Jonathan Kellerman - True Detectives

“Now, why in the world would you say that, sweetheart?”

Moe didn't answer.

Maddy said, “I'll wait for the blush to fade. Then I'll tell you no one's too good for you, my precious baby boy.”

“What makes you think I'm blushing?”

“Am I wrong?”

Silence.

“Just say, ‘Thanks for the emotional support, Mom.’”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, Mosey, I didn't mean to upset you, I'm just teasing. Though the truth is, if you don't want to be teased, you need to learn not to be so reactive, darling. So anyway, I'd really love to see you. Eight weeks is way too long not to see my baby boy's Adonis face. I've been painting up a storm and I crave your judgment.”

“I'm sure it's great, Mom.”

“I'm sure it's not, Mosey.”

“All of a sudden someone's got a self-esteem problem?” said Moe.

Maddy laughed-that deep, almost mannish burst of glee so at odds with her appearance. Moe had seen people thrown by it. Sometimes, he was still thrown by it.

“Self-esteem issues?” she said. “Not me, darling. I'm just a factual appraiser and I'm well aware of the fact that I have absolutely no talent. Zero. A great, yawning void of no talent. Heck, Mosey, my easel shudders as I approach. But that's the strength of my character: I don't give a fig. I paint because I love it and anyone who disapproves can go straight to Pasadena. In that sense, we're diametrical opposites, Mosey. You have tremendous talent for what you do, but are so displeased with yourself.”

“Mom, I'm not displeased-”

“So I'm wrong again,” said Maddy. “No problem, I'm totally comfortable being in error because I'm aware of my infinitesimal place in the cosmos. So when are you coming? How about tonight? I'll cook my famous lentil soup-don't worry, I've stocked up on Beano.”

“Mom!”

From across the room, a D- 2 named Gil Southfork looked up from his desk and Moe knew his voice had risen. Cupping his hand over the phone, he whispered, “Let me call you later, Mom.”

“Don't bother,” said Maddy. “Just come see me. Tonight.”

“What's the urgen-”

“I miss you, darling. Eight weeks.”

“Let me see how my day goes and-”

“Six p.m., I'll make those sausages you like-chicken-cilantro, turkey-apple. You'll be off by six, darling?”

“That's the point, Mom, it's hard to pin down a time,” said Moe. “I'm on a case and there's no way-”

“Bring Elizabeth if she's free-why aren't you seeing her tonight? You need a social life to balance out your work life.”

“She's busy, too, Mom.” A semi-lie; Liz would be free by eight, the two of them had left the evening open.

“Too bad, I really like that girl,” said Maddy. “See you at six.”

When Liana showed up at Work Land at ten a.m., Aaron had her check ready.

She made a show of tucking the paper slowly between her cleavage.

“I'm jealous,” he said.

Laughing, she removed it, dropped it daintily into her Kate Spade. Resumed sipping from the demitasse of espresso Aaron had brewed in that cute, copper Italian machine he kept in the kitchenette next to his office.

“Yum, Mr. Fox. You are one class act.”

Aaron fooled with a piece of lemon rind.

“Nice shirt,” said Liana. “New?”

“Nope.”

“Never seen it before.”

“Never got around to wearing it before.” Been hanging in the home haberdashery for eleven months. “Tell me about this RAND guy.”

“Don't worry, he's for real, Aaron. First thing I did when I got home last night was look him up on their website. He's there, picture and all. Does exactly what he said he did.”

“Chasing terrorists.”

“Playing with numbers,” she said. “Government contracts.”

Aaron said, “Doesn't mean he's not whack.”

“He's not, don't be paranoid.”

“Talking to strangers, Lee.” Aaron tsk-tsked.

“I thought that was the point of last night.”

“The point was soaking up ambience, getting a feel for the place.”

“It's not the décor you care about, it's the clientele. Kind of hard to tease that out without talking to strangers,” said Liana.

“And no doubt, Dr. Rau doesn't look like a leprous summer squash.”

Liana stared at him. “You're not serious.”

“I care about you, Lee. Just because you meet a cute guy-”

“Stop right there, Mr. Fox.” Graceful, slim fingers tightened around the demitasse handle. “Though, if I had to rely on you for nur-turance, where would I be, Aaron?”

Aaron slapped his chest. “I am mortally wounded.” Doing it with levity. Unlike Steve, whose chest-pound last night had been an outward jest but laced with serious regret.

Liana leaned across the glass slab that formed the top of Aaron's desk. “What we have, mon amour , is a form of aerobics. Healthy, strenuous, satisfying for what it is, and altogether transitory.”

“As opposed to Mr. RAND, who's a deeply spiritual guy, just brimming with empathy and sensitivity. All of which you know from a one-hour bar schmooze.”

“This is ridiculous,” she said. “You gave me an assignment, I did it A-plus.”

“Exactly, Lee. You're valuable, I want you around for a long time.”

“Oh, for God's sake, it's not like I'm dating him.”

“But you've considered it.”

Liana smiled. “You're jealous.”

“No, I'm protective.”

“Thank you, but I'm quite capable of taking care of myself.” Liana put her cup down. “What's gotten into you?”

“I just don't like the notion of mixing business with pleasure.”

Liana's eyes slitted. “I'll remember that the next time someone booty-calls me at three a.m.”

She sprang up, tossed her hair, turned heel.

“Wait,” said Aaron. “Sorry, yeah, I'm being stupid. You mean a lot to me-as a friend, as a freelance.” Grin. “As the sexiest, firmest-”

“Stop.”

“Okay, okay. Sit down. Please.”

Liana exhaled a couple of times.

“Please, Lee.”

She returned to her chair, crossed her legs, let the jersey skirt ride up all the way to sleek white thigh. Commandment One: Make 'em suffer.

Aaron said, “I was out of line. My excuse is this case, I can't put my finger on it but there's a certain… I don't know, a dark aura circulating around it. I know that sounds hokey and I can't give you a rational reason, but there's something beneath the surface-something psychy going on.”

“As in paranormal?”

“No, no, none of that crap. As in creepy and sleazy and warped. If you tell me there's nothing weird about Mr. RAND, I'll go with that. But don't you think it's strange that he mentioned Caitlin right off the bat.”

“Dr. RAND,” said Liana. “He's got a Ph.D. And it wasn't off the bat, there was context-talking about the bar's celeb days, the irony of something happening when there were bodyguards all over the place. And he didn't mention Caitlin by name, just by incident. Plus, he told me about the Rensselaers and they turned out to be a dead end. So it's not like he's fixated.”

“The Rensselaers,” said Aaron. Glancing at the Internet printout Liana had brought. She'd used couple vanishes riptide santa monica as the search heading, reproduced an article from the Rensselaers’ hometown of Buckeye Bridge, Pennsylvania.

Ivan and Bettina, formerly owners of an antiques store, had cut town to escape a big-time eBay bad-check mess, used their ill-gotten gain to finance a West Coast vacation. The FBI had traced the couple to L.A., then lost the scent and gotten sneaky: filing a false missing persons report with several SoCal police agencies and convincing local stations to give the disappearance airplay.