"Only to the next stop sign," he said.
April slowed and cruised the next block of lovely brick houses with picture windows and pointy roofs. She wouldn't mind living out here, but who wouldn't?
"Okay, stop anywhere along here."
She slowed in front of a house with a good strong slate roof and a lucky red door. Too bad they were there too soon for the show of fat-budded peonies that were thickly bedded in little kidney-shaped plots, like commas, by the front walk. Next couple of weeks, in mid-June, they'd be out. Nice house, she thought.
She sighed. Six o'clock was always an in-between time. Not really day anymore, but not yet evening either. Today at six again it was still bright as morning. On her second day in Westchester she could feel the tug of the suburbs, where the backyards were large enough for whole suites of lawn furniture. Where attics and basements were big enough to hold extensive junk collections. And where every house had a garage to hide the car away. The Woo house didn't have a garage. Mike's building had only a covered area. April kept saying she'd buy a new car when she could afford a home for it. Ha.
She let the engine idle for a moment, then turned it off. The Le Baron was toasty from its long wait in the sun, but she really wanted to bask in the warmth of Mike's nearness. "Miss me?" She was desperate for a hug and didn't want to admit it.
"Why should I? You're always up to some trick." He shook his head. "This is why we can't trust the Chinese."
Uh-oh. She didn't like when he went global on her. "Oh, come on, you did miss me." She was determined not to bite back.
"You're not trustworthy. Why can't you just rest, take a day off for a change?" he grumbled, hitting all her buttons.
"Look, I don't like to be kept in the dark. I don't like to be pushed aside." Not trustworthy. Jesus. She sulked in the driver's seat, angry at herself for raising the issue. She should have known better than request a time-out for love when he was the primary on a case that was getting stickier by the hour.
"Left me alone, no message, nothing." Out of his window he studied the house she liked. "You didn't return my messages. How do you think I felt?"
"I couldn't talk," she reminded him.
"So now you can talk. Big improvement." He turned to face her, and the bicker transformed itself into a slow, steamy smile.
Mike was never one for holding grudges. He had his priorities straight. His smile moved right on to the hug she needed. A kiss followed, a long kiss, uncomfortable to maneuver in the bucket seats, but a good kiss nonetheless. April didn't want to be the one to break it up.
"Mmmm." Finally he made the motions of disentangling.
She rubbed his neck and discovered muscles that were rock hard with tension. "How late will you be?" Now she felt bad because she hadn't been there for him last night.
"Few more hours. Are you going back to your mom's? You smell funny. What did she do to you?"
"Nothing much. I'm coming home." Eventually.
"Que bueno. I gotta go." He shifted in the passenger seat, refueled for the moment, but then didn't move to get out.
"I'm sure Kathy didn't know about the money," April said suddenly.
"Oh, yeah?" Mike raised bushy eyebrows as if he found that impossible to believe.
"What can I say? It was a dysfunctional family. Welcome to America." April's voice was breaking down again, but she'd already promised herself that she wouldn't go back to Astoria. She'd have to work on it herself.
"We'll find the paper trail. It won't be difficult," he said.
"Yeah, follow Bill. Where was he yesterday morning, anyway? Remember when he burst in on us all, Mr. Indignation? He didn't go to his office in the morning; I checked while you were tossing the basement."
"Yeah, I know. You're thinking that he came out here and took the files from the house, aren't you?"
April nodded. "And possibly some of the money. Maybe all of it, who knows?"
"You think Bernardino kept that much money in cash right here? We didn't find any signs of it."
"Yeah, but he was smart. I thought I knew him. Now I don't know. Where's his car? Did you check the trunk?"
"Crime Scene has it. And we're getting serial numbers of the bills Bernie had. He got money in thousands. If anyone starts spending, we'll know." Mike lifted his shoulder, answering April's unasked question. "We could get a warrant and search Bill's place."
"Well, sure. But he wouldn't put it in a closet, either. Did you talk to Chief Avise?"
"Twice. He told me to tread softly. He told you to stay out of trouble." Mike pointed a finger at her.
April gave him a Chinese blank expression that was full of meaning for anyone who knew how to read it. Mike shook his head.,
"What about the funeral?" she asked.
"Working it." Mike shook his head some more and leaned close to her again. He kissed the side of her mouth and stroked her hair. "Don't get in any trouble between now and nine-thirty, okay? Promise me?" He gave her another look, then kissed her nose.
"Well, don't tell me to back off again. I can help you." April made an effort not to bristle.
"Play nice; be a team player, querida. Somebody knocks you off, I'll be the one in trouble."
"No one's going to knock me off. I want to talk to Bill."
"Not alone!" Mike shot back.
"Then come with me."
Moody, she stared out at that nice yard. She wanted to know what Bernardino had been up to. If it was just tax evasion, why would anyone kill him? Tax evasion was a national sport. There had to be something else. If Bill was innocent, she wanted to get him out of the way.
"Tomorrow. We'll talk about it." He brushed her lips one last time, tickling them with his mustache. Then he got out of the car. "Be a good girl," were his last words.
"Well, sure," she said.
But of course she didn't head home right away. How could she go home so early when she had things to do in Manhattan? She took the Saw Mill River Parkway to the Henry Hudson Parkway. At this hour all the traffic was coming out, and traveling was a pleasure. The route she followed brought back memories. As she crossed the toll bridge into Manhattan and drove south along the Hudson River, the old city views of the West Side reminded her of her years in the Two-oh when Mike had been her supervisor, always on the make. All his heavy breathing when they drove around together in the unit had driven her nuts. Why couldn't he just keep his mind on the job? she'd wondered back then. Men!
She smiled, remembering her irritation. Shou zhu dai tu was a Confucian saying: Change is the only constant. It was the primary incentive for a Chinese to hold his tongue. In police lingo the litany went, What goes around comes around. Just wait; things would change and maybe you'd get what you wanted. But lucky for April there were a few things that hadn't changed in her life. Mike's mind still strayed from the job to love whenever he was with her, even when the tight muscles in his neck betrayed the pressure.
Clearly someone high up was nervous about Bernardino. As long as the back story on his lottery money and his murder were a mystery, the Department didn't want to take the chance of giving him a hero's funeral. Politics was another thing that never changed. It was only the influence of the players that waxed and waned.
By seven-thirty p.m. she was driving east on Fourteenth Street, forming questions in her head for Jack Devereaux, the man who'd saved her life. She had not yet made a list of places where tae kwon do was taught, but it was on her to-do list. Mike had been right yesterday when he'd said she had a link with Bernardino's killer. But he didn't know that it was in the moves that almost killed her. The killer was a fan of unarmed combat.