Davee languidly answered her telephone.
“Davee, you know who this is.” It wasn’t a question.
For lack of anything better to do, she had been stretched out on the chaise lounge in her bedroom, drinking vodka on the rocks and watching a black and white Joan Crawford film on a classic movie channel. The urgency behind the caller’s voice brought her up into a sitting position, which caused a wave of dizziness. She muted the television set.
“What—”
“Don’t say anything. Can you meet me?”
She checked the clock on the antique tea table beside the chaise. “Now?”
In her wild teenage years a call late at night would have spelled adventure. She would have sneaked out of the house to meet a boyfriend or a group of girls for some forbidden cruising until dawn, skinny-dipping at the beach, beer drinking, or pot smoking. Those escapades never failed to get her parents in an uproar. Getting caught and defying punishment had been part of the fun.
Even following her marriage to Lute, it wasn’t all that uncommon for her to carry on one-sided telephone conversations that led to late-night excursions. However, those had never caused a disturbance in the household. Either Lute was indifferent to her comings and goings or he was out on a lark of his own. They hadn’t been nearly as much fun.
Although this one didn’t promise to be fun, her curiosity was piqued. “What’s going on?”
“I can’t talk about it over the telephone, but it’s important. Do you know where the McDonald’s on Rivers Avenue is?”
“I can find it.”
“Near the intersection with Dorchester. As soon as you can get there.”
“But—”
Davee stared at the dead cordless phone in her hand for a few moments, then dropped it onto the chaise and stood up. She swayed slightly and put her hand on the table in order to regain her balance. Her equilibrium gradually returned and brought her reason with it.
This was nuts. She’d had a lot to drink. She shouldn’t drive. And, anyway, who the hell did he think he was to summon her to a McDonald’s in the middle of the freaking night? No explanation. No please or thank you. No worry that she wouldn’t acquiesce. Why couldn’t he come to her with whatever was so damned important? Whatever it was must surely relate to Lute’s murder investigation. Hadn’t she made it clear that she didn’t want to become involved in that any more than was absolutely necessary?
Nevertheless, she went into the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, and gargled a mouthful of Scope. She slipped off her nightgown, then, without bothering with underwear, pulled on a pair of white pants and a matching T-shirt made of some clingy, synthetic microfiber knit that left little to the imagination—which served him right. She didn’t bother with shoe
s. Her hair was a mess of unbrushed curls. If anyone spied them together, her dishabille alone would raise eyebrows. She didn’t give a damn, of course, but this recklessness was uncharacteristic of him.
Sarah Birch was watching TV in her apartment off the kitchen. “I’m going out,” Davee informed her.
“This time o’ night?”
“I want some ice cream.”
“There’s a freezer full.”
“But none of the flavor I’m craving.”
The faithful housekeeper always knew when she was lying, but she never challenged her. That was just one of the reasons that Davee adored her. “I’ll be careful. Back in a while.”
“And if anybody asks me later…?”
“I was in bed fast asleep by nine.”
Knowing that all her secrets were safe with Sarah, she went into the garage and climbed into her BMW. The residential streets were dark and sleepy. There was little traffic on the freeway and commercial boulevards as well. Although it went against her natural inclination as well as the automobile’s, she kept the BMW within the speed limit. Two DUIs had been dismissed by a judge who owed Lute a favor. A third would be pushing her luck.
The McDonald’s was lit up like a Las Vegas casino. Even at this late hour there were a dozen cars in the parking lot, belonging to the teenagers who were clustered around the tables inside.
Davee pulled into a shadowed parking space on the far side of the lot, lowered the driver’s-side window, then turned off the engine. In front of her was a row of scruffy bushes serving as a hedge between the McDonald’s parking lot and that of another fast food restaurant that had failed. The building was boarded up. Behind her was the empty drive-through lane. On either side of her, nothing but darkness.
He wasn’t there yet and that miffed her. Responding to his urgency, she had dropped everything—including a perfectly good highball—and had come running. She flipped down the sun visor, slid the cover off the lighted mirror, and checked her reflection.
He opened the passenger door and got in. “You look good, Davee. You always do.”