I put on shorts and a T-shirt, thinking I'd vacuum and tidy up the house one more time. It was too hot to work, though. I talked myself into having a glass of lemonade instead, and waiting until after dark to vacuum. I watched half of a talk show on TV, but got restless. The subject was so outlandishly stupid I couldn't believe the people on the screen were taking it seriously.
Laura Armijo still didn't answer when I tried her number a second time, so I stuck the note in my purse for tomorrow, and made myself a salad for dinner. It was nine o'clock before the house cooled off enough to be cleaned. It took me about an hour to give it the once-over, then I took a shower and went to bed, still wondering what Laura would have called about.
I woke up early. The room was light, but the sun had not yet peeked over the top of Sandia Crest. Drake would be here tonight. My stomach tightened with anticipation. I had already warned Ron and Sally that I didn't plan to be in the office much over the next few days. Today would be my chance to get my desk cleared so I could have guilt-free time off.
The light on the answering machine was blinking frantically when I arrived at the office. The only call was from Laura. It had come in at seven forty-five. She said she would be leaving for work soon, but I could give her a call there. She left two numbers, her home and the bank.
No one answered at the home number, so I dialed the bank.
"Oh, Charlie, I'm glad you called." Laura sounded genuinely relieved to hear my voice.
"Is there a problem?"
"I attended Cynthia's funeral yesterday," she said. "It was so sad. There's something I thought you should know," her voice dropped to a bare whisper, "but I really can't talk about it here. Is there any chance you could come back up this weekend?"
With Drake arriving tonight, I didn't want to commit my time to anyone else.
"I don't know, Laura. Isn't it something you can tell me over the phone? I could call you back."
Her voice was barely audible now. Obviously someone else was nearby. "The police are involved now, Charlie," she whispered. "And I'm getting scared."
The phone clicked, and it took me a minute to realize I was hanging on to a dead instrument. What was that all about? I returned the receiver to its cradle slowly. Laura obviously was scared, but of what? Or whom? It wouldn't do me any good to call her back at work. I'd try her home again around dinner time tonight. Maybe she'd open up then.
The stack of papers in my "IN" basket was dwindling satisfactorily when Ron stuck his head in my doorway. He wore a sports jacket and tie, causing me to do a double take.
"What're you so dressed up for?" This was a real departure from his usual western shirt and Levis.
"Court. I have to testify in the Perkins case."
I felt my lip wrinkle up. "Ugh, not fun," I said. Last year, Ron had been hired to do a background check on a woman. Bill Perkins was a successful businessman, divorced from wife number one less than a year. He'd been swept off his feet by a vivacious younger woman, Jennifer. Supplied with suspicions from Bill Perkins' friends, Ron had traced Jennifer's background and found quite a few unsavory tidbits, including two former marriages and several brushes with the law. Unfortunately, Perkins hadn't listened to the evidence before the wedding. Now, six months later, he was paying the price. The new Mrs. Perkins had transferred many of his assets to her name, had drained several of his bank accounts, and was already flaunting a new man. But, Bill couldn't get rid of her. She liked the lifestyle, and refused to budge.
The irony of this whole thing is that Ron was still recovering from a disastrous fling with a younger woman himself. Maybe that's why he took Bill Perkins case to heart.
"You gonna be here all day?" he asked me now.
"I'm not sure. Once I get the payables out of the way, and last week's billing done, I should be through here. I wasn't planning to stay late." Drake's flight would arrive at eight, and I found myself planning the day in reverse, allowing time for everything I wanted to get done. I didn't want to show up at the airport late and flustered.
Ron grinned. He had known, ever since he picked me up at the airport when I arrived home from Hawaii, that I'd met someone special. His own quick fling had occupied his mind at the time, but at least he wasn't one to begrudge me, just because his affair hadn't worked out.
"Don't plan on seeing me around here tomorrow, though," I added with a grin of my own.
"You will bring him by here to meet us, won't you?"
"Sometime."
"Charlie?" Ron's face had become serious all of a sudden. He stood in my doorway, shifting from one foot to the other. "You won't let yourself do anything stupid, will you?" I knew he was thinking of Vicky, his recent love disaster.
"I'll sure try not to." How can one promise what will happen in matters of the heart? No matter how well prepared we think we are, some things seem to run out of control. It had been more than two years since I'd had any kind of romantic relationship, and maybe I was overdue. I'd told myself that I'd be careful when I'd first met Drake Langston. Now, after being apart for close to two months, I hoped I could keep that promise.
Sally buzzed me on the intercom to tell me she was going home for the day, and I realized with a start that it was already noon. I had barely acknowledged her arrival this morning.
"Laura Armijo didn't call back, by chance?" I asked.
"No... Why?" I guess I had forgotten to tell Sally about my call to Laura. I briefly relayed the gist of this morning's conversation. Sally knew nothing about any update of the events in Valle Escondido.
"Do you want me to call her for you?" she asked.
"No, I got the feeling she couldn't talk at work. I think I'll call her again this evening."
With that, Sally said she'd go on home. We wished each other a good weekend. At some point, an hour or so later, Ron left for court, giving me a quick wave as he left. I stayed with my paperwork until it was done, and was pleased to see that it was still only three o'clock. Not feeling too guilty, I gathered my briefcase and my dog, and locked up the place.
With my eyes frequently on the clock, the rest of the afternoon dragged. Finally, it was seven, a justifiable time to leave for the airport.
Chapter 9
The terminal was jammed with people, everyone in a hurry to get somewhere. Noise rebounded off the tile floors. The paging system droned on constantly, voices almost overlapping each other. It had taken me close to fifteen minutes just to find a parking space in the crowded garage. I arrived at the gate just as the plane rolled to a stop. Faces were invisible behind the tiny airplane windows, and I wondered if one of them was Drake. Perhaps he could see me silhouetted in the large window of the terminal.
Waiting off to one side as the passengers disembarked, my mind went through all sorts of scenarios. What if I forgot what he looked like? What if he forgot what I looked like? What if he walked right past me? What if I'd forgotten to put on deodorant? Oh, god.
Finally, behind a wide woman laden with three carry-on bags, I thought I spotted his dark hair. Our eyes met at the same moment. He was even handsomer than I remembered. He pushed toward me with open arms. The long embrace felt so familiar that all the "what ifs" disappeared. The smell of him, the feel of my cheek against his shoulder, his strong hands on my back, all took me back to the ten days we'd spent together.
We stood at arm's length finally. His brown eyes looked a little damp around the edges. The dark hair with touches of gray at the temples, the wide smile that had first caught my attention, the sureness in his stance—this was the same Drake that I remembered.
"Oh, Charlie, I missed you," he said. There was a slight quiver in his voice, and both his hands had mine encased in a tight hold.
Unmindful of the jostling crowd around us and the constant noise of the airport paging system, we stood there, a little island of our own. I had missed him, too. More than I knew.
"What do you want to do first?" I asked, as we gradually joined the moving throng of people heading toward the baggage claim.
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He grinned lecherously. Stupid question. We'd talked of nothing else in our last conversation.
"I meant, are you hungry? Did they give you dinner on the plane? Would you like to eat something on the way, or would you rather settle in first?"
"Yes, no, no, yes," he said.
I forgot that I tend to ask questions in bunches.
His suitcase was a long time in coming off the line, and we waited at the side, holding hands, not saying a lot. I don't think he took his eyes off me once. Somehow we got through the baggage claim, the airport garage, and the freeway traffic. I tried to concentrate on my driving, but truthfully, I don't remember much about the trip. The night air was warm and we drove with the windows down. He gazed around at the city lights, absorbing the surroundings.
"Our air probably feels awfully dry to you," I said.
"Not bad," he answered. "I grew up in the southwest, remember?"
That's right. He had told me. Arizona, mostly. His family had moved around quite a bit, but his parents were settled now in Flagstaff. Of his ten day vacation he planned to spend a week with me, then drop in on them for the remaining three days on his way back to Hawaii. I decided not to think about the leaving yet.
"Albuquerque sure has changed," he commented. He had been stationed here for about a year during his days in the military. But that was twenty years ago. Since then the city had sprawled in every direction.
I pointed out a few of the newer landmarks. The downtown skyline, which had grown a little more impressive in recent years with the mayor's push toward renovation, and the general spread of new businesses everywhere. We had joined the westward flow on I-40 now, and were about to exit at Rio Grande Blvd.
"I sure don't remember all the graffiti," he said.
"Gangs. I guess they're getting to be a problem everywhere," I answered. "My neighborhood is a quiet little enclave in the midst of a pretty rough area." I didn't want to tell him that a mere six blocks from my house is an area where most people feel a little shaky driving during the day. Anyone sensible doesn't venture there at all at night.
I caught his look of concern. "Don't worry, Drake. I grew up here. I know the place, and I'm used to it." I gave his hand what I hoped was a reassuring squeeze.
My own winding street was quiet and peaceful. Most of the residents of this neighborhood are old enough to be my grandparents, and they settle in pretty early. Many of the houses were already dark. Old fashioned street lamps cast yellow circles of light periodically across the sidewalks, illuminating neat lawns and shrubs. The yard service had been to my house the day before. I hoped Drake would be pleased with his first impression of the place.
He was looking at me, not the yard, I noticed when I switched off the ignition. I leaned over to sample his wonderful mouth once more. Suddenly we both wanted to go inside. Drake grabbed his suitcase from the back seat while I unlocked the front door. I'd left lamps on inside, dim ones that made the living room feel cozy with its oriental rugs, hardwood floors, antique tables, and overstuffed sofa and chairs. Rusty met us at the door.
"Look, he's smiling!" Drake recognized Rusty's silly grin right away.
Rusty edged toward Drake's outstretched hand with a coyness I haven't seen in him before. He rubbed his side against Drake's legs, while Drake obliged him with a good rough back scratch. I needn't have worried about whether Drake would get along with my dog.
After a minute of this affectionate exploitation, Rusty bounded out of the room.
"He's going to bring you an old scummy tennis ball," I said. "He'll expect you to throw it across the room for him, whereupon he'll bring it right back and want a repeat performance until you're sick of the game."
Drake was a good sport, throwing the ball three times before I inserted myself between the two of them. "Enough already," I told Rusty. He dropped the ball and flopped down on the floor.
"Are you hungry?" I asked Drake, starting toward the kitchen.
"Yes," he said. He grabbed my hand and spun me around. His kiss was urgent and I found myself returning it equally, and somehow we were in the bedroom.
An hour later I stretched beside him, my head on his shoulder, my fingers playing with the thick hair on his chest.
"Maybe I should rephrase the question," I said. "Would you like food?"
He laughed and rolled toward me. "Yeah, I think I worked up a little appetite."
I found a light cotton robe to put on. Drake had left his suitcase in the living room. He strolled out naked to get it. Rusty looked at me with questioning eyes. He wasn't used to being locked out of the bedroom.
"Sorry, old boy," I said, "that's life."
I rummaged around in the refrigerator and came up with cheese, crackers, fruit, and a bottle of wine. By the time Drake emerged from the shower, warm and damp, with his dark hair curling slightly above his ears, I had arranged a presentable tray of snacks.
"Kitchen, living room, or bedroom?" I asked.
He thought for a minute. "Living room," he said. "If I get you back in that bedroom, I doubt if I'll be thinking about food."
Big talker.
We set the food tray on the coffee table, and I lit a couple of candles.
"I like this house," he said, looking around the room, then at me. "It's you."
"What do you mean?"
"Neat, organized, warm, lovely..." His eyes glowed with appreciation.
"Oh, please, I'm just me. Same person you met in Hawaii, same person who dashes off getting into trouble all the time."
"What kind of trouble are you in now?" he asked. The dark brows pulled together a little in front.
"Well, I'm not. Not exactly. A friend of Sally's is, sort of." I don't think I was explaining it too well. I told him a little about the situation in Valle Escondido.
"Would you be interested in driving up there over the weekend?" I asked.
"Sure. I don't remember too much about northern New Mexico," he said, "except there are some really pretty mountains."
"Then you'll like Valle Escondido. It's beautiful country up there."
He took my hand and raised my fingers to his lips. "I love you, Charlie," he said. His voice was husky as he said it.
The words took me by surprise. His dark eyes held mine for a very long minute. An emotion long buried surfaced. "I love you too, Drake." I was pretty sure I meant it.
Chapter 10
The room was dark. A strong arm encircled my waist. Something rough scratched at my bare shoulder. I came awake with a start. Drake. Sleeping with another person would take some getting used to. He moaned softly in his sleep and pulled me closer. Our bare legs entwined, and I could feel the hair on his chest against my back. His warmth was comforting; his even breathing lulled me back into the almost narcotic sleep from which I'd come.
The next thing I knew pale gray light filtered through the bedroom window. The bed beside me was empty. I heard a small sound from behind the bathroom door. He emerged, still naked.
"Drake? You okay?"
"Um hmm," he said, sliding between the sheets. "I don't know why I woke up so early."
He reached for me at the same time I reached for him. We made love again until the sun was fully up, then dropped off to sleep. It was after ten when I again became fully conscious. Drake lay curled up on his side, breathing softly. I decided not to disturb him yet.
I took a quick shower and put on shorts and a cotton t-shirt. Rusty waited outside the bedroom door, still puzzled with the new arrangement. He looked anxious to avail himself of the backyard facilities.
After letting him out, I checked the refrigerator for breakfast fixings. Managed to find orange juice, eggs, bread, and a variety of fresh vegetables. I diced the veggies, whipped four eggs in a bowl, and shook the juice so it was foamy on top. I set the breakfast table with my mother's dishes with the tiny wildflowers on them, and set an omelet pan out, ready to preheat at a moment's notice.
When I walked out front to get the newspaper, I could hear the shower running
. I stuck my head in the bedroom. Drake had made the bed neatly and set his suitcase in the corner. His voice came from the shower, humming an Elvis Presley love song. A warm feeling welled up inside me.
Back in the kitchen, I turned on the burner under the omelet pan, poured juice in two glasses, and let Rusty back in. He headed straight for his bowl.
"I like this picture." Drake stood in the doorway, his eyes surveying the kitchen. Dressed in crisp khakis and a polo shirt with helicopter logo on the chest, his trim body was enormously appealing. He came toward me and raised one hand to stroke the side of my face.
"How about a vegetable omelet?"
"Sounds great. How can I help?"
I suggested that he butter the bread and man the toaster oven. Meanwhile I hoped I would remember the knack of turning an omelet without shredding it.
"Well," I said, once we were well into the food, "are you ready to meet the curious hordes?"
He laughed, reminding me once again that his easy-going manner and sense of humor were two of his many attractive qualities.
"Everyone I know is anxious to find out about the man I've been so ga-ga over."
"I think I can handle it," he replied. "Are you ga-ga?"
"More than I thought I'd ever allow myself to be."
He squeezed my hand, then stood up. "I'm doing the dishes," he informed me. "Sink or dishwasher?"
"Dishwasher is fine. If there's not a full load, we'll run them later."
"Meanwhile, you sit here and have another cup of coffee," he said, pouring. "You might need your strength for later." He added this last remark with a wiggle of the eyebrows.
Sitting at the kitchen table, having a second cup of coffee and watching a man wash the dishes was a new experience for me. I felt like I should jump up and do something. But truthfully, it was nice. This, and the fantastic sex had left me feeling euphoric.
Rusty had plopped himself down in the corner, content with the arrangement, too. Drake loaded the dishes in record time, and even wiped off the counter tops and stove. This one might just be a keeper.
Small Towns Can Be Murder Page 5
