put them at the bottom. If Karen Owenby had something going on with doctors who worked in the OR, I figure I’ll have a better chance of finding out what it is if I question the “regulars.”
I lean over to share my thoughts with Izzy only to discover that he has disappeared. I figure there’s no sense wasting any time and zero in on the corner where Sidney, Arthur, and Joe are standing. But just as I take my first step, someone grabs my arm and yanks me back. I turn around and find myself face-to-face with David, and suddenly, looking at the expression on his face, it isn’t hard to imagine him as a killer.
Chapter 17
David hauls me off toward an exit and I go along willingly for a few steps, mainly to avoid a scene. But when it looks like he is going to drag me outside, I put on the brakes and shake his hand loose of my arm.
“If you have something to say to me, David, say it here.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me? You deliberately sandbagged me!”
“What are you talking about?”
“That detective, Harley—”
“Hurley?”
“Whatever,” he says irritably. “He said someone told him they’d seen me entering Karen’s house on the night she was killed. And since I wasn’t there, it’s a boldfaced lie. Who else besides you would have a reason to say something like that?”
I stare at him, incredulous. “You really think I’d lie about something that serious? Why? Just to settle some imagined score or give myself some slight advantage over you in the divorce?”
“You said it, not me,” David hisses through his teeth. “And being tried for murder isn’t what I’d call a slight advantage. Christ, I know you’re pissed, Mattie, but I never thought you’d stoop this low.”
“I didn’t.”
“Bullshit,” he says loudly, louder than he meant apparently because he flinches, takes a quick glance around, then leans in closer and drops his voice. “Why would someone make up a lie like that? I wasn’t there, Mattie. So why would someone say I was? What could anyone possibly have to gain by doing that? Anyone other than you, that is,” he adds with a sneer.
“Damn it, David. I didn’t do it. I
“Are you trying to tell me you aren’t pissed as hell with me? That you wouldn’t do anything to pay me back for the hurt I’ve caused you?”
I suck in a deep breath and try to calm myself before I speak. “Yes, David. I’m trying to tell you that I’m not pissed at you. Oh, I was. You’re absolutely right about that. I was righteously pissed when I discovered you and Karen that night. But I’m over it. Way over it. Right now all I feel toward you is overwhelming indifference. With a little pity thrown in for good measure.”
I can tell from his face that I’ve succeeded in wounding him, and for a brief moment I feel triumphant. Then I remember that I once loved this man and thought we would spend the rest of our lives together. God, how I want to believe him, to believe that he is innocent and that he still cares. But he’s lied to me before and I just can’t make myself believe in him now.
“Glad to see Lucien got you out of jail,” I say with all sincerity, thinking it might lighten his mood.
“No thanks to you.”
“I had to tell the truth, David.”
“Is that all you told? Or did you throw in a few lies, too?”
“Actually, all I told Hurley was that I saw Karen and you together on the night she was killed. I didn’t tell him you were fighting, or that Karen slapped your face.”
“Well, you might as well have told him. How the hell was I supposed to know what you did or didn’t reveal? Once he made it clear that you’d told him Karen was there that night, I assumed you’d told him everything. So I admitted to the argument before I realized he didn’t know about it. You love making me look like a fool, don’t you?”
“You seem to be pretty good at that all by yourself.” I am tired of bucking his accusations, defending myself when I haven’t done anything wrong. So I decide to turn the tables on him. “Why didn’t you tell me Karen was pregnant?”
His face falls and he looks away, scanning the room as a muscle twitches violently in his jaw.
“I wasn’t sure if you knew,” he says finally, killing my hope that he hadn’t known. He turns and looks at me. “She told me about it that night, the night she died. That was the first I heard of it and, to be honest, I wasn’t sure I believed her. And I figured that even if she was pregnant, I couldn’t be sure it was mine. I always used protection. I didn’t want to endanger my health. Or yours.”
“How very considerate of you,” I say snidely, not missing the fact that my safety was thrown in there as an afterthought. “You know as well as I do that nothing is 100 percent perfect, David.”
“The point is, I think she was sleeping with someone else,” David says feebly.
“Who?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not sure. But when I tried to get into one of the on-call sleep rooms one night, it was locked and I could hear…you know…sounds…heavy breathing and grunting coming from inside. Later, I saw Karen come out of that same room carrying a pile of sheets and the bed in the room had been stripped. But whoever she was with must have already left because there was no one else in there.”
“When was this?”
David furrows his brow as he thinks and I feel a funny little ache as I remember how endearing that gesture used to be to me. “I’m not sure,” he says, “but I believe it was after you moved out.”
“Do you know who was on call that night?”
“Yep, it was Arthur Henley. But it couldn’t have been him in the room because he was in an OR at the time along with Cary Snyder, working on a multiple trauma that came in through the ER.”
“Regardless, it doesn’t change the fact that the baby might have been yours, does it?” I say flatly.
David’s shoulders sink and his whole body sags. He drops his gaze to the floor, no longer able to look me in the eye. “No,” he says wearily. “It doesn’t.”
“I heard that Karen had some kind of investment scheme she was working on with some of the docs. Do you know what it was?”
“Investments? No idea.” He looks away as he answers and I know he is lying.
“Right,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now who’s telling lies?”
I leave him standing there and work my way to the middle of the room, watching the crowd. There’s another tap on my shoulder and I whirl around in anger thinking David is back for more, but instead I find myself face-to- face with Alison Miller, Sorenson’s ace reporter. She is wearing a knee-length red dress made out of some shimmery material that looks great with her olive skin and dark hair. The effect is somewhat diminished, however, by the camera she has hanging around her neck. Alison never goes anywhere without a camera.
“Hello, Alison.”
“Hey, Mattie. Saw you chatting with David. What’s the scoop? I hear he spent the night in the lockup.”
“He did.”
“What was the charge?”
I give Alison a sardonic look. “Like you don’t already know,” I say.
She laughs. “One of the first things they teach you in any journalism class is to always verify your information. I just want to make sure all the facts jibe.”
“I don’t want to talk about David.”
“Okay. How about that new detective, Steve Hurley?”
I can’t help but notice the slightly breathless tone in her voice. “What about him?”
“Is he a hunk, or what?” she says, fanning herself. “I mean the guy is seriously cute! He’s got great buns and those long, long legs. And the eyes! My God, those eyes! Bluer than my morning glories.”
This isn’t good at all. It looks as if Izzy was right—Alison is sniffing around Hurley for more than just news.
