"What were you really doing at the bank?"

I stared into my glass. The bubbles on the side had just about dissipated. "Hanging out with my brother."

"Doctor Alpert? But your name's-"

"Resnick," I supplied, and she nodded. "We're half-brothers. Bet you wouldn't know that by looking at us." She frowned, and I regretted the smart remark. I looked back down at my glass and sobered. "Okay, I'm looking into Matt Sumner's death."

"Are you a cop?"

"It's a personal matter. Can you tell me more about him? Who his friends were? How he spent his time away from work?"

She leaned back, her face growing cold. "I didn't know him well, and I didn't want to know him any better."

Great. My only remaining source on the man had just dried up.

Her expression softened. "But, maybe I'd like to get to know you a little better."

I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile. "That would be nice."

The corners of her mouth rose-a really nice smile.

"So, tell me about yourself," I said.

"I'm thirty-nine and not ashamed of it. Depressed some days, but not ashamed. Like everyone else these days, I'm overworked and stressed-out. I'm also divorced and childless. How about you?"

"I'm an unemployed insurance investigator, a widower, and currently sponging off my wealthy older brother."

"Widower?" she asked, as though not hearing the rest. "I'm so sorry. How long ago?"

"Two years."

She hesitated, curiosity getting the better of her. "H . . . how-?"

"Cocaine. At first she'd have a hit or two on weekends. Then it was a couple of times a week. I worked late-trying to keep my job while downsizing went on all around me. She got fired as a travel agent when she was arrested for selling coke to an undercover cop. After that, she promised me she'd stay clean, but she was already too far gone. Six months after she left me, the cops found her dead in a bathroom at Grand Central Station. Shot execution-style. They figured she tried to rip off her supplier."

Hey, I'd told the entire tale-albeit much abbreviated-and hadn't gotten angry. Real progress.

"How awful for you." She tapped the cast on my arm. "You said you were mugged?"

"All I remember is that baseball bat coming at me. They took my wallet, my keys, ransacked my apartment, took everything I had that was worth anything, and ruined just about everything else."

"Oh, Jeff!"

Again, the compassion in her eyes captivated me.

"Anyway, my brother rescued me and here I am." My God-I was spilling my guts to a virtual stranger-but she was so easy to talk to. I leaned back in my chair. "Sorry. Didn't mean to dump all this on you."

She took a sip of her drink. "My husband was gay. Only he didn't tell me that until we'd been married eight years. After he left, I'd get myself tested for AIDS every six months. I didn't know anything about his secret life, or how many men he'd been with."

I nodded. "Came the end, Shelley would sleep with anyone for cocaine. Scared the hell out of me. For a while, celibacy was my way of life."

She reached across the table to shake my hand. "Amen."

Her fingers were warm. I held on longer than was absolutely necessary. Our eyes met and an odd sensation passed through me, an unexpected sense of well-being, yet my heart pounded.

"Um . . . my hand." She smiled. "Didn't we just go through this at the bank?"

Embarrassed, I relinquished my hold and felt a tug inside me. She hadn't told me everything. But then why should she?

"You live around here?" she asked.

"Down on LeBrun. I'm just staying with Rich until I get back on my feet."

"Doctor Alpert's older than you, isn't he?"

I nodded, draining my glass. "Twelve years. My mother was a staunch Catholic. She married well the first time. Richard's father was handsome and an heir to millions. He didn't expect to die young and leave his wife penniless. Mom had a nervous breakdown and ended up in the State hospital. They didn't even have the decency to put her in a private hospital."

"Who?"

"Richard's paternal grandparents." I shook my head. "While Mom was in the hospital, they got legal custody of Rich, saying she was unfit."

"Where do you fit in?"

"Years later, Mom married Chet Resnick, a Jewish dry cleaner. He left us when I was four. My mother wouldn't talk about him-except to say he gambled and drank. I heard he was dead."

"So, how did you and your brother ever get together?"

"He found out Mom had cancer and came by the apartment the Christmas before she died. He was in his first year of residency at the time." A lifetime ago. "She was really proud of him. He was curious about us, said he'd like to get to know us. But two months later, Mom was dead. He took me in."

"How long did you stay?"

"Four long years." I paused. "Can't we talk about something else?"

She nodded and took another sip of her drink. "You said you were looking into Matt's death. What does that mean?"

"Right now, nothing. Claudia Sumner sicced the cops on me. Now I won't be able to talk to their kids."

She studied my eyes. "This is really important to you, isn't it?"

"Yeah. It is."

"Why?"

Because I got whacked on the head and now I know things I'm not supposed to know, and I've seen things I wasn't supposed to see. And I'm probably crazy or stupid-or both-and I have a ridiculous debt to repay to Matt Sumner, but I have to find out the truth for myself.

"It just is."

Guilt darkened her eyes. "I didn't tell you everything I know about Matt. I mean, I don't know what might be of use to you. But I like you. You seem . . . trustworthy."

"And I'm not even wearing my sincere suit."

Her smile disappeared. "This may not be important, but Matt recently fired one of the loan managers. The police have been digging around and it came up. To tell you the truth, I'd almost forgotten about it."

"What happened?"

"They said Don Feddar was approving loans without the proper documentation. There was a big blow-up and Matt fired him."

"How long ago was this?"

"Just before Christmas."

"That's a possible motive for murder."

"But Don's a sweetheart. He's not capable of doing what was done to Matt."

"That's probably what people thought about Jack the Ripper before his first crime." She conceded the point. "Does this guy have kids? A little boy named Jackie?"

"I think he has three daughters." She looked up, her attention caught by flashing yellow lights in the parking lot. "Hang on. The tow truck's here." She snagged her coat and went out to talk to the driver.

I watched while the guy changed her tire. It wasn't until he finally climbed into the cab to leave that she came back into the bar. Her cheeks were pink and her hair was windblown. She looked terrific.

"Well, I guess I should get going. You need a lift?"

I didn't want to go home. I didn't want her to go, either.

"Sure."

I took our empty glasses over to the bar, left a dollar tip for the bartender, then shrugged back into my jacket. Outside it must've been twenty degrees, as a light snow still fell. Maggie unlocked the passenger side door of her Hyundai and I got in.

The drive to LeBrun was awkward. I'd felt so at ease with her in the bar, yet now I was tongue-tied. I studied her features in the strobing lamplight as she navigated through the slick streets. Why couldn't I think of something-anything-to say?

She turned onto my street, slowing. "It's halfway down," I told her. "There."

She pulled into the driveway, then turned to me. It seemed like she wanted to say something, but she didn't speak. So I did.

"Can I call you?"

She reached for her purse, her smile radiant. Tearing a sheet from a notebook, she jotted down her number. It took all my willpower not to kiss her right then. I took the paper from her. "I'll call."

Then I was out of the car, standing in the silent, falling snow, watching her little blue car pull out of the driveway. She waved before she started off toward Main Street.

Hot damn, I liked Maggie Brennan.

CHAPTER 11.

I knew when I showed up for breakfast the next morning that it wasn't the time to announce I'd made a couple of new friends. Brenda and Richard weren't speaking, and I more than half suspected I was the cause.

Richard announced he'd made an appointment for me at UB Medical Center with an orthopedic specialist for that afternoon. I didn't argue.

Plaster is old-fashioned. My new physician gave me the option of a fiberglass cast-in designer colors, no less-or a removable plastic-and-Velcro brace. I chose the latter, glad to be rid of the anchor-weight cast. An x-ray showed my ulna to be healing nicely.

No one mentioned sending me to a shrink.

Even so, I wasn't feeling cocky as I left the doctor's office. Something was definitely up with Richard.

We walked in silence back to the car. Richard had accompanied me to the clinic, and sat in the waiting room until I'd finished. He didn't ask how things had gone.

He unlocked the car door for me, walked around to the driver's side, and climbed in. He turned the key in the ignition and cleared his throat.

"Anywhere you want to go?"

I shook my head. "Let's just go home."

Snowflakes began to fall, dancing on the windshield before being blown away, replaced by new ones. I gazed at the traffic whizzing by and remembered what Richard told Brenda days before: "He's different."

He was right, I was different. And I looked at everything in a new, harsher light-especially myself.

I didn't like what I saw.

Minutes later we were home. Richard stopped the car in the driveway, letting me out before he parked the Lincoln in the garage. I started for the house, but paused. I couldn't let this go on. Pulling up my collar, I waited for him. Although it was only three o'clock, the sky had darkened to the west-a storm was brewing.

The garage door closed and Richard came out the side door, shoulders slumped, head down. He looked as bad as I felt. He glanced up, surprised to see me.

"Wanna take a walk?"

He took in the sky. "In the snow?"

"Why not? Besides, I want to talk."

He blinked at me. "You never want to talk."

"I never had a crack in my skull before, either."

"You think that makes a difference?"

"Yeah, I do."

Richard sighed. "What's the point?"

The defeat in his voice scared me. "You giving up on me already?"

"No. It's just-I don't like things being so awkward."