Shadow Image by Martin J Smith Page B

shower. He’d waited patiently while she dried her hair.
    â€œThe stain’s where again?” she said.
    â€œThe office. Toward the back, not right below the kids’ bathroom, though.”
    She flipped off the bathroom light and slid between the sheets. “That doesn’t mean anything. Water can follow a crossbeam or duct and wind up pooling in a space three rooms away. I’d check it tomorrow, but I’ve got to work early.”
    â€œEarlier than usual?” He pulled her to him. She reached across his bare chest and set the alarm for five-thirty, then rolled back onto her side of the bed.
    â€œIt’s going to be like this for a while. What’ll we do?”
    â€œI can handle things. The sabbatical leaves me pretty flexible.” Her shampoo smelled like watermelon.
    â€œSo you can drop them at school
and
pick them up?” she said. “You sure? We can get some help.”
    â€œDon’t sweat it.” He tried again. She jumped up, crossed the room to her briefcase and, in the pale glow of a bright moon outside their window, scribbled something in her Day Runner. The omens weren’t good. The ebb and flow of their lovemaking was determined almost entirely by the level of her anxiety about work. “There’ll be times when I’m busy, too. It’ll even out. What are you so worried about?”
    Brenna stopped writing and looked out the window. Two blocks south, the Walnut Street bars were alive with reckless youth. On clear nights, the sound carried. Tonight, they both listened to a silence broken only by a motorcycle easing down the narrow channel between cars parked along Howe.
    â€œI want this to work,” she said. “Us.” She pointed to the hall that led to the bedrooms where Annie and Taylor were sleeping. “Them.”
    Her first marriage had collapsed because of her zealous work habits, unable to survive the forward thrust of her ambition in the first years after her mother died. Still, the answer surprised him.
    â€œNice try,” he said. “It’s this Underhill thing, isn’t it?”
    â€œThat, too.”
    He patted the bed. She put her Day Runner back in the briefcase, glided across the room and slid in beside him. He could see her more clearly now that his eyes had adjusted to the moonlight. “After all you’ve told me about Sherman Mercer, Bren, you’re actually taking his investigation seriously?”
    She pulled her knees to her chest and put her chin on her forearms. “The name of an old friend of yours came up today: J. D. Dagnolo.”
    â€œMr. Congeniality?”
    â€œHim,” she said. “Someone wondered if maybe the D.A.’s office was pulling the strings on this. There’s no love lost between Dagnolo and the Underhills right now.”
    Christensen shrank back in mock alarm. “You mean our district attorney is
political?”
    Brenna didn’t react, not even with an exasperated roll of those perfect green eyes.
    â€œWhat?” he said.
    â€œI don’t know if Dagnolo’s behind it or not. It wouldn’t surprise me. I think the guy’d do pretty much anything to chop the Underhills.”
    â€œThey really stuffed him when Ford got into the governor’s race, huh?”
    â€œHe figured the job was his, and it probably was. I know he’s a snake, you know he’s a snake, but his rep statewide is pretty good—Mr. Fearless Crime Buster. And, what the hell, the questions Mercer’s guys are asking aren’t altogether unreasonable.”
    Christensen sat up and turned to face her. This was a twist.
    â€œYou’re not going to ruin my image of the Underhills now, are you?” he said. “I know they’ve had their minor scandals. Hell, the family lives in a fishbowl. But I’ve always liked their priorities. Forget all the Renaissance stuff, the commercial stuff. Jesus, they practically underwrote Harmony’s