“Well, I can get hot tickets to prisons. It’s my specialty.”
“How useful,” I said. I was slightly miffed. I wanted to interview Ramon—I was the one who’d put him there in the first place. Still, I could see that that might not be my best selling point. Moreover, I wasn’t about to suggest that we go together. Despite our truce, there was still the matter of the wine glasses.
He finished off the last bite of taco with satisfaction. He looked at me. “Now I know what you’re thinking,” he said.
“No, you don’t.”
“I was a trial attorney. I’m trained to read people’s expressions. You’re annoyed because—”
“No, I’m not.”
“—because you think I’m stealing Ramon from you.”
I giggled. I couldn’t help it; it sounded so ridiculous. “I’m not jealous,” I said.
“No, but I’m horning in on your crusade. Listen, I’m probably better at getting things out of people than you are, and it’s not because you aren’t bright and competent. I just have a lot more experience.”
He was probably right, so I tried not to look as if I were sulking.
“And it’s not like it’s a field trip, you know,” he added, for good measure. “You’d hate it.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Besides,” he said, “there’s something you can do here while I go up to see Ramon.”
“What?” I inquired.
“Call up Melanie Klein and tell her you want to be introduced to someone very well-to-do without his knowing that it came about through the matchmaking service.”
“What?” I seemed to be saying that a lot.
“How else are we going to find out if Ivanova Associates is helping people pluck rich pigeons? You’ve already said some of the people you met didn’t seem to realize or didn’t want to realize they’d been set up by a matchmaking service.” He saw my look. “You don’t actually have to go through with it. Just find out if they’re willing.” He paused. “Think of it as research.”
I had to admit that Cynthia would probably be ecstatic. “Why me?” I asked him. “Why don’t you do it?”
He smiled apologetically. “Because I really am well-off, so it wouldn’t prove anything.”
“Oh.”
“Besides, we already know they haven’t checked out your credentials as carefully as they might have. This is the logical next step to see how far you can push things, isn’t it?”
The waitress brought the check, placing it in front of Scott with so much of a flourish that I wondered if she’d written her phone number on the underside. I didn’t say anything for a minute. I was trying to think of a way to say what was bothering me about his proposal.
He reached for the check. “Let me,” he said.
“Nuh-uh. No way. We’ll split it.”
He tried to hide a smile. “Okay. Whatever you say.”
We put matching bills on the tray, and the waitress reached across him with scarlet nails to take it away. He seemed unconscious of the effect he was having on her. He was either a good actor or not nearly as vain as his attractions would seem to warrant.
“So what about it?” he asked, when she had gone.
“I see your point, but there’s just one thing. I told you I thought somebody might be warning me away from Ivanova Associates…”
“Yes?”
“Well, what if it’s connected to my persona as a Seeker of Matrimony?”
“You mean because you’ve signed on with the service? I don’t get it. Aren’t you using another name? Financial references supplied by the magazine?”
“You found out,” I reminded him.
“Sure, but I was looking. They have no reason to scrutinize you particularly. You gave them references. You pay big fees. You look great, and you’re smart and presentable. You bring credit to the service. Why should they suspect you and try to dig deeper?”
I blushed. “Thanks,” I said. I hoped he didn’t think I’d been hoping for a compliment. Now I was distracted.
“You’re welcome,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m serious. I don’t think you’re in much danger of discovery. The warnings, as you call them, all took place before you signed on with Ivanova Associates, didn’t they? They’re much more likely to have been provoked by your inquiries around the clientele.”
I hesitated.
He was, as he said, good at reading gestures. “What? What haven’t you told me?”
I still couldn’t speak.
“Something’s happened since you signed on, is that it?”
Smart, too.
I studied the place mat, grease-stained from the fish drippings. The atmosphere dictated the perfect metaphor: This was the moment to fish or cut bait. To trust, or not to trust.
I nodded.
“What happened? Why the hesitation?” he asked.
I shrugged. I told him about the wine glasses and the opened sliding glass door. I wanted to see how he reacted, but I was finding it hard to look at him as I spoke.
“Spooky,” he agreed. “When did all this happen?”
I looked out the window. A seagull was sitting on a post, looking back. “This morning.”
“Today? Why didn’t you say something?” He sounded genuinely surprised.
“Well, I—”
He was too quick for whatever lie I was about to invent. “Oh, I get it. You thought I might have done it.” He didn’t sound angry or mortified, merely curious.
“Well,” I confessed, “the thought occurred to me. I made a list of everybody who knew I would be gone, and—”
“My name was at the top.”
“Not at the pinnacle. It occupied a sort of lofty position.”
He smiled.
“The truth is, I don’t know you at all, and I didn’t know how…annoyed you might be about what happened last night. You didn’t seem the type, but how could I tell for sure?”
“Don’t apologize,” he said firmly. “I’ve met a lot of psychos and sociopaths in my business, and most of them don’t wear placards proclaiming ‘I’m dangerous.’ Some of them are exactly the kind of guy you’d like to take home to Mom and Dad—neat, polite, well-spoken. You can’t be too careful.” He cleared his throat. “Just for the record, I didn’t do it.”
“Thank you,” I breathed. “I’m glad you’re not offended.”
“No problem.” He stood up. “Want me to check it out?”
“Check it out?”
“Come up to your townhouse and take a look. I know you live right up there.” He pointed, accurately, in the direction of my condo.
I looked at him.
“I used the Reverse Directory with your number, remember? Once I got the name, I used the regular phone book to find your address. Look, you can wait outside if you want to. I’m not trying to make you nervous. But I think somebody ought to have a look before you get rid of the evidence.”
I glanced at my watch. Andrea would probably be home from class any minute, and in any event, I could keep a grip on my pepper spray. “Okay, sure,” I said. “Thanks.”
“Fine. Just let me make a phone call.” He led me outside to a pay phone covered with grime and what looked suspiciously like fish guts. Sometimes I forgot that people actually fished off the end of the pier.
“Hi, Daddy,” he said into the receiver. “No, I’m not at the office. I’m having lunch with a friend. I just wanted to remind you about the doctor this afternoon.” He paused, listening. “No, I didn’t think you’d forget. I just wanted to let you know that I hadn’t.” He smiled. “Okay. Stay out of trouble. I’ll see you in a little while.”
He hung up and turned to me. “He gets anxious if I don’t call, but he doesn’t like to admit it.” Despite what he’d said about psychos and sociopaths, I felt a lot better about inviting somebody to my house who was so kind to his father. I felt a momentary, unexpected pang. I’d never gotten to say “Hi, Daddy” to anyone in my entire life. Some people didn’t realize how luc
ky they were.
“I know what you mean,” I said hurriedly, surprised that such thoughts still had the power to hurt me after all these years. “I’m sorry,” I added, as we walked up the steps toward the complex’s grounds. “You wanted to work this afternoon, didn’t you?”
“That’s okay. You’ve saved me a lot of time, anyway.”
“Do you have other projects going on, too?” I asked him.
He looked at me. “Sure. But this one is the most interesting.”
He sounded very matter-of-fact. I couldn’t tell if he meant anything by it or not.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to mean anything by it.
My pulse raced.
I didn’t say anything.
My front door was still locked. I opened it and stepped back. “Do you want to wait out here?” Scott asked.
“I’ll risk it.”
He stopped in front of the wine glasses. “‘Don’t drink this’,” he read. “Weird. It reminds me of Alice in Wonderland.”
“I wrote that,” I confessed.
“Really?” he asked, giving me a sidelong glance. “Why?”
“In case my daughter got home first. She doesn’t drink, but—”
“Ah. The feminine half of last night’s bodyguard, I presume.”
I laughed. “Right. The other one was my next-door neighbor.”
“You’re lucky,” he said. “But I’m sure you know that.”
“I guess so.”
He inspected the wine glasses from every angle and checked out the sliding glass door. “These things are pathetically easy to break into,” he said. “You should start using the screw-in locks, and you can get a piece of dowel to fit into the tracks. That makes it a lot harder.” He straightened. “Would you mind if I looked upstairs?”
I shook my head, and he went up. I closed my eyes, trying to visualize the state of my bedroom. I was fairly sure there wouldn’t be any Frederick’s of Hollywood lingerie arranged in a suggestive position on the bedspread, but it still seemed too personal to have a stranger prowling around among my things. I climbed halfway up the stairs and called up to him, “Find anything?”
“I don’t think so,” he replied. He looked down at me from the landing. “It’s very neat,” he said in hushed tones.
I had to laugh, he looked so appalled. “I had a screwed-up childhood,” I told him. “I’m trying to get over it.”
He smiled. “Your childhood or being neat?”
“Both, I guess.”
“Want me to throw some dirty socks on the floor or move the soap dish over a quarter of an inch while I’m up here? Just so it doesn’t look quite so much like the Smithsonian? I’m good at messing things up.”
“I don’t have any dirty socks,” I pointed out. “Anyway, no, thanks. I don’t want to go whole hog all at once.” He laughed, and I decided to risk a personal question. “I take it your childhood wasn’t screwed up?”
“Sure it was,” he said. “I just got over it faster.” I couldn’t tell if he was serious.
He came down the stairs toward me. “I doubt anything’s been disturbed up here. If it were some kind of voyeur, he’d almost certainly go through your things and maybe leave you some kind of message there, too.” He hesitated. “If you find any of your underwear cut up or anything like that, you need to think about going to the police.”
I shivered. “If I go to the police, it might get into the papers. Then Ivanova Associates could find out about the article and the trial. I’m not ready for that yet.”
We turned and walked down the stairs together. “That’s good thinking, but you have to worry about your safety, too. I—”
The front door swung open. My daughter stood there, openmouthed, looking up at us. Her eyes took in the wine glasses, Scott’s presence, and the descent from Upstairs.
“Mom,” she cried in an dismayed tone, “what are you doing?”
Not what it looked like, obviously.
“Nothing,” I told her. I would have to explain later. I’d just botch it if I made an attempt now. I pointed to the wine. “Andy, you don’t know anything about this wine, do you?”
She frowned. “Of course not.” She looked at Scott. “Who is this, Mom?”
I looked at Scott. He looked amused. I made the introduction.
“You met him last night,” I said to her.
“Not precisely met,” Scott corrected me. He extended his hand toward Andrea. “But, of course, I remember you.”
She touched his hand with her fingers as if it might scorch her. “How do you do?” she asked faintly.
He consulted his watch. “I have to be going,” he said. “Ellen, thanks for everything.”
I could have brained him. I’m sure he enjoyed my discomfort.
“I’ll be in touch with you after I’ve visited Ramon. I think”—his tone became serious—“I think you should definitely hold off on anything else after all. Let’s just see what develops.” He lowered his voice. “Be careful, okay? I still don’t think it’s connected to—well, you know. But be careful anyway.”
I appreciated his concern, but I didn’t want him to cut me out of the information stream so easily. “Don’t forget our deal,” I called to him, as he walked up the path.
He turned and waved.
“Damn,” I said, when he was out of sight. “He got away without a commitment.”
21
“Andrea, we have to talk,” I told my daughter.
She didn’t meet my eyes. “Gee, Mom, I’m pretty tired, and I have a lot of studying to do.”
“It’s three-thirty in the afternoon, Andy. You can spare me a minute.”
She sat down, with obvious reluctance, on the bar stool. The wine glasses were right in front of her. I swept them off the counter and dumped the contents down the sink. “It’s not what you think,” I told her.
“It’s all right, Mom. I understand. It just sort of came as a shock, that’s all.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. There’s nothing to be shocked about. Mr. Crossland—Scott—came to check out the wine glasses. I think somebody broke into the house this morning.” I told her about what I had found after returning from the Livingstons.
“So how do you know he isn’t the one who broke in here and did it?” she asked, when I had finished.
“I can’t be sure, but I don’t think so. He seems like a solid citizen.”
“That’s not what you thought last night,” she pointed out.
“Fair enough, but last night was a misunderstanding.”
She looked at me.
“It was, honest. It’s a complicated story, but it wasn’t really Scott’s fault. We were both sort of playacting.”
“But you still don’t know anything about him.”
That was true, actually. But I liked Scott. I had a feeling I could trust him. I didn’t want to tell her that. Not yet. “I haven’t had him checked out by the FBI,” I agreed. “But all I did was let him in to investigate the break-in. He’s working for the magazine. It’s not like I picked him up off the street. Anyway, Andy, I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t go running to Mark with this story. It isn’t that I’m not grateful for his help, or yours, but sometimes he overdoes the protective bit.”
“Because he cares about you. And because you need it,” she insisted.
“Maybe I did once, but I’m forty-four years old, Andy. I have to be allowed to make some decisions for myself.” I laughed. “This is a real role reversal, isn’t it? Me pleading with you to let me stand on my own two feet?”
“Maybe this would be a good time to mention that I’ve been thinking about getting my own place,” she said, looking away.
My throat constricted. “We can talk about it,” I said, as calmly as possible.
I saw the mingled regret and excitement on her face. She’d mentioned it to provoke me, but it was something she was seriously considering. “I’m not sure I can afford it yet,” she confessed.
“Whe
n you’re ready,” I said. I knew I would have to face it sooner or later, and when she went, I would not send her off feeling guilty for abandoning me. There had already been enough guilt spread through the familial strata, like potsherds on an archaeological dig. It seemed to crop up in every generation.
She smiled thinly. “This has something to do with that trial you were on, doesn’t it?”
“The wine glasses? I don’t know for sure, but probably so,” I admitted.
“Are we in some kind of danger?”
“I think someone might be warning me off asking questions. It probably won’t go any further, but I’d feel a lot better if you went and stayed at Grandma’s apartment for a while, or with a friend. I’d feel better knowing you’re safe, whatever happens.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be fine. I don’t think some ghoulish serial killer would be this refined.”
“It’s not funny, Mom.” This from someone who’d pouted for weeks because I wouldn’t let her rent Friday the 13th. She paused. “Mark thinks you should drop the whole thing.”
“I know he does. What do you think?”
She surprised me. “I don’t think you should quit, if you think you’re doing the right thing. I don’t think you should run away. But I do think you should be careful.”
“Thanks,” I said. “The same goes double for you.”
“I’m not the one inviting strange men to go through my drawers,” she said, but with a smile. “There’s something else, too, Mom.”
“What?”
“I know I’ve urged you to start getting out more, even to start seeing men.” She looked away. “I meant it, too, I really did. Do.”
“You don’t have to say anything. I know what you’re going to say.”
She shook her head. “No, I have to. I thought it would be Mark. Somebody I knew. But when I saw the glasses of wine, the two of you coming down the stairs, I thought—” Her voice was full of anguish. “He was flirting with you, Mom.”
“I know what you thought. But this isn’t necessary, Andy. Nothing like that happened, I’ve told you.” Had he been flirting with me? I was so out of practice, I couldn’t tell anymore. The idea scared me, but it made me feel elated, too.
Staying Cool Page 25
