His Daddy's Eyes

by Debra Salonen

  “Coffee,” he mumbled, moving like a bear just out of hibernation. Ren took a deep breath, hoping to discover his coffeemaker was still warming his morning brew. His nostrils crinkled. No light beckoned from the stainless steel coffeemaker, but the smell of overcooked coffee lingered.

  Ren microwaved a mug of the tar-like liquid and carried it to the small bistro table in the glass-enclosed breakfast nook. He sat on one of the waist-high stools covered in black-and-white hound’s-tooth.

  The wall phone rang before he could take a sip of his coffee. He stretched to pick it up. “Hello.”

  “Hi, handsome, sorry about last night. I’d have called, but you wouldn’t believe how late we got out of the booth.”

  Ren had no trouble picturing his fiancée as she rattled off her apology. No doubt she was in her car, zipping through the light, Saturday-morning traffic on Interstate 80, headed back into town from her Roseville condo. Eve was ever a study in motion; she reminded him of a hummingbird with too many feeders to frequent.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he told her, finally taking a sip of coffee. The brew—a shade off espresso—made him blink. “It’s not like I was dying to go to the fund-raiser.”

  Ren heard a horn honk. Probably Eve’s. She drove fast and had little tolerance for those who got in her way. “I know, but your mother won’t be a bit happy. By the way, I went online and had a nice big basket of flowers delivered to her this morning with a note saying you’d be making a substantial donation to her cause—what was it, anyway?”

  “League of Women Voters, I believe.”

  “Oh, damn. I wish I’d remembered that. Don’t be too generous. They were particularly snotty to the media last fall.”

  Ren smiled—his first of the morning. His first since Wednesday afternoon, actually. Although he’d gone through all the motions for the past two days, his mind had been consumed by the thought of Julia. And her child.

  He missed what Eve was saying and had to ask her to repeat it.

  “Where have you been lately?” she exclaimed. “I’m serious, Ren. You always tell me I have too many irons in the fire, but at least I listen when somebody is talking to me. I asked whether Babe talked to you about setting a date for the wedding. She left a message on my machine, and it made me realize we really do need to sit down and talk about scheduling. You know what my schedule is like.”

  Ren knew. Lesson One of celebrity dating: Everybody follows the schedule but the schedule-maker. “You’re right. We do need to talk.” Ren recognized that although his affair with Julia had taken place before he and Eve started dating, she had a right to know what was happening, particularly if it turned out he’d fathered a child.

  “Okay, then,” she said. “Let’s see….”

  A loud engine noise came over the line, and Ren cringed, picturing her flipping through her thick day-planner while changing lanes. “Why don’t you call me back?” he suggested. “I may go out later, but I’ll take the cell phone.”

  There was a pause. “You hate cell phones. Ren, are you okay? You don’t sound like yourself.”

  “I didn’t sleep well,” he admitted. A guilty conscience had a way of conjuring up the worst scenarios. For instance, what if the reason Julia’s husband had driven into a rock pile was that he’d found out the child wasn’t his? What if Ren was to blame for his son’s mother’s death? Would the little boy wind up hating him when he was old enough to understand?

  “Maybe you need vitamins. Boyd did a piece on male vitality last Wednesday—did you see it?” Eve asked.

  “Nope. Missed it.”

  “Do you ever watch my show?” she asked, her voice suddenly vulnerable.

  “Yours is the only news program I watch, you know that. I just happened to be with Bo that night,” he said in partial honesty. After Bo had brought him the news about Julia and the baby, Ren had driven to the American River and walked along the jogging trail until dark. It was either that, or do something utterly stupid like visit the aunt’s bookstore and check out the kid for himself.

  Eve’s dismissive snort brought Ren back to reality. “I wish I knew what you see in that man. He’s such a boor.”

  Ren grinned. He’d never figured out why the two people he cared for most couldn’t stand to be in the same room together. “Bo did a little research job for me and brought me the results. He’s the best in the business, you know.”

  “So you say, but…” The sound of squealing tires broke her line of thought. “I’d better go, sweets. I’m meeting Marcella this morning. We still have to go over my ’96 and ’97 tapes. You wouldn’t believe what a fanatic this woman is. She makes me look laid-back.”

  Her musical laugh brought an odd pang to Ren’s chest. He loved this bright, beautiful woman, but he had a feeling she wasn’t going to be overly thrilled at his news.

  “So are we on for tonight?” he asked when he found his voice.

  “Maybe. Marcella is only in town for another four days. She flies back to New York on Wednesday. Would you mind if she joins us?” Ren and Eve had a standing reservation at Hooligan’s. Since she worked weeknights, Saturday and Sunday were their only nights to dine together. Usually, they ate out on Saturday, and he cooked on Sunday.

  “Naturally I’d prefer to have you all to myself,” he said, hoping his tone was more romantic than peeved. “Let’s leave it open for now. Call me later, and we’ll figure something out. Maybe we could ask Bo to join us so we’d have a foursome.”

  Ren grinned, picturing Eve’s face at the idea of introducing her famous New York agent to the Sacramento PI. “You’re right,” she said. “We’d better hang loose until I have a better scope on my time. See you later, sweetheart. I love you.”

  She hung up before Ren could tell her the same thing.

  “Exactly what kind of foursome did you have in mind?” a voice said from the doorway.

  Ren spun around, nearly dropping the phone. “Goddammit, Lester,” he shouted. “Don’t you know how to knock?”

  Bo shrugged. His sloppy green-and-gold plaid shirt wasn’t tucked into his pants, making him look as if he’d come straight from the bowling alley. Brown double-knit pants barely cleared a disreputable pair of saddle shoes, which he wore without socks. His flattened-out hat was the kind that snapped to the brim.

  “I looked for you on the golf course. Your partner said this was the first time on record that you were a no-show. He even thought about calling the paramedics, but didn’t want to miss his tee time.” Bo’s lips curled wryly. “Notice your real friend dropped everything and rushed right over to check on you.”

  Ren hung up the receiver and sat down. “Thank you for your concern, but I overslept.” He took a sip of coffee, then frowned. “Did I give you a key?”

  Bo ambled to the coffeepot, took a mug from the white oak cupboard and poured himself a cup. He added two scoops of sugar from the bowl on the counter, then carried it to the microwave. “Nope. I picked the lock. Gotta keep in practice, you know.”

  Ren doubted that. More likely he’d forgotten to set the alarm. He’d been doing a lot of irresponsible things lately.

  “You got anything to eat?” Bo asked, poking his head into the refrigerator. “Oh, Lordy, Revelda’s apple pie,” he said, referring to Ren’s part-time housekeeper. “I swear I’d marry that woman if she’d have me.”

  “She wouldn’t. She’d have a heart attack if she saw that floating hovel you call home.”

  “Actually,” Bo said, talking through a mouthful of pie, “I found a lady to come in and clean for me a couple of times a month. Works great now that I’ve moved my computers to the office. Speaking of computers—” He pulled a manila envelope from his waistband and tossed it on the table.

  Ren’s gulp of coffee lodged in his throat. He strove for nonchalance as he opened the envelope and withdrew a half-dozen black-and-white photographs and a single sheet of paper.

  He picked up the computer printout first, but his gaze was drawn to the photos. “Is this her? This
can’t be her.”

  Bo’s mouth was full. “Uh-huh,” he grunted.

  Ren shook his head, his gaze darting from one photograph to the next. “There’s no way this woman is Jewel’s sister. She’s so…plain.”

  Bo’s muffled expletive made Ren drop the printed page and pick up a photo. Leaning forward, he studied it closely. While the image was a trifle blurred, it showed a woman whom, though nice looking, he wouldn’t have looked at twice. How could he reconcile this image with the one he held of her sister, an Aphrodite with flaming red hair, lush curves and flashing green eyes?

  Feeling a bit let down, like a child at Christmas who’d expected a bike and got a book instead, he sighed. “Her hair’s straight, her dress looks like a discount store special and her figure…” Ren frowned, squinting. “Well, I can’t tell much because of the dress, but she looks like a librarian.”

  Bo made a low, snarling sound and helped himself to a second piece of pie. “Close—she owns a bookstore.”

  “Owns it or runs it?”

  “I didn’t hack her bank records, but her business card says, Sara Carsten, Owner.”

  “She’s pretty young to own a business,” Ren said, mentally adding a point in her favor.

  “The guy down the block said she’s worked there since high school. In fact, she’s turned it around from near-bankruptcy. The old man who owned it left it to her. She’s kept up with the times—added a coffee bar and two Internet stations. And she’s got a couple of book clubs that meet there.” Bo made a sardonic sound. “The men’s group is called The Unturned Gentlemen.”

  Ren added another point in her favor—literacy was a pet project of his. “Okay, she’s a good person and a decent businesswoman, but I still can’t believe she’s Jewel’s sister.”

  Bo scowled. Ren ignored him and rocked back, holding the photo. In the light from the window behind, he could see things he hadn’t noticed before. Her smile, for one. It was a kind, gentle smile that made him inclined to smile back.

  Ren focused on her eyes. Jewel’s had been bright green, full of flashing sauciness and humor. If he squinted, Ren thought he could see humor in this woman’s eyes, too. “What color are her eyes?”

  “How the hell should I know?”

  The downright angry tone could not be overlooked. “What is your problem?”

  “You, man. You are my problem,” Bo said, marching to the table. He ripped the photograph out of Ren’s hand. “Here you are, poised to destroy this woman’s life, and you don’t think she’s pretty. Well, f—”

  Ren raised his hand in warning. He studied his friend as he might a criminal with a gun. Keeping his tone calm, Ren said, “I was just surprised that I couldn’t see any similarities between the sisters.”

  Bo’s shoulders relaxed visibly. “It’s not a very good picture. She was talking to that guy when I took it.” He put the photo on the table and pointed at a good-looking man standing at the edge of the photograph. “She even gave him a hug, and I heard her tell him she loved him.”

  A funny, totally unexpected twinge caught Ren in the solar plexus. “Her boyfriend?”

  Bo shook his head. “No. I got his plate through the store window. His name is Daniel Paginnini. He works in the Building.” Ren had met enough congressional insiders to know that meant the Capitol. “I’d say he and Sara are old friends. She’s got a lot of friends.”

  Ren detected an odd inflection in Bo’s tone, but he let it go, although he was curious why Bo was so defensive of the woman. Ren picked up a shot of her holding the baby. Her back was to the camera, but her upper arms looked firm.

  “Does she work out?” he asked. Jewel had been in peak physical condition, he recalled, her long, lean body as finely honed as an athlete’s. When he’d asked about her sleek muscles, she’d said, “My job keeps me in shape.” When he’d inquired about her job, she changed the subject by putting her mouth on a part of his anatomy that drained the blood supply from his brain, waylaying any questions he might have asked.

  “Yeah,” Bo said snidely. “She lifts weights. I’d say forty pounds, about a hundred reps a day.”

  “What?”

  “The kid, man. She’s a single mom.” Bo shoved another photo in Ren’s face. All Ren could see of the child was a mop of curls and a pudgy fist clamped around a soft blanket. He missed the first part of Bo’s heated litany. “…gets up at dawn and works around this ugly house in Rancho Carmel until it’s time to go to the store, then she runs her business and chases the kid all over the place until after the noon rush. Then, she lets one of the hookers take over while she takes the kid to the park…”

  The word took a couple of seconds to register. “Did you say ‘one of the hookers’?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How many are there? And what are they doing in a bookstore?”

  “Two. The big one’s black. The little one’s white. And they’re her friends. As far as I can see, they’re there every day.”

  Ren sat back, letting out a caustic laugh. “Oh, that’s a wonderful environment for a child.”

  Bo leaned forward, his lips curled in a snarl. “I knew you were going to say that. Like you have any business pointing fingers.”

  Ren’s mouth dropped open. “Okay. That does it. What the hell’s going on with you?”

  Bo pulled out a second stool and hopped up to sit at the table. He dropped his chin into his palm and muttered, “I like her.”

  “The aunt? Or the hooker?”

  Bo glared. “Sara.”

  Perplexed, Ren reached for the photograph again. He’d never seen Bo behave in this manner. When involved in a case, Bo rigorously maintained a hard-nosed impartiality.

  “Have you actually talked to her? Since that first time?”

  “Yeah, yesterday.”

  Ren’s solar plexus took another hit. They’d agreed that Bo’s surveillance would be from a distance. “Was that necessary?”

  Bo sunk lower in the chair. “It wasn’t my idea.”

  “Whose idea was it?”

  “The hooker’s.”

  Ren smiled at the embarrassment he heard in Bo’s tone. Bo was a professional, one of the best. Ren could imagine Bo’s chagrin if someone had blown his cover.

  “The big one or the little one?”

  Ren almost missed the mumbled answer. “The little one, huh? Hmm. What happened?”

  “She remembered me, okay? I can’t tell you the last time that happened. Maybe I need to work on my disguises—they get old, you know.”

  Ren nodded, trying to keep from smiling.

  “I didn’t think anybody noticed me Wednesday when I went back to take the pictures, but yesterday, right after Sara and Keneesha—the black hooker—returned from the park, I eased in behind a couple of shoppers—and wham. The little one—Claudie—nailed me. I thought she was gonna demand a strip search.”

  Ren diplomatically covered his grin with his hand. “There’s an image.”

  Bo shuddered as though recalling a harrowing experience. “It was so sudden. One minute I was standing in the Mystery section listening to Sara explain about some drumming group when—boom—Claudie grabs my arm and spins me around, feet apart, back against the wall. My hand was going for my piece—”

  “You were carrying? Around m—a baby?” he corrected.

  Bo scowled. “No. But old habits are hard to break, and she knew what I was doing. Believe me. I saw it in her eyes. She knows people. And she pegged me.” He sat back, shaking his head.

  “What’d she say?” Ren was surprised when a smile crossed Bo’s lips.

  “She said, ‘What’s this guy doing back again?’ And then Sara and the other one came up, and Sara told her, ‘We really need to work on your people skills, Claudie. Let the customer go.’”

  Bo sat up straight. “You’ll never guess what happened next.”

  “What?” Ren croaked.

  “Sara invited me to join her gentleman’s reading group. Meets every other Wednesday at the store. So I figu
re I can keep an eye on things until you decide what you’re going to do about this.” Bo nudged the computer sheet toward Ren. “Have a look.”

  Ren’s stomach contracted at the implication he read in Bo’s words and tone. His heart thudded loudly in his ear as he skimmed the page. “O-positive,” he said softly. “Same as mine.”

  “Yeah, I know. I hacked your file, too.”

  Neither man spoke. Ren stared out the window at a mockingbird strutting in his backyard. A black and white maitre d’ against a flawless green expanse. What does this mean? Another coincidence or am I a father?

  Over the pulsing static of questions, strategies, legal precedents, moral obligations, terror and niggling hint of joy in his head, Ren heard Bo mutter something about reading books not being part of his contract.

  Suddenly, the incongruous image of Bo in a literary setting struck Ren as hysterical. Laughing, he said, “A reading group. You?” The release loosened the pent-up emotions percolating in his chest, taking him beyond humor. Gasping for breath, he sputtered, “That’ll have Professor Neightman rolling over in his grave.”

  Bo jumped off his stool and stalked to the door. “You know what you and Professor Neightman can do, preferably in public with your fiancée watching,” he barked.

  Sobering, Ren drew in a shaky breath and wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes. He regretted his jest. For a man who seemingly cared not a whit what people thought, Bo could be damn touchy about certain things, and his lack of formal education was one of them. Not that he hadn’t had his chance. But Bo hadn’t been in study mode during college; he’d been too busy partying.

  “Hey, man, I’m sorry. I appreciate what you’re doing, really. I know you’re not crazy about this, but is there any chance you could get some better photos?”

  “Why? You think she’s gonna get sexier?”

  Ren flinched. “I’d like a shot of the child. Type O is pretty common. It could be a fluke, but if he—”

  Bo shrugged. “I’ll think about it.”