Mean Woman Blues

wasn’t a pleasure trip.”
    “Would he have surprised you by flying up and meeting you?”
    “What are you talking about? He didn’t even know the name of my hotel.”
    “Just wondering,” O’Rourke said.
    “Tell me,” she said. “What the hell are you talking about?”
    But of course he wasn’t about to. It was the police way: to grab all the information they could and never give anything away. The interview went on for quite a while after that: Did Pamela get a plate number? (She hadn’t.) Did either of the two women know of anyone who might want to kill Isaac? Anyone with a grudge? Any enemies? Did Isaac use drugs? Did he deal drugs? Had he seemed worried lately? Did he have any special problems?
    Skip sat through it knowing she wasn’t going to find out what she wanted to know till she could get Shellmire alone. When Shellmire and O’Rourke were done, she walked outside with them. “Somebody’s got to call his mother and his niece. I know them both, Frank. Would you like me to do it?”
    “Langdon, you aren’t even supposed to be here.” He turned away.
    “Just trying to help. I’ll just say good-bye to Pamela and Terri.”
    She went back in. “Either of you have Lovelace’s number?”
    “Sure,” they said in unison.
    “I’ll get it,” Pamela said. “I was going to call her as soon as y’all left.”
    “I’ll be happy to do it for you.”
    Pamela looked relieved. “Thanks, Skip. You’re a good friend.”
    Skip took the number and said good-bye. As soon as she was in her car, she called Shellmire on his cell phone. “Turner. What’s this Dallas stuff?”
    “Damnedest thing. Looks like Isaac was there last night. We found a used airline ticket in a wastebasket.”
    “Oh my God! Looks like our instincts were right.” She looked at her watch. “Did you get us a flight?”
    “Yeah, but we better follow up on this, maybe try to go later.”
    “Yeah. I’m going to call Lovelace and then talk to Terri again. There’s got to be more on that Dallas thing. Maybe something’ll come to her.”
    “Okay, I’ll work it from this end. We’re about to canvass the neighbors.”
    “Okay. One more thing. Can you make sure O’Rourke puts a guard on Isaac?”
    “Will do.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
    The deal with Lobo was simple: half up front, half when the job was done. All Mr. Right had to do was transfer five thousand from a special account he kept under the name Thomas Washington into one Lobo mentioned (which he did by pay phone first thing in the morning), then sit back and chew his nails.
    He wanted to pace. He needed to work off some energy. But Tracie appeared almost the minute he arrived at the studio: “Great response on the bank show. E-mail and phone calls pouring in.”
    He tried to smile. “Great. That’s great news.” His face wouldn’t work.
    Tracie’s sunny countenance turned dark. “Still feeling under the weather? Hang on, I’ll get you another Vicodin.”
    “No thanks. No. It’s the after-show letdown, I guess. I’ll be fine.” Once again, he tried out the smile.
    “You sure? You really don’t seem…”
    “Just leave me alone, goddammit!” Then, seeing her hurt look, he said, “I just haven’t had coffee yet.”
    And then, of course, she had to get him some. He felt like throwing it in her ugly face. But he took a minute to compose himself. When she came back in, he said, “Tracie, I’m sorry I snapped at you. I’m going to be honest with you. I hate it when people bring their problems to the office, but I just couldn’t help it this morning. My wife’s in the hospital.”
    The girl looked alarmed. “Oh. That fall she took—”
    “No, no, it wasn’t that at all. She woke up hemorrhaging in the middle of the night.”
    “Omigod, a miscarriage! I’m just so, so sorry.” She was quiet a minute, as if mourning the Wrights’ unborn child, and then she brightened. “But Karen’s young and healthy. Y’all can always try again.”
    His paranoia kicked in instantly. “How the hell do you know what it was?”
    “I just thought… isn’t that usually what that means— ‘hemorrhaging’?”
    “I don’t know.” This time he executed a successful grin; he could feel it looking right. “Men are clueless. Listen, thank you for your concern.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    The damn woman finally left. She wanted him, just like they all did— hero-worshipped him. She’d be as easy to manage as Bettina if he’d just quit losing it.
    She blew him