Marguerite’s gaze. I knew from painful experience that it would be best for Lonna not to set foot in the Bowman house.
One weekend I’d needed to drop by Robert’s house to work on a manuscript. The office wasn’t an option because the company, in an attempt to save power, wasn’t running the air-conditioning on weekends, and it was a hot, muggy Memphis summer day. Robert met me at the door wearing a crisp short-sleeved white button-up shirt and khakis. The outfit set off his tanned face, neck, arms and legs, and his dark hair was still damp from his shower. He didn’t smile, though. His expression was so somber he could have been opening the door to his doom.
“Sarah is in the kitchen. Are you okay with this?”
“Yes.” I choked on my heart, which felt like it beat in my throat. I was afraid that if she saw me, she’d know something was up between us beyond the mentor/junior researcher relationship. We hadn’t actually slept together at that point—we had only flirted, but the way the emotional attachment was going was abundantly clear to both of us. And we had an invited article submission deadline, so the domestic gods had to be placated that day.
“I brought this,” I told him and held out a bottle of red wine. “I, um, thought you and your wife could share it later.”
“Sarah doesn’t drink, but I’ll enjoy it.” He looked me over from head to toe. Unfortunately there wasn’t much to look at. I had dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.
“Trying to look the nonthreatening student?”
“Why would I be threatening?” Gads, why was I flirting with the man with his wife in the house?
He smiled, that dazzling, perfect-teeth-in-a-tanned-face, boyish, impish smile that made my heart skip a beat. “Why, indeed?”
“Rob?” A woman’s voice called from inside the house.
“Yes, dear?” he called over his shoulder.
“Is that your assistant?”
“Yes, we’ll be right in.” He gestured for me to follow him. “She’s made cookies.”
“Do they have alcohol in them?” I muttered as I walked inside through a two-story foyer and straight back to a large white kitchen with an island. It smelled heavenly, like gingerbread. Why anyone would bake on a day like that was beyond me, but apparently the Cannons didn’t worry about high air-conditioning bills.
Sarah Cannon was tall, willowy, and the perfect match for her husband. Beside her I felt small and plain. Her opinion, too, apparently, as her eyes flicked from my face to my casual attire. I could see the verdict: no worries here, just another plain female scientist working with the husband. I doubted she remembered me from the company picnic.
She smiled. “Welcome. I’m so glad you and Robert are able to work here today.”
“Thanks,” I said. “It smells great in here.”
“Sarah is working from home today, too,” Robert explained. “She’s the head recipe tester for the Memphis Gazette.”
“Our AC in the office is out, so it was bake at home or not at all, and there are always deadlines. At least this way I can write that it works well in a home kitchen.”
I put on my friendliest smile. “And she gets to write that her husband liked it as well.”
“Precisely,” said Robert. “Well, speaking of deadlines, we should get started. The office is downstairs.”
When we emerged after three hours of manuscript drafting and editing as well as stolen looks, caresses and kisses, Sarah was gone on some errand.
“Did she leave the cookies?” I looked around, hungry after smelling them for so many hours.
“I don’t know.”
We searched the kitchen, but there was no sign of them. I ended up leaving earlier than I’d planned because I was faint with hunger, and they didn’t seem to have anything easy to fix for snacks. Doubt crawled into the back of my mind that maybe Sarah had sensed or seen something. You could never tell with some women.
I could tell with Marguerite. Lonna seemed oblivious, but I saw the looks Peter’s wife gave her. The woman may be distressed about her missing son, but she knew what had been going on. In spite of the warmth of the morning, a chill went down my spine.
Chapter Ten
Marguerite’s anger, disappointment and hurt showed on her face when she looked at Peter. Her expression said she needed his comfort, not that of two strangers, one of whom may have slept with her husband.
Sheriff Knowles and the other policemen conferred, then put their equipment away. “We’ll be in touch, Mrs. Bowman,” he said. He didn’t—couldn’t?—meet her eyes. I wondered if he’d done this so many times by now he couldn’t face one more parent in pain.
A tear trickled down her cheek. Peter waved to them and snapped his cell phone shut.
“I just tried Ron’s and Leo’s cell phones. Neither of them are answering. Dammit, they should have been here! They should be out there earning their keep and searching for Lance.”
Marguerite turned to him and crumpled into his arms. He had to drop his cell phone to catch her.
“Here, let us help you,” I said, and together we got Marguerite inside to the sitting room. Peter held her somewhat stiffly.
“I’ll make some tea,” offered Lonna.
“No. I mean, that is not necessary, Ms. Marconi.” Marguerite raised her tear-stained face. “I would rather go lay down. It has been an exhausting morning.”
“We understand, and we’ll leave you alone now,” I said and tugged on Lonna’s arm. I led her to the car.
“Why did you do that?” she asked.
“Are you insane?” I turned the key in the ignition, perhaps a little too hard because the engine protested. “That woman has just lost her son, and she probably wants to kill you. Jealousy and loss don’t make a good combination.”
“You’re probably right.” She drummed her fingers on one leg. “But I want to be there to comfort him.”
“That’s his wife’s job. If he lets her.”
“He’ll comfort her, but there’s not much coming the other way. He told me yesterday the marriage has been cold since the son was born. Two years, and hardly any sex. I think that’s why he was so quick to jump into bed with me.”
I bit my tongue over any words concerning her motives. It would be a lesson she’d have to learn on her own: married men didn’t need to be rescued from bad marriages, only from themselves.
“What now?” she asked.
“Are you feeling okay?”
“Better now that I’ve been moving around. I think I just have some sort of bug. Maybe this mountain air isn’t really that healthy for me.”
“I think we need to find Ron and Leo and tell them. I have a bad feeling about what Peter might do.”
We drove into town. Tabitha’s was open for lunch, so we inquired as to whether Ron was working that day. He wasn’t. Leo was also nowhere to be seen.
I had the horrible feeling that whatever it was, it had gotten them. The bollywog or whatever it was the mayor had told us about. That it had slithered out of its cave or bog and had snatched the guys, maybe one, and then the other had jumped in to defend his pack-mate and had gotten swallowed as well. And then the hideous creature, which grew in my imagination, had gone to Peter Bowman’s house. With a whistle or croon, it enticed the child down the stairs, out the front door, and into its massive, fang-lined craw.
“Joanie? Joanna? Attention Doctor Fisher?” Lonna shook me by the shoulder. “You were off in your head again.”
“I just wish we could find them.”
“Let’s go back to the house. It’s lunchtime anyway. Then maybe we can look more this afternoon.”
“Are you sure? Don’t you have an investigation to follow up on?”
