The Investigators Part 44

Or, condescendingly, Susan wondered, Susan wondered, at a stupid female who doesn't have enough brains to check the oil? Well, if that's it, I deserve it. Not checking the oil was stupid. at a stupid female who doesn't have enough brains to check the oil? Well, if that's it, I deserve it. Not checking the oil was stupid.

Matt put the oil in. It took three quarts, and half of a fourth.

"It was just a little low, I would say," Matt said.

"Okay. You were right and I was wrong. I've had a lot on my mind lately, I guess, and just didn't check."

"I have a sister who does the same sort of thing," he said with a smile.

"Anyway, thank you."

"You're welcome," he said. "Can I make a request?"

"Request."

"A truce until after dinner? Hostilities can resume immediately after the second cup of coffee."

"Okay," she said after a just perceptible hesitation.

Why not? What's playing the b.i.t.c.h with him going to accomplish?

"Deal?" Matt asked.

He put out his hand and, without thinking about it, she took it. His hand was warm and strong.

"Deal," Susan said. She was aware her voice sounded strange.

"Good," he said. "Then pay the man, fair maiden, and we'll be on our way."

He got behind the wheel and closed the door.

"What makes you think I'm going to let you drive?" Susan demanded.

"Because we are in a state of truce," Matt replied. "And also maybe because you are grateful I kept you from running out of gas."

Why not? Same reason as before.

She gave the attendant her credit card, signed the form, and got in beside him. She was a trifle amused at the care with which he adjusted the driver's seat.

He pulled out of the station, and she saw that he was better working the gears than she was.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To the only decent restaurant I know around here. Except, of course, the Penn-Harris. They gave me a very nice breakfast. My lunch was a disaster."

"Where is this only decent restaurant?"

"Little town called Hershey," Matt said. "They make chocolate there, you know."

"I don't want to go all the way out to Hershey."

"Not to worry, fair maiden. We now have a full tank of petrol. And I'm driving."

Susan elected not to make an issue of it.

He got on U.S. 422 and immediately pushed harder on the accelerator.

"You're going to get a ticket," Susan said.

"Fear not, fair maiden."

The speedometer was indicating seventy-five when there was the sound of a siren and the image of the flashing lights of a bubble-gum machine on a state trooper's car in the rearview mirror.

Matt immediately slowed, but did not pull off the highway onto the shoulder. The state trooper pulled alongside. Matt held his identification folder up for the trooper to see.

The trooper made a slow-it-down gesture. Matt nodded his willingness to do so. The trooper's car slowed and fell behind. Susan turned and looked out the window. The trooper had pulled his car off the road, and was about to make a U-turn back toward Harrisburg.

Back to give a ticket to some ordinary citizen for going five miles over the speed limit.

"That's outrageous!" Susan said indignantly.

"That's what's known as professional courtesy," Matt said. "You know, like sharks don't eat lawyers?"

"It's an abuse of power!"

"It's legal," he said. "Traffic officers have the option of issuing a citation or a warning. He opted to give me a warning."

"Jesus!" she said in contempt.

Five minutes later, with the speedometer indicating sixty-five-fifteen miles over the posted limit-Matt said: "I really like the smell in here. And I am not talking about the leather."

Susan didn't reply.

He drove into the town of Hershey. The delightful smell of cocoa beans overwhelmed the smell of her perfume, and he told her so.

"That may not be a bad thing," he said. "Have you ever thought of rubbing a Hershey bar behind your ears? Or someplace more feminine? You might be able to save some money that way. What you're wearing has to be awfully expensive."

"No," she said as sternly as she could manage. But she had to smile.

He pulled into the parking lot behind the Hotel Hershey.

Susan started to open the door.

"Wait a minute," Matt ordered.

She turned and looked at him, and obediently slumped back into her seat.

He turned, so that his back was resting on the door. His hand and arm came to rest on the back of her seat. She could feel the warmth of his hand.

But it's not as if he's trying to put his arm around me or pull me over to him or anything.

"What?" she asked.

"It could have been one of those unexplained phenomena one hears about, something that happens only once in ten thousand years," Matt said.

He's talking about that d.a.m.ned kiss. G.o.dd.a.m.n him, he knows knows what it did to me. what it did to me.

"What could?"

"On the other hand, it could well be a harbinger of heaven on earth," Matt said.

"Harbinger of heaven on earth"? My G.o.d! Give credit where it's due. That's one h.e.l.l of a line.

"I think, before we have our supper, in the interest of scientific research, let the chips fall where they may, so to speak, we should attempt the experiment again."

"Matt . . ."

"You agree?"

G.o.d, if he puts his hand on my shoulder, if he touches me, I don't know what I'll do.

"Matt . . ."

Matt pushed himself away from the door far enough so that he could reach her right shoulder with the b.a.l.l.s of his fingers.

"Matt, I don't want to kiss you, I'm not going-"

And then she was on his side of the Porsche, the gearshift jabbing her painfully in the back. She was breathing heavily, looking up at him, seeing that his face was really smeared with her lipstick.

"Well," Matt said. "Now we know, don't we?"

"The gearshift," Susan said.

"Oh! Sorry!" he said, and she was aware they had moved on the seat, and that they were now close enough to conduct the experiment again.

And she became aware that his hand was under her blouse.

Why don't I slap his face, or at least push his hand away?

"Don't," she ordered, and heard in her voice that it was a lie.

He kissed her again.

I've got to stop this! Why don't I just push him away?

And then she was looking at his face again, aware that she was breathing heavily. And then she was horrified to hear herself challenging, b.i.t.c.hily, "Well, you seem to have recovered very well from your tragic loss of Penny, haven't you?"

"I've thought about that," he replied immediately, matter-of-factly.

G.o.d, was he thinking about that, too?

"I don't think I ever loved Penny. She needed me. She was really f.u.c.ked up. I got sucked into that. It was the, quote, decent, unquote, thing to do. Doing the right thing keeps getting me in trouble."

What did he say? "She needed me. She was really f.u.c.ked up. I got sucked into that"?

He looked down at her again.

"Don't be a b.i.t.c.h, Susan."

"Sorry," she heard herself say, and that sounded very honest to her ears.

He kissed her again, and this time she became aware that the hand that had been on her breast was now between her legs.

Oh, G.o.d, I'm all wet! He'll know!

She freed herself violently, and sat erect in her seat and put her clothes in order.

My bra is loose. Did he unfasten it?

"I am not going to do this in a car," she said righteously.

"Sorry, I got carried away," he said.

That sounded sincere.

Matt opened his door and got out of the car.

What's this? What's he doing?

He walked around the rear of the Porsche and opened her door.

If he thinks I'm just going to go in there and have dinner . . .

She swung her feet out of the Porsche and got out.

She looked at his lipstick-smeared face, then for a moment into his eyes, and then quickly averted hers.

I'm not going in there with him looking like that!

She took the crisp white handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit jacket and rubbed at his lips. When the lipstick didn't want to come off, she spat on his handkerchief and resumed rubbing with it.

I can't believe I did that.

"All right," she said finally.

He nodded and took her elbow and led her through a rear entrance into the hotel building, and down a corridor into, finally, the lobby. She saw a green neon arrow and the word "Restaurant."

G.o.d, my hair must be a mess, and my face is probably as smeared with lipstick as his was and everybody in the restaurant will see.