I, Richard - Elizabeth George [23]
“A reason? What is this? I'm the guilty party?”
“Women don't usually stray without there being a man behind them, giving them a reason.” Cowley examined him from beneath unclipped eyebrows. One of his eyes, Douglas saw, was beginning to form a cataract. Jeez, the guy was ancient, a real antique.
“No reason,” Douglas said. “I don't cheat on her. I don't even want to.”
“She's young, though. And a man your age…” Cowley shrugged. “Shit happens to us old guys. Young things don't always have the patience to understand.”
Douglas wanted to point out that Cowley was at least ten years his senior, if not more. He also wanted to exclude himself from membership in the club of us old guys. But the PI was watching him compassionately, so instead of arguing, Douglas told the truth.
Cowley reached for his Orange Julius and drained the cup. He tossed it into the trash. “Women have needs,” he said, and he moved his hand from his crotch to his chest, adding, “A wise man doesn't confuse what goes on here”—the crotch—“with what goes on here”—the chest.
“So maybe I'm not wise. Are you going to help me out or not?”
“You sure you want help?”
“I want to know the truth. I can live with that. What I can't live with is not knowing. I just need to know what I'm dealing with here.”
Cowley looked as if he were taking a reading of Douglas's level of veracity. He finally appeared to make a decision, but one he didn't like because he shook his head, picked up his pencil, and said, “Give me some background, then. If she's got someone on the side, who are our possibilities?”
Douglas had thought about this. There was Mike, the poolman who visited once a week. There was Steve, who worked with Donna at her kennels in Midway City. There was Jeff, her personal trainer. There were also the postman, the FedEx man, the UPS driver, and Donna's youthful gynecologist.
“I take it you're accepting the case?” Douglas said to Cowley He pulled out his wallet from which he extracted a wad of bills. “You'll want a retainer.”
“I don't need cash, Mr. Armstrong.”
“All the same…” All the same, Douglas had no intention of leaving a paper trail via a check. “How much time do you need?” he asked.
“Give it a few days. If she's seeing someone, he'll surface eventually. They always do.” Cowley sounded despondent.
“Your wife cheat on you?” Douglas asked shrewdly.
“If she did, I probably deserved it.”
That was Cowley's attitude, but it was one that Douglas didn't share. He didn't deserve to be cheated on. Nobody did. And when he found out who was doing the job on his wife… Well, they would see a kind of justice that even Attila the Hun was incapable of extracting.
His resolve was strengthened in the bedroom that evening when his hello kiss to his wife was interrupted by the telephone. Donna pulled away from him quickly and went to answer it. She gave Douglas a smile—as if recognizing what her haste revealed to him—and shook back her hair as sexily as possible, running slim fingers through it as she picked up the receiver.
Douglas listened to her side of the conversation while he changed his clothes. He heard her voice brighten as she said, “Yes, yes. Hello… No… Doug just got home and we were talking about the day…”
So now her caller knew he was in the room. Douglas could imagine what the bastard was saying, whoever he was: “So can you talk?”
To which Donna, on cue, answered, “Nope. Not at all.”
“Shall I call you later?”
“Gosh, that would be great.”
“Today was what was great. I love to fuck you.”
“Really? Outrageous. I'll have to check it out.”
“I want to check you out, baby. Are you wet for me?”
“I sure am. Listen, we'll connect later on, okay? I need to get dinner started.”
“Just so long as you remember today. It was the best. You're the best.”
“Right. Bye.” She hung up and came to him. She put her arms round his waist. She said, “Got rid of her. Nancy Talbert. God. Nothing's more important in her life than a shoe sale at Neiman Marcus. Spare me. Please.” She snuggled up to him. He couldn't see her face, just the back of her