The Edge

me you were going to visit her."

    She just shook her head at me. It made her long hair swing and lift. She was wearing nice-fitting jeans and a loose T-shirt, and running shoes on her feet. I thought she looked elegant and sexy.

    "Come in, Mac. Would you like a cup of coffee? It'll take me just a few minutes to brew."

    "Yeah," I said and, having no choice, followed her into one of the most beautiful homes I'd ever been in. The foyer was small, tiled with country peach-shaded pavers and whimsical accent tiles of French country scenes. Off to the left was a beautiful oak staircase leading upstairs. I followed her through an archway into a living room that was octagonal-shaped, giving it complexity with lots of nooks and crannies. There were bright colors everywhere, window seats, small flashes of scarlet pillows, and richly colored South Seas-patterned material on a sectional sofa. There were lamps and chairs and small groupings and nearly every inch of the room was filled with something extravagant, brightly colored, and utterly useless. It coaxed you right in.

    There were plants and flowers everywhere. A mynah bird stood on the back of a chair watching me. He squawked, then began poking under his wing feathers.

    "That's Nolan," Laura said. "He doesn't talk-which is probably a good thing-just squawks occasionally." "Squawk." "That's his greeting."

    "Hi, Nolan." I followed her through the dining room into a small kitchen that looked right out of Don Appetit magazine. All in all, the condo was a good-sized place, not as big as my own house, but not bad. "How many bedrooms?" "Three upstairs and a study downstairs." I accepted a cup of coffee, shook my head at the offer of milk or sugar. "You've got a really nice place here, Laura."

    "Thank you."

    "Did I see a two-car garage for each condo?"

    "Yes. Before you raise that sarcastic eyebrow of yours even higher, let me tell you that my uncle George left me this condo in his will. About eighteen months ago, just in case you wondered."

    As, of course, I had. It was at least something solid and real that I could check out. "So Uncle George lived here?"

    She nodded and sipped her coffee. Her head was cocked to the side, sending her loose hair hanging like a shining curtain beside her face. I wanted to roll around in that hair of hers, smooth it over my hands, let it tumble over my face. I'd noticed immediately that she wasn't wearing a bra. I noticed again, and swallowed.

    I forced my libido back into its case and got back to what I'd come for. "I was thinking that the complex doesn't look more than three years old."

    "That's about right. My uncle George bought it when they'd just begun building. He died a year and a half ago. I'll never forget the first time I walked in here. The place was painted dark colors and filled with heavy, old pieces. I just shoveled everything out and had the greatest time making it mine." She motioned toward the living room, and I followed her back out.

    "Squawk."

    "Nolan likes coffee but I only give him a tiny taste just before bedtime."

    I elected not to sit in the chair that was Nolan's current hangout. I sat opposite Laura on a pale yellow silk-covered chair. There was a hand-painted wooden magazine holder beside the chair. I saw two suspense novels, a world atlas, and three travel books. No magazines or newspapers to be seen.

    "I didn't go see Jilly yesterday because I had to work. There was a meeting with the Board of Trustees in the afternoon and I had to make a presentation. I didn't go last night because, frankly, I didn't feel well. I'm going to see her this afternoon."

    Ill? Had she eaten some of Mrs. Himmel's shrimp and spent the night in the bathroom?

    "You look just fine now, Laura. The flu bug gone? Or was it food poisoning?"

    "No, it was a bad headache. Not quite a migraine, but still unpleasant. Maybe it came from all the stress. I came home about four in the afternoon and slept on and off until this morning. I called the hospital just an hour ago to see how Jilly was doing, to see when I should come, but no one would tell me anything. Of course, it was only six o'clock. The most anyone would say was that Mrs. Bartlett was unavailable. Why are you here, Mac? Tell me what's going on."

    "What was your presentation to the Board of Trustees about?"

    Her mouth curved into a grin. "It was titled 'The New Century'-on library economics in the first decade and what the library should do in order to survive." "I'm here