John Lutz - Torch

“He told you that?”

“No. He didn’t have to. Maggie confided it to me about two months ago when she realized I’d noticed how they acted together when they thought they were alone one day in a file room. I figured it was none of my business, and Warren and I never saw the Winships again, so I didn’t mention it to Mark or anyone else.”

“Except for me, now.”

“Because the Winships are dead, and that should be looked into.”

“Tell me about Maggie Rourke. Something other than that she’s nice.”

Beverly smiled. “Okay, I’ll try to be more insightful. Maggie’s a financial consultant, too. She’s in her early thirties and divorced, a focused career woman. It kind of surprised me that she’d let herself become involved with someone at work. But once she did tell me and I knew for sure, I began watching the two of them together, how they exchanged glances, fond touches. They acted like a couple too much in love to hide it. The thing is, after Donna died, Mark surely would have talked to Maggie. That means she might know something important.”

Carver thought she might indeed. “Is Maggie at work now?”

“No. After Mark’s death she took her vacation time, I’m sure so she could mourn him in private. She left an address and phone number where she could be reached, though. She said it was a beach cottage south of town off the coast highway.” Beverly felt around in her large black leather purse and withdrew a folded sheet of white paper. Carver could see the sharp impressions of typing on the side folded in. “The address and number are on here,” she said, handing the paper to him. “Do me a favor and don’t mention where you got them.”

“I don’t know where this will lead,” he said. “At some point I might have to mention it.”

“Well, if it comes to that, so be it. I’m not doing anything wrong.” She stared at him as if for confirmation.

“You’re doing something right,” Carver assured her, and tucked the paper into his shirt pocket.

As he exited the sunny park, leaving Beverly to her thoughts, he watched the kids hanging by their knees on the jungle gym and wished he could play free that way just one more time.

The first thing Carver noticed about Maggie Rourke was that she was knockdown beautiful. It was the second, third, and fourth thing he noticed, too. It was hard to get around the way she looked and think of her in politically correct terms.

She was on the beach, beyond a small wooden cottage built on thick piering and with a cantilevered screened-in porch. There was an outcropping of rock to her left, and the beach tapered off to rough pebble and sea oat to her right, so she was more or less alone except for occasional glimpses of swimmers or sunbathers beyond the rock. She lay on her back like an offering, in a lounge chair adjusted almost to horizontal, a folded white towel for a pillow and backdrop for her thick and tousled long auburn hair. Her tanned body was slender and flawless in a white string bikini. As Carver approached, the goddess peeled off her sunglasses and peered up at him. Her eyes were gray and curious and maybe the slightest bit afraid.

She said, “Are you a friend of Mac’s?”

“Who’s Mac?” Carver asked.

“The man who owns this place.”

“He a friend of yours?”

“Uh-huh.”

Carver told her who he was and that he wanted to talk to her about the Winships.

“I don’t see much point in that,” she said. “They’re both gone.”

He stood quietly in the sun, leaning with both hands on the crook of his cane, making it obvious he wasn’t going anywhere, so they might as well chat. The breeze off the sea felt cool on his perspiring back, the sun felt uncomfortably hot on his bald pate.

She replaced her sunglasses and settled her head back onto the folded towel. “I didn’t know Donna at all.”

“It was Mark I wanted to talk about,” he told her.

“I knew him,” she said, the blank dark glasses aimed straight up at the sky.

Carver said, “My understanding is that you and Mark were lovers.”

“I suppose there’s no reason now to deny it. We were in love, and now that’s all ended. Mark’s marriage was breaking up.”

“Because of you?”

“Before he met me. Otherwise . . .”

“Otherwise what?”

She laughed without humor. “I was going to say that if he was happily married I wouldn’t have allowed us to become so involved, but I’m not sure that’s true. We probably would have fallen in love anyway. It was one of those elemental things that overwhelm people.”

“It’s a wonder anyone stays married,” Carver said.

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“No, it was an honest observation. I’m divorced, myself.”

“The whole world is divorced.”

A gull swooped in low over the beach, then changed direction and flew out of sight beyond the outcropping of rock. It screamed as it passed from view.

Maggie said, “Mark was going to leave his wife for me.”

“You’re sure?”

She nodded, reaching down and finding a brown plastic squeeze bottle of sun block. “That’s what he told me, and I believed him.” She squirted the oily white substance into her left palm and began slowly rubbing it into the firm flesh of her stomach and thighs.

Watching her, Carver said, “I find it difficult to believe that a man with you to live for would commit suicide.”

She dropped the bottle back to the sand. “Donna caused it. Donna had him all fucked up.” Her voice was controlled but angry. She drew a deep breath and then very slowly released it.

“But Donna was dead.”

“Yeah. Leaving poor Mark with enough guilt piled on him that he broke under it. He wasn’t strong that way. He couldn’t take it so he decided to . . . well, he decided not to endure it.”

“Is that your take on what happened?”

“What other way is there to see it? Goddamned Donna stepped in front of a truck because she knew she was losing her husband. Mark was already under the strain of a marriage that was unraveling like a cheap sweater, with Donna blaming him for everything. Naturally, in the shock of what happened, he thought he was responsible for her death.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“Yes. On the phone. I tried to talk sense into him but he wasn’t listening. What she did, why I’m sure she did it, really got to him, just the way she planned it.” She shifted on the lounge and made a helpless little gesture with a clenched fist, swiping at the warm air tentatively, as if afraid it might strike back harder. “I should have gone to him. It might have made a difference.”

“There’s enough misplaced guilt going around,” Carver told her. “Don’t add to it.” He thought she might be crying beneath the dark glasses, but all he could see in their lenses were reflections of clouds. “How long have you been with Burnair and Crosley?” he asked, trying to get her mind off guilt and recrimination.

“About six months.”

“Is that where you and Mark met?”

“Yeah, it was a typical office romance. A cliche. We tried to hide it from everyone, but they saw through us even if they didn’t say anything. They all knew Mark was married, and that put a damper on talk around the office, at least in front of us. But no matter how discreet you are, love between two people shows and generates gossip. Look how easy it was for you to find out about us.”

“Did Donna know?”

“Mark didn’t think so. And he didn’t think anyone at the office knew. He simply wouldn’t let himself see it in their faces.”

“Did Mark know about Donna?”

Maggie sat up on the lounge and crossed her legs, facing Carver. She removed her sunglasses again. Her eyes fixed on his, and he could understand how Mark Winship had fallen. “Did he know what about Donna?” she asked.