Tess Gerritsen - Peggy Sue Got Murdered

"Dr. Novak returned the Mercedes," said Thomas. "I've just spoken with Regis Motors."

"Yes, she said she was going to buy a car today."

"The reason I'm calling, Mr. Q., is to tell you she paid for the Mercedes rental. The entire bill."

"But the bill was supposed to be sent to me."

"Precisely. And they explained it to her. But she insisted on paying it herself."

"They should have refused her payment."

"The staff at Regis tell me it was quite impossible to change her mind."

What was going on with that woman? Adam wondered as he hung up. Just last night, she'd seemed pleased about the car. There had been no question that the rental was his gift. Why her sudden insistence on paying the bill?

He reached once again for the phone. It suddenly seemed very important that he hear her voice, understand what was going through her head. He dialed, only to get her answering machine. In frustration he hung up without leaving a message.

At five-thirty, he left Cygnus and drove north. The Bellemeade turnoff was right on his way home; he decided to pass by M. J.'s house, on the off-chance he could catch her.

There was no car in the driveway, no answer to his knock on the door. He got back into his car and decided to wait a few minutes. The minutes stretched to a half hour. This is crazy , he thought. There he was, sitting in his car, waiting for some woman to appear. He hadn't behaved like this since he was a teenager.

Scratch that. I haven't behaved like this, ever. But here I am.

It was unexpected, this attraction he felt for her. The first time they'd met, he'd thought her pleasant enough to look at-all that black hair, those sea-green eyes. But the world was full of attractive women; he'd been married to one. M. J. wasn't particularly stunning. He'd seen her at her very worst, bruised and tattered in a street fight. Still, she had something he'd never seen in a woman before. Strength. A knack for survival. Heart.

That was it. Heart .

Maybe he had finally gotten over Georgina's death. Or maybe he'd just been waiting for a woman like M. J. to come into his life.

If only she'd appear in her damn driveway.

Forty minutes had passed. He was about to give up and go home when he spotted a gray Ford coming around the corner. M. J. was behind the wheel. She pulled into the driveway.

At once he was out of his car and moving toward her. She stepped out, holding a bag with Hop Sing Take-out printed on the side.

"M. J.!" he said. "I tried calling you-"

"I was out all day." Her tone was matter-of-fact and none too warm. She started toward her front door with Adam right behind her.

"I thought we were having dinner," he said.

"Were we? I must have forgotten." She unlocked her front door.

"Why don't we go out for some good Chinese food?"

"I happen to like Hop Sing," she snapped, stepping through the door.

Determined not to be shut out, he followed her inside, into the kitchen. "I don't understand what's happened-"

"I understand perfectly, Adam. If Cygnus were my company, I'd block the investigation, too."

He shook his head. "I didn't block any investigation."

"I mean, think of the PR disaster. The headlines. 'Cygnus manufactures killer drug.'"

"You think I'd go that far to protect Cygnus?"

"Haven't you?" She set the take-out bag on the counter and began to unload the contents. "Look, I'm starving. I'd like to eat this before it gets-oh, damn ."

"What?"

"I left the fried rice in the car." She spun around and headed back out the front door.

He was right on her heels, following her across the lawn. "I made a reservation," he said. "Come on, let's go out."

"No, thanks." She reached into the car and retrieved the second take-out bag. "Tonight, I'm a solo act. Dinner. A hot bath. And absolutely no excitement of any kind." She turned away from the car.

Just then a deafening blast shook the house. She felt the sting of flying glass as she was hurled backward by the violent pulse of the explosion. She landed on her back, in the grass. Chunks of wood, flakes of asphalt tile rained down on her.

Then, like a gentle snowfall, a cloud of dust settled slowly from the sky.

M. J. was too stunned to make sense of what had happened; she could only lie on her back in the grass and stare dazedly at the sky. Then, gradually, she became aware that someone was calling her name, that someone was brushing the hair from her eyes, stroking her face.

"M. J. Look at me. I'm right here. Look at me ." Slowly, she focused on Adam. He was gazing down at her, undisguised panic in his eyes. He was afraid, she thought in wonder. Why?

"M. J.!" he yelled. "Come on, say something ." She tried to speak and found all she could manage was a whisper. "Adam?"

The tension in his face melted into a smile. "Thank God. You're going to be all right…" He bent down, pressed kisses to her forehead, her mouth. "Just lie still. Everything's going to be fine…"

Through her confusion, she heard the sounds of running footsteps, shouting voices, calls of "Is she okay?"

"What happened?" she asked.

"Don't move. There's an ambulance coming-"

" What happened ?" She struggled to sit up. The sudden movement made the world lurch around her. She caught a spinning view of bystanders' faces, of debris littering the lawn. Then she saw what was left of her house. With that glimpse, everything froze into terrible focus.

The front wall had been ripped away entirely, and the inner walls stood exposed, like an open dollhouse. Shreds of fabric, couch batting, splintered furniture had been tossed as far as the driveway. Just overhead, an empty picture frame swung forlornly from a tree branch.

"Jesus, lady," murmured someone in the crowd. "Did you leave your gas on or something?"

"My house," whispered M. J. In rising fury she staggered to her feet. "What did they do to my house ?"

Then, as if there hadn't been enough destruction, the first flicker of fire appeared. Flames were spreading from what used to be the kitchen.

"Back!" shouted Adam. "Everyone back!"

" No !" M. J. struggled forward. If she could turn on the garden hose, if the pipes were still intact, she could save what little she had left. "Let me go!" she yelled, shoving at Adam. "It's going to burn!"

She managed only two steps before he grabbed her and hauled her back. Enraged, she struggled against him, but he trapped her arms and swung her up and away from the house.

"It's going to burn!" she cried.

"You can't save it, M. J.! There's a gas leak!"

The flames suddenly shot higher, licking at the collapsing roof. Already the fire had spread to the living room, had ignited the remains of her furniture. Smoke swirled, thick and black, driving the crowd back across the street.

"My house," M. J. sobbed, swaying against Adam.

He pulled her against him and wrapped his arms tightly around her as though to shield her from the sight and sounds of destruction. As the first fire trucks pulled up with sirens screaming, she was still clinging to him, her face pressed against his shirt. The roar of the flames, the shouts of firemen, seemed to recede into some other, distant dimension. Her reality, the only one that mattered, was the steady thump of Adam's heart, the unyielding support of his arms.

Only when he gently released her and murmured something in her ear was she wrenched unwillingly back into the real world. She found two uniformed men gazing at her. One was a cop, the other had an Albion Fire Department patch on his jacket.

"What happened?" asked the cop.

She shook her head. "I don't know."

"She'd just gotten home," said Adam. "We went inside, came back out again for a minute. That's when the house blew up. She caught the worst of it. I was standing behind her-"