Twice Kissed - Lisa Jackson [111]
The sprout was taking hold, and she was beginning to see the possibilities. She leaned over the table. “Why don’t I step into Mary Theresa’s shoes? Literally and figuratively. If I go through her life step by step, so to speak, well, at a faster pace, for the last week or so, maybe I can figure out what happened to her.”
“Wait a minute, I don’t get what you’re saying,” he argued, setting down his glass and shoving his plate to one side.
“Sure you do. What do you think would happen if I became Mary Theresa, no, I mean, if I became Marquise? You know, lived in her house, walked through her daily routine, re-created her life so I could get the real picture, or at least a blueprint of what she was going through before she vanished.”
“You’re not serious.” He looked stricken.
“As serious as I’ve ever been about anything in my life.” She was warming to the idea, and Thane was obviously growing cold as death. “I might be able to learn what happened to her and that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? You want to find her.”
“Everyone does.”
“But it’s more than that with you,” she said, seeing the storm clouds brew in his eyes.
“I’m concerned.”
“You want to find her, of course, we all do.” The glow from the wine, the seduction of looking into Thane’s eyes again, the feeling that she could trust him nearly overtook common sense. “You know what, Walker? I’m going to do this. I’m gonna be Marquise.”
The waitress, a pert girl with short red hair and an easy manner, cleared their plates and offered dessert and coffee.
“We’re fine,” Thane assured the girl and once she’d stepped away from the table, he pinned Maggie in his glare. “I didn’t drag you all this way to tempt fate. Hell, Maggie, this is crazy. You’re playing with fire.”
“Then why did you ‘drag me here’?”
“We’ve been over this.”
“But I’m not buying it. Level with me, Thane.”
“I have.”
“Not completely.”
The waitress returned and slipped them the bill, which Thane signed to their room. Maggie started to reach for her purse and protest, but he held up a hand. “We’ll square up later, okay?”
“Just try not to bully me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
They returned to the suite, and, once there, Maggie found the folded pages of Marquise’s diary with the addresses and phone numbers of the people she was closest to.
“It’ll be simple,” she said, as Thane lit the fire. Kicking off her shoes, she sat on the edge of the couch. “I’ll just call everyone with whom she had an appointment and interview them.”
“Interview them?” he repeated skeptically, straightening as the gas fire hissed quietly and flames licked ceramic logs. “So now you’re a pro?”
“With my background, in a way, I am.”
“And you feel no qualms about donning Marquise’s persona and life?” He wasn’t amused.
“No. Someone on this list”—standing, she held the pages and shook them under his nose—“knows something. If not where Mary Theresa is, then what was happening in her life. You can’t tell me that her shrink doesn’t have some idea as to her mental state. The police think she might have committed suicide, by—well, how? I don’t know. Possibly driving over a cliff or holing up somewhere and giving herself a lethal dose of drugs or whatever? But if she was in that frail a mental condition, shouldn’t her psychiatrist have had some clue? And what about the people she worked with, her personal trainer—Laslo…Laslo…” She looked through the pages. “Laslo Rolf. Wouldn’t she confide in him, or her secretary? Or someone she worked with?” More agitated by the minute, the wheels turning in her mind, she paced in front of the fire as she studied the copied pages of her sister’s diary. “So, no, I wouldn’t mind becoming Marquise for a while. Not at all. It’s to help.”
“I’d be careful when you start interviewing her psychiatrist, especially if you’re serious about walking in your sister’s shoes. The shrink might think that you’re doing it for other reasons—that you have some need to become Marquise. From the outside it could appear more than a little incestuous.”
She froze at the word. Mitch. Mary Theresa. Thane. Memories