They went through the room into the kitchen. A table that could seat six sat next to a large window. On the table, a beautiful woven ceramic basket held apples, adding a nice homey touch Melody hadn't expected. A large bar separated the dining area from the cooking area, and that's where James headed. A big gas stove sat against the far wall, and on it two pots simmered.
James set the flowers near the sink and started looking through the cupboards for something in which to put the flowers. "You don't cook?" he asked, locating a vase.
"The things I can do to a few helpless ingredients should be labeled a crime. In fact, I think they might be criminal acts in certain regions of France. I am, however, pretty good with a frozen meal and a microwave. I know my way around a coffee maker. And I can order take-out like no one's business." She went over to the sink and rescued the flowers from him.
"I'm surprised. Morgan is a fantastic cook. I guess I always thought your mother taught both of you."
"My mother taught me how to plan an intimate dinner for sixty, and a formal party for three hundred. Her philosophy about cooking, however, was to hire caterers to do it. Morgan is self-taught. It was one of my mother's biggest woes that she couldn't keep her eldest daughter out of the kitchen. After all, that's where the servants belong." She set the arranged flowers on the counter, and pulled up a stool, wishing she had something else to do with her hands. "What about you? You don't strike me as the domestic type."
He lifted the lid on a pot on the stove, sending wonderful aromas — the tang of tomatoes, the heartiness of garlic, a mix of spices — throughout the kitchen. "The house mom at the home where I grew up taught all her boys how to cook."
How had she forgotten that James was an orphan?
He opened both doors on the refrigerator and disappeared behind them, reappearing with an arm full of salad vegetables. He saw the sympathy on her face, and decided to stem it. "I barely remember my parents, Melody. And my group home was a safe place. Don't feel sad."
So much pain for one man, Melody thought sadly, remembering his wife. "I'm just sad for the you that was a little boy."
"That little boy was an awkward little boy who was way too smart and thought too much and went into his own head way too often. But, he had Kurt, who kept bullies off his back and reminded him to sleep when he got too involved in learning something new, so it worked out for him." Wanting to lighten the mood a little, James handed her a tomato and a knife. "Think you can handle slicing this?"
"As long as it doesn't require mixing ingredients or applying heat, I can handle it just fine." She grinned as she set to work on her task.
"Your voice sounds almost normal," he remarked as he lifted the lid on a pot of boiling water.
"Morgan pampered me all afternoon. I have ingested so much honey that I'm surprised I'm not buzzing like a bee."
"When you find some honey, eat just enough …" he began.
"… for too much can make you sick." They quoted in unison.
He smiled at her recognition of his reference before he concluded, "Proverbs 25:16." Noticing how she handled the knife, he stopped her and said, "Whoa, whoa. Don't cut like that. You'll slice your fingers off."
With a tiny little grin, Melody said, "It's okay. They're insured."
After he let out a little bark of laughter, he took the knife back and said, "Let me show you how."
They worked in companionable silence for a while, James concentrating on cooking, and Melody concentrating on watching him cook. He looked so at ease here, she thought, in the kitchen with the late sun coming through the window. James Montgomery struck her as a man who was sure of himself in whatever situation circumstances placed him.
In no time he dished up plates of pasta and red sauce then warm bread fresh from the oven and salad, and they carried their plates and glasses of sweet iced tea to the table.
"Would you like to bless the meal?" He asked as he set his plate down.
Melody blinked in surprise. "No. You go ahead." She bowed her head on cue and closed her eyes.
"Heavenly Father, thank You for all of Your gifts. Thank You for bringing us back together that we may fellowship together. We ask that You show us Your will tonight. Bless this food and bless our bodies by these, the gifts of Your generous hands. In Jesus' holy name, Amen."
Melody tried to remember the last time she had blessed a meal without the prompting of her friend, Bobby Kent. Maybe last Thanksgiving day? She listened to the simple prayer of thanks before releasing his hand and picking up her fork. Then she sighed in ecstasy at the first bite. "Okay, this tastes amazing," she said.
James smiled at her reaction, surprised to feel so pleased. "I haven't cooked for a woman since Angela died," he said, then stopped abruptly when he realized what he just said. "Sorry. I realize that it is probably bad manners to mention one's late wife while on a date."
She wasn't offended. "I'm glad to hear less pain in your voice now than the last time you mentioned her to me. As hard as it is to admit, time does heal all things." She took a nervous sip of her tea.
He stared at her for a long time. "No," he said, "time doesn't heal everything." Tension suddenly replaced the casual air at the table.
Melody delicately wiped her lips with her napkin. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Why have you never tried to contact me, James?"
James sat back and ran his finger down the dew that collected on the outside of his glass. "I did at first and never heard from you. I know why, now. I remember Kurt's coming and going right after we met. But since then, until yesterday, I didn't know your last name and I didn't know how to find you."
Defensive, she crossed her arms. "How would you not know how to find me? I'm everywhere. I was at the White House last month posing for pictures for the entire press corps for goodness sakes."
He ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't know what to tell you, Melody. I don't watch television. I don't listen to the radio. I only read publications that are directly related to my field. And, six to nine months out of the year, I'm on another continent." He raised a hand and shrugged. "It may seem odd to you that I don't know you, but I'm oblivious to pop culture."
She slowly relaxed. "I guess I'm so bombarded by people who feel like they know me, that I just assume everyone does."
James nodded and took a sip of his drink. "Fair enough." The tension had dissipated. "My turn to ask a question. Why do you do what you do?"
She considered the question for a while, wanting to give him a heartfelt answer instead of the blurb on the back of her CDs. "Do you hear music in your head?" she asked.
"You mean as a constant presence?" James asked.
"You know, like a movie soundtrack. There's almost always music in the background of the movie, and unless it picks up tempo or suddenly stops, you are hardly aware that it's even there."
He shook his head in answer to her question, and she continued. "I hear music in my head all the time. Sometimes it's really clear and I have to stop what I'm doing and write it down. Sometimes it's just in the background, and I'm not even aware that it's there."
She leaned back in her chair, comfortably full, content to just sit there for a while. "When I was a little girl, I made the mistake of telling my mother about my music. She panicked and sent me straight to a topnotch therapist. Her advice to my mother was to put me into music lessons and let me work it out of my system. After that, I never mentioned it to her again, knowing she would never understand me, glad that I got the music lessons out of it."
She leaned forward again, passion for her career evident in her face. "I write songs, and people laugh at them, or cry at them, or dance to them. I sing the songs I write, knowing that I am putting the right emotion with the right song, not really trusting someone else to do it exactly as I envisioned. And I do the videos, translating my songs into visible stories, helping some people understand it who otherwise wouldn't."
"I think I'd like to see your videos." James mu
sed.
"A lot of artists have sold out. They do product placements and stuff so their video is about soft drinks or a line of clothing instead of about the story the song is actually trying to tell. Mine are true to the song. I think that's partly why I became so popular so fast. That kind of integrity was refreshing."
She sat back again. "I am glad every day that my rug was ripped out from under me four years ago. If that hadn't happened, I would probably have ended up frustrated and unfulfilled, with a cheating abusive husband and very few friends. My music might have just faded away."
"No more thoughts of seminary?"
Melody felt a puzzled frown mar her face. "Seminary?" Then she remembered. "Oh yeah! I'd forgotten about that." She waved a dismissive hand. "I never thought I'd love the limelight, but I find that it's kind of addicting."
That remark intrigued James. "I would love to watch you perform live sometime, too. I watched you last night for the first time, and even through the television I was swept into the song."
"The first of the year, we kick off my tour right here in Atlanta, so you should come to the concert. I've been told that it's almost sold out, but I'm sure that I could finagle some tickets for you." Melody stood up to carry her plate to the sink.
"I'll count on it." He got up, went to the refrigerator, and pulled out a cheesecake. As he sliced it, the telephone rang. He'd told his answering service not to put any calls through unless there was a verified emergency, so he knew he had to answer it. He gave Melody an apologetic look. "Excuse me a moment," he said, and picked up the extension in the kitchen.
Melody spotted the coffee maker in the corner of the counter, and decided to make some coffee to go with the cheesecake. As she looked for coffee, filters and the like for the machine, she couldn't help overhearing the conversation. She felt a chill at the tone in his voice.
"Rebecca, slow down and tell me one more time." She watched a muscle begin to tick in his jaw. "Who called you?"
He ripped the glasses off his face. "Do you know any details?" he asked as he rubbed his eyes then put his glasses back on. "All right. Call Redman and have him meet me down there. Have him pull all the security video first, before he does anything else. I'll start driving now. Try to find Kurt, if that's possible. I know he and Morgan had plans tonight."
He hung up the phone without giving time for a response. When he looked at Melody, he appeared almost surprised to see her still there in the room.
"Someone broke into one of my facilities. I have to drive down to Albany." He put the cheesecake back into the refrigerator. Gesturing to the kitchen door, he walked through the kitchen and into the living room. Melody followed him. "I'm afraid we'll have to postpone the rest of our evening for another time. Excuse me a moment." He disappeared down a hallway.
Worried, Melody gathered her purse and keys. James returned and laid a suit jacket on the back of one of the couches before he began putting on a tie. "I am incredibly busy this week. I've been gone for six months and once I get down to Albany, I'll probably stay for a couple of days. But, I would love to see you again. Soon." He finished knotting the tie then picked up the jacket. "Do you think we could maybe have a late lunch or dinner Wednesday?"
The transformation amazed her. He was no longer the personable soul who had tossed pasta and salad. Everything about him screamed business right now. Serious, concentrated business. She shook her head and tried to focus on his question, mentally reviewing her own itinerary. "Yes, Wednesday's fine. The weekend will be full of wedding stuff, but as far as I know, until the rehearsal dinner Friday night, I'm free in the evenings."
James helped her into her coat, grabbed an overcoat off the stand next to the door for himself, and then held the door open for her. "Good. If for some reason I don't make it back in time, I'll call you. What's your number now?"
Remembering what he said about his memory, Melody rattled off her number as they stepped into the waiting elevator. "Okay. I'll call you soon."
The elevator reached the ground floor. As he steered her out of the building, he asked, "Where did you park?"
She pointed the way and he walked her to her car. It was still light outside, the world turning red and orange from the setting sun.
Melody felt a pang of regret at the interruption to their evening, and when she turned from unlocking her car, James surprised her by framing her face with both hands and giving her the lightest of kisses. She stared straight into his eyes and she felt herself drowning. She thought maybe she could stand there all night and just stare up at him. But, the rest of the world waited. He kissed her one more time, then stepped back. "I'll see you in a couple of days," he said, then turned and walked away.
¯¯¯¯
CHAPTER 9
"THE smoke from the filing cabinets set off the alarms. Whoever set the fires made sure they were contained to just the cabinets, so it took a long time for the smoke to sound the alarms," Mike Redman said as he and James surveyed the damage to the lab. "The video from the surveillance is gone — wiped from the main discs, and so far, the police haven't found even one fingerprint."
James had barely said a word since he walked into the building. Normally, he enjoyed the Albany site. Because it was remote, it could be made "posh" for his engineering teams. He had installed video games, Ping-Pong tables, and putting greens in the break rooms, for example. Whenever he could spend a weekend here, there was a popular church not far from this facility that he immensely enjoyed attending as well.
Someone had messed with his perfect little facility. The lab was completely destroyed, along with all of the prototypes stored there. The police officers who had responded to the call asked him several questions before they conferred with Mike for a while. Kurt came in about half an hour after James arrived, and the two of them tried to take inventory of all that had been destroyed. Company policy required that electronic copies of everything be made at the end of the workday, and the electronic files were stored in another part of the building. A quick check confirmed that everything there was intact giving them the opportunity to cross-check the information, but the rage remained. He struggled desperately against the violence sweeping through him, and only the constant prayer in his head helped him hold onto self-control with a thin thread.
"Why was no one working? It's still relatively early. Someone should have been here when this happened," James said to Kurt. They walked to the secure section of the lab. James swiped his badge and keyed in a security code.
"Electronics R & D had that seminar they all went to up in Atlanta that started yesterday so no one was here in this department." He knew the electronic security could detect two people and would not unlock the door until Kurt also swiped his badge and keyed in his code. As soon as he hit the last button, the doors unlocked.
"Lights, full." The lights in the outer office came on. James walked to the keypad next to the far door and punched in the number to unlock the door to the interior office. Here is where Angela's work continued.
"We should have the police check in here, just in case," Kurt said.
James shrugged. "As long as Redman keeps an eye on them, that's fine."
In no time, police officers arrived with their crime scene kits and began processing that room, too. With everything being handled and checked, no one noticed the female officer who took covers off of three power outlets and installed tiny but powerful listening devices in three different areas in the room. The devices would work so long as no one tampered with the power.
Several hours later, James, Kurt, and Mike all sat in James' office, weary from the evening. The three men were discussing the obvious flaw in the security.
"Mike, the point to all of this is that we need to figure out how someone was able to get into the building to do this, alter video surveillance, and manage to do it at six o'clock on a workday" Kurt said.
"I'll start an investigation into it in the morning. It happened so early that someone had to see something out of the ordinary. Whoever did thi
s knew what he was doing. I'd guess it all points toward an employee." Mike busily typed in notes about the events into his laptop. He'd review everything several more times tonight, he knew, to make sure that he didn't miss anything.
"Get ahold of me tomorrow night, and let me know if you're able to come up with anything." James looked at his watch. His body burned with exhaustion from the lack of sleep. "Mike, I have a feeling the destruction was a way to mask something else. That lab needs to be gone through with all of the engineers to discover what, if anything, happened. I don't believe this was mere vandalism."
"I'll get with everyone here first thing in the morning," Mike said, correctly interpreting that he was being dismissed.
James took his glasses off and rubbed his face. "I hadn't planned on coming here until Monday morning."
"You going to head back to Atlanta?"
"I don't think so. If I start working now, I'll feel good leaving Wednesday. I still get the feeling that something else happened here tonight." He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. So tired.
"Why don't I drive you to the hotel? You can get some sleep and get a fresh start first thing in the morning." Kurt stood and pulled his car keys out of his pocket.
James sat up and retrieved his glasses. "You ever get tired of mothering me, Kurt?"
"Not if it means that genius brain keeps churning. I'm looking at a comfortable retirement in my future." He opened the office door. "Let's go. I know if I leave you here, you won't sleep."
As he stood, James buttoned his suit jacket. "Can you arrange for some clothes and toiletries to be delivered in the morning?"
A Melody for James (Christian Suspense) Page 9
