“Cool.” Fruge can’t take her eyes off him. “I mean, he’s a genuine legend. That’s saying a lot coming from me because I don’t like the Feds, especially the FBI.”
“He’s not been with the FBI for a long time.” I open my door.
“But he started out with them, was their superstar profiler, and probably does the same sort of thing for the Secret Service.” Fruge continues reciting our history, filling in the blanks as she sees fit.
“I’m Benton Wesley.” He introduces himself to her as I climb out with my bulletproof briefcase. “I appreciate you getting her home safely. Thank you.”
She introduces herself, making sure he knows she’s heard of him, that her mother used to talk about the psycho whisperer.
“I don’t need to tell you of all people to be careful around here.” Fruge leans across the front seat, talking to him through the open passenger door. “Whoever murdered Gwen Hainey knew exactly what he was doing.”
Benton grabs my scene case, and to look at him, you wouldn’t think he knows anything about it. But I suspect the opposite is true, and I continue wondering where he’s been today.
“Come on,” he says to me. “Let’s get you inside.”
Thanking Fruge again, we watch her drive off in a huff. Or perhaps it’s just my imagination.
“I think she was hoping you’d invite her in,” Benton says as we follow the walkway. “She obviously enjoys your company.”
“Well, I don’t know what she enjoys but I was beginning to think she might ride around with me all night. Searching roadsides and alleyways with her spotlight, asking a lot of questions about us.”
“I had a feeling something like that was going on.”
“I think she’s lonely, and I’m afraid I wasn’t very sociable,” I reply, feeling another twinge of guilt. “But my personality is used up for the day.”
“Lucky me,” he says.
The alarm system chirps as we walk into the house, the antique pumpkin pine floorboards creaking under the entryway rug. I can hear the TV news in the living room, Christmas music playing though the intercom, and at the moment I could do without both.
“I talked to Marino a little while ago,” Benton says. “When he told me who was driving you, I figured she was acting like old home week.”
“You remember her mother from our Richmond days.”
“Who could forget Tox Doc?” He’s not a fan.
“Let’s leave my scene case by the door, please.” I take off my coat, feeling wilted. “I want to make sure I don’t forget it in the morning, ending up with two at home and none at the office. And I need to replace the Narcan I took out of it.”
“I’m glad to see you.” He kisses me. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
I can see the preoccupations in his hazel eyes as he sets the big Pelican case in the corner. I leave my briefcase on the entryway table, giving him a hug, and he’s striking in pinstripes. His perfectly knotted blue silk tie is vibrant against his charcoal-gray shirt with monogrammed French cuffs.
As always, he smells good, his platinum hair brushed back from his chiseled face, and he gets more handsome with age. At least that’s how it seems to me, and I apologize for my dishevelment.
“And for being late, and messing up our dinner plans.” I open the entryway closet, asking where he’s been. “I thought you were working remotely today. What’s going on?”
“I had an urgent meeting at headquarters.”
“About?” I hang up my coat.
“Gwen Hainey,” he replies, to my surprise and confusion.
“How did you know about her before I did?” I don’t understand. “You were already on the way home from your meeting when the police called me. Before anyone knew she was missing, in other words. Did the Secret Service have information before the rest of us? And if so, why?”
“Because of something else involving her.” That’s as much as he’s going to say now that my sister Dorothy is walking in, jingling and strobing like a two-legged carnival.
Decked out in a Grinch onesie embroidered with tiny Santa sacks of purloined presents, she has on pointed-toe booties tipped with bells. The glow sticks wound around her arms and neck flash green and red, and it’s enough to cause vertigo.
“Something else involving who?” She picks up on what she overheard. “My dead neighbor, no doubt,” directing this at me. “It’s simply dreadful! I’ve been glued to the news, which includes you ducking Dana Diletti outside Gwen Hainey’s townhome.”