CHAPTER SEVEN

“He was there.”

Janet was getting tired of rolling her eyes. Chuck Larson had been truly interested in the beginning, but now that the dessert and coffee was gone he just wanted to escape to his TV room and a baseball playoff game.

“Honey—” he began, trying to rise.

“Shut up and sit down, Chuck. Unless you want to put Baby Charlie to bed.”

Chuck sighed, settled back into his dining room chair.

Marianne looked from her sister to her brother-in-law. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be going on like this.”

“What we’ve got here,” Janet said, “is you still trying to deal with your husband’s death. My own feeling is that it’s time to kick your own ass and move on. But you were never me, Marianne. So in the short run I’d say go with it. If it doesn’t stop, we’ll get you a shrink.”

“I think it was really him.”

Chuck, trapped in the sisters’ conversation, tried to revive his own interest. “But all you saw was a shadow, and felt something on your hand, and heard someone whisper your name?”

“It sounded like Jack.”

“Sounded like? Or was? Is there any of it that could have been something else? The shadow maybe from a passing car in the street? The touch on your hand a breeze from the open window?”

Marianne said, “And the voice?”

Chuck hesitated, shrugged. “In your head? A noise in the house, misinterpreted?”

“It was the same kind of touch as when I took the pills, when the bottle rolled under the bed and I reached for it.”

Janet snorted. “That was a dust bunny, kiddo. I cleared them out myself. By the way, don’t you ever clean that place of yours?”

Chuck smiled, hoping the evening was over. His grin didn’t carry the room, however.

“Honey—” he began again.

“Yes! Please! Leave!” Janet said, exasperated. “Watch your damn game!”

Relieved, her husband raised his bulk out of his chair and headed for the door.

“But put the baby to bed first!” Janet commanded after him.

He physically flinched but kept walking.

Janet turned back to her sister. “How did you sleep last night?”

“Fine.”

“Marianne—what the hell is it you aren’t telling me?”

“What do you mean?”

Janet gave a grim smile. “You’ve never been able to hide anything from me. You know that. And you’re trying now.”

Marianne tried a blank look, then gave up. “I’m glad you let Chuck go. I didn’t want to talk with him around.”

“So he’s not around. Talk.”

Marianne took a deep breath. “I think . . . I’m pregnant.”

“What!”

“I started throwing up this morning, and, well . . . I just know.”

Her sister’s face grew florid. “I’ll kill Bud Ganley. So help me God, I’ll kill him with my bare hands.”

Janet suddenly pushed herself away from the table and got up. Somewhere in the depths of the house, Baby Charlie was crying, Chuck’s voice trying to soothe him.

“I’m calling Detective Grant right now,” Janet said. “He may be weird, but he’ll take care of Bud Ganley.” She stomped off toward the kitchen and the wall phone.

“Janet, don’t!”

Janet stopped and turned around. Her face was flushed with anger. “Why the hell not! You were raped, and now you’re pregnant! And I want to watch that son of a bitch Ganley swing by his balls in jail!”