51

Lida stared into the coffee they had ordered for her. The clippings lay in disarray beside her saucer.

“I’m so very sorry,” Diana said, wiping at her nose with a knuckle.

“I’ll be all right. I always recover, don’t I?” But she spoke in a furry voice, a voice smaller than any Diana had heard from her.

Riley and Allen watched.

“You can come with us,” Diana urged, “talk about it.”

But Lida shook her head. “No. I know I do that a lot, Diana, but shit …” She sighed, raising her shoulders and letting them fall. “I don’t know. I just want to drive. I just want to drive, all by myself. Haven’t you ever felt that way?”

Diana smiled. Yes, she had felt that way.

“The thing is,” Allen said, “you might not be safe. Wendolyn might be waiting for you.” He wished he hadn’t had to say it, but it seemed a possibility.

“Fat chance,” Lida said.

“I doubt it, too, Allen. He’d have to flee, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.” Allen furrowed his brow, unsure. “You didn’t catch sight of him, did you, Paul?”

“Told you,” Riley said, “no.”

Allen made up his mind. “Yes, I guess that’s what he would do. Of course.”

They sat in silence, all of them watching Lida.

It was in one of Duvivier’s books that Lida had learned about thieves. The good ones, he’d written, did it with aplomb. No furtive glance, no pause. Perhaps a simple diversion to speed things along.

Lida lifted her cup and made a face. “This is too cold,” she said, putting the cup back in its saucer. Some of the coffee lapped over the side. Lida tipped the saucer with a very lucky elbow. And a brown pool formed and spread.

They all stood at once. Lida moved the clippings out of range. Allen and Diana dabbed at the tabletop with their napkins. Riley dug in his pockets for his handkerchief. And Lida slid Wendolyn’s confession of murder into the pocket of her coat.

“I’m sorry,” Lida said when they’d resumed their seats.

“It’s fine,” Diana told her.

“I’ll order another cup,” Allen offered, taking the clippings, straightening them. The little gold sunburst slid to the tabletop.

“No, I’d better go.” Lida pulled her coat over her shoulders. “But, hey. Would you mind if … I know it seems silly, but could I take that?” She pointed at the necklace. “I just want to think about this awhile.”

“Of course.” Allen pushed at it with his finger, sliding it toward her.

Lida picked it up, clenched her fist around it. “Thanks,” she said.

“Lida …” Diana tugged at her sleeve. “You’ll come to my house in the morning?”

“I will. I promise, I will.” And then she turned and walked away.

She walked, Diana thought, like someone in mourning. Without thinking, she let her hand slide across the seat until it touched Allen’s thigh. It must be awful for Lida, she thought, to have found someone special at last. And then learn—oh, God—that he was a murderer.

“I’ll see that she gets to her car,” Riley said, standing.

Diana felt guilty, as though she were relinquishing her duty.

Allen lifted her hand, placed it square on his thigh, and covered it with his own hand. “Good idea, Paul,” he said.

They watched Riley move toward the door. “Is it a good idea?” she asked.

Allen looked at her quizzically.

“It’s just that I don’t like him,” she admitted. “I don’t like the way he thinks about Lida. The way he was about that list.”

“Would you prefer that she be with Wendolyn?”

She thought for a moment. “Yes, almost that.”

He shook his head. “Call your sons,” he said. “Tell them they’ll have to manage the night without you.”

She paused.

“They’re old enough.”

“Where’s the phone?” she asked, but then she spied a sign that pointed to a staircase.

“I’ll come with you,” he said.

“No. There will be a long argument from which I’ll just barely emerge the victor. I don’t want you to witness any of it.”

“I’ll be waiting, then,” he said. “I’ll pay the bill and meet you just outside.” He watched her go.