"I'll see you later, Cassie."
"Bye, Ben."
This time he had the sure knowledge that she stood in the open doorway and watched him drive away.
But it didn't make him feel good. It didn't make him feel good at all.
"Maybe she really is psychic." Abby Montgomery banked the pillows behind her and sat up in bed, absently drawing the sheet up over her naked breasts.
Matt Dunbar sat on the edge of the bed to put his socks and shoes on. "I don't believe in that shit."
"Then how did she know about us?"
"A lucky guess. Hell, maybe she saw you slipping in here the other day. But she did not read my mind."
Abby was familiar with her lover's stubbornness. Usually it amused her, just as his occasional macho posturing amused her; she had good reason to know that despite both, he had a generous nature and a heart, as the saying went, like a marshmallow. But today the reminder of how bullheaded he could be made her uneasy.
"Matt, if she can help find Becky's killer – "
"I don't know that she can. The cops out in L.A. gave her a glowing recornmendation, but when I pushed, the detective I talked to finally admitted that she'd sent them down a few blind alleys, and that those detours were costly."
"Most conventional investigations do the same thing, don't they? I mean, you always explore at least a few possibilities that don't pan out in the end."
"Yeah. But it's a hell of a lot easier to explain why you followed a lead if you've got something solid to point to. Anything a so-called psychic tells you is about as substantial as fog, and just as quick to vanish." He shook his head. "No, I just don't buy it, Abby. She must have seen us together, and that's how she knew."
"In public? We barely look at each other in public. And nobody saw me slipping in here to meet you, Matt. I'm always careful, and you know it."
He looked at her quickly, hearing the slight tremor. "Honey, has Gary been bothering you again? Because I can sure as hell get a restraining order against him, you know that."
She shook her head. "No, he hasn't been around lately. Besides, I don't want to do anything to annoy him, at least until the divorce is final."
"That's only a month away, Abby." Matt smiled. "And once it's final, it'd be nice to be able to take you out in public."
Abby leaned toward him and wreathed her arms around his neck. "It would be very nice. Just… let's wait and see, okay, Matt? I don't know how Gary will react when it's final."
His mouth tightened, but his hands were gentle as they stroked her arms. "I've been as patient as I know how, Abby, but there's no way I'm prepared to keep our lives on hold indefinitely just to keep Gary from blowing a fuse. I can handle him."
"It isn't indefinitely. I just want to avoid trouble if at all possible, Matt."
"There won't be any trouble. I'll just kick his ass."
Abby smiled. "Let's wait and see. Another month. That isn't so long, is it?"
"That depends on what you're waiting for." He kissed her, taking his time about it, then eased her back onto the pillows and leaned over her. "I'm waiting for something I've wanted for a long, long time. You."
"You've got me. All the rest is just a formality."
He brushed a strand of bright red hair back from her face. "I also want Gary out of your life, with no excuses to call you or knock on your door. I want to have the right to tell him to go to hell."
"Given the chance, you'll do that whether you have the right or not," she said dryly.
"True." Matt kissed her again.
"Just be patient a little while longer."
"Okay, okay." He sat up, then got to his feet. "I've got to get back to the office."
"Matt…" She hesitated. "This psychic – "
"So-called."
"Did you ever hear the rumors about her aunt? About Miss Melton?"
"What about her?"
"Well, that she knew things. Things she shouldn't have been able to know."
Matt stared down at her, brows raised. "I heard talk. So what? She was a loner, kept to herself, hardly came into town – and when she did, she barely spoke to anyone and was usually dressed oddly for a woman her age. People were bound to talk. It doesn't mean anything, Abby."
Abby smiled. "I guess not. But, Matt – if Cassie Neill can help you, let her. Don't ignore what she has to say."
"You don't usually tell me how to do my job," he noted dryly.
"I'm not now. But I know how stubborn you can be. You've made up your mind she's a phony, haven't you?"
"Maybe."
"Admit it, Matt. You wouldn't even have given her the time of day if Ben hadn't insisted. You know he's no gullible fool."
"No, but he isn't thinking with his head. Not where Cassie Neill is concerned. Beats me what he sees in her, but the lady has certainly grabbed his attention."
Abby opened her mouth, then closed it and shook her head. After that brief pause she merely said, "Just don't let a preconceived idea get in your way, Matt, that's all I'm saying."
"No, I won't." He bent and kissed her one last time, then laughed a little as he headed for the door. "I had no idea you believed in that stuff."
When she was alone in the bedroom, Abby gazed toward the door and murmured, "Oh, I believe in it, Matt. I believe in it."
Ivy Jameson was having a bad day. In fact, she'd had a bad week.
On Monday she'd had the unpleasant duty of taking her mother's old cat to the vet to have him euthanized; Wednesday had come the notice from the North Carolina Department of Revenue claiming she owed back taxes; yesterday she'd had to tear the hide off a TV repairman who obviously didn't know his ass from a three-foot hole in the ground; and today, on this pleasant, warm Friday afternoon in late February, she was being told that her ten-year-old car was on its last wheels, so to speak.
"A new transmission," Dale Newton said, consulting his clipboard. "The brakes are shot. Universal joint. The left front tire is bald – "
"Enough." She glared at him. "How much?"
The mechanic shifted uneasily. "I haven't worked up an estimate yet, Mrs. Jameson. You just asked me to check it out and see if it needed any work. It does. There's more – "
She waved him to a stop. "Just work up the estimate and then call me. But you'd better bear in mind, Dale Newton, that my late husband loaned you the money to get this garage going fifteen years ago. I expect that to make a difference. I expect some consideration for a poor widow."
"Yes, ma'am." Newton smiled weakly. "I'll have the estimate ready in a couple of hours."
"You do that."
"I can give you a leaner, Mrs. Jameson – "
"No. I hate driving a strange car. I'll walk across the street to Shelby 's and call a taxi."
"I have a phone, Mrs. Jameson."
"I realize that. What you don't have is coffee. Good day, Mr. Newton."
"Ma'am." Newton watched her walk away, her back ramrod straight, and he wondered, not for the first time, if old Kenneth Jameson had died because he'd been sick – or just plain tired.
Ivy left Newton 's Garage on the corner of Main Street and First, walked a block toward the center of town, and then crossed the street to Shelby 's Restaurant. A landmark in Ryan's Bluff that had once been a wonderful example of the Art Deco style, and last modernized in the sixties, it had been several times redecorated through the years, and all the individual touches of various owners had left it somewhat garish. It still had a Formica counter and swivel stools at the front, and boasted clear plastic tablecloths over the linen ones.
It was a place Ivy visited regularly and just as habitually criticized, a one-time hot spot that had seen better days but still offered good, plain food and hot coffee right up until midnight, seven days a week.
"This coffee is too strong, Stuart," Ivy told the young man behind the counter.
"Yes, Mrs. Jameson. I'll make fresh."
"You do that. And put in a pinch of salt to draw the bitterness."
"Yes, ma'am."
When Cassie answered a second knock on her front door late Friday afternoon, she was surprised to find a stranger standing there, a young man wearing a dark jump suit with the name Dan on one pocket and SafeNet Security on the other. He was holding a clipboard, and spoke politely.