Jim’s lined, leathery face fell. “No, I won’t be alone. There’s plenty of ghosts there on that farm. Too damned many ghosts, you ask me.”
“I think we should make a special pact in honor of Hang-town,” Mitch said as they lolled there together in the sparkling new bathtub, sipping ice-cold Moet amp; Chandon.
Des had moved into her new house that morning. The place still smelled of fresh paint, but it was extraordinarily bright and airy and clean. Awesome view of the lake, too.
“Pact?” Des’s eyes were shut, her ankles resting lazily on Mitch’s shoulders. She seemed a bit more at ease now that she had her own digs for herself. And those eight furry boarders of hers were in her own garage instead of Bella’s. It had bothered her, not being settled. “What kind of a pact?”
“I think we really should try to grow one day younger every day for the rest of our lives. What do you think of that?”
“I think,” she replied, “that it sounds like a plan.”
“More potato chips?” Mitch reached for the jumbo bag on the edge of the tub.
“Man, how can you keep eating those things?”
“What else am I going to do with them?” he asked, shoving several into his mouth. “Besides, I never got paid in one-hundred-percent grease before. I could get used to this.”
“Well, don’t,” she sniffed. “Or I’ll have to put you on a diet of carrot sticks and five-K runs.”
Mitch had discovered her at her easel when he got there, working on a portrait of Takai Frye in death, her chest blown open by the Barrett, her beautiful face frozen in a final scream. It was truly horrifying, but it was how Des coped. So she drew while Mitch labored over a printout of his article, and some time after midnight they popped open the champagne and collapsed in her tub together.
“Why didn’t you do it?” he asked her quietly. “Why didn’t you shoot Hangtown?”
“Baby, I’ve thought about that a lot,” she replied, staring down into her long-stemmed glass of bubbly. “And I really don’t know.”
“Maybe I do.”
Her face tightened. “Okay, let’s hear it.”
“Deep down inside you felt he deserved to live and Takai didn’t.”
“She deserved a trial,” Des pointed out. “She had a right to a trial. She didn’t get one.”
“She got what was coming to her, and we both know it. That’s why you didn’t pull the trigger.”
“Maybe so,” Des conceded. “But don’t ever tell anyone that. Because I’m supposed to protect them all, regardless of how I feel about them. If I showed a preference that would make me, I don’t know
…”
“Human,” he said, grinning at her.
Her almond-shaped green eyes narrowed at him. “And that’s okay with you?”
“Of course it is. If you weren’t human, then I wouldn’t be able to love you as much as I do.”
“Damn, I wish you wouldn’t say things like that,” she said, her voice clutching. “It’s just not… fair. You could at least warn me, okay?”
“Okay,” he said, stroking her smooth, slender calf. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Crazy Daisy. Hang- town told me about her while I was acting as a journalist, and that made it confidential. I didn’t like keeping it from you, believe me.”
“He told you that day the Deacon came for dinner, didn’t he?”
“How did you know?”
“You had something heavy on your mind when you came in the door. You weren’t all there.” She reached for a wash-cloth and dabbed at her face with it. “Let’s say Hangtown didn’t die. Let’s say he’s still alive…”
“Okay…”
“Would you still be putting that in your article?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Mitch confessed, sipping his champagne. “He wanted me to. All I kept thinking about was how it would change the way people looked at his art. Change it for all time. And for what-something that happened thirty years ago?”
“A girl died, Mitch,” Des reminded him.
“Believe me, I know that,” he said, watching her. “You’re not okay with this, are you? Me not telling you about it.”
“Nooo, I’m cool,” she said slowly. “Deciding what’s right isn’t that simple, no matter how much we want it to be. I mean, if there’s one thing I’ve learned at the art academy, it’s just how many different shades of gray there are. But if you’re feeling guilty, I know how you can make it up to me…”
“Go for it.”
“How would you like to mentor a troubled teenaged boy? He loves movies, he’s incredibly bright. He’s also a garbagehead with an attitude, but put seventy-five pounds and a pair of baggy khakis on him and, whoop-dee- damn-do, he’s you.”
“This is Ronnie the Mod Squad kid, am I right?”
“You are.”
“I take it the first selectman is pleased that you shut them down?”
“Hey, I’m Dorset’s new fair-haired girl,” she cracked. “So what do you say-will you give it a try?”
“I can’t say no to you. Why is that?”
“I can’t imagine why,” Des said demurely, caressing him with deft, knowing fingers under the water. “What would you think about Bella moving in here for a while? Until she finds a place of her own.”
“I think it would be great,” Mitch replied enthusiastically.
Her eyes searched his face carefully. “You do?”
“Absolutely. You’ll feel better about spending more time at my place if you know that she’s here watching your charges. Plus we’ll get a good, honest brisket dinner every Friday night. Major sandwiches with the leftovers. Of course, I’ll have to grow us some horseradish
…”
“I’m serious, Mitch.”
“So am I, girlfriend. I’d be thrilled if you never spent a single night here. Stay with me out on Big Sister. We should be waking up in each other’s arms every morning. We should be together. What do I have to do to convince you of that?”
She fell into a guarded silence for a moment, her body tensing next to his in the tub. “You liked Moose, didn’t you.”
“Sure, I did.”
“No, I mean you liked her.”
Mitch gazed at her in astonishment. “Why do you say that?”
“Maybe I can read your mind sometimes, too.”
“What a scary concept.”
“It isn’t pretty, now that you mention it. Are you sorry how things turned out?”
“I’m sorry that she’s dead, if that’s what you mean.”
“It’s not,” she said, leveling her gaze at him. “And you know it.”
Mitch let out a sigh of sheer frustration. She still didn’t believe they were for real. Was still protecting herself against getting hurt. “If you’re wondering whether I’m sorry that you and I are together, the answer is no, you hardheaded doofus. Sooner or later everybody has got to believe in something. And somewhere along the line-I don’t know when, I don’t know how-you are going to have to believe in us. I sure as hell do.” He reached for her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. “Okay…?”
Her eyes were shining at him now. She swallowed, and in a husky voice that sent shivers through his entire body, Des Mitry said, “Boyfriend, it’s way more than okay.”
