“Okay, it’s time for the real deal, Mr. Ackerman,” Des told him, standing there in the middle of the room with her arms crossed. “Did you two have a fight tonight?”
“Perhaps a small misunderstanding,” he admitted, clearing his throat. “She seems to have gotten it into her head that I’m being unfaithful to her.”
“And are you?”
“What business is that of yours?”
“Mr. Ackerman, you’ve made it my business. I came here this evening to enjoy a pleasant meal. Instead, you’ve got me traipsing all over the place. Now you can tell me what’s going on or you can go look for Carly yourself. The choice is yours.”
“Point taken,” he acknowledged, running a hand over his neatly trimmed black hair. “I love my wife. I would never do anything to hurt her. And that’s the absolute truth.”
The classic non-denial denial. Des had heard it from every cheating husband she’d ever met, including her own. “I see,” she responded. “Let’s head back down with the others, shall we?”
They were gathered in the taproom. All of them looked up at Des with tense anticipation when she and Aaron strode in.
“Any luck?” asked Les.
“Not one bit,” Aaron replied, his voice cracking with strain.
“Let’s try to relax, okay?” Des suggested, shrugging out of her coat. “There’s no cause for alarm at this point.”
“Jase is still looking around outside for her,” the curvy redhead told Des as she took her coat from her.
“And Jase is…?”
“My brother. Oh, I’m so sorry, we haven’t met. I’m Jory,” she said, smiling at Des just a bit too brightly. Jory had an artificially ingratiating manner, the kind that men never saw through and women always did.
“Glad to know you, Jory.”
There were two others in there whom Des didn’t know yet. He was a squeaky-clean young corporate type. She was a lanky, jittery thing all tricked out in a beret and retro tweeds.
Mitch introduced them to her as Spence Sibley and Hannah Lane. “Spence is with the studio,” he explained. “And Hannah’s with Ada.”
“She is?” Ada frowned at this, confused. “Since when?”
“Des, why don’t you warm up in front of the fire?” Les said. “May I pour you something?”
“A glass of red wine would go down pretty nicely.”
“Coming right up,” he said, scooting around behind the bar.
Des felt a tug at her sleeve and discovered that Ada was standing right beside her now. She could have sworn that the old filmmaker was over on the other side of the taproom not one second ago. She moved fast for someone of her years. Fast and quiet. “Perhaps you’d like to powder your nose first,” she said to Des under her breath.
“Something wrong with my nose?”
“I just thought you might wish to freshen up a bit,” Ada persisted quietly, her gaze positively piercing. “The ladies’ lounge is just off the dining room, second door on your right…”
It was lavishly appointed with mirrored makeup tables and plush chairs. Des could hear the sniffling as soon as she walked in. It was coming from the farthest toilet stall. She could see the black stiletto heels under the stall door. “Carly…?”
“What do you want?” a voice mewled in response.
“I want you to come out.”
“No!”
“Will you at least open the door?”
Carly flung it open. She was a slender, pretty little thing in a skimpy black dress. Her blond hair was long and shiny, her eyes puffy and red from crying.
“Now come on out of there,” Des said to her gently. “Let’s have us a talk.”
She came along willingly enough. They sat in two of the little chairs in front of the makeup mirrors, Carly dabbing at her swollen eyes with a tissue. She wore false eyelashes, a ton of eyeliner, mascara. And not one bit of it was any the worse for wear. Forget the Internet-as far as Des was concerned, the most amazing technological breakthrough of the past twenty years was stay-on eye makeup.
“Everyone has been looking for you, Carly. What’s going on?”
“I’m miserable, that’s what,” she snuffled. “And I’m a fool. And I’m… I’m sorry, do I even know you?”
“My name is Des. I’m with Mitch.”
“Of course. You’re the state trooper, are you not?” Carly had finishing school manners and a slight Southern accent. “You don’t look like a trooper. I always picture a dull, beefy boy with a crew cut who adores things like motorcycles and hunting.”
“I hit what I aim at. Aaron is very upset, Carly. He was afraid something had happened to you.”
“Something has happened.” Carly let out a huge, ragged sob. “My marriage has fallen apart. That man, he… he brought his born-again whore here with him!”
“His born-again who?”
“Hannah,” she said angrily, her fists clenched. “Little Miss Christian Virtues. Acky’s been squiring her around D.C. for weeks. Taking her to cocktail parties, to dinners, to bed. My best friend saw them coming out of the Hay- Adams together on Christmas Eve. She wants to make a movie about Ada, you see, and it’s thanks to Aaron that she’s here this weekend. He got her this job because she, because they…” Carly broke off, tossing her long blond hair. “I am not a nut, present evidence to the contrary notwithstanding. I actually saw the two of them kissing out on the observation deck this afternoon.”
Which would explain the footsteps Des had found there in the snow.
“Hannah’s not even pretty, is she? This is not a pretty girl. But she’s young, and that’s all that ever counts with Acky.”
The closer Des studied her, the more she became aware that Carly was not as young as she’d first appeared. Her figure was very good, her hair to die for. But her face had the cushioned, expressionless look that suggested collagen replacement therapy, Botox injections and possibly even surgical work. This woman was well into her forties. Aaron she’d pegged as being in his early thirties.
“It’s the young ones who hang on his every word,” Carly added bitterly. “They laugh at his jokes, puff up his ego for him.”
“Seemed to me he can do plenty of puffing on his own.”
“No, no, that’s just an act. Acky’s self-esteem is actually very low. He needs constant reassurance and mothering. He’s completely helpless. And he can be so sweet and dear.” Carly sniffled, blushing slightly. “I happen to be somewhat older than he is. Thirteen years, if you must know. And I am so terrified of losing him.”
“He mentioned something about you overdosing on pills.”
“I was just trying to get his attention.”
“Have you tried doing anything else?”
Carly frowned at her. Or tried. That stuff she was wearing in her forehead wouldn’t allow for much more than a faint, sub-dermal pulsation. “Such us what?”
“Such as counseling. You two ought to consider it.”
“I don’t recall asking for your advice,” Carly said, climbing up onto her high horse. “In fact, I’m quite certain I didn’t.”
“You’re getting it anyway. You need help. Swallowing pills, disappearing into thin air-this is not mature adult behavior.”
“You’re right, it’s not,” she admitted. “I don’t even know why I love him. Truly, I don’t. What I ought to do is divorce him. Find myself a man who’ll treat me like I deserve to be treated. The dean of students has always had a thing for me. Well, not me, but my legs. They’re still… what I mean is, I’m reasonably good-looking.”
“Shut up, you’re a bombshell.”
“I’m smart, I’m tenured. And if I wanted to descend into total blond bitchdom, I could be plenty rich, too.”
“Descend how?”
