Moon Music. Faye Kellerman

old man?”

      “Same as always. Gambling away his Indian benefits. Both he and my mom …”

      Alison said, “He was very close to my mother. I think they were lovers.”

      Poe nodded.

      “The Bogeyman case had a very disturbing effect on my mother.”

      “Alison, we don’t—” Poe stopped himself. If she wanted to talk, let her talk. “Go on.”

      She composed her thoughts. “During the murder—rather murders, I think there were two of them—she became unusually agitated. Of course, she was disturbed even before the Bogeyman. But if you’re looking for an excuse as to what drove her over the top, I’d say the killings.”

      Poe heard the front door open.

      Angrily, Alison whispered, “I wish he’d just go away!”

      “I’d better go away.” As Poe started to rise, Alison grabbed his wrist. “What are you afraid of?”

      Poe looked at her, sat back down. “Nothing.”

      The boys—Harrison and Scott—came charging into the kitchen. Both her sons were redheads like Alison’s father. She hugged them like a mama lion. “Hey, sluggers. How’s it cooking?”

      “Hey, Mom,” Scotty answered. “We brought you back some orange chicken and fried rice.”

      “Sounds great!”

      “I’m going up to my room,” Harrison said. “Homework.”

      Scott put the take-out bag on the kitchen table. “I gotta work on my math folder. Then you have to sign it.”

      “Fine,” Alison said.

      “I mean, you don’t have to read it or anything. Just sign it.”

      “I don’t mind reading it.”

      “I kinda prefer if you don’t read it.”

      “Whatever you want, Scotty.”

      The boy looked tenderly toward his mother. “Are you okay?”

      Alison forced herself not to cry. “Great.”

      Still, Scotty was skeptical. He kissed his mother’s cheek. “Take care. Bye.”

      Alison stood up and gave her husband a half-smile. “Thanks for taking them out.”

      Jensen kissed her on the lips, throwing Poe daggers from the corners of his eyes. Easy to think the worst. But he knew Alison. Moreover, he knew Poe. Married women weren’t his thing. “Am I interrupting anything?”

      “Not at all,” Alison chirped. “You want some coffee, Steve?”

      Jensen forced himself to smile. “No, I’m fine.” He saw Poe getting up, said, “Don’t let me rush you.”

      Feeling as wanted as ice on jet wings, Poe said, “Gotta go. Certain people await me.”

      Jensen mouthed, “Lewiston?”

      Poe nodded.

      Jensen said, “I’ll walk you out, Boss.”

      “’Night, Alison.” Pointedly, Poe kissed her cheek. Just to show him it was all very innocent.

      “’Night.” She turned her back and busied herself at the counter.

      As soon as they were out of her sight, Jensen grabbed Poe’s arm, shoving him out of the house. He slammed the front door behind them, all pretense of calm dissipating like smoke. “What did you two talk about?”

      “Get your goddamn hands off me!”

      Jensen blushed, dropped Poe’s arm. He said, “What did you two talk—”

      “None of your business,” Poe answered. “And don’t you dare interrogate your wife to get answers—”

      “I’m not interrogating her, I’m interrogating you.” Jensen spun 360 degrees on his heels, faced Poe with rage. “You think it’s jealousy, don’t you? You think I’m this big, bad jealous schmuck who’s—”

      “Steve, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      “You don’t goddamn get it, do you? Every time you talk to her and start reminiscing about the good ole days, it sets her back. You don’t see it. Because to you, your little talks are nothing but great fun. And because when she talks to you, she puts on her normal act—”

      “Steve—”

      “—but get her a couple hours later, when you’re long gone, out screwing your whores or girlfriend or playing your cards being Mr. Asshole Carefree Bachelor, then she’s left alone. And when she’s alone, she sinks, Rom. And guess who has to deal with her shit!”

      No one spoke.

      Jensen exhaled forcefully. “Every time you come to visit, you put her back six months’ worth of therapy.”

      Again, there was silence.

      Jensen said, “In case you haven’t noticed, she’s very fragile and disturbed—”

      “I’m well aware—”

      “You aren’t aware of anything except what she tells you. And that’s always her own slant. Her own bizarre thoughts. I’m not saying she can’t be helped. But you ain’t the one to do it, all right?”

      Poe stuck his hands in his pocket, eyes looking upward, into a black, starry sky. “If I’ve been … causing problems between you and your wife, I apologize.”

      “I don’t need your apologies, Rom. I need you to leave her alone. Understand?”

      “Clearly.”

      Jensen suddenly wilted, exhausted and spent. “Weinberg’s looking at me strange. You didn’t tell him about—”

      “No.”

      “She ask about the case at all?”

      “Who? Alison?”

      Jensen nodded.

      “Yeah. She said you were very upset last night. She asked whether you had slept with the victim.”

      “And you told her no?”

      “I won’t dignify that with an answer.”

      Neither spoke for a moment.

      Poe said, “You find out anything?”

      “About Brittany?” Jensen shrugged. “Nothing that points to a killer. Just bits and pieces.”

      “We should meet, compare notes with Patricia.”

      “Give me a time and place.”

      Poe started snapping his fingers, stopped himself. “Back at the Bureau in what … two hours. Let’s call it for nine.”

      “I’ll be there.” Jensen rubbed his face, looked up. “I’ve got to … don’t want to leave her alone.” His jaw tightened. “Although I don’t think she relishes my company.”

      “Steve, I—”

      “Forget it.”

      Poe nodded. Jensen was right. Leave it unsaid.

      The big man patted Poe’s shoulder, turned, and walked back inside his house. Poe remained rooted, his eyes racing across an endless inky sky, the sounds of his snapping fingers echoing in the stillness of the night. Slowly, he forced himself to move. To go away.

      He had a giant headache.

      Probably too much caffeine.

      Next time, he’d cool it with the coffee.