by P. G. Forte
Scout carried her mug back to the table and sat down again. “Yeah. Sort of.”
Kate nodded, as if she were putting things together in her head. “So... can I go call Mandy and ask her about tonight?”
“Sure,” Scout answered, relieved not to be answering any more questions about Lucy’s brother. “But you don’t have to wait until tonight, you know. Why don’t you see if her mother will bring her over now?” She watched as Kate bounced out of the room. She hoped Lucy would want to stay for a while when she got here. She needed to get a handle on this whole parenting business – this whole family business. Nick had been so preoccupied all week, so busy protecting her from all sorts of things that didn’t matter, that she hadn’t had a chance to talk to him about the things that were really worrying her. She really needed to talk to someone soon. Before panic made her do something stupid. She didn’t want to make any more mistakes. She’d already done too much in her life that she regretted.
* * *
“Can I talk to you for a minute, Nick?”
Nick looked up to see Sam standing in his doorway. “Sure. What can I do for you?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral. He watched as the other man crossed the room and tossed the manila envelope he’d been carrying down on his desk as he took the chair opposite him.
“What’s this?” Nick asked, reaching for the envelope.
“Copies of the missing files from Delaney’s computer. Disc and hard copy.”
Nick glanced at the printed pages he had taken from the envelope. “I see. So, you uh, found a way to retrieve them after all, huh?”
“Not exactly. They were missing because I deleted them.”
Nick glanced up sharply. “Is that a fact? “So why’re you giving them to me now?”
“I think it’s possible she was killed in connection with a meeting that she had set up for that morning. A meeting which never took place, by the way,” Sam answered quietly.
When Nick didn’t say anything else, he continued, “I’m the person she was supposed to be meeting with. And I think there’s a real good chance that if I’d actually made it to the meeting, I’d have been killed, too.”
Nick nodded slowly, aware of an inner sensation he had grown familiar with over the years, a sense of vague and amorphous ideas coalescing in his mind, of disparate pieces sliding smoothly into place; of everything coming together, at last, to form a coherent picture. “Go on, I’m listening,” he said as he reached for one of the notepads that were stacked on his desk. Very soon now, he thought. Soon he would have the whole picture...
* * *
Lucy sat at Scout’s kitchen table, watching as her friend attempted to make sandwiches, and struggling not to offer assistance. Being here brought back memories from when they were teenagers. She remembered how they’d sneak down here late at night to make cookies or French Onion soup, gooey with melted cheese, or popcorn, or doughnuts, or fudge. Or just to raid the fridge in search of leftovers. She smiled as she remembered how, during one attack of the munchies, they had devoured most of a container of what had tasted like very good beef stroganoff – until Lisa suddenly recognized it for what it really was. Very good dog food. Even then Lucy thought it had tasted pretty good. She was about to remind Scout of the story, when she remembered the presence in the house of Mandy and Kate. Probably not the best story to share with two ten year olds.
But even as a teenager, she had lusted after this kitchen. She thought, it was amazing that no one in her family had yet to come up with the theory that Nick was marrying Scout on the strength of her kitchen alone. He loved to cook, after all. And the place was wasted on Scout.
Lucy cast another surreptitious glance at her friend, watching in amazement as Scout, after having squeezed a fairly large amount of mayonnaise on one slice of toast, began rubbing it and another piece of toast together, to spread it around. “Where’d you learn to make sandwiches like that?” she couldn’t help asking.
Scout turned and looked at her a little sheepishly. “Oh, sorry. I kinda forgot where I was for a minute. But you know I never learned to cook, Lucy. I’m just making this up as I go.”
“Well, I’m not too sure sandwiches actually count as cooking, anyway.”
Scout looked at the sandwich she was preparing. “So... you think maybe I should use a knife, or something? Next time, I mean?”
Lucy shrugged. “Hey, whatever works, works. It’s how it tastes that counts, right?”
“I guess.” Scout sighed. “But somehow I don’t think your aunt would agree.”
“No, well... that generation, you know, they’re used to seeing things done a certain way.”
Scout turned her back on the sandwiches, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms over her chest. “Oh, it’s more than that, Lucy, and you know it. None of them think I can be the kind of wife Nick should have. I don’t know, maybe they’re right.”
“Yeah, but so what if they think that? I haven’t heard him complain. Besides, Nick’s more than capable of feeding himself, and… well, hell, if you both wanted to cook, you’d probably just get in each other’s way.”
“I don’t know,” Scout repeated, abandoning the sandwiches altogether, sinking into one of the chairs and burying her head in her hands. “I must’ve been out of my mind to think I could pull this off.”
Even muffled as it was, her voice sounded shaky. Lucy stared at her in alarm. She’d known Scout for a lot of years, and this was no one she recognized. “Scout. Shit, girl, get a grip, it’s just a sandwich. It’s not the end of civilization as we know it. Come on now. This isn’t like you. What’s going on?”
Scout lifted her head and Lucy grew even more alarmed when she saw both tears and indecision in her eyes. Please, don’t let her be having second thoughts, she prayed. She wouldn’t do that to Nick, would she? “What’s this about? You’re starting to scare me.”
“Promise you won’t get upset.”
“Upset? Oh, Jesus. Scout, please don’t tell me—”
“I’m pregnant.”
“You’re what?” Relief flooded through Lucy. “Is that all? Are you kidding me? That’s great!”
“Great?” Scout wailed. “Lucy, did you hear what I said? I mean, sure, it seemed like a good idea at the time, but shit! How am I going to figure out how to raise a child when I can’t even make sandwiches right?”
“Oh, well, don’t worry about that,” Lucy told her. “You’ll have plenty of time to work that one out. Besides, don’t think you won’t get plenty of advice from just about everyone in the family.”
“They’re going to hate this, aren’t they?” Scout bit her lip. “They’re gonna think it’s the only reason Nick is marrying me.”
Lucy smiled wryly. “Yeah, well, I don’t think you need to worry about that too much, either. I think Dan and I pretty much disabused them of that idea.”
Scout looked at her in surprise. “You mean you—”
“Had to get married? Sure, why the hell else did you think we eloped?” She paused as another thought struck her. “Hey, have you told Marsha about this?”
Scout shook her head. “No. But I think she might have guessed –” She broke off as the phone rang, turning her head to listen as Kate picked up the extension in the other room.
Lucy grinned. “Oh, she’s sure to have guessed, but I’m the first to actually know, right?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Scout answered, a little absently, her attention still focused on the other room.
“All right! Cool. That makes for a nice change of pace.”
“Scout?” Kate appeared in the doorway with the portable phone. “It’s that guy for you, again.”
“Oh,” Scout shot a furtive look at Lucy, as she got up and took the phone. “Thanks, Kate,” she said, carrying the phone over to the French doors. “Larry? This had better be good—” Lucy heard her say just before she stepped outside.
A baby. Jeez, why would Scout think she’d be upset about that? Scout and Nick having a baby was so m
uch better than Scout leaving Nick. That would be awful. This... well, this just meant that the family would have to resign themselves to the marriage a little sooner, that’s all. But she really would have to talk to Nick. Or maybe she could ask Dan to. Someone had to make him understand. If Scout were pregnant he had to stop making it look like he was running around with other women – or the family would jump to the conclusion that it was the only reason he was marrying her. And that wouldn’t be good for either of them.
“No, of course it’s not all right.” Scout’s voice floated in from the patio. “And don’t ‘sweetheart’ me!”
Lucy, listening to half the conversation began to understand why her aunt had come to the conclusion that Scout had someone on the side. From this end, the conversation sure sounded interesting.
“Okay. Fine.” Through the window, Lucy could see Scout’s shoulders sag in defeat. “If that’s what it’s gonna take, then yes, I’ll be there... I don’t know, as soon as I can get away... Right. I’ll see you in a few days.”
“So, what was that all about?” Lucy asked as Scout returned to the kitchen.
“What?” Scout asked, her thoughts clearly somewhere else. “Oh, uh, nothing. Just um, a problem with something I’ve been working on, that’s all.”
“What kind of problem? Anything I could help you with?”
“What?” Scout looked startled. “No, it’s… it’s more of a surprise than a problem, really. Nothing I can’t handle. Would you like more iced tea?”
“No, I’m fine.” Lucy answered, more curious than ever. First Nick, and now Scout. What the hell was going on here, anyway?
Back to Top
* * * *
Chapter Twenty Six
* * * *
Sam waited impatiently for the computer on Marsha’s dining room table to power up. He didn’t have much time, if he didn’t want her to find out what he was doing. And for her own sake, as well as his chances for enjoying the rest of this evening, he definitely didn’t want her to know what he was doing!
She’d gone downstairs to dress for dinner and, given what he had observed of her behavior so far, she was not the kind of woman to linger over her toilette. He figured he’d barely have enough time to copy all the evidence he had against Harry to the hard drive, and then fix it so that he was the only one who could get at the information. It was probably a useless precaution to take anyway, leaving an extra copy here, in case something went wrong. But he had learned a long time ago that it was hard to go wrong being extra careful.
Finally! He sighed in relief as the computer got up to speed. As he worked, he thought about his interview with Nick this afternoon. Was it only his imagination, or had the cop actually been relieved to hear his hypothesis that Harry might be behind the reporter’s death? One thing was certain, the man hadn’t been surprised by anything else Sam told him.
“So, let me ask you a question,” Nick had said as Sam got up to leave. “What finally made you decide to tell me the truth about all of this?”
Sam shrugged, determined not to reveal too much. “Like I told you, I need to get to LA. I figured leveling with you would be a whole lot easier than trying to create some plausible fiction to explain the trip. Plus, I kind of had the impression you’d already figured some of it out. Was I right?”
Nick stared at him for a moment, and then he smiled – a slow, dangerous smile – as he opened one of the top drawers of his desk and pulled out an all-too-familiar magazine.
“Shit.” Sam shook his head. “I knew it.”
“So... how much of this does Marsha know?” Nick asked, his voice casual, almost disinterested, as he tossed the magazine back in the drawer.
Sam glanced at him sharply. “None of it yet.”
“Well, if you want some free advice, I suggest you tell her before she finds out,” Nick said with a wry smile. “And trust me. She will find out.”
“I know,” Sam admitted with a sinking feeling. “But I still haven’t figured out how to do that. Things have gotten a little…complicated.”
“Oh, they’ll do that, all right,” Nick had agreed cheerily. “Every time. In fact…shit, you can pretty much count on that happening.”
Sam sighed as he thought about it now. He really should tell her. He knew that. Things like this only got harder to do the longer you put them off. Maybe he could find a way to tell her during dinner. Or maybe after dinner. Maybe he should try and convince her to come back to the cabin with him. She was so nervous about driving through the canyon at night that even if she got very angry with him, she still might not leave. He’d have all night to explain and apologize.
He had just turned off the computer when he heard her returning. She wore a simple black dress, along with the silk scarf she’d worn the previous Sunday, and the earrings he had noticed when he’d come for dinner the following night. He felt absurdly pleased to be able to recognize articles of her wardrobe, as if they already had a history together.
* * *
“Have I mentioned how beautiful you look this evening?” Sam asked Marsha as they waited for their orders to arrive. The atmosphere in the restaurant was just what he’d hoped for. A small jazz ensemble played in the lounge, their music could just barely be heard in the main dining room. The lighting was subdued, and heavy white linen tablecloths at each table muffled the sound of china and silverware. Even the conversations eddying around them seemed in keeping with the atmosphere. Light and sparkling, yet soft as the candlelight which glimmered in her earrings and gleamed against the creamy paleness of her throat.
She needed a necklace, he thought suddenly, as he watched a blush warm her face. Something that would match her complexion and highlight some of the hidden facets of her personality. Pearls maybe, or amber. Something warm and mysterious and unusual. He was so caught up in what it should look like he had to ask her to repeat what she’d said.
She smiled shyly. “I just said that you look very nice, too.” She dropped her eyes from his face too quickly, and began playing with the glass of Pinot Blanc he’d ordered. He studied the discomfort in her face for several moments. The lady was clearly unused to receiving compliments on her appearance. Sam felt intensely irritated on her behalf. It was all wrong that she should feel that way. He made up his mind, right then and there, that he would be the one to change it.
“So explain something to me,” he said after casting around for a topic of conversation that would put her at ease. “I understand why Lucy’s a partner in your store. But why Scout? I mean, what’s her role there?”
“Well, I don’t know yet,” Marsha answered. “It’s still evolving, really. She hasn’t been back that long, you know. But Celeste seemed pretty convinced she had a natural talent for Tarot Cards. So, I guess she might give readings, or something, someday. Or we could maybe showcase some of her sculptures there. She’s still getting her studio set up right now and...” she trailed off, uncertainly; as though she were surprised by the confusion he was sure must show on his face. “What?”
“I don’t get it. I mean, it doesn’t even sound like you needed another partner.”
“Are you kidding?” She sighed, then turned her head to stare off into the distance. “I’d love to have someone like Celeste there, who would share some of the day-to-day running of the place with me, but that’s not going to happen right now. And I know it probably sounds ridiculous to you, but I always envisioned the partnership as a trinity. I like the symbolism of it. Three is a very powerful number. And there’s the whole maiden, mother, crone motif as well.”
She shrugged, “Besides, it’s practical. The less I actually own, the less ammunition my ex-husband has when he tries to get his child-support payments cut. That’s a big motivation, trust me.”
“I’m sure there are easier ways of handling that,” he said dryly. “But still, why Scout? Why not your sister, or someone who hasn’t been out of town for the last twenty years. How’d you even know she’ll stick around?”
She laughed.
“Now, how do you think I’d know something like that?” she said teasingly. “Anyway, it just felt right somehow. Scout and I go way back, just like Lucy and me. Besides, I owe Scout. I did a lot of stuff – mostly when I was younger, but some this summer, too, that was... well, from a metaphysical viewpoint, let’s just say it was ethically questionable.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “You, angel? I don’t believe it.”
“Well, it’s true.” She said it lightly, but still he got the distinct impression that it was not a subject she found particularly amusing. “I’m afraid we don’t all have your appreciation for the moral fine print, Sam.”
Apprehension seized him. “Just what do you mean by that?” he asked carefully.
She looked momentarily surprised, as though she could feel the tension her words had created inside him. “Well, it’s like with the mouse traps the other day,” she continued, after a moment. “I think you have an intuitive knack for grasping the finer points of karma – whether or not you believe in it.”
“You know I don’t.”
She smiled and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter what you believe. I still think you’re the kind of person who would always be cognizant, on some level or another, of the likely consequences of whatever action you chose to take.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” he said unhappily. He knew damn well that the last place he belonged was atop some kind of moral pedestal. Especially any that she’d had a hand in erecting.
But she just continued to smile, as if she knew something he didn’t – instead of the other way around. “I, on the other hand,” she continued, “Have an unfortunate tendency to rationalize my way into doing whatever I want to do. Which creates some pretty nasty consequences, from time to time. And not just for myself, either. Unfortunately.”
He gazed at her skeptically. “So you’re saying Scout caught the karmic backwash for some of your actions? That sounds like a pretty big rationalization, right there. Surely she knew what she was doing, too?”
