“And of course she would never discover anything shocking about you.”
“Certainly she does. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. What kind of a fight would it be if I was the only one who had any ammunition?”
“I guess I never thought of it that way.”
“Take my advice and get married, Gordon. You don’t have to do it right the first time, and I’m guessing you could afford to get out if it wound up being the thing to do. But it would probably teach you some humility, not to mention a lot about human nature. It would broaden your horizons. My third wife certainly did.”
“That’s not quite how my mother makes the case for marriage, but I’ll keep it in mind. And I think the rain’s stopped.”
They climbed out of the Cherokee. The air felt colder than before, but after the heavy shower, it had an astonishing freshness and purity, even by the standards of mountain air. Breathing it in deeply was like drinking an invigorating tonic that sent a tingle to the toes and fingertips. The cloud cover seemed to have moved lower, and a slight breeze was wafting clouds of mist across the meadow.
“Gordon!”
“What?”
“I think I just felt a snowflake hit my cheek.”
Gordon laughed. “Let it go, Peter. I hope you brought swim trunks because by the end of the week it’ll probably be so hot you’ll be wanting a dip in Eden River to cool off.”
They moved downstream, fishing likely spots for the next few hours. Gordon spotted a couple of pods of fish feeding below the surface behind weed beds and caught several by drifting a nymph to them in perfect fashion. One was an 18-inch brown trout that proved to be the biggest fish of the day. Peter did well, too, catching several fine fish. All in all, they got enough action to make it worth enduring the cold and damp. Several showers came and went during the afternoon, but none as fierce as the one when they were having lunch.
At 4:30, Peter proposed calling it quits.
“It’s been a good day,” he said, “but it’s getting really damn cold. I think it’s time to call it a win and get back to the warmth of the lodge.”
Gordon would happily have stayed another three hours until sunset, but agreed with Peter, if only to keep the peace. He had learned over the years that, on a fishing trip, he couldn’t expect his friends to keep up with his passion and stamina, and that it was better to yield to them when they said they were done.
Back at the parking area, they took apart their rods and removed their waders. Gordon realized that his socks and pant legs were soaking wet, something he had put out of mind while fishing. Tired, hungry, cold, and in good spirits, they climbed back into the Cherokee and took a last, long look at the meadow before leaving.
“This is a special place, Gordon. I’m glad you found it and grateful that you invited me to join you here. I’ll remember it fondly for a long time. Now let’s get the hell out.”
Gordon laughed. “Maybe I should bring you back in August, Peter. When it’s 95 degrees in the shade, only there’s no shade. I’ll bet that would make you appreciate today.”
“Shut up and drive.”
5
AFTER TAKING HOT SHOWERS and changing into dry clothes back at Harry’s, they began to feel the comfortable lassitude of fatigue, as the warmth and dryness of their cabin drove away the memory and the physical sensations of the cold and wet weather in which they had spent their day.
Walking to the lodge, they caught another break. It didn’t rain, and they arrived dry. It was not yet seven, and they repaired to the Fireside Lounge for a drink before settling in for dinner. Rachel and Stuart were there, sitting on the couch facing the fire, and they motioned the two men over to the chairs on either side of them. Peter came with his martini glass, Gordon with his wine glass. Rachel was drinking white wine, and Stuart a single-malt scotch with no ice.
“Tell me all about your day,” said Rachel. “I hear you went some place exotic.”
“Not really exotic,” Gordon said, “but new and interesting. We were at Hubbard Meadows, a section of private stream. Peter and I had the whole meadow to ourselves.”
“No fish?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Of course, fish. Beautiful little creek full of native browns, rainbows, and even a few brookies. We did pretty well.”
“Sounds delightful. You seem to have a knack for finding these places, Gordon. How do you do it?”
“I’d like to tell you,” he said, “that it took a lot of detective work, but the fact is that when the catalog from The Fisherman’s Friend came a few months ago, Hubbard Meadows was listed as a new destination they were handling. It sounded good to me, so I picked up the phone and booked two rods for today.” Rachel laughed, and listening to the warm sibilance of the laugh, Gordon realized it hadn’t changed at all since he had known her in college. “How did you do today?”
“Pretty good,” she said. “I went up to Saddle Creek and caught a half-dozen nice fish.”
“A lot of people there? It can get crowded.”
“A few, but not too bad. None of them were Drew and Alan so I didn’t have to listen to their bickering.”
Gordon smiled and turned to Stuart. “And were you along for the ride?”
“Afraid not,” he said. “I stayed here with a good book. Appropriately enough, it was called The Rainmaker.”
“The new Grisham?” Gordon asked, and Stuart nodded.
“Just out. I bought it right before we left.”
“Any good?”
“It passed the time.” He downed the last of his single-malt. “Ready for dinner, darling?”
“I’m starved,” said Rachel, standing up. “See you guys in the dining room.”
Gordon and Peter looked contentedly into the fire for several minutes without saying a word. April remained behind the bar, polishing glasses, waiting for an order.
“Can I ask you a question?” Peter said.
“You can always ask.”
“This Jennifer of yours,” Gordon winced but said nothing. “Is there any reason you didn’t invite her on this trip instead of me?”
“Come on, Peter. We’d just had our first date when Sam had to cancel. And even though it went well, it would have been premature to suggest going off together for a week.”
“But as a general proposition, it wouldn’t bother you to bring a woman you were seeing to a place like Harry’s?”
Gordon took a sip of wine as he considered his reply. “I guess it would depend on the woman and the condition of the relationship. Why?”
“So you would have a bit of a reservation about that. I was thinking as I thawed out in the shower that we’re seeing three couples here exhibiting some distinct tension because one of them wants to fish all day and the other isn’t too crazy about it.”
“Three? Where do you get three?”
“The Van Hollands, Rachel and Stuart, and Drew and Alan.”
“I don’t think Drew and Alan are a couple, Peter.”
“Not in that sense, but they’re starting to bicker like a couple. Alan is more obsessed with fishing than anyone I’ve ever seen, even you. But I have a feeling our friend Drew has had enough after three hours. After that, he’d probably be happier having a piña colada by the side of the pool and enjoying a long nooner with a frisky and willing lady.”
“I’ll concede the second part of the argument.”
“So have you ever stopped to consider what the lesson of these couples means for your matrimonial prospects? If you’re limited to women who’d want to come to Harry’s for a week, you’re fishing in a pretty small pond.”
“But you’re making a bad assumption. I don’t have to marry a woman who loves fly fishing and wants to go to Harry’s. I just need to find someone who’s all right with my coming here for a week, as long as I go to Paris with her, or whatever. That’s why computer dating doesn’t work most of the time. The computer looks for the quick fix and tries to set me up with a woman who loves basketball and fly fishing, when what I r
eally need is someone with an agreeable temperament and a sympathetic understanding.”
Peter raised his empty martini glass. “Happy hunting.”
Gordon raised his half-full wineglass. “Tight lines.”
Drew and Alan came in the front door of the lodge, voices raised.
“I told you you were quitting too early,” Alan said. “The fishing really picked up in the afternoon.”
“I believe you, Alan . But a day and a half of feeling like a popsicle is enough for me. Call me again when the sun comes out.
“But when it’s really bright, the fish go down. A day like today is when they’re feeding.”
Drew threw his hands in the air and looked at the ceiling. He stopped at the bar across from April and flashed her his best roguish smile.
“Hello, gorgeous. You’re a sight for sore eyes on this chilly night.”
“Wow,” said April. “You must have gone to Harvard to learn to talk like that.”
“Nope. Just the school of hard knocks. And you can cushion the blows by getting me a nice Jack on the rocks.”
“Lady feel-good. That’s me. And you’ll be wanting another martini?” she said to Peter, who was approaching. He nodded. “And you?” she asked Alan . He had taken a small rusty spinner from his shirt pocket and was looking at it intently.
“Oh,” he said, startled. “Just a beer.”
“Any particular brand?”
“Whatever you got.”
She poured a generous whisky for Drew, then took out a pilsner glass and drew a Samuel Adams on draft for Alan. He carried it to the couch in one hand, holding the fly in his other hand.
“I think the Sam Adams is wasted on Alan,” Peter murmured.
“Boss’s orders. If the customer doesn’t say, give ‘em the best.”
By the time Peter returned to the fireside, Alan had found out about Hubbard Meadows from Gordon and was pressing him for details. Three times, Gordon said without effect that Alan could probably get on the meadows later in the week by calling The Fisherman’s Friend the next day and making a reservation.
“What do you say, Drew? Should we give it a try?”
“How cold is it supposed to be the rest of the week?”
“Who cares? It’s a place almost nobody has fished!”
“So you came back early today?” Peter said to Drew .
He nodded. “Spent most of the afternoon in the cabin. Actually took a nap for a couple of hours. It felt pretty good. I was working mighty hard to finish everything at work before taking the week off.”
“All alone in the cabin,” said Peter, and a hint of a smile flickered across Drew’s face. “But I guess if you were sleeping, it didn’t matter.”
Drew nodded, and flashed a quick smile again.
The Van Hollands entered and went straight to the bar, but on the walk across the room, Wendy blew a kiss toward the group at the fire.
“Hi, Drew. Hi, Gordon. Good to see you guys again.”
“The usual scotch and soda?” April said to Charles. He nodded. “And you, ma’am?”
“I’ll have a Zombie,” she said, giving April a hard look. “And don’t tell me you can’t make it.”
April stiffened, and Charles glanced at Wendy with a look of a man who feels he’s walked into the middle of a conversation he doesn’t understand.”
“Coming right up,” April said softly.
“It’s our last night here,” Wendy said to the group at the fireside. “I wanted to celebrate this great trip with a special drink.”
The Van Hollands went straight to the dining room after getting their drinks, and Drew and Alan followed shortly afterward. When Peter and Gordon were alone again, Peter leaned forward and spoke softly.
“Well, I don’t think our friend Drew was alone in his cabin this afternoon, and whoever he was with, I doubt you could describe what they were doing as sleeping.” He downed the last of his martini.
“Let’s eat.”
6
LATER, GORDON WOULD THINK back on what happened in the dining area, wondering what he had missed. Like everyone else who was there that night, he saw and heard plenty, but what did it mean?
As he and Peter walked into the dining room, trailing April, it was obvious that something was different. The window tables were taken by Stuart and Rachel in the far back corner, Drew and Alan next, and the Van Hollands after that. The fourth window table, closest to the door, was occupied by a man and woman in their sixties, who were working on their soup and not speaking. Gordon figured them for locals who had been married too long. In the row next to the window tables, three smaller tables had been pushed together to create seating for eight, with two of the places occupied by high chairs for infants or toddlers. April led Gordon and Peter to the table beyond the large one, which put them across from Drew and Alan and at a diagonal from the Van Hollands and Adderly-Bingham.
“This all right, guys?” April asked.
Gordon nodded, and they sat down. Peter cast a doubtful glance at the high chairs.
“Big party coming in?” he asked.
“Wedding anniversary. They should be here any minute, but all I know is they have two little ones.
“On second thought,” Peter said, “I will have another martini.”
She made a note and looked at Gordon. “You?”
“Still working on this,” he said, holding up his wine glass.
April disappeared, and in what seemed like seconds, Sharon was between their table and the one occupied by Drew and Alan.
“Can I run through the specials for both of you?” she said, looking back and forth between the two tables. The four men nodded, and she continued, “We have beef in burgundy sauce, served over saffron rice; chicken kebabs with pepper and mushrooms and new potatoes; and salmon in a dill cream sauce, with wild rice on the side. They’re all really good. How was the fishing today?”
Alan began to speak, but Peter talked right over him. “Pretty good. That meadow was a real find. My friend, Gordon, knows these things. We caught a lot of fish, but it was hard, cold work.”
“And I told my friend here he was leaving too early,” Alan said. “The fishing really picked up in the afternoon,” He looked at Drew. “You should have been there.”
“I was fine in the cabin, Alan.”
“That doesn’t sound like you, Drew.” Out of the corner of his eye, Gordon saw Wendy hesitate ever so slightly as she lifted her glass to her lips. It was a slight enough gesture that even though he thought he noticed it, he couldn’t have sworn to it.
The front door opened, and a little girl, between two and three years old, ran through it, shrieking at the top of her lungs, and turned into the dining area. A woman of medium build and disheveled hair, who looked barely 21, came right behind her and shouted into the dining area:
“Carrie Ann! Stop that racket and come back here right now!” The woman who was shouting was clearly pregnant.
“Where the hell is that martini?” Peter muttered.
The little girl came up to their table and looked up at Gordon. She stopped screaming, and wen he smiled at her, she smiled back. He stood up.
“You must be Carrie Ann,” he said calmly. “I’m Gordon.”
She turned to her mother, then looked up at Gordon and pointed.
“Tall man!” she said. With the exception of the older couple, everyone else in the room chucked. Don appeared from the back.
“Good evening, good evening,” he said in a hearty voice. “Am I right in guessing that you’re the Peterson party?”
By this time they had all come into the entryway. The group consisted of a sandy-haired man in his mid to late forties; his wife of similar vintage, wearing a black cocktail dress with spaghetti straps; and two younger couples in their early twenties. The younger woman who wasn’t Carrie Ann’s mother was holding a toddler with a pacifier in his mouth, and the men with them had longish hair and looked ill at ease and younger than they probably were. The sandy-haired man step
ped forward.
“That’s us,” he said.
“Welcome to Harry’s,” said Don. “Is this your first time here?”
“First time since the new owners took over,” Peterson said. “We used to come here a lot when I was a kid. When Harry was still here.”
“Harry was quite a guy,” said Don, “and we’re doing our best to carry on his tradition. Is there a special occasion tonight?”
“Wedding anniversary,” said Mrs. Peterson. “Twenty-five years. We had the reception here. Carl,” nodding to her husband, “was on leave from the Army. He had six months to go, but we just couldn’t wait.”
“Bet she had a bun in the oven,” Peter said in a low voice.
“Mommy!” Carrie Ann shouted. “What’s a bun in the oven?”
Rachel gagged on the water she was drinking, and began coughing and laughing at the same time. Mrs. Peterson thankfully didn’t pick up on the question. Wendy looked annoyed by the newcomers. Drew and Alan looked distractedly out the window at the rain that had started again and was illuminated by the porch lights as it fell in a steady, heavy shower.
“I love kids when they’re this age,” Don said. “They want to find out about everything. Anyway, here’s your table. If there’s anything we can do to make this a night to remember, just say the word. Can I bring you a complimentary bottle of champagne?”
Peterson shook his head vigorously. “We don’t touch it.” The two younger men looked as if they would very much like to touch some alcohol, but fidgeted and said nothing.
“Not a problem,” said Don, without missing a beat. “Then the first round of non-alcoholic drinks are on us. Our way of wishing you many more good years to come. Miss Flowers will be here right away to get you started.”
April came in with Peter’s martini and set it in front of him. She looked back at the Petersons just as the little boy spit out his pacifier and began wailing with an incredible display of lung power. She looked back at Peter and his drink.
“Hope it helps,” she murmured.
She took orders for soft drinks and iced tea at the Peterson table then moved over to Drew and Alan’s table.
“Hello, trouble,” said Drew with a wink and a smile.
Wash Her Guilt Away (Quill Gordon Mystery Book 2) Page 10
