Ready to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

“Perfect!” She was suddenly thrilled, as if she’d just accomplished an impossible feat. Her grief and dismay at her friend’s death were, apparently, forgotten, at least for the moment. “I’ll bring Barry too. He’s just so smart. A doctor, you know. He might be able to add something!”

“Your husband saw the stalker?” Pescoli asked.

“Oh, no. Never.” Her lips pursed almost in distaste. “It’s the oddest thing. Whenever I noticed the stalker in the park, I’d call the doctor over, but wouldn’t you know, every time Barry got to the window, he’d be gone.” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “It was as if that stalker knew I was watching and decided to vanish. Poof!” She threw her hands into the air and her hat, caught on a breeze, went sailing. “Drat!” With surprising speed, she took off after the hat and managed to catch it against a pile of slush near the curb.

“Something’s not right,” Alvarez said as they followed her. “This is all too bizarre and convenient.”

“You got that right.” Pescoli decided not to mention the dream. At least not yet. Alvarez was even more of a realist than she was. “Let’s see what Doctor Dubois has to say.”

“If he’s home,” Alvarez said.

“And if he really exists.”

Walking rapidly, Pescoli and Alvarez caught up with Claudia and walked her back to her house, where her husband, wearing sweatpants and a Texas A&M sweatshirt, was just opening the door.

Score one for the truth.

r /> “Claudia?” he said worriedly, as round as she was thin, the reverse of Jack Sprat and his fabled wife.

“I saw these police officers over at Kathryn’s and thought I should explain about the man who’s been stalking us.”

“Honey,” he said softly, his bushy gray eyebrows drawing downward over the tops of horn-rimmed glasses. “You know there’s no one there. We’ve been over this.” Then he turned his attention to the detectives. “I’m sorry,” he said, and there was a guarded sadness in his eyes. “I’m afraid Claudia has . . . an active imagination, and all this sorry business about Kathryn has made things worse.”

“But I saw him, Barry! You know I did. I told you!”

“May we come in?” Pescoli asked. The man stepped aside so that they could enter a wide foyer lit by an ornate chandelier.

As he closed the door behind them, he said to his wife, “It’s freezing out there, dear. I’m sure the detectives could use something to warm them up. Maybe we could rustle up some tea or coffee for the officers?”

“My goodness!” she exclaimed, tossing her hat over the hook of a coatrack positioned near the door. “Where the devil are my manners?” She unbuttoned her coat and with it billowing behind her said, “Coming right up!” as she bustled off toward what presumably was the kitchen.

Once she was out of earshot, her husband said, “I don’t know what my wife told you, but ninety percent of it is fabrication.” His forehead wrinkled. “I’m afraid she hallucinates and sometimes can’t distinguish what is real from what is not.”

“There is no stalker in the park?”

“Oh, there could be, I suppose, but as for an athletic-looking man in some kind of white camouflage gear?” His eyebrows lifted over his glasses. “I’ve yet to see him.”

Alvarez and Pescoli exchanged glances.

Back to square one.

Chapter 18

Cade didn’t need to be thinking about Hattie.

Not tonight.

Not ever.

But there she was big as life, playing dangerous games in his mind as he drove through the snow to the hospital in Missoula. Lately, it seemed, everywhere he turned, she was there with her tangle of hair, mischievous eyes, and quick smile that, when her lips parted, showed off not-quite-perfect teeth.

He was a fool, he thought, taking his foot off the accelerator as he was coming up much too quickly on the tail of a Chevy Suburban whose driver had decided to creep fifteen miles under the speed limit with the snow. Easing behind it, he considered his chance meeting with Hattie in town, the way that little McKenzie had been barreling down the sidewalk and how frantic Hattie had been for her daughter’s safety.

No matter what else he might think of her, Hattie was a damned good mother; he wouldn’t argue that.

But that’s where it ended.

The Chevy turned off at the next light, taillights fading, and he was able to pick up speed again, his wipers slapping away the dry flakes as they tumbled from the sky. Traffic was thick, the glare of headlights steady as he tried, and failed, to forget about his sister-in-law. Ex-sister-in-law, he reminded himself. Seeing her again had kicked all the old memories back through his brain.