Picture Me Dead

“Not working hard enough, I’m afraid.”

 

 

Sandy looked hesitant, his white furry brows drawn into a frown. “Hey, Jake,” he said quietly, “this ain’t any of my business, but…take it easy on yourself. Everyone knows you…well, hell, that you still feel responsible for your old partner, and that this new case you’ve got going is bringing it up all over again, like a smack in the face.”

 

“Sandy, you know too much.”

 

“I don’t have much to do except take interest in those around me. You’re a good man, a real good man, but give yourself a break. Everyone makes mistakes, and everyone gets down. I saw you in here with Brian Lassiter the other night. He’s the asshole who cheated on his wife, made her miserable, so…even if you were—” Sandy broke off.

 

“You weren’t responsible, Jake. And sometime you’re going to have to let it go.”

 

“Thanks for the advice, Sandy, and the support.” He rose. “I’ll take you up on that beer another time.”

 

“Sure, take me up on it when I’m going to have to pay.”

 

“Wouldn’t want to insult you by implying you couldn’t afford it,” Jake told him, grinning. He wandered down the dock until he reached the Gwendolyn. As was his custom lately, he checked the lock and the door before inserting his key. He still hadn’t gotten around to changing the lock.

 

Inside, he logged on to the computer, called up a list of names, scrolled down. John Mast. That one jumped out at him.

 

But Mast was dead.

 

Smoke and mirrors.

 

Fifteen minutes later, he realized he was just staring at the screen.

 

Damn it, everyone out there thought he was blowing smoke. An accident. It was the logical conclusion in Nancy’s death. But he just knew…

 

He knew. Hell, he knew.

 

And he was doing the same damned thing to Ashley Montague that other people were doing to him.

 

Being sane, logical, reasonable. But sometimes being sane, logical and reasonable meant shit.

 

Thoughtfully, he switched off his computer.

 

 

 

“Shit! Sorry,” the man at Ashley’s side said suddenly, rising. She noticed then what he had already heard, the sound of people coming down the hall. “I’ve got to go.”

 

“No!” Ashley said. He’d started something here, and even if he wrote for a rag of a paper, alarm bells were ringing in her head. She stood as well. “You can’t go yet. You didn’t tell me—”

 

“I’ve got to get out of here before someone thinks I’m harassing you.”

 

“Oh, no, you don’t! I have to hear whatever else you have to say.”

 

“I’ll find you again, don’t worry,” he said, already at the doorway.

 

“Wait, damn it!” She followed him quickly to the door, but to her frustration, he’d already mananged to disappear down the hallway. She saw the Fresias coming back. Nick and Sharon weren’t with them; they’d probably headed back to the bar.

 

“That was quick,” she said.

 

“We don’t like to be gone long,” Lucy explained.

 

“Karen and Jan are still in there with Stuart,” Ashley told them. “I’ll just walk down and see if they’re ready to come out.”

 

“Take your time, sweetheart. I’m going to go in later and sleep in that recliner they’ve got. Nathan is going to head home to shower and change, see to a few things and come back. I’ll do the same thing in the morning.”

 

Ashley excused herself and went down the hall and replaced Jan and Karen by Stuart’s side. There was no change in Stuart’s condition, but she felt a little encouraged to see that his color seemed to have improved. She took his hand, the one without the IV needle, and told him about her day. She talked to him about Dilessio, admitting the stupid surge of desire that had sent her over in the night, and her feeling of being an idiot now. But in her confidential whispers to him, she also admitted that she was fascinated, she was a fool…she couldn’t help it. She told him how sometimes, you met someone who appealed to you, who attracted you…and made you care, just when you shouldn’t. When she was done, she was quiet for a moment, out of things to say.

 

“Oh! Some friend of yours from the paper—well, he claims to be a friend of yours—started telling me something. I don’t even know his name, but I can find out. I won’t ask your dad, though, ’cuz he really doesn’t like him. I want to talk to him again.”

 

She glanced at her watch. She’d been with him for longer than she’d thought. But it had been a relief to pour out her heart to a friend, even though he was unconscious. She had never been able to talk easily about personal, intimate matters, not even to Jan and Karen, who were always quick to solicit others’ opinions about their love lives.

 

“I’m going to get out of here so your mom can come in and get some sleep.” She kissed him on the forehead, squeezed his hand, held it a moment, then left.

 

When she reached the waiting room, she was startled to see that Len Green had joined the others there.