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course.” Her voice didn’t sound like Marci’s, Jaine thought; it was too thick with tears.
“I’ve arranged for a graveside service Saturday at eleven.” Cheryl gave her the name of the funeral home and instructions on how to get to the cemetery. Taylor was south of Detroit and just east of Detroit Metro airport. Jaine wasn’t familiar with the area, but she was really good at following instructions and stopping for directions.
She tried to think of something to say that would lessen Cheryl’s pain, but how could she when she couldn’t even lessen her own?
Then it hit her, what she and Luna and T.J. should do. Marci would love it.
“We’re going to hold a wake for her,” she blurted. “Would you like to come?”
“A wake?” Cheryl sounded taken aback. “An Irish wake type of thing?”
“Kind of, though we aren’t Irish. We’re going to sit around and lift a beer or two in her honor, and tell all sorts of stories about her.”
Cheryl laughed, this time a real laugh. “She would get a kick out of that. I’d love to come. When is it?”
Since she hadn’t talked to Luna and T.J. about it yet, she wasn’t certain exactly when this wake would begin, but it would have to be Friday night. “Tomorrow night,” she said. “Let me get back to you with the time and place—unless you think the funeral home would let us sit up with her and have it there?”
“I kind of don’t think so,” Cheryl said, and sounded so much like Marci that Jaine got a lump in her throat all over again.
