Chasing the Wind (13 page)

Raymond was in a foul mood when she finally caught up with him, and it didn't help when she told him she'd found nothing to shed any light on Bingham Murdoch. Sun slanted through the window in his office, and Raymond rose to lower the shade just enough to fend off the worst of the blaze.

"Doug's not going to like this." He sat back, crossed his legs, and snapped his fingers double time. "If Bingham's as big as Tom says, there should be something on the man." He shook his head. "Somewhere."

Amalise slid the due diligence folder over to him, opened it, and pointed. "Take a look at that."

Raymond quit snapping his fingers and turned the folder toward him. He looked up. "What's this?"

"I ran across it through a reference to the company name, Lone Ranger." She leaned over, pointing to the detective's statement in the middle of the first page. "Thought you'd get a kick out of it."

He read the line she'd pointed out, then sat back and read the article. "My old friend D. B. Cooper," he said when he'd finished. Smiling, he put the article back in the file.

Steepling his hands, he rested his chin on the tips of his fingers. "That was six years ago. I wonder where he is now."

"That's the question of the decade." Amalise picked up the file and wandered over to the window. She braced her hands behind her back and looked at the clouds sliding by. "They've been looking for him ever since. He's probably on a yacht in Marina Del Rey." She turned and looked at him.

Raymond dropped his hands onto the desk. "Naw. That doesn't fit. He only got two hundred thousand dollars."

"Only!" Amalise arched her brows. "That's more than eight years of my salary. If he invested it right, he could be in Monaco."

Raymond hiked a shoulder.

Amalise walked toward the door. "See you tomorrow, bright and early. Jude's taking me out to dinner tonight." He'd called when she'd returned from the library earlier, and something in his voice had struck a warning chord. They were going to Clancy's, to celebrate a special occasion, he'd said.

She'd been struggling not to think about that call ever since. Her heart raced even now, remembering how she'd frozen when she'd heard those words. Very few things qualified as special occasions. A birth. A death. A marriage.

Rebecca and Jude?

She prayed that she was wrong.
Abba, let this not be so.
But despite the inner turmoil, she put a smile on her face for Raymond and kept her tone light.

"Better enjoy it," Raymond said without looking up. "It'll be your last night off until the closing."

Jude parked across from the small
restaurant on the corner. He jammed the keys into his pocket and crossed the street, thinking about the decision he'd reached. Amalise's purchase of the house on Broadway had set off an alarm, an internal warning that he'd chosen to heed. She was settling down now, planning the years ahead as she planned everything in life. He wanted to be a part of her life—her vision of the future—no matter how long he had to wait for marriage. He wanted Amalise to know that, for him, friendship had turned to love.

His heart skipped a beat at the thought of saying these things to Amalise. This conversation would change everything between them, he knew. As he opened the door, he said a silent prayer that his words would spark feelings in Amalise that she'd not recognized before. Or at least see him in a new light and then, over time, well . . . he would wait as long as it took.

His breath caught as the words ran through his mind.

I love you, Amalise.

They fit. They sounded right.

The maître d' greeted him, and Jude gave his name.

"Evening, Mr. Perret," the man said with a slight bow. He reached out and touched the back of Jude's arm, guiding him toward a table in the corner, at the front of the restaurant near a window, as he'd requested. "This way, please, sir."

As he took a seat, the maître d' smoothed the tablecloth as if wiping off invisible crumbs. In the center was a candle and one perfect red rose. The maître d' shifted the unlit candle and the flower, moving each one inch to the right. Then he turned and lifted a finger, and a waiter appeared with two glasses and a small crystal pitcher of ice water. The maître d' then smiled at Jude, nodded at the waiter, and glided off to his post.

Jude settled back, one eye on the door as the waiter lit the candle, set two menus down beside him, and filled the glasses with water. Jude ordered a soda with lime while he waited. When the waiter finished his ministrations and left, Jude blew out his cheeks, arched his fingers against the edge of the table, and looked at the door, feeling tense, as if he were waiting to climb Jacob's ladder on an up-bound ship on a stormy night in the Gulf.

The clock ticked. Jude ran his finger around the inside of his collar, picked up his napkin, then set it down again. His drink arrived, and he sipped it. Setting the glass down, he began drumming his fingers on the table in time with a song from years ago running through his head. He couldn't remember the name of the tune, try as he might, and that turned his thoughts to old age and the short measure of time we have on earth, and how long it was taking for Amalise to arrive.

And then he laughed at himself. He was waiting for Amalise, after all. Folding his hands on the table before him, Jude leaned back and gazed around the small L-shaped restaurant. The tables were close together, and there was already a crowd. He congratulated himself on reserving this one tucked away in the quiet corner. Bright, colorful pictures on the mahogany-paneled walls gave the room an elegant but festive look. Each table at Clancy's was an island of white linen, silver, sparkling crystal, roses, and glowing candles.

When the door opened and at last Amalise walked in, Jude sucked in his breath. There was something different about her tonight. Her hair was chin length in a new cut, straight and dark and shining against her skin. She was effervescent, glowing. The maître d' took her coat, and Jude saw that she was wearing a dark-red dress with long sleeves that emphasized her hair, her skin, and her curves. When she spotted him, a smile lit her face.

She tucked one side of her hair back behind an ear and started toward him, and he stood. The only jewelry she wore was a long strand of pearls the Judge and Maraine had given her for her sixteenth birthday.

When she came close, he said she looked beautiful and held out his hand. She smiled, taking his hand, and leaned in to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Have you been waiting long?" she asked.

"No. Just got here." He pulled out the chair beside him, the one nearest the window, and stepped aside. When she turned and smiled up at him, he caught the scent she wore. The soap and roses were gone. This fragrance was something new. Simple but elegant. It was Amalise grown up.

"What a treat!" she said, hanging her purse on the back of the chair and looking about. Her voice held a note of tension, but when she turned to him she was smiling, and he thought that he'd imagined that tension. "I love this place." She touched his hand and then retreated before he could hold onto hers. "It's so cozy. I've never been here before. Have you?"

He nodded. "For Rebecca's birthday last year. The food's wonderful."

"Rebecca." She looked around. Seconds passed. "Yes. She'd like this place."

Jude picked up his glass of water and tipped it to her. "Well, this is a special night for two old friends."
And confessing for the first time that I'm in love with you is going to be a once-in-a-lifetime event.

Amalise lowered her eyes. She'd seen the shine in Jude's eyes, the spray of lines around them when he smiled. He was happy tonight, and here she was struggling not to cry. Jude was straightforward and he'd get to it soon—this special occasion, why they were here. But now she knew—she'd seen it in his eyes when he'd mentioned Rebecca. He wanted to share his good news with her.

Ah, how unthinking she'd been over the last few years, how arrogant to assume that Jude was hers, that he'd always be there. Even after she'd ignored his advice and married Phillip Sharp. And now, too late, she'd recognized that what she felt for Jude was love. With her own exquisite timing, she'd sorted out her feelings just as he was moving on. Even if he'd ever been hers, had she thought he would wait forever, a man like Jude?

Driving here tonight, she'd resolved to take this evening moment by moment, feel her way through the minefield. Well, she told herself, now it was time to start.

Abba, give me strength to handle this well. Give me the words to let Jude feel happy. You know how I am, how I sometimes blurt things out before I think. Help me not to burden Jude with my own feelings.

The waiter appeared and took their orders. Redfish for her, grilled. And vegetables. Jude chose the filet, medium rare, baked potato. No salads.

When the waiter had gone, Jude held out the bread basket for her. As she reached for a piece of the crusty, hot bread, their fingers touched. The touch stayed with her when they parted, seeming to tingle as he talked about Pilottown this time of year and how the skies changed in October at the mouth of the river. He spoke romantically of the antique fall colors of the marsh reeds, the patterns of the birds and fish, the flow currents.

Jude was as solid as an old growth oak. He was fresh air and sunshine and comforting. And as he talked on without one mention of the thing she feared, despite her earlier resolutions a seed of hope began to sprout. Hadn't they loved each other since they were children? Weren't each of those years between them links in a chain that should bind them together forever?

Amalise was full of stories about the transaction she was working on, as well as the latest news from home and Maraine and the Judge. He told her about the last two weeks in P-town—this was a time of year he loved down there. But he'd decided to wait until after their meal, during coffee or dessert, to make his move.

The waiter appeared again with their plates. When he'd gone, they both dropped their heads and Amalise reached for his hand, giving thanks for the food and evening and their friendship. Her hand was warm, as soft as when she was a child, and for an instant he considered bringing up the subject now.

But when she'd finished saying grace, she released his hand and reached for her glass. Turning, she held it up to him, and he did the same. She said, "To friendship," with a smile and a tilt of her head.

He said, "To your new house and all that's in it, including you," and they both laughed.

She picked up her fork and he did too, wondering if he'd be able to eat. But the steak was perfectly cooked and tender, so that problem disappeared. "Are you settled into your house yet?" he asked. "Rebecca says the place already looks like home. Says it's just the kind of place she wants to find."

Amalise seemed to draw back at these words.

"Rebecca was a help," she said slowly, setting her fork down on the edge of her plate. She paused and looked at him in the way she had when they were kids and he would leave her sitting on the sidelines at one of his baseball games, when she wanted to play. But immediately her face cleared, and again, he decided he was going about things all wrong. He drew in his breath. Maybe he should just go ahead and tell her.

But in that instant Amalise planted both hands on the seat of her chair and sat up straight, stiff armed, looking resolute as she leaned forward. He braced himself, recognizing the launch position.

"I love my new house, Jude. I'm starting over with everything. Bought all new furniture, secondhand stuff, but it looks nice. And we, um—that is, Rebecca and I—put pictures on the walls. New rugs, linens."

He nodded, fork hovering over the plate. "That's good. You'll have a fresh start."
After Phillip.
The unspoken words lingered between them as he chewed.

"Yes."

"I want to come over and see what you've done." He grinned. "Rebecca says you need more bookcases, since you kept all the books. I've got an extra one if you want it." Books took up most of any room that belonged to Amalise.

He felt a subtle change in the atmosphere, the way things tend to go still before an incoming storm. She glanced over at him with a wooden smile.