While Other People Sleep by Marcia Muller Read Free Book Online

do.”
    “Is therapy an option?”
    “Charly's looking into it.”
    “What about Jamie?”
    The way Ricky grinned confirmed my suspicion that fifteen-year-old Jamie was his favorite daughter. “Oh, she growled and scowled and gave a snarl or two for form's sake. And then she said her mom was so happy with Vic that she'd already forgotten she was ever married to me.”
    “Ouch.”
    “A mild shot is all. In the end she told me that since her mom was happy, she guessed I might as well be happy too. And finally she gave me her permission to go ahead with the nuptials.”
    I laughed. “She's something else.”
    “What d'you bet that within a year Red'll have won her over, too?”
    “I'd have to agree with you.” I hesitated, then asked, “What about Charlene? How is she with this?”
    “You know, for all of her lack of subtlety, Jamie may have a point. When I told Charly, she said, “That's nice, dear,’ and kissed me on the cheek like she would one of the kids who'd scored some minor triumph. Then she asked Vic to make us drinks so they could toast my happiness, and she went to check on a fax that was coming in. She's all caught up in getting her M.B.A. and jetting around to these internàtional financial conferences with Vic, and … Well, it's strange. I never thought I'd see the day when Charly and I could feel indifferent to each other, but that's what it boils down to.”
    More likely, checking on the fax had been Charlene's way of hiding her perfectly natural feelings of regret and loss— just as Ricky's talk of indifference was his. “Things change, Brother Ricky.”
    “Yeah, they do, Sister Sharon.”
    Our eyes met, and we laughed. “Well, some things do,” I said. “But you and I—we're still family.”
    That night as I lay beside Hy, I felt colder than the temperature warranted. Pulling the comforter closer, I pressed my back against his and burrowed deep. Sleep was an impossibility; my mind kept skipping from pleasant thoughts of the evening to the angry woman in the bar at Palomino. Contrary to what I'd told Ricky, Tony Nakayama was not prone to exaggeration. If he'd felt compelled to tell me about her, she must have been very angry indeed.
    There was always the possibility that she was an obsessed fan of Ricky's, her rage directed at Rae—and that was cause for considerable concern. Or she could have been someone Anne-Marie or Hank had won a civil suit against—also worrisome. Or a dissatisfied client of my agency. Or … well, the possibilities were numerous.
    Perhaps Hy … ?
    No, he was the one person I could rule out. When I told him about the woman, over a nightcap once we got home, he was as concerned as I. If he had any reason to think he was the object of her angry glances, he'd have told me. Hy and I didn't lie to each other; half-truths and silences were more our style—and we seldom indulged in either anymore.
    And now I was down to the one potential object of the woman's rage that I didn't want to speculate on—not in these dark, quiet hours, even with Hy sleeping beside me.
    Somewhere in this city—or close to it—there was a woman who had asked prying questions about me, impersonated me, made love with at least one man who called her by my name. Had she been close by tonight? Close enough for me to see? Would I have recognized her, or was she someone who had chosen me at random?
    And what did I know about her? Nothing, except that she resembled me. I had no other information, unless she again contacted Clive Benjamin and he kept his promise to call me. I had all the tools of my profession and an entire agency of talented investigators at my disposal, but I was powerless until the woman made some move.
    And God knew what that move might be.
    Powerlessness. It's a state that frightens me more than losing a plane's engine over mountainous terrain in the middle of the night. That situation would quite likely result in my death, but at least I'd be trying to
do
something about it