“Peaceful, it isn’t,” he said. “All right, it can wait till tomorrow. Be in my office at nine, Kate, and bring Francis with you.”
Maggie coughed at the sudden vision, but Kate rose to the occasion magnificently. “Caleb, I’m not your employee, I’m your co-worker. If you want to meet with me tomorrow, you can check with my secretary for an appointment, and you can damned well find Francis and bring him along yourself!”
Caleb sighed ostentatiously. “You could learn some manners from your sister here. I’ll be in your office waiting for you at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Be there.”
The apartment was very quiet once the door had closed behind him. Maggie turned an inquiring gaze back to her sister and was amused to see temper still lurking around her eyes. At least it chased away the haunted, frightened look that Francis had engendered.
“I think he’s charming, Kate,” Maggie said mischievously.
“You can have him,” she snapped back. “He’ll be the death of me yet.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I had thought he might be the most likely suspect, but now I’ve changed my mind. He might kill someone in a white-hot temper, but he wouldn’t go to all the trouble of hiding the body and then framing someone else.”
“Caleb?” Kate echoed. “Caleb wouldn’t hurt a flea.”
“Then what’s your problem?”
“He wants me,” Kate said in a depressed tone of voice.
“So I noticed. I still don’t understand the problem.”
“I don’t want him,” Kate said. “I’ve had enough of men to last me for quite a while, thank you. Brian soured me for a good long time. I’m not about to go from a marriage to motherhood to a divorce to a custody battle to marriage again in the space of one year. Forget it.”
Maggie smiled. “I don’t know if Caleb will. He looks like someone who’s used to getting his own way.”
“Not this time,” Kate said firmly.
“Even if it’s what you want, too?”
Kate cast her a frustrated glance. “You don’t have to be so know-it-all. Why don’t you wash your face and find us what’s left of that bottle of whiskey while I check on Chrissie? It’s going to take a lot of Jack Daniel’s to get me to sleep tonight.”
“Me, too. Okay, little sister. We’ll get drunk together, and you can pour out your girlish heart,” Maggie offered.
“Stuff it,” Kate replied sweetly. “Bring the Scotch, too. It’s going to be a long night.”
“It has been already.”
“Amen to that,” Kate said. “And no ice.”
three
It took her a moment to remember where she was. The guest room in Kate’s apartment was large, and Maggie had kept the bedside light burning all night. It hadn’t kept the nightmares at bay, though—throughout her disturbed sleep, Francis Ackroyd had waltzed, pale and macabre, doing a graceful dance of death that left her clawing at the pillow and sweating in her sleep. And then, strangest of all, Randall had invaded her dream.
It had been years since she’d even thought of him, longer still since she’d dreamed of him. Randall Carter was one of the weak, unpleasant parts of her life, symbolic of stupid mistakes that she’d always regret. She’d learned long since that the only thing you could do with hideous, embarrassing mistakes was to accept them and then dismiss them. She’d done that with Randall and had been happily free of him since she’d met Mack. Why he’d suddenly returned to haunt her dreams was beyond her comprehension.
Still, she had to admit he was a better nocturnal companion than Francis Ackroyd’s restless ghost. She’d rather dream of Randall than remember the pale corpse she’d spent too much time hauling around town. She could almost be grateful for the distraction. The thought made her laugh ruefully as she pulled herself out of bed. Never in a million years had she thought she’d be grateful to Randall Carter. It just went to show that you couldn’t be certain of anything in this life.
There was no sign of Kate when Maggie staggered sleepily into the deserted kitchen. It was well past nine—she must have dropped Chrissie off at the baby-sitter’s and headed to the studio to face Caleb McAllister. Maggie only hoped she’d be able to keep her cool. Caleb was so enamored of Kate that it would be a simple enough matter to distract him, but that seemed like the last thing her sister was willing to do.
The coffee was made, and Maggie wandered around the kitchen, sipping at the unaccustomed bitterness of the milk-less brew. Not once did she make the mistake of opening the refrigerator door. Kate had left a note—an early call to the building superintendent had resulted in prompt repairs while Maggie had slept the sleep of the just. The appliance stood there, a mute white monolith, a silent reproach; it made her want to return to the quiet guest bedroom. But Maggie was made of sterner stuff than that. She made toast in the kitchen, sipped her coffee, and ignored the temptation to glance over her shoulder. But then she grabbed the grapefruit marmalade that she and Kate shared a passion for and headed into the living room. She didn’t notice until she had settled herself on the overstuffed white sofa that she had been holding her breath.
Thank heaven they had rescued the marmalade when they’d emptied the refrigerator! The tart flavor soothed her with its familiarity. She could remember Mack teasing her about her fanatical devotion to it. For that matter, she even remembered that Randall had once presented her with a couple of jars of it when they had been trapped together in a dingy little apartment outside of Gemansk. God, why was she thinking of Randall again?
She drained her coffee and for a moment thought longingly of a refill. But the coffeepot was on the counter next to the refrigerator, and not even for another much-needed jolt of caffeine did Maggie feel like returning to the kitchen. The coffee could wait. In the meantime there were things to be done.