82 Desire

the big guns.”
    Skip hoped she wasn’t blushing. She had gotten her name in the paper often and spectacularly in recent months.
    “Our best little hot dog,” Abasolo said.
    “I am not little.” Skip spoke with mock petulance.
    Fortier laughed. “You sure aren’t. You’re as tall as my husband.”
    “Six feet and growing.”
    “Come in, won’t you?”
    Fortier led them into a room that was evidently a family room or den, a room full of books and furniture that was getting shabby, along with the inevitable “entertainment center” containing television and stereo.
    She sat across from Skip and Abasolo, glancing around as if to see if she had what she needed. A box of Kleenex sat on the floor near her chair. She plucked a tissue and sat back.
    “Can I offer you some coffee?”
    The officers declined. Skip noticed for the first time that Fortier looked haggard and drawn, though her makeup seemed newly applied and there were no tear tracks. She was probably in her early forties, Skip thought, with shiny brown hair cut in a neat bob, side-parted and more or less resembling Hillary Clinton’s. Her face was round, and her figure was trim. She was a pretty woman, with a fresh vitality, almost an eagerness, that made her more attractive than mere features ever could have. She had lovely smooth skin and hands that looked cared for, though her nails were short.
    “I don’t know what to think.” Her hands worked the tissue. “I’m just… well, embarrassed.” She looked the officers in the eye.
    “I assure you we’ll be as discreet as possible.” Abasolo spoke with unaccustomed formality.
    “Does Officer Langdon know?”
    “Call me Skip, please. And, no; I don’t know anything.”
    Bebe tried on a smile for size, but it didn’t work. “I guess you could say it’s every woman’s nightmare.”
    ***
    Russell’s sonofabitch of a father, who had made Russell’s life miserable every day Bebe had known him, had finally died two weeks before, and Bebe would have expected her husband to shout, “Hallelujah!”
    But Russell was unexpectedly moody on the way to the funeral in North Carolina. She probably should have tried harder to cheer him up, but it came at a bad time; there were so many reports to read, and planes were so good for that.
    They stayed at a hotel, as far as they could get from the family madness, scarcely exchanging a word the whole time. And yet it was a friendly silence; after so many years of marriage it wasn’t necessary to talk. Bebe read her reports and made her phone calls; Russell did the family things. It was like a hundred other trips they’d taken.
    But on the flight back, Russell turned to her. “Bebe. That was a lot harder than I expected.”
    “I know it was, darling.”
    “Let’s go away next weekend. Just us. Just for fun.”
    She stared at him—they never did anything like that.
    The idea kind of appealed to her, but it came from so far out in left field. “I have to give a speech Saturday night.” She named a big campaign contributor: “I promised Mary Louise six months ago. I can’t just disappear on her.”
    “Oh.” He looked as disappointed as a child. “Well, maybe the weekend after.”
    “Okay.” She thought about it. “Sure.”
    “You sound kind of doubtful.”
    “No, really, I’d love to. Let’s go to Hilton Head.”
    And so she had cancelled a few little things and they’d taken off in a flurry. Friday night they had a great dinner and made love (though she left that part out when she told the story to the cops).
    Saturday, she worked in the hotel room while Russell explored, and they played tennis, had a nap, another great dinner, and watched a movie. Sunday, she made some phone calls, and then they had brunch and drove to Savannah to get their plane.
    On the plane ride back, she worked some more while Russell read a Patrick O’Brian novel. That is, she worked for a while, and then she fell asleep. She felt rather wonderfully relaxed after such a nice weekend, and when Russell woke her up as they were landing, thought they really should do this sort of thing more often.
    After they’d claimed their luggage, Russell left to get the car while she sat in the terminal, suitcases around her like attentive children. She was still a little zoned-out and quite enjoyed the people-watching, especially the nice warm clinches when family members and lovers found each other and smooched it up.
    She was pleasantly tired, thinking at first about