Blood Pact

in your reasons for thinking so.”

    As her reasons for thinking so were based solely on a midnight visit she had no intention of mentioning, Vicki found herself momentarily at a loss. "The members of your department are scientists.”

    "And why would a scientist take your mother's body?" Dr. Burke kept her expression outwardly neutral while inwardly she kicked Donald's careless butt. She knew Catherine couldn't be counted on to consider the more mundane aspects of the situation, but she'd expected better of him. It was obvious that last night's side trip had been observed. Nothing else but the knowledge that a dead woman was up and walking around could logically account for the sudden obstinate certainty that someone at the university had to be responsible. "It could just as easily," she continued, "have been taken by a spurned lover. Have you looked into that possibility?”

    "She had no lover," Vicki ground out, "spurned or otherwise.”

    Behind a mask of polite apology, Dr. Burke enjoyed the reaction. Of course she didn't. Mothers never do. Aloud she said, "That brings us back to my scientists, then. Shall I have Mrs. Shaw make some phone calls for you, set up appointments?" It was a large university and there were ways to make it larger still.

    "If you would. Thank you." Well aware that Dr. Burke's assistance could cut through the time-consuming tangle of academic red tape, Vicki had been about to ask. That Dr. Burke remained on the list of potential suspects devalued that assistance not at all. The manner of the assistance, could, in fact, be used as further evidence. "I need to talk to the faculty in the school of medicine." She'd start with the obvious. Later, if necessary, she'd widen the circle. If necessary, she'd tear the bloody university apart, limestone block by limestone block.

    "I'll do what I can. If I might make a suggestion, your mother was quite friendly with a Dr. Devlin, a cellular biologist." And talking with that old Irish reprobate should keep you busy sorting fact from fancy for days. "In fact, he comfortably covers both our theories as I believe he was very fond of her.”

    " Both our theories?”

    "The scientist and the spurned lover.”

    Just for a moment, Vicki wondered if her mother had gotten involved with someone who'd refused to surrender to death; wondered if a twisted love had tried to force a return of life and created the travesty of her mother she'd seen at the window. No.
    Impossible. Henry said there was another one. And besides, she'd have told me if she'd met someone new.

    The way she told you about her heart condition? asked a small voice.

    Dr. Burke watched the emotional storm playing out across her visitor's face and decided the experiment was in no immediate danger. Although last night's unfortunate lapse in security had brought Ms. Nelson closer to the truth, when it came right down to it, close didn't count. And now I've given her something new to think about. Dr. Devlin should be in for an interesting interview. When that played out, another wild goose could always be found.

    In the meantime, it was obvious to even the most casual observer, which she most certainly was not, that Marjory Nelson's daughter rode a precarious balance between rigid control and a complete breakdown. An emotional teeter-totter that could only get in the way of an objective investigation and a situation easy to exploit.

    "It's amazing," she murmured, almost as though she were speaking to herself, "how much you resemble your mother.”

    Vicki started. "Me?”

    "You're taller, of course, and your mother wore no glasses, but the line of your jaw is identical and your mouth moves very much the way hers did.”

    Did . . . Her mother's face rose up in memory, a sheet of glass between them, eyes wide, mouth silently working.

    "In fact, you have many of the same mannerisms.”

    Vicki desperately tried to banish the horror her mother had become and replace it with an earlier memory. The sheet lifted, the gray and waxy pallor of death, the chemical smell of the hospital morgue . . . In the memory before that, a phone rang on, unanswered.

    "Ms. Nelson? Are you all right?”

    "Fine." The word was a warning.

    Dr. Burke stood, satisfaction covered with polite regret. "If you have no further questions, I'm afraid I have a list as long as my arm of meetings to attend. I'll have Mrs. Shaw set up those appointments for you.”

    Vicki shoved her notes into her bag and stood as well,