back. “And I was just an interfering word maven as well as a rival to her son in the crossword-puzzle wars.”
“I’m simply suggesting that you two may need to cool off for a bit. You’re incredibly close to Sara—as she is to you. Maybe your relationship is verging on a mother-daughter scenario, which in the Polycrates family can spell F-I-R-E-W-O-R-K-S. And I know from experience that those conflagrations can require—”
“A guy to put out the flames?” Belle asked.
“Let’s just say, a disinterested party is helpful to have on hand. And lots of water.”
Belle sighed anew. “Perhaps you’re right. Besides, women her age were raised to accept the fact that men called the shots. Maybe you can persuade her that Dawn Davis isn’t the guileless person she seems.”
“All I can do is try.”
“And apply a bit of the Polycrates charm,” Belle added with a small smile.
“The good thing is, the pressure is now on Dawn. If she’s guilty, she bolts, and we never see hide nor hair of her again. If she’s not the person who conned Gudgeon, she’ll show up at the Avon-Care center on Tuesday for her therapy.”
“Good point . . . I like the way you think.”
He put his arm around her waist. “Anything else?”
“I’ll let you know.” They began to walk to her car, and she added, “I meant to ask you, what was with the name Lexi?”
“I had to call you something, didn’t I?”
“And that was what you chose on the spur of the moment? Lex? You’ve been reading too many Batman comic books.”
“It’s from lexicographomaniacal, your ‘crazy about crosswords’ word. I thought you’d like it.”
“Oh,” was Belle crestfallen reply, “I was actually hoping your explanation would be that it rhymed with sexy.”
“Huh, I wish I’d thought of that . . . I guess it’s too late to change my answer, isn’t it?”
“What do you think?”
“If I answered yes, would I be correct?”
“One hundred percent, Mr. Disinterested-Party.”
CHAPTER
26
The kitchen at Tulip House was a galley-type affair, seven feet long with beige countertops and matching cabinets on either side of a central walkway floored with ceramic tiles—a utilitarian work space that perfectly suited Jack Curry. Although he was a big man, he found the confined area much to his liking. Probably it was the horse trainer in him that enjoyed the total control he exerted over the room; nothing was more than a short step or an arm’s length away: stove, dishwasher, fridge, microwave, pots and pans, mixing bowls, knives, cutting board, sink; and he planned his meals as if arranging hurdles for a show, intermingling simpler tasks with those that required more concentration as though he were piquing a horse’s interest and enthusiasm.
At the moment he heard the knock on his front door, Jack was in the process of using a new chef ’s knife to dice a sweet green pepper destined for the western omelette he’d planned for dinner. Within easy reach were an onion, a late-season tomato, and chunk of yellow Vermont cheese, all of which would soon fall to the blade.
“Come on in,” he shouted. “The door’s unlocked.”
He returned to his work and looked up only when his visitor’s form appeared in the kitchen doorway. He shook his head slowly and gave a disapproving glance. “Not a good idea, my partner in crime. If we’re seen together alone too often, people might begin to talk.”
“As in, ‘What would the neighbors say?’ Is that it?”
Jack didn’t bother to respond; instead, he pushed aside the pepper and began to deftly peel the tomato.
“It’s dark. No one saw me.”
“Quite the stealthy critter, aren’t you?” He glanced at his visitor’s hands. “What’s with the gloves? Playing doctor tonight, are we?”
His unexpected guest also looked down at the gloves. “Blisters. They’re killing me. I guess I’ve been working too hard—”
“Blisters from overwork, there’s a joke. I didn’t think you knew what the phrase meant.” He gave a snide laugh and waved the tip of the knife in the air. “Come on over here. Let me show you how to make an omelette, Jack Curry style.” With his free hand, he reached up and lowered the window shade, while his guest walked over and leaned on the counter next to the stove.
“That’s the knife I gave you for your birthday . . .” The tone was suddenly wistful.
“Yep. It’s a beauty,” Jack replied. “And you know something? You’re the only one who remembered the big day.”
“The only one?”
“Surprising, ain’t it? Hell of a world we live in when family doesn’t