Copper Lake Confidential - By Marilyn Pappano Page 0,87
and Anne.
God, it would break Macy’s heart if her brother was trying to make her think she was crazy. Mark’s betrayal had been bad enough. Could she survive being betrayed by Brent?
It must be Anne. It had to be, for Macy’s sake. It would still hurt, but that was a recoverable hurt.
Grimly he returned the pill to the bottle, then did what he’d been putting off: he did a Google search for Macy and Mark. By morning he intended to know everything the internet had to say about either of them.
* * *
Waking up was a slow, easy transition from sleep to awareness. The sun shone through the window at the head of the bed, casting light and creating shadows. The bedroom door was closed, but Macy could hear two voices—Clary’s cheerful little-girl and Stephen’s deeper all-man rumble. A sweet, satisfied, broad smile stretched across her face. Cute little nerd vet, Anne and Brent had called him. A bumper sticker she’d seen somewhere said Nerds Try Harder. Stephen didn’t need to try. He was perfect.
She rolled onto her side, facing his room. Unlike his office, it was sparsely decorated: one full bed made for snuggling, a dresser, a nightstand. White sheets and pillowcases, tan blanket, navy bedspread. It was a room where he slept, nothing more.
Except last night.
She didn’t know what time it was, only that it was daylight and she could easily sleep another ten or twelve hours if she didn’t have an appointment with the second dealer at nine. Besides, the aroma of coffee was faintly on the air, its fragrance rich and dark enough to start her heart pumping. It drew her from the bed and into her pajamas, folded neatly on the dresser—definitely not where she’d discarded them. With a finger-comb for her hair, she opened the door and her senses were assaulted with the scents of coffee and something savory-sweet.
Stephen and Clary sat at the kitchen table, identical mugs and empty plates in front of them. She was gesturing wildly, her favored way of talking, and he listened as if he really cared about flying dragons and knights of the realm. Considering his fantasy-book career, maybe he did.
He saw Macy first, and his serious gaze settled on her. She couldn’t tell by looking at him that anything earthshaking had happened last night, and for just one instant she wondered if the night had been out of character for her but far more the norm for him. Then he smiled, not even a full smile, but one with such—such possession in it—that her legs got wobbly and she had no choice but to sit with them at the table if she didn’t want to fall flat on her face.
“Hey, Mama. Look, I’m drinking milk from a coffee cup. And we had pumpkin pie for breakfast. For breakfast. Dr. Stephen didn’t have any cereal or eggs or sausage, and he says oatmeal is for aliens. Even Scooter won’t eat it. And I told him, me, neither.”
Her daughter’s rambling settled over her like a familiar old blanket. This was exactly what she needed before she faced the house again.
Stephen brought her a mug of coffee, sweetened and creamed, and a saucer with a piece of pumpkin pie. Before she could speak, he did. “It’s got eggs in it, and a vegetable, and the crust is kind of like bread. And it’s all I had in the freezer that appealed to Clary.”
“I love pumpkin pie for breakfast.”
He smiled again, brushing her shoulder as he pulled away, as if he needed a touch, no matter how small. After refreshing his coffee, he said, “Clary, want to watch TV with Scooter?”
She slurped the last of her milk, swiped her face with a paper towel doubling as napkin and grinned. “You bet.”
As they trotted off, Stephen called after her, “Watch out, though. Animal Planet is his favorite channel.”
The TV came on a moment later. It always amazed Macy how the use of remote control devices seemed to be part of a kid’s genetic code these days.
Stephen sat down to her right, and she automatically turned her chair in that direction. “I’ve got some things to do this morning, but first I need to ask you some questions, okay?”
Discomfort took the shiny edge off the morning, but she nodded. They’d avoided discussing who among the people close to her would have a motive strong enough to want her recommitted to the psychiatric hospital. She’d seen the guilt and trouble in his eyes while