Split Second
Page 11
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“That’s what my mother said. She presented her to me on my last birthday.”
A laugh spurted out. His mother gave him this car? What kind of line was this? “Your baby is a her?” Well, why was she surprised?
“Her name is Gloria. The day after I got her, she was sitting here in my slot, singing out her name to me.”
“And you’re saying your mom gave Gloria to you?”
He nodded. “She said I was getting too staid, too set in my ways, and here I was thirty-one years old, and she wanted some grandkids. When I told her she already had eight rugrats from my prolific siblings, and that I was only on the very first day of my thirty-first year, she said that wasn’t the point. When I asked her what the point was, she smacked me, told me the point was I was to go cruising around D.C., looking hot, and getting myself some action. The salesman, she assured me, said the Corvette Grand Sport was just the ticket. She’s got high hopes for Gloria.”
Lucy eyed him. He sounded legitimate—self-deprecating, charming, really, not like the playboy of the Western world at all. She ran her hand over the hood. “Given Gloria’s cost, your mom must really want a grandkid from you.” Then she reached out and stroked his ego, to see what he’d do. “And, Coop, you already are hot. Everybody in the unit knows that.”
He opened his mouth, stared at her, then shook his head. “You’ve been listening to people you shouldn’t, haven’t you? There’s nothing to it, just some of the guys pulling my chain. No, wait, it’s Shirley, isn’t it?”
“Come on, don’t try to pretend you’re some sort of hopeless nerd.”
“I know it’s Shirley. I heard her tell Ruth I had to add pages to my black book, it was so crammed. Then she was going on about Annette in the forensics lab and Glenis in personnel. They’re friends of mine, that’s all, just friends.”
Lucy said, “Yeah, right, you’re no philanderer, you’ve just got lots and lots of ‘friends’ who happen to be female.”
“Shirley was looking over my shoulder when I was thumbing through my address book to find a sheriff’s number in North Dakota. As for—well, both Annette and Glenis? They really are friends, nothing more.”
Lucy laughed at him. It felt good, but it died quickly enough, and she swallowed and looked away. Her cell rang. It was one of her friends, Barb Dickens. Lucy knew if she answered it, she’d start crying at Barb’s sweet concerned voice. She let it go to voice mail.
He said nothing more and helped her into the Corvette. Then, whistling, he walked around to the driver’s side. He thought there was a bit of color in her thin face, at least until she felt guilt about laughing. Coop hoped she liked couscous.
CHAPTER 8
Chevy Chase, Maryland
The Carlyle Estate on Breckenridge Road
Tuesday
No time for another load; it would be dark in an hour. Lucy hefted the last cardboard box she’d brought over, this one filled with shoes and workout clothes, closed the door of her Range Rover with her hip, wondering idly if she should name him—or her? She didn’t think so. Gloria? She was smiling as she walked up the elaborate flagstone pathway, lined with flowers that were fast closing down for the winter. Huge maples and oaks filled the front yard, and their colors were amazing, all oranges and reds and bright browns, happily tossing their leaves to the ground. Why hadn’t Mr. McGruder cleaned up the leaves? She’d have to ask. Odd, she couldn’t remember either of the McGruders’ first names. They’d been a constant in her life until she’d left for college. Silent, for the most part—grimlooking, really, she’d always thought. Very proper, giving her a look whenever they believed she’d smart-mouthed her father or come in later than they’d thought proper from a date or made too much noise when her friends were over.
Lucy paused for a moment before climbing the six wide wooden steps up to the huge wraparound porch that encircled the entire house. Pots of flowers were scattered haphazardly along it, the plants beginning to lose hope now that winter was close. Hanging pots of ferns and ivy streamed down from the overhead porch beams. All this work to maintain a house that no one lives in? “Yes,” her father had said, and laughed. “You never know.” He’d been right.
Lucy loved that you could sit out on a spring day and watch the rain come down on all the beautiful flowers surrounding the house. It was only mid-October, still time for some more warm days, she hoped.
She realized she’d missed this house, missed the feel of it, the warmth of its memories, even though it was at least ten thousand square feet and the heating bills to keep it warm had to approach the national budget of some small countries. She’d lived here since her mom had died because, her dad told her, he’d needed help to raise her, and who better to help than her grandparents?
A laugh spurted out. His mother gave him this car? What kind of line was this? “Your baby is a her?” Well, why was she surprised?
“Her name is Gloria. The day after I got her, she was sitting here in my slot, singing out her name to me.”
“And you’re saying your mom gave Gloria to you?”
He nodded. “She said I was getting too staid, too set in my ways, and here I was thirty-one years old, and she wanted some grandkids. When I told her she already had eight rugrats from my prolific siblings, and that I was only on the very first day of my thirty-first year, she said that wasn’t the point. When I asked her what the point was, she smacked me, told me the point was I was to go cruising around D.C., looking hot, and getting myself some action. The salesman, she assured me, said the Corvette Grand Sport was just the ticket. She’s got high hopes for Gloria.”
Lucy eyed him. He sounded legitimate—self-deprecating, charming, really, not like the playboy of the Western world at all. She ran her hand over the hood. “Given Gloria’s cost, your mom must really want a grandkid from you.” Then she reached out and stroked his ego, to see what he’d do. “And, Coop, you already are hot. Everybody in the unit knows that.”
He opened his mouth, stared at her, then shook his head. “You’ve been listening to people you shouldn’t, haven’t you? There’s nothing to it, just some of the guys pulling my chain. No, wait, it’s Shirley, isn’t it?”
“Come on, don’t try to pretend you’re some sort of hopeless nerd.”
“I know it’s Shirley. I heard her tell Ruth I had to add pages to my black book, it was so crammed. Then she was going on about Annette in the forensics lab and Glenis in personnel. They’re friends of mine, that’s all, just friends.”
Lucy said, “Yeah, right, you’re no philanderer, you’ve just got lots and lots of ‘friends’ who happen to be female.”
“Shirley was looking over my shoulder when I was thumbing through my address book to find a sheriff’s number in North Dakota. As for—well, both Annette and Glenis? They really are friends, nothing more.”
Lucy laughed at him. It felt good, but it died quickly enough, and she swallowed and looked away. Her cell rang. It was one of her friends, Barb Dickens. Lucy knew if she answered it, she’d start crying at Barb’s sweet concerned voice. She let it go to voice mail.
He said nothing more and helped her into the Corvette. Then, whistling, he walked around to the driver’s side. He thought there was a bit of color in her thin face, at least until she felt guilt about laughing. Coop hoped she liked couscous.
CHAPTER 8
Chevy Chase, Maryland
The Carlyle Estate on Breckenridge Road
Tuesday
No time for another load; it would be dark in an hour. Lucy hefted the last cardboard box she’d brought over, this one filled with shoes and workout clothes, closed the door of her Range Rover with her hip, wondering idly if she should name him—or her? She didn’t think so. Gloria? She was smiling as she walked up the elaborate flagstone pathway, lined with flowers that were fast closing down for the winter. Huge maples and oaks filled the front yard, and their colors were amazing, all oranges and reds and bright browns, happily tossing their leaves to the ground. Why hadn’t Mr. McGruder cleaned up the leaves? She’d have to ask. Odd, she couldn’t remember either of the McGruders’ first names. They’d been a constant in her life until she’d left for college. Silent, for the most part—grimlooking, really, she’d always thought. Very proper, giving her a look whenever they believed she’d smart-mouthed her father or come in later than they’d thought proper from a date or made too much noise when her friends were over.
Lucy paused for a moment before climbing the six wide wooden steps up to the huge wraparound porch that encircled the entire house. Pots of flowers were scattered haphazardly along it, the plants beginning to lose hope now that winter was close. Hanging pots of ferns and ivy streamed down from the overhead porch beams. All this work to maintain a house that no one lives in? “Yes,” her father had said, and laughed. “You never know.” He’d been right.
Lucy loved that you could sit out on a spring day and watch the rain come down on all the beautiful flowers surrounding the house. It was only mid-October, still time for some more warm days, she hoped.
She realized she’d missed this house, missed the feel of it, the warmth of its memories, even though it was at least ten thousand square feet and the heating bills to keep it warm had to approach the national budget of some small countries. She’d lived here since her mom had died because, her dad told her, he’d needed help to raise her, and who better to help than her grandparents?
