Jan Burke - Sweet Dreams, Irene

“Anyone you would suspect of doing this?”

“I’d rather not speculate, Frank, at least not yet. I just wanted to ask you and Pete to be careful about who you talk to. I have no idea what was being looked for; the files don’t seem to have been disturbed, just read.”

“You’ve got backups?”

“Yes, on disks which are kept in a completely separate area. I checked them. No one looked at the backups.” He paused, glancing at me, then back to Frank. “I’ve never mentioned my conversations with you in my notes. I know you aren’t supposed to be on either case, but no one has forbidden me to discuss them with you. I know you have reasons to be interested in both of them, and I haven’t minded taking care of a friend.”

“I’ve appreciated it,” Frank said.

Carlos waved it off. “It’s nothing. By the way, I think I’ve finally identified the hairs.”

“The ones from the wounds?” I asked.

“So, Frank has kept you up on all of this. Yes, from the wounds. The hairs are from a deer.”

“A deer?”

“Yes. Does that mean anything to you?” he asked hopefully.

“No,” I said. “Not unless it means she was killed in the mountains, where there might be deer hairs on the ground.”

He shook his head. “I suppose it’s possible, but why would she pick up deer hairs only in the wounds, and not on her clothing or other parts of her body?”

“The hairs are bound to figure in somehow, sooner or later,” Frank said. “It’s just too weird otherwise. We’ll keep thinking it over.”

“I’ll do the same,” Carlos said, standing up. “Thanks for the coffee. I’d better get going.”

WHEN FRANK CAME BACK after seeing Carlos out, he leaned over and kissed me. “Maybe Pete and Rachel will be late this morning,” he murmured into my ear. The doorbell rang. I was getting ready to disconnect it.

“See you after work, Frank.”

“Count on it,” he said, moving to answer the door.

The boys left for work, and I moved back into the kitchen with Rachel. I set the table while she cooked; I hadn’t gotten around to one-handed breakfast-cooking yet. She was making a frittata, an Italian-style omelet.

“Sweatpants,” she observed. “We should have thought of that sooner. Those look a little big on you.”

“They’re Frank’s. I’m afraid this is the second pair that will have the elastic around one ankle stretched out.”

“I don’t think he’ll mind.” She smiled. “You seem full of energy today.”

“I’m feeling better. I think a lot of it is mental.”

She divided up the frittata and we dug in. I was chasing my first bite around the plate with my fork when she said, “How do you mean, mental?”

“Oh, I guess yesterday was a turning point for me.” I managed to get the bite into my mouth. Rachel and Lydia were going to have me bursting my casts from weight gain. The frittata was great. “Squisita!” I told her.

She grinned. “Terrific! Not only do you like it, you like it in Italian. So tell me about yesterday.”

I told her, leaving out details concerning the hours alone with Frank after sailing and after Cassie left. I told her about my decision to get out and about a little more.

“Sounds good to me. You want to go for a ride somewhere today?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d love it.”

“I know – we’ll go clothes shopping.”

I looked at her doubtfully.

“For sweatpants and other things that would be easy for you to wear.”

I thought of being in a store, around that many people, looking in mirrors at myself.

“On the other hand-” she began, seeing my brows furrow, but I cut her off.

“No, Rachel, you’re right. And I’ll have you along for company, so I know I’ll enjoy it.”

We finished breakfast, and I did what I could to help clean up. The phone rang. It was Frank.

“Bad news, I’m afraid,” he said.

“No search warrant.”

“No warrant. I’m really sorry, Irene. I can’t get anybody to touch it. I thought Sloane would see himself as a lame duck and go for broke.”

Sloane had been appointed as acting D.A. when we lost our last one. His term would be over in January, but apparently it didn’t make him any braver.

“Thanks for trying, Frank. I guess I was expecting things to go this way. Sounds like Gannet is safe.”

“Try not to let it get you down, okay?”

“I won’t. Rachel is taking me shopping today. I’m going to get some sweatpants of my own.”

“I don’t know, you looked pretty good in the pair you were wearing this morning. But have fun. Be careful. I’ll see you tonight.”

I hung up the phone and felt a surge of frustration and anger.

“You look like you need to punch somebody. What’s going on?” Rachel asked.

“Apparently, Mr. Gannet is beyond reach. Frank says the D.A. won’t go for a search warrant.”

She studied me for a moment. “There’s nothing worse than being fairly certain someone is guilty and not being able to nail them. Sorry, Irene.”

“I guess I’ll just have to put it out of my mind. Shall we go?”

But before we could leave, the phone rang again. It was Jacob.

“You remember Zoe – the lady at Rhiannon?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, I went in there the other day to give her some of Sammy’s things. Mrs. Riley gave them to me to give to Sammy’s parents, but I didn’t think they would want the witch stuff. Anyway, I was talking to Zoe about Sammy and about you, and she said she’d like to talk to you. I’ve got her phone number if you want it.”

“Thanks.” I wrote the number down.

“She’s kind of goofy, but she’s nice.”

“You probably tell people the same thing about me.”

“No, I don’t,” he said, taking me far too seriously. “I mean, I don’t tell them you’re goofy.”

“Well, thanks again, Jacob. Come by and visit sometime soon.”

We hung up and I had a smile on my face.

“He’s a good kid,” Rachel said.

“That he is,” I said, feeling my spirits rise a little. I dialed the number for Zoe.

“Rhiannon.”

“Hi, Zoe. Irene. Jacob said you wanted to talk to me.”

“Oh, Irene, yes! I have something for you.”

“What?”

“Oh, let it be a surprise. A little gift from me to you.”

That in itself surprised me, but I said, “I’ll be coming that way a little later on. Maybe I can talk my ride into stopping by.”

“Wonderful! And don’t let that Leo’s pride of yours keep you away.”

RACHEL WAS WILLING to stop by Rhiannon, but we decided to go shopping first. My orthopedist had given me a cane, and I took it along, not knowing how much walking I’d do. I seldom used it, since it tied up my only free hand.

We went to a store called Nobody Out. It’s in a shopping district in downtown Las Piernas, where the sidewalks tend to be fairly crowded, so there were plenty of eyes on me. Rachel parked her rental car as close to the store as she could manage, about a block away. I found out that there was actually a certain amount of amusement to be had in watching people react to me. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed faces are fairly comical. I couldn’t move very quickly, even using the cane, but I only got jostled once. After that, Rachel managed to block for me.

By the time we got to the store, I had worked off some of the disappointment I had been feeling about Gannet. I felt better. I felt a little wistful, too, since this was where I had bought my running shoes, and running was not going to be in the plan for some time yet. One more ability you will have greater appreciation for after it is returned to you, I told myself.

I had chosen to go to Nobody Out because I buy most of my sports clothes there, and that proved to be of help. Helen, a college student who works there part-time, knows me fairly well, and didn’t fuss over the injuries.