Twice Dead - Catherine Coulter [190]
“I understand that many people think that. Yes, we’re divorcing, Mr. Monk.”
“Ah, such a pity. You’ve been married such a short time. And you lost your little girl a few months ago. I do hope you’re making this decision with a clear head.”
“You still think my mental condition is in question, Mr. Monk?”
Mr. Monk seemed to pump himself up. He swallowed and said, “Well, I think that maybe you’re acting in haste, not really thinking things through. And here you are divorcing poor Dr. Frasier, who seems to love you and wants only the best for you. Of course, Mrs. Frasier, this is a very bad thing for me and for the museum.”
“Well, these things happen, don’t they? And I’d have to say that Dr. Frasier loves my paintings, sir, not me. I’m staying at The Mermaid’s Tail here in Eureka. Please call when I can finalize all this.”
Lily’s last view of Mr. Monk was of him standing in the doorway to the Sarah Elliott room, hunched in on himself, looking like he’d just lost all his money in a poker game. The museum had run fine before Sarah Elliott’s paintings had arrived, and it would do so after they went away.
When they were walking down the stone steps of the museum, Savich on one side of Lily, her arm resting heavily on his, Sherlock on the other, Savich said, not looking at her, “I was wondering if Tennyson would be obstructive when we called him up. To be honest, if it had been you, Lily—by yourself on the phone—he would have been, no doubt in my mind about that. But he couldn’t this time, not with two of us federal agents and one of them your brother.”
He stopped abruptly, turned, and grasped Lily’s shoulders in his big hands. “I’m not pleased with you, Lily. You should have let Sherlock and me take care of all this. I’ll bet you pulled your stitches and now your belly aches like you’ve been punched.”
“Yes,” Sherlock said, “Dillon’s right. You look like you’re ready to fall over.”
Lily smiled at her sister-in-law—tall, fine-boned, strong, capable. She had curly hair, a fire of autumn color, and the sweetest smile. Lily bet she could take down a guy three times her size. And she played the piano beautifully. She’d known from the moment they’d first met at her and Dillon’s wedding that Sherlock’s love for Dillon was steady and absolute. Beth had been three years old at the time, so excited to see her uncle Dillon, and so proud of her new patent-leather shoes. Lily swallowed, got herself together. She said, “Do you know that you and Dillon could finish each other’s sentences? Now, don’t fret, either of you. I am feeling a bit on the shaky side, but I can hold on until we get back to the inn.” She hugged him tight, then stepped back. “You know what, Dillon? I’ve decided I’m going to check into my own credit card situation.”
“What does that mean?”
Lily smiled. He helped her into the backseat, gently placed the pillow over her stomach, and fastened her seat belt. She lightly touched her fingertips to his cheek. “I’m glad you came to the museum. I don’t think I had enough money to pay for a taxi back to the B-and-B.”
Savich shook his head at her as he slipped his hand beneath the seat belt to make sure it wouldn’t press too hard against her middle, got in the driver’s seat, and drove off.
“Now then, Lily,” Sherlock said, turning in her seat. “You can’t put it off any longer. Dillon will want to hear all about this, too. I want you to tell us about the mugger who attacked you on that empty bus this morning. No more than two hours ago.”
Savich nearly drove into a fire hydrant.
THEY were eating lunch in a small Mexican restaurant, The Toasted Taco, on Chambers Street, down the block from The Mermaid’s Tail, Lily having decided she was starving more than she was aching.
“Good salsa,” Lily said and dipped in another tortilla chip and stuffed it in her mouth. “That’s a sure sign that the food will be okay. Goodness, I don’t think I’ve ever been so hungry in my life.”
Savich said, “Talk.”
She told them about the bus driver who’d explained to her the bus was empty because of the