Free Missing Pieces by Joy Fielding Page B

“To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure. What about you? Are you a reporter?”
    “Not exactly. I own a radio station, WKEY.”
    “Oh, of course.” I hoped I didn’t sound as impressed as I felt.
    “Normally I wouldn’t be here. We have reporters covering the trial, of course.”
    “Of course,” I concurred.
    “But I had a lunch meeting nearby, so I thought …” He broke off. “You’re very beautiful,” he said.
    I laughed out loud. Probably to keep from fainting.
    “Why are you laughing? Don’t you believe me?”
    I felt my cheeks grow crimson, my knees go weak, my body temperature rise. Oh sure, I thought, great time to turn into a red, quivering mass of sweat. That should impress the hell out of him. “It’s just been a long time since anyone told me I was beautiful,” I heard myself say.
    “Larry doesn’t tell you how beautiful you are?” He smiled, curling his lips around my husband’s first name. He’s playing with me, I thought.
    There was a slight commotion at the door. Colin Friendly’s attorneys were leaving the courtroom. “Mr. Archibald,” I heard my sister call out, thrusting the letter she’d spent the lunch break composing at the lawyer in thegray silk suit, “I was wondering if you could make sure that Colin receives this. It’s very important.”
    “Pathetic,” Robert Crowe pronounced.
    “What is?”
    “Courtroom groupies. Every trial has them. The more gruesome the crime, the more ardent the bimbos.” He shook his head. “It makes you wonder.”
    “About what?”
    “About what kind of lives these poor deluded souls live. I mean, look at that woman. She’s not bad-looking; she probably wouldn’t have any trouble getting a man, yet she chooses to go after a guy who gets his kicks from killing and mutilating women. I don’t get it. Do you?”
    I shook my head, although, in truth, I was barely aware of anything he’d said after “she’s not bad-looking.” Moments before he’d told me I was beautiful. Jo Lynn was merely “not bad-looking.” Shallow thing that I was fast becoming, I couldn’t get it out of my head.
    “So, what does Larry’s wife do when she’s not attending sensational murder trials?” he asked.
    The second mention of my husband’s name snapped me out of my reveries. “I’m a therapist.”
    “That’s right, I remember you were always interested in that sort of stuff.” He managed to make it sound as if he’d actually been listening to anything I’d had to say thirty years ago. “So little Kate Latimer grew up to become the woman she always wanted to be.”
    Had I? I wondered. If so, then why was she such a stranger?
    “Well, Kate Latimer, it’s been very nice seeing you again after all these years.” He leaned his face close to mine. Was he going to kiss me? Was I going to let him? Was I a total idiot?
    “It’s Kate Sinclair now,” I reminded us both.
    Cocking his head to one side, his eyes never leavingmine, he took my hand in his and brought it slowly to his mouth. His lips grazed the back of my hand. I don’t even want to describe the effect this had on my body, which was already struggling to remain upright and in one piece. “Uh-oh,” he said.
    I froze. “What’s the matter?”
    “The bimbo is headed this way.”
    “Okay, we can go now,” Jo Lynn announced, arriving at my side, eyes wandering between me and Robert Crowe.
    “Jo Lynn,” I said, “I’d like you to meet Robert Crowe. Robert, this is my sister, Jo Lynn Baker.”
    “Please shoot me now,” Robert said simply, and I laughed. It felt good to be in control again.
    “Am I missing something?” Jo Lynn asked. Her voice was light, but her eyes flashed a familiar combination of anger and hurt. She didn’t like to feel left out. She hated being laughed at.
    “Your sister and I knew each other in high school,” Robert said, as if this were explanation enough.
    For some reason, this seemed to satisfy her. “Really? Well, then I guess you can thank me