Died To Match Part 20

"That's not what Graham seems to think." Aaron began to pat his pockets, hunting for cigarettes.

"Well, Graham is wrong, and so are you. And don't you dare smoke in here. Go outside."

"Not unless you get up." His dark eyes held a spark of irritation now. "I mean it. If you want a bodyguard, you've got to feed him."

"I don't want a bodyguard!"

"Well, what do you want?" He stood up, rifling his pockets in earnest.

"I want you out of my bedroom. And then-"

The phone rang, which was just as well since I didn't really know how to finish my sentence. And then what? Hide out from Lester Foy forever? Aaron left the room and I grabbed the receiver.

"Ms. Kincaid? Graham. There was another s.e.xual a.s.sault last night, right near the Sims woman's building."

"Not a murder?"

"Not this time. We've got a chance to make an arrest today, so I can't spare the time for your..."

"My hunch?"

"Exactly. Just take sensible precautions, and stay in touch with my office, all right?"

"Of course. Lieutenant, about last night, I really appreciate-"

"Got to go." And he hung up.

When I emerged from the bedroom, dressed but still cranky, Aaron was out on the deck in his shirtsleeves, grinding one cigarette underfoot while he lit another. Last night's rain had emptied the lower clouds, and the sky showed a high, faded blue streaked with fast-moving mares' tails. His khaki windbreaker was lying on the couch, so I carried it out to him, holding it distastefully with two fingers.

"This smells of smoke."

"Excuse me for living. Who was that on the phone?"

"None of your business."

"Come on, Stretch, I can read you like a book. Something's happened."

I related Graham's call about the rapist downtown, and as I did, I felt a sneaking qualm of doubt to go with the queasi-ness in my stomach. Was I wrong about Skull after all? Maybe Angela's death was unrelated to Mercedes'.

"You see?" said Aaron triumphantly. "That's who killed Angela Sims, not your phantom Dracula. And I bet I was right all along about Corinne. She was telling tall tales again, looking for sympathy."

"But she saw Skull in the Market!"

"No law against being in the Market. Maybe he's a big fan of vegetables. Come on, let's get going."

"I'm not going anywhere," I said stubbornly. "I... I'm not feeling well."

I went back inside and he followed, his thin East Coast voice raised in protest. "Look, Stretch, don't be embarra.s.sed. You just got carried away with your serial-killer theory, that's all. This kind of violence would make any woman paranoid. You'll feel better with some food in you."

"I'm not paranoid!" I snapped. "And I don't want any food."

"Well, I can't just leave you here."

"Why not? According to you, I'm not in any danger, I'm just a hysterical, paranoid woman."

"Calm down!"

"I am calm!" I shouted. "Stop patronizing me, and go get your d.a.m.n breakfast."

"Fine." He shoved his arms into the tangled sleeves of his jacket, got one arm stuck, struggled a bit, and yanked the jacket off again, glaring all the while. Then he stalked through the kitchen and out the front door, banging it behind him and leaving me with the world's worst headache.

"Fine!" I said to the door. Then I flipped the dead bolt and glared around the kitchen. That pineapple smells perfectly nice, I thought defiantly. I returned to the living room, sniffing the air. The reek of cigarettes was even stronger than I thought. Where does he get off complaining about smells- "Who the f.u.c.k is Angela?"

The reek was coming from Lester Foy, who was standing just inside the gla.s.s door to my deck. He wore motorcycle leathers and ma.s.sive boots looped with silver chains, and his face held an expression of such brute malevolence that meeting his gaze felt like warding off a blow.

I opened my mouth, but nothing emerged except a feeble gasp. Then last night's omelet tried to follow the gasp out, and I felt the cold sweat of nausea on my face. The room seemed to tilt.

"Answer me!" His voice was harsh and raw. "You got Mandy so p.i.s.sed off-"

I may scare easy, but I don't scare for long. The room straightened out, the omelet stayed put, and I inflated my lungs like bellows and shrieked for all I was worth.

"Get AWAY-Y-Y!!"

"Jesus!" said Foy I fled into the kitchen, meaning to grab my chef's knife, but when I heard Foy's boots clumping behind me, I s.n.a.t.c.hed up the next best thing and whirled to face him.

"Don't touch me!" I warned, brandishing the pineapple. Granted, it wasn't much of a threat, but it made him hesitate. Then came a shout and a rattle at the front-door k.n.o.b, and Foy retreated back to the living room.

"Aaron!" I hollered. "He's in here! Help!"

Still clutching my tropical weapon, I unlocked the front door, but no one was there. Aaron must have gone around to the back. I rushed into the living room with the vague notion of catching the intruder between us.

Foy was standing outside on the narrow wooden deck. The weak winter sun, reflecting off the water, illuminated the dark designs on his skull and the backs of his hands. I could see the bat wings above his left ear as he faced the south end of the deck, the way he had come. But he wasn't moving, and his jaw was agape in astonishment.

I ran to the gla.s.s and saw, not Aaron but the beautiful, the glorious Buckmeisters, surging around the corner like the flying squad of some good-natured, unstoppable football team. Foy spun on his heel to flee the other way, then stopped again, stymied. My deck doesn't run all the way around; it dead-ends at the north corner. He turned back to glare at me, with murder in his eyes. I knew I'd never get the sliding door closed in time, let alone fumble the mop handle into place.

So I launched the pineapple.

It sailed heavily through the open doorway, losing alt.i.tude fast and coming in at knee level. Foy deflected it with one grimy hand, and with the other flicked open a wicked-looking knife. But those precious seconds brought Buck Buckmeister bearing down on him like vengeance itself in a red bandanna. Snarling obscenities, Foy backed away from this new opponent and raised the knife.

Unfortunately for Lester Foy, he backed up one step too many. He seemed to hang suspended for a moment, and then fell, spread-eagled and howling, into Lake Union. The enormous splash he sent up spattered the Buckmeisters and sent an arc of drops rat-a-tatting across my windows. I fell into Betty and Bonnie's solicitous arms while their patriarch stared down into the water, breathing hard.

"Who is this b.a.s.t.a.r.d?" Buck demanded. "Did he touch you? By G.o.d, I'll kill him."

"I don't think you have to, Daddy," said Bonnie. "I think he's drowning."

"Serves him right," rumbled Buck. "Probably faking it."

But Foy was flailing around in a genuine panic, propelling himself farther away from the safety of the deck with every thrashing movement. His tattooed head slipped beneath the surface, reappeared, then went down again with a gargling shout.

"Boots!" I said. "He's wearing big leather boots."

"He'll die," said Bonnie.

"Let him!" said Buck.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," said Betty in a small, vexed voice, and shucked off her jacket and shoes.

She executed a neat, shallow dive off the deck, coming up plumb in the center of the foamy ripples created by Foy's struggles. Treading water and gasping from the cold, Betty stared at us bug-eyed for a moment, with her black curls plastered straight and streaming around her face. Then her apple cheeks puffed out as she took a big breath, upended herself and dove straight down, her diminutive feet in their gay plaid socks twinkling and then vanishing in the dark water.

Bonnie grabbed my arm and moaned, but Buck was smiling.

"Relax, honey," he said. "Don't forget, your momma was a lifeguard in Galveston when I met her. Just the prettiest little lifeguard you ever saw."

Chapter Twenty-Seven.

WHAT A DIFFERENCE A DAY MAKES-OR AN HOUR. ESPECIALLY if, in a single hour, your nemesis is arrested; your beloved van is p.r.o.nounced ready to come home; and your not-quite-boyfriend apologizes abjectly after leaving you in the hands of a murderer for the sake of two eggs over easy and a side of home fries if, in a single hour, your nemesis is arrested; your beloved van is p.r.o.nounced ready to come home; and your not-quite-boyfriend apologizes abjectly after leaving you in the hands of a murderer for the sake of two eggs over easy and a side of home fries "I just hope it was a good, filling breakfast," I said earnestly, "to tide you over while you identified my body."

"Enough with the guilt!" Aaron replied. "I've said I was sorry about ten times now. Any more of this and I'll throw you off the deck. I should anyway, just to teach you not to lure psychos to your house when I'm not around."

But he held me tight while he said it. We were nestled together on my couch, exchanging small, comforting kisses while I calmed down. It was quite a relief to have the place to ourselves. Lieutenant Graham was still out hunting the downtown rapist, but the SPD SPD dispatched some uniformed cops to haul Lester Foy off to jail, mute and soggy in his leathers. The combined clamor of that many loud-voiced men, plus the Buckmeisters, had been a bit much for a woman with a resounding hangover. dispatched some uniformed cops to haul Lester Foy off to jail, mute and soggy in his leathers. The combined clamor of that many loud-voiced men, plus the Buckmeisters, had been a bit much for a woman with a resounding hangover.

With Skull safely gone, Betty had brushed off my concern about hypothermia, asking only for a towel and some hairspray, and the loan of some dry clothes. Once she was dry and curly again, I sent the Buckmeisters away with my heartfelt grat.i.tude and a promise to discuss Christma.s.sy place cards in exhaustive detail-some other time. Meanwhile, Pete the mechanic had called with the good news about the newly-repaired Vanna, and Aaron had returned from his breakfast to find me shaken but safe after the springing of my trap. Good news all around.

"Tell you what," I said, lifting my head from Aaron's shoulder. "I'll accept all ten of your apologies if you drive me to Pete's to pick up my van."

"Deal. You want to tell people about Foy first?"

I nodded. "I think I've got my breath back now."

Elizabeth was my first call, though it was Paul who answered her phone.

"Thank G.o.d," he said, "and thank G.o.d he didn't hurt you." Then, with his reporter's curiosity kicking in, "I wonder why he went after you instead of Corinne this time?"

"Who knows?" I lied. No point telling anyone else how foolhardy I'd been. "Right now I just want Elizabeth and Patty to know that they're safe."

"They got him?" Elizabeth had picked up an extension. "They got the b.a.s.t.a.r.d?"

"They got him."

"All right. I'll call Patty. Carnegie, when can we meet? I need to talk to you before the rehearsal."

"So the wedding is still on?"

"Absolutely. I'm going out right now to buy some shoes. These pumps just aren't breaking in right."

She didn't mention hiring another subst.i.tute bridesmaid, and I didn't raise the issue. So what if we had an extra groomsman? Aaron could still escort Corinne, and maybe after the ceremony I'd walk back up the aisle with Zack on one arm and Paul's brother Scott on the other.

Elizabeth and I set a time to meet the next morning, and then I called Corinne. She was nearly incoherent with relief, and handed the phone to someone else, who turned out to be Zack.

"So everything's OK now?" he said. "Awesome!"

"My sentiments exactly. You did bodyguard duty with Corinne, I take it. How is she holding up?"

He lowered his voice. "She was, like, awake all night being b.u.mmed out about Angela and everything."

"Well, tell her to call in sick and go back to bed."

"Sure." Zack sounded a bit deflated, now that his heroic mission was over. "Can I, like, help with anything else?"

"Just be at the rehearsal on time," I told him. "Front entrance to EMP, seven o'clock Friday evening."

"No, I mean before that." The petulant tone was back in his voice. "I want to see you."

"Zack, I'm going to be really busy for the next few days."

"Not every minute."

"Yes, just about every minute."

"But-"

"But nothing." It's hard not to scold when someone's acting like a child. "I appreciate all your help, I really do, but I can't see you till Friday night. Just get Corinne calmed down, OK? She's been through a lot."

After the calls I went to rejoin Aaron on the couch, but he was getting to his feet.

"Sorry, Stretch. If you want that ride, it has to be soon. I want to go home and shower before I check in at work."

"And explain why you came back early? I hope it's not a big problem."

"Nah, I was pretty much done."

I took a deep breath. "Aaron, Lily told me about the job offer in Portland."

"I knew it!" He surprised me by laughing. "I told her about it in confidence, but I had a bet with myself that it would get back to you. I'll have to give her h.e.l.l about being such a blabbermouth."

"Never mind that." I was still holding my breath. "Are you going?"

For reply, he kissed me, not a small comforting kiss but a long, provocative one. Then he slapped me on the f.a.n.n.y. I would have sworn that only my father could slap me like that and live, but I was so off-balance from the kiss that I let it go.

"I told them I needed time to think about it," said Aaron. "A long time. Come on, let's go rescue Vanna."

As we drove, I spared a thought for Zack. I shouldn't have spoken to him that way, but preserving his manly dignity was becoming a bore.