Remember Me, Irene

if he could make a lot of money by doing it.” Seeing my look of obstinacy, she added, “You don’t know who he has become over the years, or how desperate he may be now.”

“No. I need to talk to him. But for now, let’s not jump to conclusions.”

She was silent as I kept looking at the envelopes and the photo. Finally she said, “That’s not a man’s handwriting on the back of the photo.”

“Probably not.” Something else occurred to me. “It’s certainly not Lucas’s.”

“Certainly?”

“He was one of my favorite teachers, remember? I took one of his classes. His handwriting was terrible. We used to tease him unmercifully every time he put something up on the blackboard. No one could read anything but his numbers and stat symbols. He usually used an overhead projector with typed transparencies for anything else that had to be written. Sometimes he taught the whole class period using transparencies. No way is this his handwriting.”

“I suppose a person would remember something like that.” She sighed. “It’s sounding less and less like Lucas Monroe sent the photos. But if he didn’t, who did?”

“I don’t know. And we don’t know that he isn’t in some kind of partnership with whoever sent these. Give me a few days to try to find him.”

“You’re going to go looking through the skid row area alone?”

“Oh no, not alone. I’ve got an excellent partner in mind.”

12

YOU’VE GOTa really great ass.”

“So you’ve told me,” he said.

I sighed. “Ah, the bloom is already off the newlywed rose. I tell him he has a great ass-”

“Areally great ass,” he corrected.

“A really great ass, and he just acts bored.”

“Hmm. A little more to the left.”

I moved my hands to the right.

He peered over his shoulder, smiled at me. “Okay, okay. I apologize.” He didn’t mean it.

I was giving Frank a back massage, trying to get him to relax a little before I told him my plans. Running my hands over his muscles, I was having trouble concentrating on what those plans were. I moved to the left, gently working out the tension.

“Hmm. Yeah, right there,” he said. “Oh God, yes! Yes, yes!”

“No need to overdo it, Frank.”

I felt him shaking beneath me. There was a little snort into his pillow. I slapped that ass I was so fond of and climbed out of bed.

“Ouch. Hey, where are you going?” he asked. For all his size, he can move like lightning; before I was out of reach, he had pulled me back into bed.

“To find Cody. Hepurrs when I rub him.”

“Hmm. But Cody doesn’t know that you’re hatching some scheme.”

Busted. Well, hell.

“You’re turning red. Does that mean I’m right?”

“Yes, Frank. Feel free to gloat a little more.”

He didn’t, just rested his chin on top of my head, rubbed his hand along my neck. “Nothing to gloat over,” he said after a moment. “I just did something really stupid. Only a fool would have interrupted a backrub like that. I should have at least collected my bribe.”

“How did you know?”

“Well, let’s see. The glass of my favorite scotch? The one you handed me as I walked in the door? That raised suspicions. The dinner you cooked when it was my night to cook? Made me a little more suspicious, but you were smart, you didn’t push it too far-no candlelight, no music playing in the background. Just a nice dinner together. Spaghetti. Not even one of my favorite pasta dishes.”

“Didn’t have time to run to the store,” I admitted.

“Hmm.” He kept rubbing my back and neck.

“So the massage must have been a real tip-off.”

“I knew before then.”

“How?” I said, looking up at him in disbelief.

“You’re upset about something. At first, I thought it was the funeral. Funerals upset you. I understand that; they upset me, too. But you’re not acting like you’ve been to a funeral. You’re hyper-tense. That doesn’t make any sense. You’re distracted.”

“What do you mean?”

“The pasta? Overcooked. The queen of al dente made soft spaghetti tonight. Cody chases Deke and Dunk around the house, you don’t even come to the dogs’ rescue.”

“Oh.”

“Shall I go on?”

“No thanks.”

“What’s on your mind, Irene?”

When I didn’t answer, he said softly, “Why don’t you tell me about your day?”

So I did, only I think the day changed as I talked to him. Feelings I had set aside to concentrate on one problem or another throughout the day took their place in the order of things. The remembered horror of seeing Ben Watterson in that shower; my concern for Claire; my fears for Lucas; my guilt over my nastiness with Roberta.

So by the time I got around to the part about my plan to ask Rachel to help me search for Lucas, I should have felt drained, I suppose. But oddly, I just felt better.

“It’s a good idea,” he said.

“What? Forgive me for saying this, Frank, but I expected a lot of objections.”

“You would go looking for Lucas anyway, right?”

“Yes.”

“See, I’m learning. But maybe you are, too. Taking Rachel with you is a good idea. She’ll provide good protection,” he said, and absently rubbed at his shoulder. I knew he was thinking of a recent hard throw to the mat she had given him in a martial arts workout, but he didn’t say anything. “She’s a hell of a shot,” he added.

He was being generous. She didn’t stand a chance against him on a firing range. She had told me as much herself. They had gone to the firing range the day after the throw to the mat. His idea, I believe.

“She didn’t get to where she was in Phoenix by being careless,” he added. I think he had convinced himself. He paused, then laughed. “Pete is going to have a fit. Let’s get dressed and have them over for a drink.”

“NO WAY,” Pete said, pacing our living room, then stopping to point a finger at me. “No effing way are the two of you going to do this.”

I looked over to Frank, who sat quietly in my grandfather’s old armchair, drinking a glass of merlot, acting as if his partner hadn’t said a word. The dogs lay on the floor in front of the fireplace, watching Pete intently, ready to come to my defense if need be. Cody, my cat, was curled up next to Frank’s dog, Dunk, getting the benefit of fur on one side and fire on the other, and faking sleep-his ears pivoted once in a while, giving him away.

Not long after Pete and Rachel arrived, I told Rachel my plan to enlist her help in finding Lucas. As predicted, Pete had gone nuts.

“Rachel, tell her no,” he pleaded.

“I already told her yes,” Rachel said. “Since people who live in cardboard boxes seldom have private attorneys, I’m down in the skid row district all the time now.”

This was part of my reason for asking Rachel if I could hire her help. She had retired from the Phoenix Police