Genuine Lies

Thank you.”
    Paul said nothing, waited. He didn’t know what he felt. No, he thought, he did. When he had walked in and realized who was on the phone it had felt exactly like being shot. Now he was bleeding inside.
    “You heard,” she began.
    “Yes, I heard. I thought we agreed you wouldn’t answer the phone.”
    “I’m sorry. I had to.”
    “Naturally.” He rocked back on his heels. “He ignores you for ten years, but you had to answer his call.”
    Unconsciously she rubbed a hand on her stomach where the muscles were beginning to knot. “Paul, he’s a lawyer.”
    “So I’ve heard.” He walked to the bar but thought it best to stick with mineral water. A drink now would be like tossing gasoline onto a fire. “And of course he’s the only lawyer in the country who’s qualified to take your case. He’s going to streak out here on his silver briefcase and save you from the clutches of injustice.”
    “I can’t afford to turn down help from any quarter it’s offered.” She pressed her lips together, needing to keep her voice calm. There was a terrible urge gnawing inside her to rush past him and fling open the door. “Maybe you’d think more ofme if I’d spit in his eye. Maybe I’d think more of myself too. But if they send me to jail, I’m not sure I’ll survive it. And I’m afraid, I’m very afraid for Brandon.”
    He set his glass aside before he crossed to her. His hands were gentle as they skimmed up and down her arms. “Tell you what, Jules. We’ll let him work his legal magic. And when it’s all over, we’ll both spit in his eye.”
    She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her cheek to his. “I love you.”
    “It’s about time you mentioned that again.” He tipped her face up to kiss her, then drew her toward the couch. “Now, sit down while I tell you what I’ve been up to.”
    “Up to?” She tried on a smile, wondering if they could possibly have a normal conversation.
    “Playing detective. What mystery writer isn’t a frustrated detective? Have you eaten?”
    “What? Paul, you’re jumping subjects.”
    “I’ve decided we’re going to talk in the kitchen. Over food.” He rose, grabbing her hand and pulling her behind him. “It’s distracting watching you drop pounds while I’m talking. I think Brandon left some peanut butter.”
    “I’m going to have a peanut butter sandwich?”
    “And jelly,” he told her as he took out a jar of Skippy. “Listen, it’s loaded with protein.”
    She didn’t have the heart to tell him she wasn’t hungry. “I’ll fix them.”
    “They’re my speciality,” he reminded her. “Sit down. When I’m facing a murder charge, you can pamper me.”
    Now she did manage to smile. “It’s a deal.” She watched him slather the bread, wondering if he remembered that first morning he’d met Eve. With a little sigh, she looked past him, to the jade plant on the windowsill. Did he realize that it had been dying when she and Brandon had moved in? A little water, a little plant food, and it was thriving again. It took so very little to sustain life.
    She smiled again at the plate he set in front of her. Like peanut butter and jelly, and someone to love.
    “You didn’t cut it into triangles.”
    He lifted a brow. “Real men don’t eat cut sandwiches. It’s wussy.”
    “Thank God you told me, or I might have continued to cut Brandon’s and humiliate him.” When she picked it up, jelly squirted cheerfully out the sides. “So, how have you been playing detective.”
    “What we call legwork.” As he sat, he reached over to tuck her hair behind her ear. “I talked to Jack, the pilot. He’ll swear that in his expert opinion, the fuel line was tampered with. It may not be much, but it could prove that something was going on, something outside, threatening you. Maybe Eve as well.”
    She made herself eat, made herself hope. “All right. I think it could be very important to convince the police that someone was sending threats—because of the book. The tapes. I don’t understand why if they’ve listened to the tapes they can think I …” She shook her head. “No way to prove anyone but myself and Eve knew what was on them.”
    “The phrase is
reasonable doubt.
That’s all we need. I went to see Travers,” he added. Here, while he wanted to be honest, he also wanted to chose his words with care. “She’s still a wreck, Jules. She’d wrapped her whole life around Eve—what Eve had done for her, for her