Pretty Girl Gone (Mac McKenzie #3)

Pretty Girl Gone (Mac McKenzie #3) Page 6

“Apparently not.” I slid the paper off the table and into my inside jacket pocket. “It doesn’t make a lot of sense, though. The threat goes into effect if Jack runs for senator, not governor.”

“I’ve been thinking about it almost constantly since I received the e-mail. I have no answers. You will help me, though, won’t you, McKenzie?”

“You know I will. But, Zee, I gotta ask, why me?”

“I told you.”

“You told me why you didn’t go to the state, not why you came to me.”

“You’re smart. You’re tough.”

“C’mon, Zee.”

“If I’ve learned one thing as a politician’s wife, I’ve learned this—plausible deniability. I go to a private investigator, someone that can be compelled to talk, and the media learns about it, what can I say, what can I do? I go to you, an old friend from the neighborhood, who’s to know, and if they did . . . ?” She shrugged.

“I could rat you out?”

“No. Not you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you never told anyone why you broke up with my sister the evening of the senior prom, not in all these years.” She smiled at me. “It’s true, isn’t it? You’ve never told anyone. Not even your good friend Bobby Dunston.”

“Not even Bobby.”

“And you never told anyone about us.”

“No.”

“Most men would have. Certainly most men who were seventeen years old would have. They’d have bragged about it every chance they could. Not you.”

“Not me.”

“You’re an honorable man, McKenzie. You were an honorable man even when you were a kid.”

I supposed she was paying me a compliment, so I said, “Thank you.”

“Do you ever think of that evening?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think?”

The question made me squirm against the back of the wooden booth. “Let’s just say I cherish it and let it go at that.”

“Do you really?”

I nodded.

“I always feel guilty.”

“Why?”

“I used you.”

“In what way?”

“The night of the prom when I learned that my sister was sleeping with my boyfriend, that they had been together that entire spring—you know, I would have married Michael that spring if he had asked me.”

“That’s what made it so—is ‘sordid’ the right word?”

Lindsey nodded and stared at her tea. When she looked back at me her eyes were moist.

“I didn’t behave much better,” she said. “The evening I invited you over to the house, it wasn’t to return all those gifts that my sister had taken from you—your records, your sweatshirt. It was because she had taken something from me and I wanted to prove I could just as easily take something that belonged to her.”

“I didn’t belong to her, Zee. That evening I was all yours, body and soul. And I have to tell you—even though it happened only that once—it’s like the song says, ‘I feel a glow just thinking of you.’ ”

“You will help me then.”

“Of course I will.”

In the back of my mind I was thinking, You’re a schnook. Lindsey was using the memory of that one night we spent together to hook me into doing her bidding, and I was going to let her.

“So, are you going to the gala tonight? Jack’s big charity do? I know you have an invitation. I saw your name on the guest list.”

“I’m not a gala kind of guy.”

“You should come. I’ll introduce you to the governor. You’ll like him. I know you will.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Oh, no, I’m running late,” Lindsey said suddenly. “I have to go.” She was standing now, pulling on her coat. The heavyset man at the door was standing as well. Lindsey gestured at the drinks. “I always forget to bring money. Can you get these?”

“Sure.”

Lindsey leaned into the booth and kissed my cheek.

“It was so good to see you again, McKenzie.”

She put on her hat and sunglasses and moved toward the door. The heavyset man held it open and icy air swirled into the restaurant. I called to her.

“How do I reach you?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll find you.”

“Zee. The e-mail? How can you be sure it’s not true?”

Lindsey turned. I couldn’t see her eyes for the sunglasses. She said, “You’re a dear,” and hustled out of the door.

I don’t care for cell phones and the lack of privacy they represent and for a long time I resisted them, a conscientious objector in the telecommunications revolution. But over time I gave in, just as I surrendered years earlier to CDs after vowing vinyl today, vinyl tomorrow, vinyl forever. Guess I’m just a wimp when it comes to peer pressure.

I opened the tiny phone book I carry, found the correct page, and thumbed ten numbers on the keypad of the cell.

“McKenzie,” Kim Truong shouted after two rings. I guessed she had read my name on her caller ID. “How are you, you stud muffin?”

“Same old, Kimmy. Same old. How are you? Staying out of trouble?”