Menage (15 page)

'Hello, ma'am,' said the nearest. 'We received a report of a racket here tonight.'

My fingers tightened on the door. 'A racket?'

'Loud noises. Shrieking.' He peered behind me and caught sight of Sean and the poker. 'Want to put that down, sir?'

'Sorry.' He set it against the wall. 'We didn't know who could be pounding on the door this late.'

The officer grunted. It was not an apology. 'Mind if we take a look around?'

I stood back as the policemen entered. Between them, they took two steps into the living room, three into the dining room, and one up the stairs. Thorough fellows, those Philly cops - but I was glad for their lackadaisical attitude tonight.

'You folks have a party here?'

'No-o,' I said, with a reasonable facsimile of confusion. I thanked heaven Joe hadn't woken. He couldn't lie to save his life. I nodded towards the VCR. A copy of Silence of the Lambs sat on top - Sean's pick, of course. 'We were watching horror movies, but I can't imagine it was loud enough to -'

'Some people are more sensitive to noise than others,' said the second cop. He was young and still fit. He tugged his belt higher on his trim waist. I hoped Sean wasn't ogling him.

'You said "we",' he continued. 'You and your boyfriend the only ones here?'

'Uh, yeah,’ I said, startled to hear Sean referred to as my boyfriend. 'And our lodger. He's asleep now.'

'
Hm
,' said the younger cop, but I could tell he wasn't suspicious. 'Must have been the TV then. Next time watch that volume.'

'Yes, sir,’ I said, and thanked them for coming round.

The door shut behind them. Sean scratched his head. 'We weren't that loud, and you certainly didn't shriek.'

'Maybe the
neighbours
-'

He blew a breath out through his lips. 'Your left-side
neighbours
are out of town, and old
Mrs
Perelli
is so deaf she'd sleep through a hurricane. Believe me, I'd have found somewhere else to play if that weren't the case.' Yawning, he sat on the bottom stair and propped his shoulder on the banister. 'I think you've got an enemy, Kate.'

'Me?' I tightened the sash of my dressing gown. My scalp prickled. 'Who cares what I do?'

He pinned me with a speculative stare. Green flashed in his hazel eyes - a cold
colour
, very self-contained. 'Your ex, maybe.'

'He's too busy planning his wedding to Marianne's teenage daughter. Besides, there would be no way for him to know. I don't blab about my sex life, not even to my friends.'

Sean cracked his knuckles. 'Neither do I, and neither would Lou or Amy. They're old hands at this scene. They know better.'

I sat next to him and sighed. "Then who?'

'Someone who thought the cops would get here early enough to break up our fun.'

I chuckled at that. 'Whoever it was, they don't know Philly cops very well.'

Yawning again, Sean heaved to his feet. 'We'll talk about it tomorrow. Maybe Joe can think of an explanation. At any rate -' he offered his hand to help me up '-we'll find the spoilsport and squash him like a bug. Scout's
honour
.'

Scout's
honour
. That must have been some troop.

Sean slid the brown sugar to Joe's side of the table. With his speedy metabolism, Joe didn't believe in eating porridge plain. 'What about your uncle?' Sean asked. 'Can he find out who tipped off the police?'

Joe took a quick bite and swallowed. 'He doesn't work in this area, but I guess he could ask around.'

'Your uncle is a cop?' I offered him the raisin box. First a brother, now an uncle. What else didn't I know about Joe?

Joe shook some raisins into his bowl. "Thanks. Good sex makes me hungry. And, yes, my uncle is a cop - a detective.'

I pondered the implications of his relative's career. 'How will you explain why you need to know who made a noise complaint?'

Til
tell him the truth, or most of it. He'll understand.' Joe grinned. 'Uncle Joey likes to wear women's underwear. Strictly off-duty, you understand. He's happily married and has three kids. I was named after him.'

My spoon halted halfway to my mouth. 'Your parents named you after the family cross-dresser?'

"They didn't know at the time. He only told them two years ago. Ever since, my dad has blamed Uncle Joey for everything he thinks is wrong with me.'

Sean grimaced but Joe's smile shone with good
humour
. When God handed out bitterness, he must have skipped Joe. His father's bigotry didn't seem to bother him at all.

'Originals must run in the family,' I said.

Joe um-hummed around another mouthful. 'You bet. My Grandma Rose was a fan dancer. My mom's a pet therapist and my dad is a conspiracy-theory junkie.' Joe put on a fierce father face. "Trust me, son, the government knows more than it's telling."'

'And then there's Al,' Sean added.

'Al?'

Joe rolled his eyes. 'Al is my big brother. He's a corporate lawyer. He married a nice Catholic girl. They have two normal kids, one normal dog, and a house in the suburbs. It's all very bourgeois. Of course, in my family, that is eccentric.'

'Does he know about -?' I glanced at Sean, wondering how to describe their relationship.

'Oh, sure,' said Joe. 'If I didn't tell my family, I'd have to worry about them finding out. Mom's cool with it, Dad flipped his lid, and Al leaves the room if anyone mentions Sean. He still loves me, though, so I try to be patient with him.'

Sean put his head in his hands and wagged it back and form.

'What?' Joe
shovelled
in another spoonful.

'Nothing. I just wonder what planet you come from sometimes.'

'What's wrong with telling my family things? We're close.'

"There's nothing wrong with it. It's great. But most guys would be afraid to tell their parents they're sleeping with another man.'

Joe shoved his empty bowl aside and slouched back, hands folded over his flat belly. 'Your family knows.'

'Yeah, but it took me four years to work up the nerve. Even now I haven't told them about Kate.'

Joe crinkled his forehead. 'Neither have I. I wonder what that means.'

I fluttered my lashes at the pair of them. 'It probably means I'm too special to share.'

'You know,’ Joe said, 'you're probably right.'

I glowed for a minute, flattered as anything, then started upright in my chair.

'Larry,’ I said, hardly aware my brain had been working.

Sean set down his spoon. 'Larry?'

"The obnoxious estate agent. The one you hung up on. Maybe he was skulking around last night to check out the competition.'

'You might have something there.' He smacked his fist into his palm. 'If it is him, I hope he's not too hard to discourage.'

I covered Sean's fist with my hand. 'Promise me you won't do anything crazy.'

'Who me?' He laughed. ‘I never do anything crazy. At least, not if I can get caught.'

I'd forgotten all about my supposed enemy by the time I reached work. Too many honeyed memories crowded out the worry. I didn't even care that I was an hour and a half late; my very joints felt oiled with pleasure.

Regrettably, the scene that greeted me broke the mood.

I found Marianne berating Keith, our foot-fond assistant, for
mis
-shelving some books.

'How many times do I have to tell you? The big names go cover out.'

'But I didn't know.' Keith's face was pink. He gripped the sales counter as though it were his only shield. Perhaps it was. He might be six foot something and a competitive rower, but he was a nice boy, the kind who would never hit a woman, no matter what. Unfortunately for him, Marianne looked ready to vault over the counter and claw him - leather miniskirt and all.

'How could you not know?' she demanded, her voice loud enough to turn customers' heads. 'Nora Roberts is one of the biggest names there is.'

'Marianne,' I said, using the tone I reserved for misbehaving children and dogs. It wasn't nice, but it worked. She spun around to face me, frustration written in every line of her pale, skillfully powdered face.

'But he -'

I pointed towards the office. 'In private, Marianne. I'll join you in two minutes.' I turned to Keith, who fiddled with the cash drawer. Apparently, my intervention embarrassed him as much as Marianne's attack.

'Probably just PMS,' he mumbled.

'I don't care if it's a brain
tumour
. She has no right to snap your head off. You're our most reliable employee. In fact, I plan to promote you to day manager at the end of the month - assuming the hours fit your class schedule.'

Keith stared at me in shock. Then he smiled, revealing sparkling white but crooked front teeth. With his tousled brown hair and the smattering of freckles across his nose, he resembled an overgrown
Mouseketeer
.

'Are you kidding? I'll make the hours fit. Oh, Ms Winthrop, you won't be sorry.'

'I know I won't.' I patted his shoulder. Had I ever been that earnest?

When I entered our office, Marianne was crying over her keyboard, noisy, racking sobs. My anger faded. Crouching by her chair, I rubbed her slender forearm. 'Marianne, honey, what's wrong?'

She waved her arm with a jangle of sterling silver bracelets, too overwrought to speak. Her straight black hair curtained her face.

'Is my brother still arguing about the property settlement? Or did Brenda ask to borrow your wedding dress again?'

She shook her head and buried her nose in a tissue. 'It wasn't them. It - Oh, I don't want to talk about it.'

'That's a first.' I pressed my palm to her forehead. 'Should I call a doctor?'

'Only if he's well-hung.'

Reassured by her returning sense of
humour
, I pushed to my feet and tugged her black velveteen sleeve. 'How about me treating you to lunch today?' I wagged my brows. 'Le Bee-Fin?'

She sniffled and lifted her head. I noticed she'd barely mussed her make-up. 'We haven't got a reservation.'

Normally, she would have had a point. The exclusive restaurant had won so many awards, two weeks was not too long to wait for a table. Today, however, I had an ace up my sleeve. 'Remember that special order I filled for the
maftre
d', the Japanese pillow books? He'll find a corner for us. We'll kill a bottle of wine and you can tell Auntie Kate all about it.'

'Nice wine?'

I grinned. Marianne had a practical soul. 'I'll let you pick.'

She adjusted her silver Hermes scarf. 'All right. I'll get my coat.'

'But it's only 10.30.'

'So what? I need a drink now, not at
noon
.'

As soon as we arrived, the elegant French atmosphere put me at ease. The same was not true of Marianne. She fussed over a microscopic speck on her fork, and a draught, and then one of the chandeliers was glaring in her eye. The waiter, who'd gone beyond the call of duty to seat us well, satisfied every complaint with a bow and a smile. I resolved to leave him a generous tip and waited for Marianne to calm down.

The truth came out midway through the second bottle of Chateau Smith-Haut Lafitte.

'You knew I wanted them and you slept with them anyway.'

Trying not to choke on my trout almandine, I pressed my napkin to my mouth. "That's what was bothering you? Come on, Marianne. We're not teenagers. I'm not obliged to avoid everyone you might have a crush on.'

'But you lied to me.' She threw back an angry swallow of the pricey wine. 'You told me they were gay.'

'I was trying to save you some embarrassment.'

'Hah!'

'Marianne, they showed no interest in you.'

Her mouth formed a bitter, red moue. "They never had a chance. You kept them under lock and key.'

'That is not true.' Actually, it was sort of true, but I ignored the
niggle
of guilt. I leant forward and caught the calming scent of the white carnations that filled our table's vase. I lowered my voice. 'Joe was in and out of the shop for months before we started anything. Every time you saw him, you made a pass at him. He didn't respond to your overtures once. Face it, Marianne, you were this close to making a pest of yourself.'

She toyed with her salmon mousse. 'You don't have to be nasty about it.'

'But you don't listen when I'm nice.' She pouted. 'It's just - You always get what you want.' I collapsed against my chair's medallion back. 'You can't really believe that. Did I get what I wanted when my husband ran off with your daughter?'

This was not a good topic to raise. Marianne's eyes narrowed to glittering grey slits. 'Maybe you did get what you wanted. You certainly didn't fight very hard to keep him.'

'Christ, Marianne-' But I shut my mouth before I could say anything I'd regret. 'Maybe we'd better postpone this conversation until we're both thinking clearly.' 'Fine.' She tossed her hair over her shoulder. ‘I know when I've struck a nerve.'