Lazarus Rising

By Craig Conrad

Taylor Rawls, a top-notch defense attorney and Paul Rice’s ex-lover, walks into his office after three years of no contact. Since Rice is so good at finding people, besides dealing with the paranormal, she wants to hire him to find her ex-husband who has disappeared after their two-month marriage. She feels guilty about the way she treated him and wants to make sure he’s all right. Rice says no at first, suspecting she has another reason for finding him, but relents and decides to help her. Clearly Rice and Rawls still have feelings for each other and have loved each other since high school, which is a bone of contention between them as to who was to blame for the breakup. They deal with their feelings as they try to find her ex, an investigative reporter who has stumbled on a big story about a navy experiment that the navy did in 1943 and hushed up, and which someone in the government still wants to keep buried, even killing to do it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664137943

Craig Conrad

Author resides in Milwaukee. Wisconsin, has been hooked on mysteries and supernatural thrillers since reading his first H.P. Lovecraft novel. He has written twenty novels, fourteen of them are Paul Rice novels, his reluctant paranormal investigator, with cameo appearances in two others that feature two of his war buddies along with two Dutch Verlander stories, and a collection of short stories.

Book preview

Lazarus Rising

Craig Conrad

Copyright © 2020 by Craig Conrad.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 10/28/2020

Xlibris

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CONTENTS

Seattle, Washington

Milwaukee, Wisconsin

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Epilogue

And when He thus had spoken, He cried in a loud

voice, Lazarus, come forth.

And he that was dead came forth . . .

—the Gospel of St. John

SEATTLE, WASHINGTON

1979

The two cars parked almost bumper to bumper. The spot where they stopped was on a road that ran through a remote area of a park. The surrounding area looked rural. The man in the first car got out and went back to the second car. He was tall and wore black clothes, sweater, pants, and a cap pulled down snug over very blond hair, almost white, and talked to the man in the second car as he slid out from behind the wheel and stood next to the tall man. The second man was shorter and had a small scar on his right cheek. He was also dressed in similar black clothes. They both wore gloves.

Now what? the tall man with blond hair said.

Help me put him behind the wheel in his car, the man with the scar said.

The two of them went around to the passenger side of the second car and started removing the unconscious man from the front seat. Then they both froze as a pair of headlights appeared in the distance.

Hold it, Blondie said. There’s a car coming.

The two of them ducked down and waited for the car’s headlights to wash over them and the surrounding shrubbery. The car slowed for a moment as it passed, then sped up and disappeared down the road.

Come on, grab his feet, Scarface said. I’ll get his arms.

This guy weighs a ton, Blondie said as they pulled him free of the car.

Deadweight, Scarface said.

Not yet, Blondie said and smiled.

They carried him to the first car and shoved him behind the wheel. The unconscious man’s head fell forward and almost hit the car horn. Blondie pushed his head back on the car seat. The man made a small groan.

How much whiskey is left in that second bottle? Scarface said.

About half, why?

Get it and pour that in him too.

Blondie returned to the second car, pushed the empty bottle out of the way along the backseat, retrieved the half-filled bottle of whiskey, and brought it back. Then he proceeded to empty it down the man’s throat while holding his jaw, pulling it down, and forcing his mouth open with the neck of the bottle. When the bottle was empty, he tossed it on the seat next to the unconscious man’s right hand. While he was doing that, Scarface hooked up a hose to the car’s exhaust pipe and brought it around to the driver’s side door.

Why can’t we do this in the guy’s garage? Blondie said. It would look more convincing.

He doesn’t have a garage, only a driveway and a kind of porte cochere.

Blondie laughed. What the hell is that?

It’s like a garage with a roof and no walls.

Blondie kept laughing. That’s some garage.

Scarface frowned at his ignorance, but didn’t mention it. Besides, the neighbors might notice a running car.

It’s late. They’re probably asleep.

Still, there is a chance. This is just as good. It’s only several blocks from his house, and this park area is pretty secluded. Besides, we were told to make it look like a suicide.

Not that secluded, Blondie said. Didn’t a car just go by?

Probably just a guy with a girl looking for a place to make out, Scarface said and handed him the hose. Here, roll the window up as far as you can with this stuck in it. I’ll start the car.

The car started, and Blondie rolled up the window as tight as he could to just hold the hose in place without pinching off its flow of exhaust into the car and not leaving much of a gap to cause unwanted problems. Then he closed the car door. They both stood back and watched for a moment just to make sure everything was done and working correctly.

They started back to their car.

Who was the guy, anyway? Blondie said, I heard he was some kind of a scientist and author. So why would someone want him taken out?

Scarface shrugged. As far as I know, he was just some guy that stuck his nose in the wrong place.

MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN

Sometime in the 1980s

1

Taylor Rawls to see you, Natalee Cruz buzzed her boss, Paul Rice, although neither one really thought of her as hired help, especially herself. She was his girl Friday at the office, but was more of a close friend helping him out. She was on salary, but liked working for him, liked him, and liked the perks. Besides, she owed her life to him and would have worked for him for nothing. She liked being close.

He paused for a long moment before he answered. The name sidetracked him. It was a name from out of the past. He hadn’t spoken it in years. It was like a punch in the gut when he heard it.

Show her in, Paul finally buzzed back.

Paul got up from behind his desk and went to the door to meet her. Natalee ushered her in and made large eyes at Paul. She knew Taylor Rawls was one of the best defense attorneys in the state and wondered what she could possibly want with Paul. Natalee closed the door and went back to her desk.

Taylor Rawls still had the power to take his breath away, like she did to him the first day he saw her in high school. Older now, but even more stunningly beautiful—tall, lithe, great body, great legs, terrific smile, long dark hair that was as black as ten miles down, and chocolate-brown eyes that could stop your heart. She was almost as he remembered her, the day she walked out on him, about three years ago. He tried to show no emotion at seeing her again, tried to control his breathing.

Her eyes took him in. Still tall and trim and handsome, even more so when he smiled, which he wasn’t doing now.

Paul didn’t offer his hand, and neither did Taylor since his wasn’t forthcoming. It was an awkward moment for both of them. She gave him a slight smile.

How have you been? Taylor said.

Just swell.

That made her smile a little more. She knew from past experience with him that he meant just the opposite when he said it. She hoped a little of that opposite feeling was because he missed her.

What are you, lost? Paul said.

She frowned. No, why? She unbuttoned her coat but kept it on.

I never expected to see you again in a million years, he said and gestured her to two leather-and-wood chairs facing his desk. Please sit. It must be something desperate that brings you to my door.

Taylor let the remark pass. She sat in one of the chairs and crossed her legs. Paul sat behind his desk and faced her. She still had great legs. She had been known to have the best legs in high school. Taylor looked at him then looked around the office at the expensive furnishings.

I’m impressed, she said. You’ve come a long way since the post office. I’ve heard good things about you. You’re building quite a reputation for yourself, but then I always knew you had it in you.

Did you?

Yes, I did. I knew you were destined for success.

I’ve heard about your success too, but then, that depends on who you ask. I hear that you’re back helping scumbags get out of much deserved jail time.

She made a small shrug. I have no incentive not to. I saw your friend, Matt Corbin, a few months ago. He more or less said the same thing.

He propped an elbow on the chair arm and rested his chin between his thumb and forefinger. He told me.

She paused then added with a touch of sarcasm, You look good, Paul. Being free of me must appeal to you.

You need glasses, he said, but I could say the same for you. She looked great, but she always did. Even in high school, she was a knockout, popular as hell. Maybe there was a little sadness around the eyes now. Could be her marriage wasn’t turning out to be what she thought it would. Maybe her Prince Charming had turned out to be a frog in disguise.

Liar, she said. She knew that she hadn’t been the same or looked the same since they broke up. But to be fair, she was the one that walked away. You can’t stay with a man that didn’t love you, can you?

What do you want, Taylor? Paul said, bluntly, dropping his arm and folding his hands in his lap. I know you didn’t come to see me after all this time just to tell me that I looked good and bring up old times. You want something. What is it?

She gave him a hurt look mixed with a little anger. I hear that you’re excellent at finding people.

Who’s missing?

I want you to find Richard.

Paul started to laugh sarcastically. You want me to find your husband, Richard Burgess? Why, don’t you know where he is?

No, I don’t know where he is, she said. He disappeared almost two months ago. And he’s not my husband. We were divorced over a year ago.

Paul was completely surprised. When?

In July.

How long ago was that?

The same year we were married. She arched an eyebrow. Why?

Wow, that was a long marriage, Paul said, still dealing with her unexpected announcement. It must have lasted all of three months. He was dying to ask her why the marriage went sour, but restrained the impulse and didn’t gloat either.

Two, she said and gave herself a little inward smile of satisfaction. It was evident he was keeping track of her, as she of him, if he knew the date of her marriage.

Paul nodded but looked doubtful. Why do you want to find him if you’re divorced? You want to patch things up?

No, I don’t want to patch things up, she said quickly. The reason isn’t important. I think he got himself mixed up with some dangerous people, and something might have happened to him.

Like what?

I don’t know. It could be anything. Richard’s an investigative reporter. That’s what I wanted you to find out.

Paul leaned forward and moved his folded hands to the top of his desk. How do you know he’s missing? Did you two keep in touch after the divorce? Talk to each other?

She made another quick reply. No, I haven’t spoken to him since the divorce. The divorce wasn’t amicable. I tried to make it as painless as possible, but Richard was very bitter about it.

Imagine that.

She shot him a look, didn’t like his tone. His mother called me. She’s worried about him.

How do you know he’s not on assignment somewhere chasing down a story? Paul said. Didn’t he go on assignments during your marriage?

No, he never did when we were together, Taylor said. His mother says he isn’t on assignment and that he always tells her where he is and when he has to go out of town.

Always? Sounds like a good boy.

I called his employer, and they told me the same thing—that he wasn’t on any assignment that they knew of. He just hasn’t shown up for work for more than two months.

Are you good friends with his mother?

Not really. Della Burgess is a very needy person. She didn’t approve of me taking her son away from her.

Then she should have loved you after the divorce.

Taylor forced a smile. Hardly. That didn’t happen. It only gave her something else to not like me for.

How do you know he’s mixed up in something dangerous, from his mother?

Yes, she seems to think he could be. Either that or she thinks he went off somewhere because of the divorce. My fault again.

So his mother is making you feel guilty?

I already feel guilty.

Paul frowned. Why?

She shook her head. That’s not important.

Paul nodded. Uh-huh. Then he paused, thinking. Look, I’m not Cupid, he said, not totally believing her about not wanting to patch things up with her ex. There are other investigators that can find your Richard for you. I’m not in the romance department.

Her eyes narrowed. He’s not my Richard, and this isn’t about romance, and no one’s as good as you at finding people involved in strange situations as you are, or so I’ve been told.

Paul hitched up his eyebrows. Who told you that?

Several people that you’ve helped.

Yeah, me and Mr. Keen, but the jury is still out on that. You got lost, and I never found you.

She took her time answering. Maybe it was because you didn’t look very hard.

Paul nodded. Of course, that must be it. How foolish of me.

She stared at him and didn’t reply.

But you don’t know what these strange circumstances are, right? he said.

Yes, that’s right, I don’t.

Didn’t you two talk to each other when you were married?

Of course we did, but Richard never talked about his work, and I never asked. And it was a short marriage.

Paul gave her another long look. This didn’t make any sense. A two-month marriage and she wants to hire someone to find the guy. Why, because the guy’s mother asked her to, or was she doing this on her own? He was inclined not to believe her, and he sure didn’t want to be the one finding her ex-husband, divorced or not, so they could take up where they left off. Let someone else do it and play matchmaker.

You’d be better off hiring someone else, he said.

I don’t expect you to do it for old time’s sake. I’ll pay you. I’ll pay you double.

Double? You must really want this guy back bad. What are you doing, having second thoughts about the divorce?

Her eyes started to flare. I told you it’s not about that!

Then what’s it about?

She hesitated. It’s not important. Will you do it?

Paul thought for a moment longer and shook his head. No, I don’t think it would be a good idea.

Her body stiffened. Why not, because I broke up with you? That’s being rather small. I didn’t expect that from you.

Because we have a rather unpleasant history, and I don’t think being together on this would be good for either of us. It would just bring up lots of bad feelings.

It wouldn’t affect me, she said.

No, knowing you, it probably wouldn’t, Paul said sarcastically. Besides, I’m working on another case.

She narrowed angry eyes at him. She hadn’t meant the remark the way he was taking it, but said, You made that up. Why won’t you help me? Are you trying to get back at me?

He made a placating gesture with his hands. No, I’m not, but you can believe that if you want. It’s because of what I just I told you.

Taylor kept her eyes on him. Then you definitely won’t help me?

No, it’s not a good idea. I can give you some names of men who will be only too happy to help you.

I don’t need other names, she said with some heat. I need you.

Paul shrugged.

Just like before, just like school, she said and stood, her body rigid, her eyes blazing with anger. When you’re needed to do something or say something, you balk. I forgot what an obtuse ass you can be.

I’m an obtuse ass? Paul said and stood as well, getting agitated. Who dumped who without any reason? And what about school?

Whom, she corrected and headed for the door. I’d better leave before I tell you what I really think of you.

You already told me that, Paul said, the day you left without a word. Silence speaks volumes.

Taylor turned back to him, decided to say something else cutting and nasty, then changed her mind and pulled the door open hard, letting it bang against the wall. She stormed out, not bothering to close it. A moment later, Natalee stepped into the room and closed the door softly behind her and gave Paul a glance.

Wow. She looks pissed, she said.

You heard? Paul said. He was standing behind his desk and sat down again.

Every word, Natalee said.

For security reasons, the office was wired so that Natalee could hear everything being said to a client in office or over the phone at her secretary station unless Paul switched off the sound feed to her desk.

That went well, don’t you think? Paul said.

You said you two have a history, Natalee said and felt a little pang of jealousy when she said it. Is that why you wouldn’t help her?

Partly. Maybe.

Spite?

Paul gave her a look back. You too? Is that what you think?

Not really, but it seems like.

Natalee walked to the desk and sat down in one of the client chairs and crossed her legs.

She’s pissed, but she’s still carrying a torch for you, you know, she said.

Paul made a disbelieving face. And you know that, how?

I can tell. Another woman can always tell.

Paul shook his head. Not for me. Your crystal ball must be cloudy. That torch went out years ago. She’s probably carrying one for the guy she wants me to find.

"I think I heard the word obtuse mentioned," Natalee said.

Paul kept his eyes on her. "You think I’m obtuse?"

You can be sometimes when it comes to women, but not in a bad way. It’s not a bad thing. I don’t mean it as a put-down because it’s not. You don’t always read women right or see what’s really there.

Paul raised his eyebrows at the revelation. I do?

You do. And like I said, I think she still cares for you. That torch is still smoldering.

Paul scoffed. "That word has lots of connotations. I care for my cats. I care for my dogs. I care if the sun shines."

You know what I mean, she said and made a don’t-talk-like-a-dope face at him. I also think you should help her.

You do?

Yes.

Why?

Because you’re a good man. And because it’s the right thing to do.

Well, I intend to, he said reluctantly.

Natalee tilted her head at him and studied him for a moment. Why didn’t you tell her that?

Paul smiled. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of being too agreeable.

Natalee shook her head. So what are you going to do?

Find her ex and gift wrap him with a big red ribbon for her.

No spite there.

Okay, so maybe a little, Paul said. Call me petty. She isn’t the only one that’s pissed.

I’ve never seen you let a woman get under your skin like this. You two must have one hell of a history, but I like her. She’s spunky.

He made a distasteful expression. It’s not that. It’s a long story. She’s good at pushing people’s buttons, especially mine. She was a pain in the ass in high school, and she’s still a pain.

Natalee smiled at him. But you like her, don’t you, despite the pain?

Paul focused in on her and thought of denying it, but said, Yes, I like her.

Or more? Natalee said, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

Paul didn’t answer.

In high school, huh? Natalee said. Were you high school lovers? She raised both eyebrows at him this time and waited for the rest of the story to come. It didn’t, not all of it.

No, we weren’t, Paul said. We ran in different circles. She was just there, and I was just there. We shared several classes together. She always sat in front of me.

Did you ever tell her how you felt about her?

Yes, but not then. Years later when I got back from Nam, we ran into each other. We stayed together for a time. But she says I never did.

Maybe that’s the trouble. Maybe that’s why she left.

I think there’s more to it than that.

She cocked her head at him. Are you sure?

He hesitated, thinking. "Look, I need you to call Shela Kane at the Journal for me. Tell her to meet me for lunch today at Peter’s if she can, and if she can, call Peter’s and reserve a table."

Natalee stared at him blankly. So you’re going to start looking for Taylor’s ex by having lunch with Shela Kane? How does that work?

Taylor’s ex is an investigative reporter just like Shela. Maybe she knows something about him.

How much do you know about him—other than the fact that you obviously don’t like him?

Very little.

Natalee nodded. Okay, boss. She stood and walked to the door and paused. I thought you didn’t want to play Cupid?

Paul frowned. I don’t. And I’m not.

So who are you playing, Othello? And Taylor Rawls is Desdemona? You know how bad that turned out.

Paul made a face at her. I’ve got to start turning off the sound feed to your desk. You’re getting much too smart and sassy.

Natalee gave him a big grin and stepped into the outer office to make the call to Shela Kane.

2

Taylor left Paul’s office feeling hurt and angry, more of the former than the latter, but she was still mad enough to brain him if given another shot at him. Going to see him was a complete waste of time. She didn’t know what she had expected, probably anything other than what happened. She turned down Sixth Street toward Wells to the parking lot where she had left her car. The sun was out, full and bright, and she walked the short half-block distance with a warm January sun on her back. At least the weather was mild, which is more than she could say for Paul. He wasn’t hostile, but he wasn’t friendly either. Maybe he was too mild, a disinterested mild. She paid the attendant at the lot, got in her Mercedes, and drove into the downtown traffic with no destination in mind. Her mind was disoriented, her thoughts hazy and jumbled. She should go back to her Prospect Avenue office, only she didn’t feel like it, didn’t feel like doing anything. She felt the need to talk to someone, and she needed a drink. She thought of her aunt’s place, which was on the way and wasn’t far from her office.

Twenty minutes later, Taylor was at her aunt Victoria’s condo apartment. After the usual warm and friendly greetings between the two, she shrugged her coat off into a chair and headed straight for the small bar and poured a stiff Scotch and took generous swallows, finishing the drink in three gulps then quickly poured another.

It’s a little early for that, isn’t it? Victoria Rawls said, sipping tea from a china cup and saucer while lounging on one of her sofas. You look like you’re dressed for court.

Taylor was wearing a low-cut white silk blouse and black skirt with black heeled pumps. That was her usual battle dress for court when she wanted to entice a judge or jury and gain favor.

It’s afternoon, Taylor said. Late enough.

No court today?

No, no court today.

Bad day? Victoria could see her niece was upset about something.

You could say that. Taylor turned to face her aunt. Would you like a drink?

No, dear, I have my tea, she said and took another sip from her cup. Jake, her orange tabby cat, was curled up on the sofa with her, glued to the side of her leg, his purr motor going full blast. Victoria Rawls was a tall, handsome, stately woman in her eighties who had that special gift of looking elegant anytime, anywhere, and the quality of looking great in anything she wore. Today, it was a light-blue top with matching slacks. She noticed that Taylor had half her second drink gone in two swallows.

Come over here, Victoria said. Come sit and tell me what’s troubling you.

Taylor took her drink along and sat in the other sofa facing Victoria. The two sofas, separated by a coffee table of equal length that rested between them, matched each other in light-brown color and flanked a slow-burning gas fireplace.

What’s the matter, Taylor?

Paul, she said, that’s the matter. I went to see him.

Victoria smiled warmly. Good, it’s about time you two made up and got back together.

Taylor looked at her with a half-mad-half-sad face. Not so good. We didn’t make up, and we’re not back together.

Victoria frowned. In heaven’s name, why not? Isn’t that why you went to see him?

No, I went there to hire him.

Victoria looked stunned. To do what? Oh dear, I hope you didn’t ask him to find Richard.

Taylor made an annoyed face. Yes, to find Richard. What’s wrong with that?

It’s sort of like pouring salt on an open wound.

What wound?

Victoria made a face back at her for not understanding the obvious. The man still loves you. That wound. And you still love him.

He never did love me.

Rubbish. Is that what you think? Is that why you broke up with him?

Taylor sidestepped the questions and said, There wasn’t any love there when I went to see him.

Well, what did you expect when you asked him to find Richard? Paul probably thinks you left him for Richard.

I expected him to at least help me and take the case. And I certainly didn’t leave him because of Richard.

Victoria closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head in disbelief. I imagine he told you no, she said.

Yes, he said no.

Don’t you think it’s about time you told me why you two broke up?

Taylor hesitated then came out with it. He didn’t love me. I was with him for three years, and he never once told me he loved me.

Victoria raised a skeptical eyebrow. Never? That doesn’t sound like Paul. He always looked like he was crazy about you.

He told me in bed. In three years, always in bed. Never out of the bedroom. In bed doesn’t count. Men usually just tell you that. It doesn’t mean anything.

Did you ask him why?

"I could never pin him down. It was like he didn’t want to talk about it. I’d ask him if he loved me, and he’d say of course he did, but he would never say it, never say ‘I love you, Taylor.’"

And you took that to mean that he didn’t love you at all? Victoria said.

Taylor shot her a look. Yes, what would you think?

Victoria shook her head again. Not that. For such a smart girl, you weren’t thinking too clearly.

I know, Taylor said. I realize that now, but it’s a little late to do anything about it, isn’t it? I can’t redo anything. A girl likes to be told that she’s loved, at least I do.

Maybe the way Paul was at the time had something to do with the war. All those men that came back left something of themselves behind. Remember, Paul had just gotten home. That other young man that was here, I saw it in his face and eyes too.

Matt Corbin?

Yes, Detective Corbin. I noticed it when he was here last year. Victoria paused. You and Paul need to talk.

Taylor sighed. I tried that, it didn’t work.

It didn’t work because you dragged Richard into it. Leave him out of it and talk. Talk about you and Paul.

Taylor made a face. Whose side are you on, anyway?

His and yours, Victoria paused again. Why do you want to find Richard, anyway? Is it because his mother is pestering you to or blaming you? Or do you just feel guilty for marrying him in the first place?

Taylor gave a slight shrug. "I suppose it’s guilt. The marriage was a big mistake. I should never have married him."

Did you tell Paul that?

No, Taylor said, looking defiant. I didn’t have a chance.

Well, how is Paul supposed to know that? Don’t you think you should tell him?

He didn’t give me a chance. He practically rushed me out of his office. Besides, before any of that happens, Paul has got lots of explaining to do about things.

Victoria nodded. I think I understand, sort of, but you two can’t go on this way.

Taylor studied her. You really like him, don’t you?

Yes, I always have, Victoria confessed. "He’s a good man. And he’s good for you. You were happy with him. I know you were. I could see it in your face. Besides, he’s a stud muffin."

Taylor raised her eyebrows and laughed a smile. He’s a what?

"A stud muffin. That means he’s hot stuff, according to our most recent English language."

Taylor smiled. "I know what it means, but how do you know that? Stud muffin? Hot? Where do you pick that stuff up from?"

Sylvia told me. I guess that’s what they call men nowadays that are sexy and handsome.

Sylvia and Irene, your game’s-afoot buddies? How would she know?

Sylvia gets around more than I do.

Sounds like it.

She knows how people talk nowadays. She says that our language is constantly changing. Actresses are now actors, stewardesses are flight attendants, vanilla ice means a white man, hot means sexy, and handsome and sexy men are stud muffins. They both met Paul when he was here last month, just before the New Year. Sylvia told him he was a stud muffin.

Taylor started to smile. To his face?

Victoria frowned. Yes, to his face.

Taylor smiled at the visual, knowing Paul’s reaction to compliments. What did he say?

Nothing. He just shyly smiled. I think he blushed a little too. He seemed embarrassed and changed the subject.

Taylor kept her smile. That’s Paul. Compliments always make him tongue-tied and embarrassed. He never knows how to respond.

Sylvia and Irene liked him.

Taylor stared into her drink and gave the Scotch a swirl. Why not, everyone likes Paul.

Including you, Victoria said and sipped more of her tea, keeping her eyes on her niece. And don’t tell me you don’t, despite your little act.

Taylor smiled again weakly. Yes, damn it. Including me, and I wish I didn’t.

Victoria closely observed her niece. You don’t really mean that.

It took Taylor a while to answer. No, I don’t, she said, looking glum.

So what are you going to do about it now?

I don’t rightly know. I still have to find someone to help me locate Richard.

That mother of his never liked you, so why help her find him? Or is she blaming you because he’s missing? Victoria said.

She says he took the divorce hard and might have gone off somewhere because of it.

That’s not your fault.

Taylor thought about that. In a way it is. Like I said, the marriage should never have happened. I guess I hurt him. Anyway, I’ll feel better knowing where he is and that he’s all right. I need that so I can stop feeling guilty about it.

Victoria looked over at Taylor and shook her head sadly at her illogical logic. "In some mixed-up way, you thought you were punishing yourself as well as Paul by deciding to marry him. Very foolish, but very human. Richard just got hurt by being in the middle of two people who love each other and can’t talk about it. That’s unfortunate. I think they call that collateral damage these days."

Taylor smiled at her aunt then lost the smile. Yes, it is, very unfortunate. I’m sorry that it happened. It was a foolish and irresponsible act on my part.

I know you are, dear, but how are you going to find Richard if Paul won’t help you, hire another private detective?

Taylor cocked her head and thought. Maybe, if it comes to that. Reese Powell is a sort of friend and works for the FBI. He might be able to help me. I think I’ll go see him and ask.

And you have no clue as to where Richard might be, or what he was working on?

No, he never said. He never talked about his work. I know he was interested in UFOs, even wrote a book about it, but he can’t be working on that, can he?

I think he must be working on something, Victoria said, and that’s why he’s missing.

Yes, but what?

Neither woman spoke for a while.

Then Taylor said, You met Richard.

Once.

"What did you think about him? Was he a stud muffin?"

Victoria smiled a little smile, not sure how to answer. No, he wasn’t, but he was rather . . . nice. She put her empty cup and saucer down on the coffee table in front of her.

Just nice?

"Yes. What’s the matter with nice? Why, what did you think of him?"

Taylor met her eyes. He was . . . nice . . . but––

But he wasn’t Paul, Victoria said, finishing it for her.

No, he wasn’t. I know. Taylor sighed. You’re not helping.

Victoria shrugged. Sorry.

Taylor studied her aunt. "I feel there’s a but in there. He was nice, but what?"

Victoria shrugged again. I don’t know. There was something about Richard that I can’t quite put my finger on. Something that I think he tries hard to keep under control, but isn’t always successful.

Like what?

I don’t know. I thought that might be another reason why you divorced him. That and the marriage you forced yourself to go through. It was a big farce. I know it was, and so do you.

Taylor frowned. You’re a big help. She finished her drink.

Victoria stared at her. What do you intend to do about Paul?

You asked me that before.

And you didn’t give me an answer.

Nothing, Taylor said, shrugging. I don’t know what I can do.

Oh dear, Victoria said and touched her face with a hand. You’ve got to do something—for both your sakes.

3

Paul sat at the bar in Peter’s nursing a cognac and water and waiting for Shela Kane. The interior of the restaurant-bar was still festooned with Christmas decorations. Peter loved the holidays and liked to keep everything up until March. Paul looked around. The usual daily lunch-heavy traffic of eating and drinking patrons were inside. The restaurant was crowded and the bar almost full, but the stool adjacent to Paul’s right was empty because he had his topcoat on the seat and a drink on the bar in front of the stool. Shela Kane was a gorgeous redhead, the kind of woman that was hard not to notice, one you couldn’t help but turn your head for a look of admiration, not if you were a man. She could turn the head of a cigar-store Indian as she passed. Needless to say, every male head at the bar was turned in her direction when she made her entrance and joined Paul.

Hi, lover, she said and kissed Paul generously on the lips. I’m sorry I’m a little late. I got hung up at the last minute.

I was beginning to think you stood me up, Paul said, helping her off with her coat and draping it over the back of her barstool chair.

I’d never stand up my man, she said and took his topcoat off the stool seat reserved for her and handed it to him. I’m here now. What kind of drink is waiting for me? She nodded at the glass sitting on the bar. Or is that more camouflage?

Paul took his coat and hung it on the back of his barstool chair. It’s a diversion to keep the claim jumpers away. It’s just water.

Shela sat down and crossed her legs in Paul’s direction just as Peter came down the bar and placed a small bar napkin down in front of her and put a brandy manhattan on top of it.

Hello, Shela, Peter said, giving her a warm smile. Nice to see you, as always.

She returned the smile. Thank you, Peter. It’s nice to see you too.

You’ve got him all to yourself today, Peter said, nodding at Paul.

Yes, for the moment, Shela said.

Peter kept his smile and walked away to serve another customer. Shela took a sip of her drink. Paul downed more of his cognac.

Shela turned to him. Natalee told me to be especially nice to you because a client told you that you were obtuse, and you were probably sulking.

Paul made a face at her. God, I might as well take out an ad in the paper. Nothing’s sacred. Everyone knows everyone else’s business.

Shela gave a little laugh. It’s a sign of the times. Who was the client?

Taylor Rawls.

She looked surprised. "Taylor Rawls? The Taylor Rawls of great defense lawyer fame?"

Yes.

I didn’t know you knew her.

We went to high school together.

"So she called you obtuse?"

Paul nodded. "An obtuse ass, to be exact."

Shela tilted her head to the side and observed him. Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but you can be somewhat obtuse where women are concerned.

Paul frowned at her. You too? Natalee told me the same thing.

That’s nothing that will tarnish your shining armor in my eyes. You’re still my white knight. Besides, men don’t usually understand women at all, and you understand them more than anyone I’ve ever met.

But still obtuse.

Shela smiled and held her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. "Chiisai. Very small problem."

Paul finished his cognac and put the glass down. You trying to repair my bruised ego? It’s not bruised, and I’m not sulking. It’s just that I didn’t know I was that bad.

She shook her head. "You’re not that bad, so don’t start thinking you are. What does she want from you, anyway, or shouldn’t I ask?"

She wants me to find her ex-husband.

Shela raised a questioning eyebrow. Doesn’t she know where she left him? Who’s her ex?

Richard Burgess, Paul said.

Really?

Really.

She shrugged and tasted her drink. That’s kind of an odd couple. High-powered defense attorney and an average reporter.

Tell me about it. Do you know him?

I know he works on the paper, as well as doing lots of freelance. I don’t know him that well. We’ve talked. He’s friendly enough.

What can you tell me about him?

She shrugged again. There’s not much to tell. He’s just a normal guy, kind of good-looking. He doesn’t talk that much, like you. He isn’t a motormouth. He likes women, like you. Nothing bad, but I kind of got the idea that he’s a guy that likes to have things his own way.

Oh, did he ever try to hit on you?

She stared at him in disbelief. Of course, I said he was normal, didn’t I? He was a little insistent at first. He wanted to buy me coffee, or a drink, or dinner. That kind of stuff. If he didn’t try, I’d say he wasn’t normal. She glanced at Paul. Then again, you never tried to hit on me either, did you? I had to do all the flirting when we first met.

Only because you had me spellbound and tongue-tied.

Uh-huh. That’s very flattering, but I don’t remember it that way.

Do you remember what Burgess was working on?

She gave him a pained look. You’re interrupting a very hot memory.

Sorry. We were talking about Burgess and what he was working on.

She shrugged. I don’t really know. Last story he worked on was about government cover-ups.

Paul cocked his head at her. That’s something.

And he was kind of a UFO nut. I heard him talking about that with other people.

Paul leaned toward her. UFOs? What about UFOs?

She gave him another shrug. Oh, sightings and disappearances and abductions, things like that. Especially in the Bermuda Triangle. Ask Marty Shaw. He’s our editor. He should know what Burgess was working on, or better yet, Arch Webber. He’s our man in the tombs. Burgess spent lots of time down there talking to him.

I’ll do that, Paul said. "By the tombs, I take it you mean the newspaper’s archives."

That’s right. I can set it up for you with Shaw, if you like. Arch Webber you can just go down and talk to anytime.

Would you?

Sure. When? Tomorrow?

This afternoon would be better.

Good, glad I could help, Shela said and met his eyes. Now that that’s settled, I believe lunch was promised.

It certainly was.

I hope this isn’t going to develop into something that’s going to take you out of town. Everyone’s just gotten used to you being home every night.

Not yet, Paul said. I really haven’t decided to take on this case.

Shela frowned at him. Then why are you pursuing it?

Because I’m obtuse.

Shela gave him a sidelong look. She really got to you with that remark, didn’t she?

Paul shrugged with one shoulder. "She’s skilled at pushing the right buttons. It’s just that I never thought of myself in