Heaven and Earth

  clean up that awful mess?”

  “If you’re willing to wait, I’ll see that Pete does it. It’s coming up to lunchtime, and I’ll root him out and make him come over and deal with it.”

  Gladys sniffed, nodded sharply. Justice, she thought, was justice, and the Todds usually found a way to meet it. “I want it done soon and I want it done right.”

  “I’ll see to that. Pete’s going to get slapped with a fine, too.”

  Gladys folded her lips. “Been fined before.”

  “Yes, ma’am, he has.” Okay, Ripley thought, what would Zack do? The dog was harmless, puppy-friendly and dumb as a turnip. His major flaw was his obsession with dead fish parts, which he either joyfully rolled in or greedily consumed. Each with revolting results.

  As inspiration struck, Ripley hardened her face. “The fact is, that dog’s a public nuisance, and Pete’s been warned.” She tapped her fingers on the butt of her weapon. “We’ll have to impound the dog this time.”

  “Well, I should think . . .” Gladys trailed off, blinked. “What do you mean, impound?”

  “Don’t you worry about that, Mrs. Macey. We’ll take care of the dog. He won’t be coming around your yard to do any kind of mischief in the future.”

  The little clutch in Gladys’s throat had her voice quavering. “Now wait just a minute.”

  As Ripley had counted on, Gladys gripped her arm. “Do you mean to take that dog in and . . . and have it put down?”

  “He can’t be controlled . . .” Ripley let the sentence, and its implication, hang. The dog cooperated by sending out a pitiful whine.

  “Ripley Todd, I’m ashamed of you for suggesting such a thing. I’m not having it, not for a minute.”

  “Now, Mrs. Macey—”

  “Don’t you Mrs. Macey me.” Incensed, she wagged her finger in Ripley’s face. “That’s the most heartless thing I’ve ever heard! Putting that harmless dog down just because he’s stupid.”

  “But you said—”

  “I said he pooped in my yard!” Gladys waved her arms, currently covered in the shocking-pink wool of her sweater. “What are you going to do, pull that gun and put a bullet in his ear?”

  “No, I—”

  “Oh, I can’t even talk to you right now. You go on, and you leave that dog be. I want my stoop cleaned, and that’s the end of it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Ripley hung her head, let her shoulders droop as she walked away. And winked at the dog.

  Zack, she decided, couldn’t have done it any better.

  She tracked downPete, read him the riot act. He would go without lunch, the Macey stoop would sparkle, and the dog, who already laid claim to a snazzy red doghouse complete with a heated blanket, would get a stronger chain to keep him on the Stahr property when no one was home.

  And that, Ripley thought, would likely wrap up the keeping of the peace of Three Sisters Island for the day.

  On her way back to the station house, she spotted a small figure climbing through the first-floor window of a clapboard saltbox.

  Okay, she decided with her hands on her hips, maybe there was a bit more peace to be kept.

  Her brows lifted, then knit. It was the home of one of her cousins, and the bright blue jacket on the B and E man was very familiar.

  “Dennis Andrew Ripley, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  She heard his yowl of pain when he bumped his head on the window, and felt no sympathy. He was twelve, and any boy of twelve who didn’t own a hard head should, in her opinion, develop one.

  He went still for a moment, half in, half out, battle-scarred hightops dangling. Then, slowly, he wiggled to the ground. His hair was pale blond and stuck out in tufts around his ski cap. Freckles exploded over his face and stood out in sharp relief against his bright flush.

  “Ah . . . hi, Aunt Ripley,” he said innocently.

  He was, Ripley thought with admiration, an operator. “That’s Deputy Todd to you, you little weasel. What’re you doing crawling in the window?”

  “Um. I don’t have a key?”

  “Dennis.”

  “Well, I don’t. Mom and some of her lady friends went over to the mainland to shop and stuff. She must’ve locked the door.”

  “Let’s try the question this way. Why are you crawling in the window of your own house instead of sitting at your desk at school?”

  “Because I’m sick?” he answered hopefully.

  “Is that so? Come on, then, I’ll take you over to the clinic right now. Your mother has her cell phone, doesn’t she? We’ll just give her a call and let her know her sweet baby boy’s feeling poorly. I bet she’ll come home on the next ferry.”

  Ripley had the satisfaction of watching his face blanch. “Don’t call her. Okay? Please? I’m feeling a lot better. It musta been something I ate is all.”

  “I just bet. Spill it, kiddo, and if you try to bullshit me again, I’m hauling you to the clinic and telling them to get out their biggest, dullest needle.”

  “We’re having a history test,” he blurted out, and talked very fast now. “History’s the pits, Aunt Rip. It’s all about dead people, anyway. So, you know, who cares? And it’s like European history crap, and we don’t evenlive there. I mean, hey, do you know the capital of Liechtenstein?”

  “Didn’t study, did you?”

  He shifted from foot to foot—Jeez, what was it with boys and their big clown feet, she wondered—and attempted a pitiful look from under his lashes. “I guess maybe not.”

  “So you decided to blow off the test and hook school.”

  “Just one stupid day. I could take the test later. I was going to hang out in the woods today, and study,” he added, with quick inspiration. “But it’s too cold.”

  “So you were going to go inside . . . and study.”

  “Um. Yeah! Yeah, I was going to hit the books. Couldn’t you just pretend you didn’t see me?”

  “No.”

  “Aw, Aunt Rip.” He sighed, recognizing the look on her face. “Deputy Todd.”

  She hooked him by the ear. “You’re getting a police escort to school.”

  “Mom’s going to kill me.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m going to fail the test.”

  “Should’ve studied for it.”

  “I’ll get in-school suspension.”

  “Kid, you’re breaking my heart.”

  When he muttered “shit” under his breath, she gave the back of his head a quick tap. “Watch the mouth, peewee. We’re going to pay a visit to the assistant principal, you’ll make a full confession, and take your lumps.”

  “Like you never hooked school.”

  “When I did, I had enough brains not to get caught. Therein, young Skywalker, is the power of the Force.”

  He snorted out a laugh. And because he did, because he was hers, she walked him the rest of the way to judgment with her arm companionably around his shoulders.

  The morning’s workand her replay of both incidents for Zack put her in a much better frame of mind. She strolled into the bookstore, looking for lunch, and gave a quick wave at Lulu.

  “Put your belly on hold a minute and come over here.”

  “About a minute’s all my belly can wait.” But Ripley detoured and walked to the counter. “What’s up?”

  “I got a letter from Jane.”

  “Yeah?” Ripley thought of the café’s former chef. She and her man had taken off for New York so he could have a shot at a part in an Off Broadway play. “How’re they doing?”

  “Well enough. Sounds to me like they mean to stay.” Lulu glanced toward the stairs, lowered her voice. “Guess who strolled, big as life, into the bakery where Jane’s working?”

  “Harrison Ford.” At Lulu’s steely stare, Ripley shrugged. “I’ve had a thing for him lately. Okay, who?”

  “Sam Logan.”

  “No shit?” Ripley’s voice dropped as well. “What does Jane say about him? How’s he look? What’s he doing?”

/>   “If you’d shut up for five seconds I’ll tell you. He looks, so Jane says, better than ever. Tall, dark, and dangerous. That’s Jane speaking. She got all giddy because he recognized her. She never had two licks of sense. I don’t suppose he said what he was doing, or she didn’t ask, otherwise she’d have put every word of it down. But she did say he asked after Mia.”

  “What do you mean, ‘asked after’?”

  “Just that, casual, according to Jane. ‘How’s Mia?’ ”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. That was it, that was all. He bought a box of pastries, wished Jane good luck, and walked out again.”

  Considering, Ripley pursed her lips, juggled the angles in her mind. “Funny coincidence. Of all the bakeries in all the city, he walks into the bakery where Mia’s ex-cook works.”

  “I don’t think it was coincidence. I think his curiosity took him there.”

  “I won’t disagree. Are you going to tell her?”

  “No.” Lulu sucked air through her nose. “I thought about it, chewed on it, twisted it around, and I don’t see the point.”

  “Are you asking my opinion?”

  “Do you think I’m telling you all this to give my tongue a workout?”

  “Okay, then I agree with you. There’s no point in it. It still hurts her.” She sighed because it could still hurt, just a bit, to know that Mia hurt. “Besides, if Mia wanted to know what he’s up to, she could find out.”

  Lulu nodded. “Just feels better to have somebody agree with me. Go eat. Soup’s black bean today.”

  “That’ll hit the spot. Oh, Lu?” Ripley paused on her way to the stairs. “If you write Jane back, tell her not to say anything about this. You know.”

  “Already done.”

  That, Ripley told herself, was that. Three good deeds in one day. What more could anyone ask? She strolled up to the counter, started to ring the bell. Then saw, through the kitchen door, Nell serving soup and a sandwich to Mac.

  He was sitting at the kitchen table, a place reserved for friends. She’d taken two long strides toward the end of the counter before she stopped herself.

  This wasn’t the way, she thought. Going in guns blazing—metaphorically—wasn’t the way to deal with the man, the situation, or her own annoyance.

  She gave herself a moment to calm, then walked around the counter, into the kitchen.

  “Hi, Nell. Mac.” Doing everything she could to radiate goodwill, she sniffed the air. “Smells great. I’ll have what he’s having. Okay if I eat back here?”

  “Of course. Coffee with that?” Nell asked her.

  “Let’s jazz it up and go with a latté.” Ripley unbundled her coat, hung it on the back of a chair. And sent Mac a slow, warm smile. “Don’t mind a little company, do you, Professor?”

  “No. You look great today.”

  “Thanks.” She sat across from him. “What’re you up to?”

  “I asked him to come back, Ripley.” Nell squeezed Ripley’s shoulder before setting down a bowl of soup. “To talk.”

  Annoyance clawed up in her throat, and was dutifully swallowed. “If you’re all right with it, I’m all right with it.”

  “Actually, Mac’s been entertaining me with some stories of his travels, and his work. It’s fascinating. I’m going to order those books you recommended,” Nell added, tossing him a glance as she made Ripley’s sandwich.

  “I hope you’ll tell me what you think, after you’ve read them.”

  “I will.” She served the sandwich. “I’ll get your latté.”

  When she was out of earshot, Mac leaned forward. “I’m not pushing her.”

  Ripley held up a hand. “Truce. Nell’s in charge of her own life, makes her own decisions.” You miserable son of a bitch.

  “Okay. But I want you to understand that I know she’s been through more than anyone should ever have to go through. I won’t push, whatever the circumstances.”

  The fact that she believed him didn’t change a thing.

  She ate with him, listened to his laugh when she told him about the dog, the boy. It irritated her to realize she liked talking to him, hearing him laugh.

  The man was good company, even if he was a slug.

  Under other circumstances she’d have enjoyed spending time with him. Getting to know him better. Finding out all thestuff that went on inside of that high-voltage brain.

  His smarts weren’t boring. She’d already figured out that much. Then there were those terrific brown eyes, the long, slow smile, the really superior body. To say nothing of the moves—which were past excellent.

  Then she imagined him using those moves on Mia only hours,hours after he’d danced with her.

  There was only one recourse. He must be annihilated.

  “So,” she said, “you must be keeping pretty busy, hunting spooks and searching for, what is it, vortexes or whatever.”

  “Busy enough. I’m getting my bearings, getting to know the island.”

  “And the natives,” she said. Sweetly.

  “Sure. You know, my day’s still pretty flexible,” he told her. “I can wander over to the gym almost anytime. I’d enjoy the workout more with company.”

  Why don’t you ask Mia to come sweat with you? she thought. “What time do you usually go over in the morning?” She knew, of course. She knew everything that went on under her own damn nose.

  “About seven-thirty.”

  “That could work for me.”

  In fact, she decided, it would be perfect.

  She walked intothe gym at seven-forty-five. He was already on the stepper, and just working up a sweat. He hadn’t shaved again. When he shot her a quick grin, she could only think it was too damn bad she had to crush him like a bug.

  He was working out to music instead of TV. Wasn’t it just like him to try to be obliging?

  She set the weight on a leg machine, slithered onto the bench on her belly, and began to work on her hamstrings. The added benefit was to give him a good view of her butt.

  Look and dream, pal, she thought. Look and dream.

  “I heard we’re in for more snow.”

  She counted off reps. “The sky’s full of it. Did you get that wood?”

  “Not yet. I lost the name.”

  “It’s in your coat pocket.”

  “It is?”

  He looked cute when he was baffled. “That’s where you stuck it after I wrote it down for you. Right pocket of your long black coat.”

  “Oh.”

  “Nobody seems to be thinking of health and fitness this morning,” she commented.

  “Actually, there was a guy in here before. He finished up right before you came in. Great legs you’ve got there, Deputy Todd.”

  “You think?” She slid a flirtatious smile onto her face, gave him a deliberate once-over. “Yours aren’t so bad, either, Dr. Booke.”

  “You should’ve seen me at eighteen. Well, twenty,” he corrected. “Any time up to twenty I was the model for the guy who gets sand kicked in his face at the beach.”

  “Skinny, were you?”

  “A toothpick with a sign on his back saying ‘Please, pick on me.’ ”

  There was a little tug of sympathy for the skinny, undoubtedly awkward boy. Remembering her mission, she ignored it. “So you decided to get cut.” She switched to work her calf muscles.

  “A guy with my body type doesn’t get cut unless he devotes his life to it. I just wanted to get in shape. I read up on bodybuilding.”

  She couldn’t stop the laugh. “Read up on it?”

  “That’s my approach,” he said with a shrug. “Then I experimented with different programs until I found what I could do.” Obviously amused at himself, he grinned over at her. “I made charts.”

  “No joke?”

  “No joke,” he admitted. “Charts, graphs. A computer analysis, before and after. A merging of the intellect and the physical. Worked for me.”

  “I’ll say.”

  He flushed a little. “Well,
it didn’t take long to figure out that if I was going to be hiking trails, climbing into caves, hacking through the occasional jungle, I’d better be able to handle the physical part of the job. Walk a few miles in a hundred percent humidity, carrying a full pack and sensitive equipment, you realize you’d better put in a few hours a week at the gym.”

  “Whatever the reason, the results are fine.”

  She rose to change machines and gave him a quick pinch on the butt as she passed. When he only stared at her, she laughed. “You can pinch me back anytime, cutie.”

  She worked her quads, pleased to note that she’d ruined his rhythm.

  “Have you taken a tour of the island yet?”

  “Not complete.” He lost count of his reps, and struggled to get his pacing back. “I’ve been working, more or less, inch by inch.”

  “Next time the two of us have a couple of hours free, I’ll show you around.”

  He was starting to heat up, and it wasn’t just the exercise. “I can be free anytime.”

  “Now, that’s a dangerous thing to say to a woman. I like it.” She all but purred. “I like a man willing to take risks.” She licked her lips. “Have you been thinking about me?”

  “Only ten or twelve times a day.”

  “Ah.” She wriggled off the bench as he picked up free weights. “Another risky statement. Not to be outdone, I’ve given you considerable thought as well.”

  She walked to the weights, but instead of selecting hers, skimmed a fingertip over his arm. “Mmm. All slicked up, aren’t you? Me, too.” She shifted closer, brushed bodies. “Wouldn’t we just slither and slip all over each other right now?”

  Maybe, just maybe, if all the blood hadn’t drained out of his head, he’d have caught the hard-edged glint to her eyes when she smiled. But even the best man often stopped thinking with his brain when a hot, sexy, willing woman was rubbing herself against him.

  “Let me put these down,” he managed. “Before I drop them on my foot. Or yours.”

  “I like lean muscles on a man.” She squeezed his biceps. “Long . . . lean . . . limber.”

  The weights clanged like a pair of anvils against the stand. He fisted a hand in her hair, drew her up, had his mouth a breath from hers.

  Then her elbow rammed straight into his gut.