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“And?” Garvey prompted.
“I know Jaclyn Wilde.”
Lieutenant Neille frowned. “How well?”
“We’re not involved, and I can’t say I know her all that well, but …” Screw it, the truth wasn’t pretty, but it was the truth. “One-night stand.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
Garvey’s muttered curse was fouler than usual, but he followed the curse with a quiet, “Can you handle it?”
“Yes,” Eric answered without hesitation. And he could. He wouldn’t like it, he didn’t like it, but he could do his job. Jaclyn Wilde was a … possibility, not a commitment.
Garvey glanced at Lieutenant Neille, who sighed as he scrubbed his hand across his jaw. “For now, proceed,” said Neille. “If she starts to look good for it, we’ll put someone else on the case if you have any problem. And do it right, Wilder. If there’s any question, you’ll have to look at her harder and longer than you would otherwise, so know that up front.”
“I know.” And he did. It wasn’t as if Hopewell was lousy with detectives. There were six of them, two per shift. Franklin, who worked the same shift as Eric, wouldn’t be back from Disney World until Sunday night. No way would they call him back from the happiest place on earth when Eric said he could handle it. It was a measure of his superiors’ trust in him that they let him do this. If he said there wasn’t a conflict of interest, they believed him.
Now, if he could just convince himself.
Chapter Nine
JACLYN HEAVED A SIGH OF RELIEF WHEN SHE ENTERED the cool, quiet sanctuary of her town house. Now that she didn’t have to put on a brave face for Madelyn, even more stress melted away and she actually felt kind of mellow—not completely calm, because there was still an inner core of anger that Carrie had slapped her and she’d had to take it instead of coldcocking the bitch, but calm enough that she could accept that what was done was done and she’d handled things the best way possible, even if the best way wasn’t the most satisfying way.
The stress had worn her out, though; she felt exhausted down to her bones, and the idea of a night at home doing nothing other than a few chores was just short of paradise. She stripped off the capri pants and sleeveless blouse she’d worn that day, gathered her dirty laundry, and dumped everything in the washer. Then she remade the bed with fresh sheets, and took the dirty ones to the laundry to wash later. After that she had nothing to do other than taking a shower and putting on her pajamas.
While she was in the shower she heard the phone ringing, but she didn’t jump out and race to answer it; after the day she’d had, whoever it was could wait. She even took the time to wash her hair. After she’d blown her hair dry, dusted herself with fragrant powder, and put on her pajamas, she checked the phone for a message, but there wasn’t one so she looked at Caller ID.
It was her father. She frowned. Jacky usually left a message when he called, even if it was nothing more than a “Hi, honey, haven’t talked to you lately.” Knowing her father, the fact that he hadn’t left a message meant he wanted to talk to her about something, which probably meant he had a favor to ask.
There was no telling what he wanted. With Jacky, anything was possible. She dialed his number and he answered before the first ring completed. “Hi, baby,” he said cheerfully. “How’s my girl?”
“Tired. It was a rough day at work. I was in the shower when you called. What’s up?”
“Why does anything have to be up? Can’t I call just to talk to you?”
The slightly guilty-sounding indignation in his voice made her grin. Her father was good-natured, the life of any party, he truly loved her, charming as all hell, and completely irresponsible. She didn’t doubt that he loved her, but neither did she doubt that, if he had to choose between saving her from drowning or saving himself, he’d weep huge tears at her funeral.
“You could,” she said, “but you didn’t. So what’s up?”
“Well … there is a little favor I need.”
The little favor was usually money, because Jacky perpetually ran short. To him, buying an expensive bottle of champagne to celebrate anything was more important than paying his utility bills. Most of the time she refused, but sometimes she’d come through for him, if the amount wasn’t too much and if the reason he wanted it made her smile. Once he’d wanted a hundred bucks to buy some little plastic ducks for a charity duck race, and she’d liked the idea so much she’d gone in with him to buy two hundred dollars’ worth of little plastic duckies, and they’d attended the race together. None of their ducks had won, but they’d had a great time.
“How much, and for what?” she asked.
“It’s not money,” he quickly replied. “I’m doing okay. But I’ve met someone, and—”
“Good Lord, am I about to get stepmother number eleven?”
There was a short pause, then he said, “Eleven?” in a shocked tone. “Have I been married that many times? There was your mother, of course, then Brigitta, then Kristen, then …” His voice trailed off.
“Ariel,” Jaclyn prompted. She wasn’t surprised that he’d forgotten. Ariel had lasted two weeks—almost.
“Oh, yeah. I must have blocked her out. She was hell to live with. After her was … that was Tallie, wasn’t it? That’s just five. I don’t remember anyone else.”
“I was just teasing,” she said. “Your total is five.” He’d stayed married to Tallie longer than anyone had expected; in longevity, she’d placed second to Madelyn. The fact that “Tallie” was a nickname—short for “tallywhacker,” which kind of gave an indication of her talents—explained the length of that particular marriage. Jaclyn knew the tale about the nickname was true, because Tallie herself had told her the meaning behind her name.
