Jack smiled, but it wasn’t a comfortable smile. “Since you didn’t make any cracks about ‘practice makes perfect,’ I’ll do it for you. Aren’t you home a little early?” he asked as he moved to the bar.
“I’ve been here since lunch,” Rose replied, settling herself on the couch. “All my work this afternoon was on paper, and the office was just too busy. I close three deals tomorrow, making us fifteen thousand dollars richer. Shall we drink to that?” She took the glass from his hand and raised it toward him. “To the recouping of the Conger fortune.”
Jack raised his own glass halfheartedly, and settled back into his wing chair.
“You don’t seem too thrilled about it,” Rose said carefully.
“The Conger fortune,” Jack said, “should be recouped by a Conger, if it is to be recouped at all. Not a Conger wife.”
“Well,” Rose said shortly, “I guess we don’t need to talk about that any more. I had a visitor this afternoon.”
“Is that unusual?”
Rose stared at her husband for a moment, fighting the urge to rise to the bait. When she was sure she had herself under control, she spoke again. “Jack, let’s not fight,” she said. “Let’s spend a quiet, comfortable evening at home, just like we used to.”
Jack looked at her carefully, trying to see if he could spot a trap. After a moment, he relaxed, his shoulders dropping slightly and his breath, which he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, coming deeply. Now, for the first time since she’d come into the room, his smile was warm.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I guess I’m just learning to be defensive all the time. Who came by? You made it sound important.”
“I’m not sure if it was or not It was Ray Norton, and he was here on business.”
“That,” Jack said speculatively, “would have to do with Anne Forager, right?”
“You already know?”
“You forget, my love, that I’m the editor of the only paper in town. Granted, it isn’t much, but it is mine own. And in my illustrious position, there isn’t much that goes on in this town that I don’t hear about The Port Arbello Courier may not be a major paper, but it is a fine gossip center. In short, yes, I’ve heard about Anne. Probably a lot more than you, since my sources, unlike Ray Norton’s, are not sworn to stick to the facts, ma’am. What would you like to know?”
“What happened to her,” Rose said.
“Ah, now that complicates things,” he said, growing somber. “Anne Forager, at various times of the day, has been reported to be missing, to be dead, to have been raped and decapitated, to have been raped but not decapitated, and to have been decapitated but notraped. Also, she has been reported as having been severely beaten and now hovering between life and death. Or she deserves to be spanked, depending on who you listen to. In other words, you probably know a lot more about it than I do, since you talked to Ray, and everybody else talked to me.” He drained his glass and stood up. “Would you like me to fix that for you, or are you going to nurse it along?”
“I’ll nurse it,” Rose said. She continued talking while Jack fixed his second drink. She noted that it was a double, but decided not to mention it Instead, she occupied herself with recounting Ray Norton’s visit that afternoon.
“—And that’s about it,” she finished. “Ray didn’t go down to see you this afternoon?” Jack shook his head. “That’s funny. I had the distinct impression he was planning to go directly from here to your office.”
“If I know Ray,” Jack said drily, “he went from here directly to the quarry, to have a look around. Probably complete with a pipe and a magnifying glass. Was he wearing his deerstalker hat?”
Rose grinned in spite of herself. “Jack, that isn’t fair. Ray isn’t like that, and you know it.”
“How do I know it?” Jack shrugged. “Ray hasn’t had a real case to work on since the day he went to work for Port Arbello. I’ll bet he was more happy than concerned that something has finally happened here, wasn’t he?”
“No, he wasn’t. He seemed to be very concerned. And why are you being so hard on him? I thought you were good friends.”
“Ray and I? I suppose we are. But we also know each other’s limitations. I don’t think he’s Sherlock Holmes, and he doesn’t think I’m Horace Greeley. But we like