by John Chabot
He looked at Matt's smile, shook his head and added, "Now I suppose you're going to tell me you've made a fortune as a floater."
Why had he said it that way? Somehow, he had the impression that Matt had wealth. Very comfortable, at least. His clothes, denims and a sweater, were just clothes. Except for the desk, nothing here spoke of money. Perhaps it was just the way he sat there, quietly, at ease. He gave a strong impression of self-confidence, self-direction. A man who had learned very surely his own strengths.
Matt set his empty cup back on the tray, smiled again. "I'm not exactly a drifter. I've been several things in my life, but I think each was a natural extension of the one before. Now I'm retired."
"Really? You seem too young."
"Well, I started early. And I suppose I've been lucky. Now I have enough, and working just to see how much I can make seems pointless."
He got up stiffly, but showing no sign of pain, and went to a much painted-over china cabinet. From it he took a bottle and two miniature, bell-shaped glasses. He said, "I was right about you liking tea. How about Drambuie?"
Mickie drove, while Harry sat in back with the cuffed Vernon. As they turned onto the main road, she asked, "Where's Avondale Avenue?"
Vernon, who'd been gazing out the side window, turned in surprise. What kind of question was that? Everyone knew where Avondale was, and Mickie had lived here all her life.
Harry closed his eyes, trying to place it, then said, "South of Shoreline, just north of the pier."
"And what's there?"
"What do you mean, what's there?"
"What's on Avondale? You know what I mean — quit stalling."
His eyes closed as he thought. "Ah, a gift shop — Gilda's Gifts. Mostly junk. And the restaurant, the one with the great bluefish sandwich. Jason's. Who's commander of the Coast Guard Station?"
"Too easy," she said. "Earl Britt. I used to date a guy who was stationed there. Who's the daytime dispatcher at the cab company?"
"Uh . . . wait a minute. Jessie . . ."
Vernon couldn't control himself. "Jessie Goodnight. She's my cousin."
Harry seemed to be starting a slow burn. Vernon saw it, and said defensively, "What's the matter? I can't play?"
Harry ignored him. He put on his lawyer voice. "Now then, Detective Wilder, you say you arrested the defendant on the beach."
Mickie hesitated, knowing Harry would try to trick her. "No, we actually arrested him beside his van."
"I see. Now, at the time of this arrest, you had identified the items in his van as those allegedly stolen from the Olsen residence?"
"That's right."
Harry closed his eyes, slowly moving his head side to side. "No, that's wrong. The items won't be formally identified until the owner comes to the station and says they're his."
After a small, embarrassing silence, he went on. "Lawyers will always give you an easy answer, something that's almost right. You take it and they'll nail you to the wall."
It was too much for Vernon. "Hey," he said, "don't yell at her. She's right. I took the stuff. And come to think of it, why'd you leave Baltimore for a nowhere place like this?"
Harry answered him with great patience. He said, "Vernon, shut the hell up."
"Drambuie? Never tried it. It seemed a bit exotic."
"All the more reason to try it."
Matt poured an inch of the golden-amber liquid into each glass, passing one to Terry. Terry took a cautious sip. It was smooth on his tongue, made his throat tingle and left a soft, warm path all the way to his stomach. There, it spread and diffused and left a glow.
"You know," said Matt, "when I was very young, just out of high school, I went to France. I once heard someone say, 'The Americans taught me how to work, and the French taught me how to live'. Whatever you might think of the French, there's something to that. You should go there sometime. Not as a tourist, but to live for a while. It would be good for you. You already seem to know how to work."
"Kelly keeps saying stuff like that. 'Loosen up. Enjoy.' I know she's right, but . . ."
"But then you hear your father."
"He has a strong voice. He wouldn't understand what I want to do."
During the next hour, they talked, refilling their glasses more than once. There were times when neither of them said anything. Matt closed his eyes, considering something, and Terry watched the liquid in his glass, thinking that it looked just like it tasted. Neither found the silence uncomfortable.
Matt finally ended it by asking, "Do you know what I've been doing for the past two years? I've been living in Japan. I'd been there once before, very briefly, on business. Have you ever been there?"
"Not even close."
"Tokyo is a very modern city. Big, crowded, noisy and fast. Life there is hectic. We couldn't stay long, but after the meeting, the man we were dealing with took us to his home for drinks. When we entered, it was suddenly like stepping back into another time. To begin with, we took off our shoes at the door. Now, that in itself is one of the most civilized practices I've come across.
"He took us into a room that was almost bare. The floor was made of sections of tatami mats. These are made of rice straw woven into squares which are set into the floor. Very nice to walk on with your shoes off. The only furniture was a low table, like a coffee table, with cushions placed around it. There were a couple of Japanese prints on the wall and, on the table, a small vase with a flower. Just one. That's all there was in the room. The light was somehow softened, diffused. It was quiet. I felt I had slipped back a few centuries, and I liked it.
"Sitting there, I remembered a trip we made one time when I was seven or eight. We never saw much of my mother's family, but this time we went to visit her sister in Charlotte. I don't remember her, but I remember the house. It was cluttered. That's the only way I can describe it. I don't mean there were clothes strewn about, but permanent things. Deliberate clutter. Bric-a-brac, pictures, mementos. Every flat surface was covered with it. And there were little tables and shelves and cases just to hold more. It was like living in a gift shop. There were 'things' everywhere. Even at that age, it made me uneasy.
"I couldn't help but compare. This room in Japan with its bare simplicity, its single blue flower, was a place to restore perspective. It was . . . tranquil. I didn't want to leave. Later I found myself thinking that this man knows how to live. So for the past two years, I've been trying to find that room, or rather what it is that made a room like that."
"And did you?"
"I think so. There is a part of Japanese culture and history that has made an art of it. But it's not really Japanese. You just have to want that room, that way of life. You have to decide what things you need, what things you really want, and then lose the rest. And that's what I've been doing. Practicing how to live. How to keep life simple, not get caught in the trap of 'things'."
Terry was feeling the liqueur. He put his glass back on the table and refused a refill. He said, "You're not married, are you?"
Matt laughed immediately. "I was just thinking the same thing. No. Where would I find a woman who'd live that way? I've been accused of being overly neat — even fussy. One lady referred to it as obsessive. Perhaps so. I love women passionately, I admire them, I even like them. But I can't seem to live with one for long — or she can't live with me. I think women like to buy things just to buy things. It's probably genetic, the nesting instinct or something."
"Lord, don't ever let Kelly hear you say that."
"She would disagree?"
"No, probably not. She'd say something like, 'It's a good thing we do. If it weren't for us, you men would all be living in a barn. She might be right."
"She sounds good for you? What's she like?"
"Good question. Kelly is . . . my mother would have described her as a breath of fresh air. Frankly, I find it hard to think of her as a mere breath of anything. More like a hurricane. She'll be here this weekend. Would you like to meet her?"
"Of course I wou
ld. I'll tell you what. If you haven't anything planned, come for dinner. I'll fix you something Japanese. And no raw fish, I promise."
"Are you sure you want to?" He couldn't be sure it wasn't just the failing light, but he thought Matt was beginning to look very tired. "We could go out."
"Now where can you find real Japanese food at the beach? No, really, I've learned to pace myself. And I really would like to do this."
"All right then. And listen, if you need anything, I'm just four houses down." He took a page from his notebook, wrote his phone number on it, and passed it to Matt. "Keep this. If anything happens, you know, just yell."
Matt took the paper and looked at it. "Thank you," he said. "I appreciate that."
When he was alone, Matt put the glasses and cups on the tray and carried them back to the kitchen. The sun had nearly set, and its light slanting in through the western windows filled the room with a reddish glow. He poured what was left of the tea into the sink, then carefully washed the pot, the cups and glasses. After rinsing them and setting them to drain, he got out a clean towel. As he dried each piece and put it away, he was thinking. Twice, what he thought made him smile and, as he put the two glasses back into the cabinet, said to himself, "Yes, why not?"
He checked his watch, wondering if he could still reach the right people. They might have left for the day. He went to the desk, opened the center drawer, consulted an address book. He went back into the kitchen and made his calls from the phone on the wall. He was lucky on the first one. The man he wanted was still in his office. He told him what he wanted and made an appointment for the next day. The second call was answered by a machine, but it made no difference. He told the recorder what he needed.
He fixed a scrambled egg and toast for supper. He actually ate very little, but while he was going through the motions, he worked out the details. Tomorrow he would be busy.
CHAPTER 4
Despite Terry's impression, Kelly wasn't much of a hurricane. She was neither big, loud, windy, nor inclined to go around in circles. She was five-six, if she stretched a little with her shoes on. She was well proportioned, but not spectacular. In fact, she had always felt a little cheated. Terry thought of her as perfect in that respect. The mere sight of her caused him to forget about lesser things. Her hair was that shade of auburn with just enough red to remind you of her name.
Her voice was firm, but also small. Terry's reference to the hurricane was not so much a description of her, as of what she had done to his life. She had a large store of self-confidence and was the kind who goes about quietly knocking down walls, especially those that block the view. Since meeting her, Terry's world had become a much wider, brighter, but less predictable place.
She would say anything she pleased, or ask anything she wanted to know, of anybody. On their second date, he had taken her to dinner at his favorite restaurant. It was quiet, unpretentious and had food that made you feel good eating it. He felt he hadn't quite figured her out yet, and wanted surroundings he was familiar with, felt secure in.
Everything had been going well. She was beautiful, she smiled as if she meant it, the conversation was light, but warm. He hadn't made any unrecoverable gaffes, and she seemed to be enjoying herself. After they had decided to pass on the desert, and were having coffee, she had leaned across the table and asked, "Are you going to seduce me?"
At first, he thought she was either teasing, which always confused him, or was trying to be coy, which he hated. Then he realized it was a serious question. He didn't know whether to answer it seriously or tell the usual lies, but that kind of question doesn't leave much room to maneuver. So he said, "I'm trying."
"That's nice." She said it as if she meant it literally, and added, "I can't always tell."
After that he knew he still hadn't quite figured her out and, more importantly, probably never would. From his point of view this gave their relationship an edge of uncertainty. He hadn't yet realized that it also added considerably to her attractiveness.
Kelly arrived late Saturday morning, the back seat of her Miata filled with boxes and bags of groceries. She came through the door carrying one of the boxes, gave him a quick kiss over the top of it and sent him out to start unloading the rest. When he came back in, he saw her standing in front of the open fridge, loading it with juice, apples, milk and eggs.
"What's all this? You stocking up for the winter?"
She turned and began going through the boxes he had brought in, looking for whatever needed refrigeration. "You said you were nearly out of food."
"When did I say that?"
"On the phone."
"I never said anything like that."
"You did. I asked if I should bring anything, and you said you had the essentials. I know what that means. Bread, peanut butter, two eggs and . . ." she opened the fridge and peered in, " . . . three bottles of beer."
"Don't exaggerate."
"I'm not. There are three bottles of beer. And I'm in the mood for wining and dining — not beering and peanut butter sandwiching."
He went back to the car to get the last of the boxes and, as he was coming back in, remembered Matt's invitation. He set the boxes on the kitchen table and started poking through them.
"You're in luck on the wining and dining. We've been invited to dinner."
She stopped putting things on shelves and looked at him. "Have we? I thought you didn't know anyone here."
"I didn't. Now I do. Hey, even I make friends now and then."
He got her skeptical look.
"I met him on the beach. Nice guy. Interesting. Different. A little weird. He's in the house just four up from here."
"The big one? With the blue roof?"
"Yeah, that's it."
"It was for sale last summer. I wonder if he bought it."
"I doubt it. He travels a lot. Probably just renting."
"Is he married?"
She was looking directly at him. The blue of her eyes under the auburn hair made her face seem perfect. He felt warm.
"Nope. Lives alone."
"You mean we eat bachelor food tonight? I was in the mood for something kind of grand."
It was hard to concentrate on what she was saying.
"I wouldn't worry. He seems to be a perfectionist. If he cooks, he probably does it well. Do you like Japanese? He promised no raw fish."
"No sushi? That's too bad."
The conversation ground to a halt as they stood looking at each other. Finally she said, "I know that look."
"What look?"
"That look."
"You ought to — you're the cause of it."
She started toward him, slowly. "I'd better be."
This time there was no box between them and the kiss was warmer and went on for quite a long time.
A mass of air warmed in the Gulf of Mexico had pushed northeastward, bringing a more normal, late autumn warmth. No rain came with it, having dropped off along the way. The result was a clear sky and an ocean breeze that was almost reminiscent of summer. Terry hoped it would stay, at least for the weekend.
They left their shoes and socks at the edge of the dunes and began wandering along the water's edge. The weekend and the warmer air had brought out more people. It was nothing like a summer crowd, but the beach was no longer deserted. The number of fishermen had about doubled. Others, mostly couples of all ages, walked by the water or sat on blankets, enjoying the sun, hoping to hold on to summer a bit longer. At one spot, farther out, half a dozen surfers in brightly-colored wetsuits were trying to get a few decent rides.
Kelly walked in ankle-deep and kicked water at him, then ran laughing as he chased her. When he caught her, he lifted her, swung her around and kissed her. An older couple, watching from a blanket, smiled their approval. She put her hand in his and they went on, sometimes in the water, sometimes on the sand, sometimes racing the water to the beach. This, Terry thought, is what Saturday afternoons are supposed to be.
They walked to the southern pier a
nd back. When they got back to the place where the path from the house comes by the last row of dunes and disappears into the beach, they sat down, leaning back against the hill of sand, letting the sun make them lazy. Terry looked out over the ocean. Very close in was the row of stumps in the water where the pier had once stood. Now they were only remnants, covered altogether at high tide. The waters of the smashed breakers rushed in to swirl around them. A hundred yards beyond them he saw a flock of pelicans fishing. They hung in the ocean breeze, slowly turning, wheeling, watching. Then one of them would point his head at the water, tuck his wings in to his side, and drop like a dart, making hardly any splash. After a second or two he would reappear, usually with a fish in his beak. Terry had never seen this, and was fascinated. He turned to say something about it to Kelly. She was lying back with her face to the sun, eyes closed.
Instead he said, "You better not lie there long. With your complexion, you're going to burn."
She opened her eyes, squinting against the sun, and sat up. "I know. I should have been born one of those people who get instant tans. Me, I just burn and then freckle. Maybe I should get a hat."
To change the subject she said, "Tell me about your friend. How did you meet him? I can't quite see you walking up to a stranger and starting a conversation." He didn't argue the point. He told her of their meeting two days earlier.
"What's wrong with him?"
"Darned if I know."
"You don't know?" She looked at him as if he had just sprung full grown from the sand. "A man collapses in front of you, in pain, and you don't even ask him what's wrong?"
"Well, he didn't seem to want to talk about it, and by the time we got back to his house he was in pretty good shape." Her look was still unbelieving, so he added, "If he wanted me to know, he'd have told me."
She gave him the look that says, "Men!" as if that answered it all. "I just hope we don't get there and find he's collapsed again."
"Which do you think?"
Kelly stood with two dresses on hangers, holding one, a teal green, tucked under her chin, and another one to the side.
