never saw the body?”
“He said he couldn’t face it.”
I felt sick all over. “He trusted you! And now he thinks his
sister is dead! How could you do this to him?”
“For all I know, she is dead by now. It’s complicated, Cece.”
“That’s an understatement.”
He turned to go, but I grabbed his arm. “I’m not finished
here. You haven’t explained why you did it.”
He pulled away from me. “You don’t understand. Maren
had a way of getting in over her head. She’s always been at-
tracted to danger. She hung out with some really bad people.”
“So?”
“So I read between the lines. I had to help her.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“I’m an actor. Like I explained to you before, I know what
people are saying even when they’re not saying it.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, exasperated.
“She needed to run away. Not to exist.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Maren Levander had to die.”
Slowly, irrefutably, it hit me. “Are you saying you helped
Maren stage her own death?”
He looked at me, his defenses down. “You can’t say no to
Maren.”
107
“Jesus, so you killed some innocent woman so you could
pretend she was Maren?”
“No, no,” he said, shaking his head fervently. “Of course
not. I can’t believe you’d think something like that of me. Jesus.
But when I got to the coroner’s office and they showed me
the picture they’d found in her pocket, that picture of me and
Maren from the old days, I understood what I was supposed
to do.”
“You were supposed to identify the woman as Maren.”
“Yes.”
It was as if she’d put a spell on him.
Like Elvira, the dangerous redhead in Hammett’s Op stories.
The price of loving her was death.
In “The House on Turk Street,” she seduces a bank mes-
senger into stealing $100,000 for her, then blithely gets him
killed; in “The Girl with the Silver Eyes,” she gets an informant
named Porky Grunt to stand in front of the Op’s car and
empty his gun at him in a lunatic attempt to save her. The Op
was the only man able to resist her. Only the Op was as cold
and hard as she was. But Rafe was no Op.
I chose my words carefully. “Your loyalty to Maren is mis-
placed, Rafe. You need to do the right thing here.”
“Haven’t you ever done the wrong thing for the right rea-
son, Cece?”
“That isn’t the point. Did you ever stop and ask yourself
who she was?”
“Who?”
I closed my eyes. “The dead woman. Or how she happened
to appear just when Maren needed her? Can you possibly be
that naive?”
“You can stop right there. Maren had nothing to do with
108
that woman’s death.” He looked as if he truly believed what he
was saying. But that’s what he got paid for.
“Rafe. Think about it for a minute. What other possible ex-
planation can there be?”
He took my hands. “I don’t know, but I know Maren. I know
her better than anybody. She’s been involved in some shady
stuff, I’ll admit that. She got mixed up with the wrong people,
maybe even broke a few laws. But she isn’t a killer. I know that to
the bottom of my soul. I’m asking you to trust me.”
“Like Will trusted you?”
“You have to let it go, Cece.”
“Let it go?” I asked incredulously. “How can I—”
But he wouldn’t let me interrupt.
“I’m hoping Maren made it out alive. I’m praying she did.
If she did, what I did, the lie I told, was worth it. Whoever the
other woman was, whatever happened to her, we can’t help her
now. It’s too late.”
Maybe I couldn’t help the other woman, but I also couldn’t
forget about her, as if she’d never existed. How could I just for-
get about her?
Who was she?
How had she died?
Then it hit me, like a ton of bricks.
Maren.
Maren could tell me.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Cece.”
“Cece who?”
“Open the door or you’re dead.”
Lael’s teenage son, Tommy,
“He said he couldn’t face it.”
I felt sick all over. “He trusted you! And now he thinks his
sister is dead! How could you do this to him?”
“For all I know, she is dead by now. It’s complicated, Cece.”
“That’s an understatement.”
He turned to go, but I grabbed his arm. “I’m not finished
here. You haven’t explained why you did it.”
He pulled away from me. “You don’t understand. Maren
had a way of getting in over her head. She’s always been at-
tracted to danger. She hung out with some really bad people.”
“So?”
“So I read between the lines. I had to help her.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“I’m an actor. Like I explained to you before, I know what
people are saying even when they’re not saying it.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, exasperated.
“She needed to run away. Not to exist.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Maren Levander had to die.”
Slowly, irrefutably, it hit me. “Are you saying you helped
Maren stage her own death?”
He looked at me, his defenses down. “You can’t say no to
Maren.”
107
“Jesus, so you killed some innocent woman so you could
pretend she was Maren?”
“No, no,” he said, shaking his head fervently. “Of course
not. I can’t believe you’d think something like that of me. Jesus.
But when I got to the coroner’s office and they showed me
the picture they’d found in her pocket, that picture of me and
Maren from the old days, I understood what I was supposed
to do.”
“You were supposed to identify the woman as Maren.”
“Yes.”
It was as if she’d put a spell on him.
Like Elvira, the dangerous redhead in Hammett’s Op stories.
The price of loving her was death.
In “The House on Turk Street,” she seduces a bank mes-
senger into stealing $100,000 for her, then blithely gets him
killed; in “The Girl with the Silver Eyes,” she gets an informant
named Porky Grunt to stand in front of the Op’s car and
empty his gun at him in a lunatic attempt to save her. The Op
was the only man able to resist her. Only the Op was as cold
and hard as she was. But Rafe was no Op.
I chose my words carefully. “Your loyalty to Maren is mis-
placed, Rafe. You need to do the right thing here.”
“Haven’t you ever done the wrong thing for the right rea-
son, Cece?”
“That isn’t the point. Did you ever stop and ask yourself
who she was?”
“Who?”
I closed my eyes. “The dead woman. Or how she happened
to appear just when Maren needed her? Can you possibly be
that naive?”
“You can stop right there. Maren had nothing to do with
108
that woman’s death.” He looked as if he truly believed what he
was saying. But that’s what he got paid for.
“Rafe. Think about it for a minute. What other possible ex-
planation can there be?”
He took my hands. “I don’t know, but I know Maren. I know
her better than anybody. She’s been involved in some shady
stuff, I’ll admit that. She got mixed up with the wrong people,
maybe even broke a few laws. But she isn’t a killer. I know that to
the bottom of my soul. I’m asking you to trust me.”
“Like Will trusted you?”
“You have to let it go, Cece.”
“Let it go?” I asked incredulously. “How can I—”
But he wouldn’t let me interrupt.
“I’m hoping Maren made it out alive. I’m praying she did.
If she did, what I did, the lie I told, was worth it. Whoever the
other woman was, whatever happened to her, we can’t help her
now. It’s too late.”
Maybe I couldn’t help the other woman, but I also couldn’t
forget about her, as if she’d never existed. How could I just for-
get about her?
Who was she?
How had she died?
Then it hit me, like a ton of bricks.
Maren.
Maren could tell me.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Cece.”
“Cece who?”
“Open the door or you’re dead.”
Lael’s teenage son, Tommy,
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