It was disgusting to consider what he had put inside his body.
Gabriel reached for a spoon from his collection and tapped it on his desk.
Yet part of him would always crave the comfort, would always remember fondly the beauty of pouring water over the sugar-laden spoon and that moment of erotic anticipation as the absinthe turned from brilliant emerald to cloudy lime.
Part of him was still an addict, and until he conquered that once and for all, he was still cursed.
To be addicted to the addict. It was a terrible fate, and he would have to be careful he didn’t ensnare Sara into such a horrific ending.
Rafe’s name was on her cell phone screen, so Sara answered it. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me. How are you?”
His ears must have been burning. And for some reason, Sara felt guilty having discussed him with Gabriel, however vaguely. It still felt like she hadn’t been staunch enough in her support of Rafe during the latter part of the trial. It felt like she needed to make that up to him, over and over, by reminding people of his innocence.
“I’m doing good,” she said. “You haven’t left Florida yet, have you?” She really did want to see Rafe before he went to California.
“No. It will be at least two weeks. I have to tie up some loose ends.” He paused, than asked, “Are you really in New Orleans, Sara?”
She closed her eyes briefly. She hadn’t wanted him to know, hadn’t wanted him to worry. “Who told you that?”
“It’s in the friggin’ paper. But I know how capable they are of printing lies, so I wanted to check with you. Warn you that if you are there, they know.”
They. The mythical they who had followed her, photographed her, called her, asked rude and insensitive questions. Disrupted her mother’s funeral. Uncovered her brief stint in rehab and splashed it all over gleefully. The media.
“Yeah, I’m in New Orleans. Thanks for letting me know.”
“Can I ask what you’re doing there?”
That was a loaded question, and one she couldn’t really answer in its entirety. “I just needed to get away. I’m sightseeing. I took a three-month lease on an apartment.”
“An apartment? In the French Quarter? The Garden District?”
“No. Kenner.”
“Never heard of it. So sightseeing, huh? Okay.” He didn’t sound like he believed her, but neither did he pry. “Make sure you check out the cemeteries. Everyone says you have to see them.”
Not that she would normally seek out a jaunt through the cemetery, but in this case she could answer in all honesty. “I’ve already been there. Very interesting.”
“Eat some gumbo for me, and come home safely, alright?”
“I will. Thanks. And if you need any help with the move, let me know.”
“Thanks, but I’m fine. That’s what moving companies are for. Call me next week, okay?”
She could do that. He sounded worried about her, and that was a nice thing to have. “I will.”
“Good. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Sara hung up and glanced over at Gabriel. He didn’t seem to be listening, but would he think it was odd for her to say she loved her mother’s boyfriend? But she did, in a truly platonic sense, because Rafe had made her mother happy. He had loved her mother, calmly and consistently, and that wasn’t an easy feat for anyone. Her mother had been volatile and difficult to live with. But Rafe had been a calming influence on her.
No one would even think twice about it if Rafe had been sixty to her mother’s forty-six. But because he had only been thirty-one, everyone had doubted the legitimacy of their relationship. Doubted that any man could love an older woman without an ulterior motive.
Gabriel was spoon tapping again. He seemed to have a spoon collection, though they weren’t souvenir spoons. She wasn’t sure what they were exactly, but he had at least twelve of them, lined up on the wall, hanging from nails that he hooked through the holes in the bowl part of the utensil. He had a different one in his hand than he’d had the other day, and he flicked it on the desk to the rhythm he was obviously hearing through his headphones. He was musically talented, judging by the ease with which he held the rhythm, while reading his computer screen. Which wasn’t surprising, given that he played the piano. Or had played the piano.
She wondered if he associated the piano with alcohol.
That would be a good reason to distance himself from music. If not, she thought it was terribly tragic that he didn’t hear music anymore.
Adjusting her laptop computer on her legs on the couch, Sara checked her e-mail. She’d been surprised that Gabriel had wireless access in his apartment since his building was so old and lacking in other amenities, but he really did need it to do his job. It wasn’t vital in her field, and she’d been off of work anyway, but she did like to check her mail occasionally. She had a lot of spam, and some forwarded jokes from her friend Jocelyn, as well as a personal e-mail from her inquiring how her sightseeing trip was going. Sara felt a little guilty for misleading Jocelyn as well, but she hadn’t been able to tell her why she was coming to New Orleans. It had just seemed too odd, too desperate, for anyone else to understand.
Sara dashed off a brief reply that said a whole lot of nothing. Clicking through the rest of messages in her inbox, she paused at one.
The subject header was “Questions Remain In Michaels Case,” and the sender was not an address she recognized.
A chill ran over her arms and she clicked to open the e-mail reluctantly. It was a link to the Naples Daily News online articles. She scanned it quickly.
The murder of Jessie Michaels is not a closed case, according to the Naples police. Despite the fact that Dr. Rafe Marino was acquitted of the July 2007 murder of his girlfriend just last week, prosecutor Daniel Smithton has indicated there is a new lead in the year-old murder. Despite accusations in the media that the indictment of Dr. Marino was botched, the prosecutor maintains the case against him was strong. The drawn-out and highly publicized trial has been devastating to Smithton’s reputation and former conviction rate of 100 percent for homicide cases.
Smithton theorized during the trial that Marino and the victim’s daughter, Sara Michaels, had been engaged in an affair, and together plotted the murder of mother and girlfriend. Given that Dr. Marino cannot be tried for the same crime twice, Smithton’s dogged pursuit of a closure to this case would suggest that attention may be turned to securing a conviction of Sara Michaels for complicity to commit murder.