Body Double: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

neon.
    “Oh, Jesus.” He turned away. “I don’t need this.”
    “Uh, Mrs. Purvis?” It was Bart, calling from the showroom doorway. “Did you know you have a flat tire? The mechanic just pointed it out to me.”
    Dazed, she turned and stared at him. “No. I . . . I didn’t.”
    “How can you
not
notice you have a flat tire?” Dwayne said.
    “It might have—well, it seemed to handle a little sluggishly, but—”
    ”I don’t believe this.” Dwayne was already heading for the door. Walking away from me as always, she thought. And now he’s angry. How did everything suddenly become my fault?
    She and Bart followed him to her car. Dwayne was crouched down by the right rear wheel, shaking his head.
    “Can you believe she didn’t notice this?” he said to Bart. “Look at this tire! She shredded the fucking tire!”
    “Hey, it happens,” said Bart. He gave Mattie a sympathetic glance. “Look, I’ll ask Ed to slip on a new one. No problem.”
    “But look at the rim, it’s all screwed up. How many miles you think she drove on this thing? How can anyone be that dense?”
    “C’mon, Dwayne,” said Bart. “It’s no big deal.”
    “I didn’t know,” said Mattie. “I’m sorry.”
    “Did you drive it like this all the way from the doctor’s office?” Dwayne glanced at her over his shoulder, and the anger she saw in his eyes scared her. “Were you daydreaming or what?”
    “Dwayne,
I didn’t know.
”
    Bart patted Dwayne on the shoulder. “Maybe you should lighten up a little, how ’bout it?”
    “Stay the hell out of this!” snapped Dwayne.
    Bart retreated, hands lifted in submission. “Okay, okay.” He shot a last glance at Mattie, a look of
good luck, honey,
and walked away.
    “It’s only a tire,” said Mattie.
    “You must’ve been throwing sparks all down the road. How many people you think saw you driving around like this?”
    “Does it matter?”
    “
Hello!
This is a
Beemer.
When you’re driving a machine like this, you’re upholding an image. People see this car, they expect the driver to be a little smarter, a little more hip. So you go clanking around on a bare rim, it
ruins
the image. It makes every other Beemer driver look bad. It makes
me
look bad.”
    “It’s only a tire.”
    “Stop saying that.”
    “But it is.”
    Dwayne gave a snort of disgust and rose to his feet. “I give up.”
    She swallowed back tears. “It’s not about the tire. Is it, Dwayne?”
    “What?”
    “This fight is about us. Something’s wrong between
us.
”
    His silence only made things worse. He didn’t look at her, but turned, instead, to watch the mechanic walking toward them.
    “Hey,” the mechanic called out. “Bart said I should go ahead and change that tire.”
    “Yeah, take care of it, will you?” Dwayne paused, his attention shifting to a Toyota that had just driven into the lot. A man climbed out and stood eyeing one of the BMWs. Bent close to read the dealer’s sticker on the window. Dwayne smoothed back his hair, gave his tie a tug, and started walking toward the new customer.
    “Dwayne?” said Mattie.
    “I got a client here.”
    “But I’m your
wife.
”
    He spun around, his gaze suddenly, shockingly, poisonous.
“Don’t. Push it. Mattie.”
    “What do I have to do to get your attention?” she cried. “Buy a car from you? Is that what it takes? Because I don’t know any other way.” Her voice broke. “I don’t know any other way.”
    “Then maybe you should just stop trying. Because I don’t see the point anymore.”
    She watched him walk away. Saw him pause to square his shoulders, put on a smile. His voice suddenly boomed out, warm and friendly, as he greeted the new client on the lot.
    “Mrs. Purvis? Ma’am?”
    She blinked. Turned to look at the mechanic.
    “I’ll need your car keys, if you don’t mind. So I can move her into the bay and get that tire on.” He held out a grease-stained hand.
    Wordless, she gave him her key ring, then turned to look at Dwayne. But he did not even glance her way. As if she was invisible. As if she was nothing.
    She scarcely remembered driving home.
    She found herself sitting at the kitchen table, still holding the keys, the day’s mail stacked in front of her. On top was the credit card bill, addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Dwayne Purvis. Mr. and Mrs. She remembered the first time someone had called her Mrs. Purvis, and the joy she’d felt at hearing the name. Mrs. Purvis, Mrs. Purvis.
    Mrs. Nobody.
    The keys