She led Gil from the kitchen to the front of the house and watched anxiously while he gently deposited Emma onto the mattress. Then Clare pulled a blanket over her and they tiptoed from the room. Back in the kitchen, Clare sagged onto a chair and put her head in her hands. “Thank heavens. She’s been sobbing for an hour. I fed her, changed her, rocked her, sang to her—you name it.”
“Sang to her?”
“Out of desperation. I think I just made her cry harder.” Clare drank from a glass of water sitting on the table. “You arrived in the nick of time, Gil. I was about to load Emma into my car and drive her to her parents at the hospital.”
“I thought Dave would be home by now.”
“He was supposed to be but something got delayed. Paperwork or whatever. I was planning to cook dinner for them but—” she looked over her shoulder at the counter where assorted vegetables and packages of food were lined up “—I’m way too beat now.”
“Maybe the two of us can put something together,” he suggested.
The offer was tempting but she thought she ought to refuse. If he helped to cook, then surely he’d expect to stay to eat. And the prospect of a whole evening around Gil Harper was daunting. Still, Laura shouldn’t have to worry about getting dinner ready by the time she and Dave arrived home.
She quickly made up her mind. “I think I’ll take you up on your offer. I know there are three steaks in the fridge and I saw another in the freezer.”
“I brought a bottle of wine as a welcome home present for Dave,” Gil said. “I left it in the car. I’ll go get it.” He was out the door before she could change her mind.
Clare finished off the water and debated whether she ought to check on Emma or not. Maybe give her another five minutes, she decided. She doubted she could handle the stress of looking after an infant full-time. Gil, on the other hand, was proving to be amazingly adept. She really was about to take the baby to Laura when Gil’s face had appeared on the other side of the kitchen door, saving her the humiliation.
She pushed her chair away from the table and went to the counter to start preparing a salad. When Gil returned with the wine, he went right to the freezer compartment of the fridge and rummaged through it until he found the other steak.
“I’ll defrost this in the microwave,” he said, “then if you like, I can wash and peel those vegetables for you.”
Clare was impressed by his efficiency in the kitchen, though not completely surprised by it. The Gil she remembered had been very organized in his schoolwork and she bet the same trait made him a good lawyer. They worked quietly together as if, Clare thought, they’d done this many times before. What she especially liked was the silence. It was the kind of silence she recalled from the days when they did their homework together after school. A comfortable hum of quiet in which neither felt a need to talk.
Still, she doubted they’d been quite this companionable when they were dating. What she remembered most about that period was the incredible awakening of her sexual self. Their first—and last—lovemaking had been fraught with inexperience and breathtaking fear. Clare vividly recalled how worried she’d been afterward about getting pregnant—or worse—losing Gil’s respect. But the next day she’d discovered that he had felt the same and they’d made a vow to be careful with this new aspect of their relationship. Even then they’d realized the importance of taking things slowly and of developing an awareness of each other while exploring their sexuality.
Unfortunately, that side of herself had lain dormant far too long over the past few years. Which must have been the reason, Clare decided later, for her sudden trembling when her hand connected with Gil’s as she passed him a chopping board.
“Are you all right?” he quickly asked, grasping her fingers in his. “You’re shaking.”
She tried to laugh it off. “Too much coffee today.”
He didn’t let go. His eyes zeroed in on her and she knew he didn’t believe her. “Sure it’s not something else?” he asked softly.
The memory of how her hand felt in his surged through her. Except his hands back then had often been callused and he’d had a habit of biting his fingernails. Not any longer, she thought. She stared down at the strong but well-groomed fingers wrapped around hers and gently slipped free of his grasp. “Maybe lack of sleep,” she said.
“You haven’t been sleeping well?”
Wrong thing to say. “I hear Laura up with Emma in the night.” She looked down at the counter. “Is this enough for a salad?”
He didn’t answer right away. She could feel his eyes burning into the back of her neck. “I just thought you might have been worried about the note and the vandalism of your posters.”
Clare set down the chopping knife and turned around. “They bothered me, but I feel more frightened by what happened last night.”
“What about last night?”
“I heard a noise outside. At first I thought it was a raccoon after the garbage, but when it happened again, I got out of bed to have a look. I saw someone running into the hedge between this place and the neighbor’s.” The apprehension she’d felt last night returned.
“What did Laura think?”
“I haven’t told her yet. I didn’t want to disturb her last night—she gets precious little sleep as it is. And this morning she was busy getting things ready for Dave.”
“Do you think someone was purposely prowling around the house?”
“I thought that last night, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Taken on its own, last night could be nothing at all. But when you add it to what happened at the bookstore and the note in your book…” He paused, adding, “Personally I think you should to go to the police. There should be something on record about this, in case the person comes back and continues to bother Dave and Laura.”
“But maybe I’m the one being targeted.”
“Whoever’s doing this may not know that you’ve left town and may come back. You can’t just drop the matter.”
She wanted to, but sensed he was right.
“Look,” he said, holding on to her upper arm, “I can see that you’re more worried about this than you’re letting on. That’s why you should do something about it. You have friends here, and we’ll help you.”
Her eyes flicked upward. There was nothing more in his face than an earnest desire to have her believe him. The fact that he’d used the words friend and we together was what convinced her. That was why, after a pleasantly surprised Dave and Laura had been wined and dined, Clare didn’t protest at all when Gil told them about the night visitor.
“As you said, it might be nothing but I don’t like the idea of someone creeping about our house at night,” Laura said right away.
Dave agreed. “The new deputy sheriff is a Twin Falls High grad. I’ll give him a call in the morning.”
“Who is he?” Gil asked.
“Vince Carelli. Remember him? His father used to be president of First National Bank over on Main Street.”
“He was my mother’s boss at the bank,” Clare said. “Vince was a year behind us, I think.” She tried to put a name with the face.
“Yes,” said Laura. “Tall and chubby with a bad complexion.”
“Still that but no more acne,” Dave said. “He just got the job about six months ago. I hear he’s hoping to make sheriff when Kyle Davis retires.”
“It’d be great if you gave him a call, Dave,” Gil said, pushing his chair away from the dining-room table. He reached down to collect the dinner plates.
“I’ll clean up. You two made the meal for heaven’s sake,” Laura said, jumping to her feet.
“And we should finish the job,” Clare said. “Why don’t you help Dave get settled? It’s been a long day for both of you.”
She saw the protest forming in Laura’s face until Dave spoke up. “I wouldn’t mind hitting the sack early tonight. Thank you for everything. Clare, for sticking around to help Laura when I know you had to juggle some things to do so. And Gil
, for added support—especially getting the ladder away for me.”
“It was a good thing the ladder was in the garage last night. I hate to think what might have happened if it was still leaning up against the back of the house,” Laura said.
Her comment cast a momentary pall over the room. “How about if I come with you to the sheriff’s office tomorrow, Clare?” Gil suggested. “Dave, call me after you’ve talked to—Carelli?—and let me know the time.”
Clare watched as the two arranged her schedule for her and bit back her irritation. After Gil helped Laura escort Dave to the den, he joined Clare in the kitchen where she was loading the dishwasher.
“I hope you don’t mind if I tag along,” he said. “But I know how intimidating the law can sometimes be when you’re…well, feeling vulnerable.”
Clare had her back to him and she froze in place at his remark. Was he referring to his own experience seventeen years ago? Likely. She was afraid to turn around, fearing what she might see in his face. When she failed to respond, he gave a slight cough and went on to say, “I’ll see you sometime in the morning then.”
“Fine,” she said and didn’t move until the door leading out to the garage and driveway closed behind him.
Slowly sinking into a chair she wiped the dampness in her eyes with the back of her hand and hoped that Laura wouldn’t come back to the kitchen for a bit.
What’s happening to you? You’re not a teenager again. No longer insecure or uncertain about yourself. And you didn’t do anything wrong. You only told the truth. What you saw. Most of it, anyway. What happened to Gil wasn’t your fault.
If only she could believe that.
SHE WAS WAITING at the end of the drive when Gil drove up to the curb. But he’d seen her half a block away, pacing back and forth as the wind tossed her bright coppery hair. She was wearing the same black cords and turtleneck she’d worn the night they had coffee together. It was eerie how she seemed to have taken on her seventeen-year-old persona after only a week in Twin Falls.
The first night he’d seen her at Dave and Laura’s, she’d looked very much the successful big-city type. Her suit was stylish but not a couturier design. He supposed clothing like that might come later, with greater financial success. Not that he was an expert on what celebrity authors wore and judging from the limited wardrobe he’d seen on her thus far, neither was she. Though to be fair, she hadn’t planned to stay more than a weekend in town.
Maybe the old adage was right about scratching the surface just a bit to find the original model. Gil figured that applied to him. Take away the custom-made business suits and the Wall Street accessories plus a few years of hard-earned life experience and what did you have? A confused, scared and angry seventeen-year-old who’d just discovered the girl of his dreams had feet of clay after all. Gil sighed. He’d never make a writer, that was for sure. But he could figure things out as well as the next guy when it came to betrayals. Which might explain in part his impetuous comment about the police last night.
He knew at once how she’d taken it, but it wasn’t until he was halfway home that he questioned his rash behavior. Had he simply blurted it out without thinking or had his unconscious somehow intervened, wanting to get a dig in? He sincerely hoped not the latter. He hoped that he’d outgrown a need for revenge.
The car idled at the curb while Clare strode toward it. Her normally milky skin was even paler today, highlighting the remnants of childhood freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose and upper cheeks. Gil winced as she yanked the car door open, climbed in and slammed it behind her. All without a word.
As he shifted into Drive and took his foot off the brake, she muttered, “I think this is probably a waste of time. Besides, I’m leaving soon anyway. Laura’s found a teenager to help her after school. She starts Monday. So I was thinking of leaving…uh, maybe tomorrow.”
Gil jerked the steering wheel to the left as he looked sharply her way. She was staring out the passenger window. “Tomorrow?” he asked.
Her face turned toward him, her tawny eyes unruffled by the surprise in his voice. “Probably,” she murmured. “Laura can manage for the weekend. I have a lot to catch up on at home. I’ve put aside a lot of projects that can’t be ignored any longer, plus there’s the rest of my tour. Besides,” she said, turning back to the window, “I’ve been in Twin Falls long enough.”
Gil was at a loss for words. His own stay in town was drawing to a close, as well, now that his counteroffer on the house had been accepted. All he had to do was to stick around while they confirmed mortgage approval, sign a few more papers and lock the front door. End of a lifetime in Twin Falls. He’d spent most of the night contemplating that fact and feeling damned ambivalent about it. Especially when he realized his final goodbye would inevitably include Clare Morgan.
That was why he’d toyed with a crazy idea sometime in the middle of the night—an idea he hoped to pitch to Clare after their visit to the sheriff’s office. Something that would help chase away the demons of the past, and keep Clare in his life just a bit longer. Gil shot her another look, noting the crescent of pale blue beneath her eyes. The strain of helping Laura with Emma was evident. Unless she wasn’t sleeping well for some other reason. He berated himself again for his harsh treatment of her. Although he’d smugly claimed that he’d put the past behind him, he had to admit that he hadn’t.
If she were to leave now, he realized, he’d never have a chance to make things right between them. And certainly he’d have no hope of any kind of future with her. He considered telling her about his idea right then, but decided she was far too tense. Better to wait and see how the talk with Deputy Carelli played out.
“I GOTTA ADMIT, I was damn surprised when Dave Kingsway called to tell me you were coming in to see me this morning. Course, I already knew about your success, Clare, being that the town makes a big deal out of any celebrity, especially artists.”
Vince Carelli scrunched up his jowly face as he directed his attention to Gil. “I had no idea you were a hotshot lawyer in the Big Apple, Harper. You likely don’t recall me ’cause I was a year behind you two. But some of us who didn’t make the team back then sure remember guys like you. The stars.”
Clare squirmed in her chair. Vince Carelli’s affable manner carried a definite edge, she thought. At least where Gil was concerned. She didn’t want to spend any more time reminiscing and decided to prompt the deputy sheriff. “This is the note I received,” she said, handing over the piece of paper.
“Oh, right.” Carelli reached for it. He took his time reading and then lay it on the desk. “So tell me where, when, and how this came into your possession.”
Clare tried not to smile. He made it sound as though she’d received stolen goods or contraband. “It was put in a copy of my novel during my talk to a senior English class at Twin Falls High. Then the other night, I saw someone sneaking around the house.”
“Get a good look at the guy?”
“Not really. It was quite late and windy that night. Lots of shadows from tree branches bouncing around. The person—I think it was a male, but can’t be sure—was wearing one of those hooded sweatshirts, with the hood up.”
The deputy leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the desk. “So where’d this guy go when he ran away?”
“Through the hedge along the drive into the neighbor’s yard.”
He thought for a moment. “Dave also said someone vandalized your posters at the bookstore. One of my officers took that call.” He picked up the note again and stared at it for a moment before glancing up at Clare and Gil.
“Frankly, I think the vandalism at the store was the work of some crackpot. Maybe someone who didn’t like your book, Clare.” He laughed, looking from her to Gil, then back to the note. When they didn’t speak, he went on to say, “The note was probably some kid in that class you visited being smart. As to the prowler, there’s nothing to suggest he’s connected to any of the other. Know what I mean?”
Clare nodded. Coming here was a mistake, she thought.
Carelli heaved a sigh. “Well, I’ll get a case file going anyway. But the chance of finding a link to all of this is slight, know what I mean? If either of you decides to leave town before I can get back to you, just give the secretary out there—” he cocked his head toward his closed office door “—your phone number in New York. If I come up with anything, I’ll give you a buzz.”
“What about interviewing the kids in the English class? Someone could have noticed another student writing the note and slipping it inside the book.”
Carelli briefly thought over Gil’s suggestion and then shook his head. “I could send an officer out to talk to them, sure. But I doubt anyone would spill the beans. You know how kids hate to rat on each other.” His impassive face turned from Gil to Clare.
She dropped her eyes to her hands clasped on her lap. Was it her imagination that this last phrase had been directed at her rather than Gil? She inhaled slowly, forcing such paranoia from her mind.
Carelli pushed his chair back from his desk and stood up. He hoisted up his belt buckle half-hidden beneath a bulging abdomen. “As I said, we’ll make some inquiries and let you know. It was real nice seeing you two again. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
Clare nodded. A long time, she was thinking, and a waste of time, too. Just as she’d predicted. She and Gil got up to leave.
“Don’t forget to give my secretary that phone number,” Carelli reminded her as Clare turned away. “And good luck with the book.”
Clare saw Gil open the office door. She managed a polite but faint smile. “Thanks.”
“I haven’t got a copy yet, but folks around here say it’s pretty good.” He paused. “Is it true what the newspaper said?”
Clare’s head swung sharply around. “What?”
“The piece in the Spectator. It said your book was really the story about Rina Thomas. That true?”
She flushed, biting down hard on her lip. His genial face gave no sign of provocation. Relax, she told herself. He’s just repeating what everyone else has asked since the article was published.
Past, Present and a Future (Going Back) Page 11
