McCloud's Woman (33 page)

“Then we’ll never know who was buried here?” the mayor inquired, shoving his handkerchief back in his pocket.

“Didn’t say that.”

“You know who they are?”

“Didn’t say that either.” Just call him a sadistic
bastard, but it was nice to watch someone else squirm for a change. TJ
collapsed on his plastic lounge chair and took a swig from his bottle of
water.

“Confound it! Either they’re pirates or they’re not.
Either they were murdered, or they weren’t. Why is the government paying
you all this money if you don’t know anything?”

“They’re paying me to be cautious. I’ll write my report when I’m done. In the meantime, speculating is useless.”

“I thought you were an honorable man, Dr. McCloud, but I’m
beginning to think you’re blocking progress for your own purposes.
Looks as if the newspapers may be right.” Clearly irate, the mayor slid
down the dune in the direction of the beach and the film crew’s
laughter.

Might as well alienate the whole town while he was at it.
He wasn’t a sociable man, didn’t need the approval of others. He had to
live with himself, and that meant doing what he thought was right,
regardless of consequences.

He just wished he knew what was right. Crucifying a friend sure didn’t feel right.

TJ picked up the letter he’d received from Jared
yesterday, pulled out the picture Matty had drawn of Mickey Mouse, and
read the boy’s uneven letters: “To Unca TJ, Yr Frnd, Matty.” So, he had
one friend left.

He flipped through the photographs of Cleo and Matty
riding blue elephants, Jared clowning with Goofy, and the neighbor kids,
Kismet and Gene, standing in front of a pink castle. They were having a
good time.

Jared had called last night to promise he’d take the kids
and Cleo to his Miami condo and shelter them from any fallout. Cleo had
been yelling in the background that she’d come home and get rid of the
reporters, but Jared must have convinced her that TJ could take care of
himself.

He missed them. He’d been traveling for fifteen years
without any such regrets, and now he was getting bleary-eyed, wishing he
could be as happy and carefree as they seemed to be, wishing he could
have what Jared had.

Jared, the goof-off, the one his parents figured would never amount to anything.

TJ leaned his head back against the chair and tried to
rearrange his priorities to suit the situation, but he couldn’t focus
any longer. He needed Mara here to explain things to him. He wasn’t much
on this family stuff. His parents had practiced benign neglect and let
their sons grow up on their own. He’d always secretly admired the way
Brad’s family had worked so hard together to achieve their goals.

Apparently, from Mara’s viewpoint, there were
disadvantages to that kind of single-minded support. Maybe people
weren’t meant to be happy.

He narrowed his eyes at the sight of still another
reporter kicking up dust down the lane. His hired security guards had
barricaded the turn-off from the public road to keep the jackals out.
Mara’s crew had kicked in half the fee to secure the film site. Her
people could drive past, but uninvited reporters had to hoof it.

TJ relaxed as he recognized Roger Curtis. The journalist
had pulled his tie loose and discarded his sports jacket before he’d
even attempted the walk. He and Roger had shared beers and battles
together, and he trusted the man.

As Roger reached the gate, TJ tossed him a cold bottle of beer.

Roger twisted off the cap as he nudged the gate open with his shoulder. “Why aren’t you down at the beach with your girlfriend?”

“She’s got her job, I’ve got mine.” Girlfriend. TJ snorted
at the schoolboy appellation. Mara was way past being a girl. He hoped
she was still a friend, but he wouldn’t call her on it right now. The
week since he’d seen her last seemed like eternity. He wondered how long
it would take before she became a distant memory.

He had a sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t happen this time
around. Even if he hated the outcome, these past weeks would be branded
into his brain cells for eternity.

“How much longer have you got your job?” Roger asked with the cynicism of experience.

“You and Clay could be clones.”

“Doubt if Pretty Boy would appreciate the comparison. He said I’d find you here.”

TJ chuckled at the description. Clay had a gruff attitude
that attracted women like flies. “I wouldn’t call him pretty by a long
shot, but I know what you mean. Maybe we should learn to snarl at
women.”

“Not worth the effort. Heard from Martin yet?”

That’s why he liked Roger. He didn’t mess around with
small talk. “Nope. Don’t figure the colonel’s much on talking to me
right about now.”

“The evidence is pretty damning, but he’s claiming
innocence. I thought maybe you might have some insight. The two of you
were close.”

TJ shrugged. “He’s an old family friend. He recruited me
to the job. He supported my reports when his superiors wanted to ignore
them. I want to believe he’s innocent. Your articles paint a pretty grim
picture against it.”

“A lot of the transcripts could point to the operation of
some kind of Balkan Mafia involving foreign military and not ours. The
boxes could be testimonies the colonel collected in an attempt to snuff
them out. But we’ve uncovered clear-cut evidence that Martin let
Turkosevic go free. The bastard was responsible for the rape of fifteen
young women in an uprising a year after he got out. I have your reports
enumerating the evidence against Turkosevic’s superiors in the earlier
massacre, and your forensic reports supporting the army’s conclusion
that men under Turkosevic raped and murdered those women whose bodies
were uncovered later. Not one of those people have been brought to
trial. It looks pretty damning to me.”

TJ sipped his water and thought about it, then shook his
head. “We can’t judge until we’ve heard the colonel. Aren’t reporters
supposed to seek both sides?”

“His lawyer isn’t letting him talk, so I can’t report his
side. A hearing has been scheduled, but he’s not locked up. You might
want to watch your back,” Roger warned. “You’re the only one who can
connect Martin to those boxes. How did you get them?”

“So you can know and be called as witness, too? It was
just an army snafu, pure accident. I’ve got another in the trunk of the
Taurus. You might as well have that one.” TJ dug in his pocket for the
car keys. “I trust you’ve turned the first batch over to the
authorities?”

“After copying every page,” Roger admitted. “I gave them to the FBI, not military. Best I could do.”

“Better than I managed. Now that the story is out, no one can bury it. I owe you.”

Roger shook his head. “That story made my career. I can
have any assignment I ask for right now. It’s you I’m worried about. If
there’s anything I can do...”

TJ shrugged. “You took care of a problem for me. Ask for an assignment to Honolulu and maybe I’ll meet you there.”

Roger laughed. “The only bodies there are mummified in
suntan oil. That might be a pleasant change. I’ll leave the keys under
the seat.”

Just like that
, TJ thought, wishing for a beer as
he watched Roger walk off—his career down the drain. It was so easy.
Virtually painless—if it weren’t for losing Mara. No numbness on earth
could shield him from the agony of letting Mara slip away again.

Even if he had a career left, she had a life he couldn’t
share. She knew that. No point in prolonging the torture of teenage
dreams. He’d finish up here and move on. She’d finish the film, start an
illustrious career, and maybe she’d finally have the confidence she
needed to stand on her own. She didn’t need him.

But right this minute, he needed to hear
Do-wah-diddy-diddy
humming behind him just one more time.

***

“You’ve put on weight,” Constantina griped, pulling up the hidden zipper at the back of Mara’s spandex gown.

“A month ago, you told me I’m too skinny. Now you tell me
I’m fat.” Ignoring her hairdresser’s constant carping, Mara poked at her
new hairpiece and grimaced. TJ was right—she looked phony in all this
crap. Once she had the film canned and the power of the studio was
really hers, she would ditch the artifice and come out of the closet as
an intellectual harpy. Hollywood could use a good shock.

“Making love makes you hungry,” Constantina concluded with
approval. “You will need a whole new wardrobe if you stay with that
man.”

TJ hadn’t called her since she’d left. If she kept busy
enough, she wouldn’t have time to fret over that. Call her Pollyanna,
but she intended to keep her appointment with the doctor in the morning
for birth control pills. TJ was still out there, and he wasn’t picking
up women in bars. She had her spies.

“Making love makes me fat—a whole new concept in weight
consciousness.” Mara jerked off the hairpiece and flung it on the bed.
“I think I’ll let my hair go natural.”

Constantina snorted. “You don’t remember what natural is.
Men like blondes. And redheads. Why look dowdy when you don’t have to?”

Okay, maybe she wouldn’t go back to brown. She poked her
reading glasses on her nose and peered at the mirror closer. Nope, she
didn’t like her glasses any better either—at least not while wearing an
evening gown.

She liked glasses in the library and while reading the Sunday papers with TJ. She was two damned different people.

“I’m not out to impress anyone tonight. I’ll make it an
early night. I have some material I want to go over before I go to bed.”
Ignoring Constantina’s clucking as she rearranged her curls without the
filler, Mara made mental notes of everything she needed to do between
now and the time she hit the bed. She’d once thrived on being needed.
Now, the idea of so many senseless tasks exhausted her. When would she
ever have a life of her own?

She did what she had to do. She’d persuaded Aunt Miriam to
keep Mama out of the institution for a while longer. They’d hired two
nurses to watch her. It stretched her budget, but she could be in only
so many places at once. “That’s fine, Con. I’ll just flap my lashes,
fill the guys with alcohol, and get the checks signed. Don’t wait up.”

Leaving Constantina muttering dire imprecations, Mara
sashayed down the stairs. She’d debated between holding the party
outside where the humidity would curl the straightest hair, or inside,
where the narrow dining room provided an intimacy she didn’t want
without TJ present. She’d opted for the terrace, but regretted it as
soon as the soggy air hit her.

Her guests were already mingling under the influence of
the open bar. Taking a deep breath, she plunged into the glitzy milieu
of Mara the party girl.

“Durwood, so good of you to come.” She took the arm of one
of her deepest investors. “Has Ian showed you the daily rushes? Aren’t
they stupendous? Glynis at her best. That sheer dress for the sea scene
was sheer genius.”

Durwood failed to notice her play on words or alliterative
license, opting instead to look down her cleavage. “You’re better off
without Sid, kid. We should work together more often.”

His suggestive tone opened pathways she once might have
explored. Durwood was rich, currently single, and a power in this
business.

With burgeoning confidence in her abilities, she chose to
believe she didn’t need a man to get her where she wanted to go these
days. Smiling, she patted his arm. “That’s a wonderful idea. I’ll have
Ian give you a call when we’re ready to start the next project.” She
leaned closer to whisper, “I have a wonderful idea involving U-boats and
a spy who falls in love with the enemy. What do you think?”

She didn’t care what he thought, but Durwood liked giving
advice. When he appeared ready to wind down, she located her next
victim. Waving at the mayor, she kissed Durwood’s cheek and drifted
toward the little group of locals.

“Mayor Bridgeton! So good to see you.”

“Fine party, Miss Simon. I understand filming is ahead of
schedule. Do you have any idea when Dr. McCloud will be done with his
project? I’m still working on the state, hoping to get that park.”

She didn’t have any idea when Dr. McCloud would do
anything, and the knife in her heart dug a little deeper, but she smiled
brilliantly. “We’ve worked out an agreement. He’s brought in his
brother to help. I’ve been doing a little research on my own. Did you
know German U-boats used to patrol these waters?”

One of the men with the mayor laughed as if she’d just
told a good joke. “You been talking to Ed? He swears he saw one land.
Can you imagine some poor German wandering out there lost, eaten by
mosquitoes and chased by wild boars? Maybe it’s their bones McCloud is
digging up.”

The idea took root, and Mara glowed with the images it
conjured. “Stranded in paradise. Stranger in a strange land. Or maybe a
romantic comedy, if the daughter of a local fisherman finds them...”

The mayor coughed. “He’s being facetious, Miss Simon. I’m
sure those bones belong to some poor fisherman who stayed out too late,
got drunk, and never came home."

“Oh, no. TJ says one was definitely shot, and there are
two bodies out there. But I wouldn’t end the movie that way. I prefer
happy endings.”

“Movie?” The mayor looked vaguely alarmed.

Mara patted his arm reassuringly. “It takes a long, long
time to pull together a script and a film. We won’t wreak havoc on your
quiet town for another few years.”

She left him choking on his olive. She’d just had this
marvelous idea for a story line. If she got upstairs in time, she could
scribble it all down before it got away from her.

Let Ian handle the investors, media, and other assorted sharks. She wanted to be creative.

Ignoring the fading
Southern Living
magazines
scattered across the sixties-style laminated end table in the doctor’s
office, Mara scribbled notes into her PDA as fast as her stylus would
allow.