“My hair?”
Carol pushed in and nudged the door shut with a hip. She examined the house approvingly, then turned her attention to the dark circles under Elizabeth’s eyes, the washed-out skin, and cool, quiet frustration. “He wasn’t kidding about the hair.”
Elizabeth’s hand moved unconsciously, three fingers on the jagged bangs. “Listen—”
“You didn’t ask me to come, did you?”
“Did he say that I had?”
“Look, I’m sorry. I can tell this is unexpected.”
Elizabeth sighed. Carol was a patient soul who’d never had a bad day in her life. “It’s okay.” Elizabeth smiled and nodded. “I think we both know how your husband is.”
“A bit of a control freak, God bless him.”
“You should try working with him.”
“Right, then.” Carol put the case down, her face suddenly businesslike. “So, he didn’t ask and didn’t tell you I was coming.” Hands on her hips, she did a slow look around the living room and kitchen. “Right, then.” The second time was less convincing, but she nodded regardless. “Shower for you. I’ll have a coffee while I wait, and then we can fix your hair once you’re dressed.”
“Look, there’s no need—”
“Maybe something conservative.”
“I’m sorry?”
“What?”
“You said I should put on something conservative.”
“Did I?” Carol looked appalled. “God, no. I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” She fluttered a hand. “It’s the short robe and the long legs. Wait. No. I’m still not saying this right.” She took a deep breath and tried again. “You’re so pretty you’d look beautiful in anything. We’re just a little more modest at our house. Please forgive me. I honestly can’t believe I said that. I’m here in your home, unexpected…”
Elizabeth held up a hand. “It’s okay.”
“Are you sure? I would hate for you to think I’m such a prude. It’s really none of my business.”
“Just give me a few minutes. A shower. Another cup of coffee.”
Carol smiled weakly. “If you’re positive.”
“Five minutes.”
In the bathroom, Elizabeth stood in front of the mirror and breathed deeply as her smile drained away. She heard the sound of cabinet doors and dishes clanking, then put both hands on the sink and looked in the mirror. Dyer was right about the weight. She stood five-eight and normally carried enough lean muscle to do the job efficiently and well. Good shoulders. Strong arms. But she looked waifish now, the cheekbones more prominent, the eyes larger and deeper, their irises pale green. Stripping off the robe, she tried to imagine what someone like Carol Beckett saw. The hair was brown and short over a small nose and narrow chin. The skin was pale but clear, the face proportional in all the right ways. Elizabeth knew she was pretty, but a white scar ran across her stomach where a junkie with a knife had cut her from rib to hip bone, and a rough patch discolored her shoulder where she’d gone down on hard concrete. Men seemed to like her, but she didn’t kid herself about the deeper truths. She’d broken an arm and four ribs, torn skin going over fences, and been thrown through two different windows. Thirteen years on the force, she thought. And what am I? It was not a light question. She’d had five serious relationships, and all were dead ends. She was a preacher’s daughter and a college dropout, a drinker, a smoker, and a fallen cop. She was under investigation for the deaths of two men and felt no remorse at all. Would she change anything if she could?
Maybe, she thought.
Probably not.
There were reasons for everything. Why she hated her father. Why she’d become a cop, and why relationships were hard. She could say the same thing about the basement and the shooting and Adrian Wall. Consequence mattered, but so did the reasons.
Sometimes the reasons mattered more.
When she came out of the bathroom, she was clean and damp and dressed as conservatively as she could manage, which meant jeans and boots and a linen shirt. Maybe the jeans rode low on her hips, and maybe the shirt was a bit too tailored for someone like Carol. Elizabeth tried to make light of the whole thing. “Is this better?”
“Much.”
Elizabeth saw the Julia Strange murder file on the coffee table and scooped it up. “Don’t you have a wedding or something?”
“Oh, you sweet girl. Not for another hour, and this won’t take nearly that long.”
“Are you sure?”
She said it hopefully, but Carol dragged a chair onto the kitchen floor and patted it with one hand. So, Elizabeth sat and allowed her hair to be cut and sprayed and blown. They spoke of little things, but mostly of Carol’s husband. “He loves being your partner.” Carol stepped back, made a small movement with a brush. “He says watching you work is a beautiful thing.”
“Yeah, well…”