"I got a call from the investigating detective," Sam said. "Marci's boyfriend, Brick, was in jail in Detroit from Thursday night until late Sunday afternoon. He's in the clear."
"A stranger broke in and killed her?" Jaine asked, removing the cucumber slices and raising her head to look at him.
"Whoever it was, there was no sign of forced entry." She had read that much in the morning paper. "You know more than you're telling, don't you?"
He shrugged. "Cops always know more than they tell." And he wasn't going to divulge any details; she could tell by the way his expression slipped into his cop mask. She tried not to imagine what those details might be. He drained his coffee and rinsed out the cup, turning it upside down on the drainboard. Then he bent down and kissed her, the pressure on her mouth warm and brief. "You have both my pager and cell phone numbers, so if you need me, call."
"I'm okay," she told him, and meant it. "Oh – Do you know if Marci's sister is here?"
He shook his head. "She's gone back to Saginaw. There's nothing she can do here, yet. The house is still cordoned off, and an autopsy is required in murder cases. How long that will take depends on the M.E.'s workload. The funeral may not be until this weekend."
That was another detail she didn't want to think about, Marci's body lying on a refrigerated slab for several days. "I'll go to work tomorrow, then. I'd like to help her sister with the arrangements, if she wants, but I don't guess there's anything to do yet."
"Not yet." He kissed her again, then lifted her hands, still holding the cucumber slices, and replaced them on her eyelids. "Keep them there. You look like hell."
"Gee, thanks," she said dryly, and heard him chuckle as he left.
There was that silence again. Then Shelley said, "He's different."
Different from Jaine's three ex-fiances, she meant. No joke.
"Yeah," she agreed.
"This looks pretty serious. You haven't known him for long."
If Shelley only knew! She was probably counting the entire three weeks Jaine had lived here. There was no telling what she would say if she knew that for the first two of those weeks Jaine had thought Sam was either a drunk or a drug dealer.
"I don't know how serious it is," she said, knowing she was lying. "I'm not rushing into anything." For her part, she couldn't get much more serious. She was in love with the big jerk. Exactly how or what he felt was still open for discussion.
"That's good," Shelley said. "The last thing you want is another broken engagement."
She could have gone all day without mentioning Jaine's miserable track record, but then Shelley had never been noted for her tact. On the other hand, Jaine had never doubted that her sister loved her, which made up for a lot of tactlessness.
The phone rang. Jaine removed the cucumber slices and reached for the cordless at the same time Shelley did. "Sam said for me to answer the phone," Shelley hissed, as if whoever was calling could hear her.
Ring.
"Since when do you take orders from someone you just warned me against?" Jaine asked dryly.
Ring.
"I didn't exactly warn – "
Ring.
Knowing the mini-argument could go on for half an hour, Jaine punched the "talk" button before the answering machine could pick up. "Hello."
"Which one are you?"
"What?" she asked in astonishment.
"Which one are you?"
She disconnected and set the phone down, frowning. "Who was it?" Shelley asked.
"A crank call. Marci, T.J. and Luna have been getting them since the List came out." Her voice caught a little when she mentioned Marci. "It's the same guy, he always says the same thing."
"Have you reported to the phone company that you're getting obscene calls?"
"They aren't obscene. He says, 'Which one are you?' in this weird whisper. I guess it's a guy, because it's hard to tell when someone's whispering."
Shelley rolled her eyes. "A crank call about the List? You can bet it's a guy. Al says all the guys at work have been really ticked off about parts of it. I'll let you guess which parts they don't like."
"The parts having to do with their parts?" As if she had to guess.
"Men are so predictable, aren't they?" Shelley moved around the kitchen, opening drawers and doors. "What are you doing?"
"Finding out where everything is so I won't have to look for anything when I start cooking."
"You're cooking? What?" For a slightly disjointed moment, Jaine wondered if Shelley had brought over the ingredients of whatever she planned to cook for her family's supper that night. After all, she had pulled a gigantic cucumber out of her purse; God only knew what else was in there. A roast, maybe?
"Breakfast," Shelley said. "For us. And you're going to eat it, too."
Actually, Jaine was hungry this morning, having skipped supper the night before. Did Shelley think she was crazy? No way was she going to argue with food. "I'll try," she said meekly, and replaced the cucumber slices on her eyes while her sister bustled around preparing made-from- scratch pancakes.
Corin sat staring at the phone, feeling his disappointment wash through him in waves. She hadn't told, either. At least she hadn't snapped at him the way the others had. He had thought she would, had prepared himself for whatever she might say. She had a big mouth on her, as his mother would have said. He often disapproved of the way she talked at work, with all that cursing. His mother wouldn't have liked her at all.