Falling Angel (13 page)

Not knowing where Ben planned to take her, she showered, washed her hair, and applied minimal makeup, dressing casually in a pair of green Capri pants, low-heeled sandals, and a ruffled, short-sleeved white peasant blouse. She secured her hair in a loose chignon at the nape of her neck with a butterfly clip. She brought a fleece sweater along, and packed a tote with sunglasses, sunscreen, bottled water, and her camera.

Ann was nowhere to be seen, and Cara assumed she was still in bed, sleeping off a hangover. She mulled over how to confront Ann about the unreported phone calls from Ben. Clearly, if Ben had left a message on Thursday, Ann must have listened to it and erased it before Cara got home. And he said that he had personally spoken to Ann earlier in the week. Normally, Cara would have given Ann the benefit of the doubt, and assumed she had forgotten to mention the calls. But Ann had been acting so strangely the past week. Had she really forgotten to tell Cara about the phone calls? Or had she purposely tried to hide them from her?

Cara decided that for today she would put all her reservations about Ben aside. She was just going to have fun, and not worry about whether he was real boyfriend material or not. Even if he didn’t meet her criteria for the right man, she could still enjoy spending time with him.

As she prepared to leave, the front door opened and Ann walked in. She was clearly dressed in the clothes she had worn the night before, a tight red sweater with a plunging neckline, black velour mini-skirt and thigh-high vinyl boots.

Cara noticed the amber drop earrings set in silver that Ann wore were yet another item ‘borrowed’ from her own jewelry box.

When Ann saw the look on Cara’s face, she stepped back, as though resisting the impulse to bolt out the door.

“I fell asleep on the couch at my friend’s house,” she said sulkily, as though Cara were an irate parent.

“I don’t really care where you were, or what you’ve been doing,” Even as she spoke, Cara was surprised at the icy tone of her own voice. “The only thing I’m curious about is why you never told me that Ben called, and how his message on the machine could have mysteriously disappeared before I got to hear it.”

“Well, good morning to you, too,” Ann responded. She crossed to the kitchen sink and poured herself a large glass of water, which she drank down in one go. Setting the glass on the counter, she turned to face Cara. “Way to bite my head off!”

“Sorry,” Cara said without conviction. “But I don’t understand how you could just forget to mention that someone had been trying to get in touch with me all week. You could have left me a note, at least.”

“You’re right; Ben did call the other day, when you were out. I guess I forgot to tell you. I’m sorry. I didn’t think you were that into him, anyway.”

Cara ignored this remark. “And what about the answering machine message?” she demanded.

“I don’t know anything about that,” Ann said, bristling. “I do know that you’ve accidentally erased messages on the machine before. Are you sure you’re not the one who screwed up?”

Cara found her anger draining away as uncertainty set in. She had erased messages before, but knew for a fact that when she got home on Thursday, there had been no messages. But Ann seemed so certain of her own innocence. What point was there in accusing her further, and risking more unpleasantness?

“Anyway,” Ann continued, pushing her advantage, “If you were so anxiously waiting for a call, why didn’t you give him your cell number?”

“You know I mainly use it for work calls.”

“Well then, why didn’t you call him yourself? Or is that another one of your rules? Thou shalt play hard to get?”

Cara could think of no response to this that wouldn’t exacerbate the animosity between them. “It doesn’t matter anyway. We finally connected, and we’re going out today.”

“Good for you,” Ann sneered. “I hope you have a fabulous time.”

“Ann, what’s the matter with you!” Cara cried in exasperation. “Why do you have to be so, so . . .”

“Bitchy, I believe is the word you’re looking for. Not everyone can be sweetness and light all the time, Cara dear.”

The downstairs buzzer rang, and they looked at each other uncertainly.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” Ann said. “First David last night, and now Ben. You’re a busy girl. Aren’t you going to buzz him up?”

“No. I’ll run down.”

“Don’t I ever get to meet this mystery man?” When Cara did not respond, Ann added, “No need to answer. I can tell you don’t want to share.”

Cara hesitated. “Maybe some other time.”

“I promise I won’t make a scene,” Ann said. “I’ll be good.”

“Not today.” Cara’s heart hammered in her chest as she struggled to keep the tremor out of her voice. She couldn’t introduce Ben to Ann when she was in such a caustic mood.

“Fine,” Ann snapped. “Go, already.”

“What’s the matter?” Ben asked the moment he saw Cara’s pensive face at the downstairs door. Cara smiled and made an effort to put the unpleasant scene with Ann behind her.

“Oh, nothing. A silly tiff with Ann.”

Tactfully, Ben did not press her to say more.

Cara paused in front of the truck. “So what do you have planned for us today?”

“I thought we’d do some island hopping.” He hoisted her bag into the passenger seat and helped her into the truck.

They drove down Madison Street all the way to the waterfront, and turned left toward Seattle Pier 52, from which the ferry to Bainbridge Island departed every hour. Cara was delighted. She had been worried that Ben had had some water sports adventure planned for which she wasn’t prepared.

“You know, in the whole time I’ve been here I haven’t taken a ferry ride,” she confessed.

Ben looked aghast. “That’s a criminal situation I plan to remedy in short order.” He paid for their passage at the toll booth and drove into a waiting area filled with other vehicles parked in neat rows.

At the dock, pedestrians and vehicles disembarked from the
Wenatchee
, a large white ferry with green trim. A Washington State Patrol Trooper from the K-9 unit patrolled the rows of parked cars. His dog, a slim bloodhound with long silky ears on a short leash, sniffed suspiciously at the closed trunks.

The announcement came to board, and the cars drove on to the parking decks. Ben set the parking brake, and led the way up two flights of metal stairs to an upstairs indoor seating area with rows of wide booths with blue vinyl seats and linoleum-covered tables. Ben and Cara chose an empty booth and sat side by side, facing backward to watch as the ferry left the bustling downtown waterfront.

Slowly, the crest of Queen Anne hill and the familiar spire of the Space Needle slipped by as they headed into the Puget Sound. Gulls circled lazily in the overcast sky.

“Do you take the ferry a lot?” Cara asked.

“It’s a great day trip for whenever I want to get away from the city.” Ben stretched back in the seat with his hands behind his head. “A friend of mine named Tom Sanders has a house on Bainbridge, and I sometimes go over there to swim, kayak, or paint. In fact, that’s where I’m planning on taking you.”

Noticing the look of alarm on Cara’s face, he laughed. “Don’t worry, he’s harmless.”

“I’m sure he is,” Cara said quickly. She didn’t voice her disappointment that they would not be spending the day alone together. Ben seemed relaxed and nonchalant as he gazed out the window. He seemed unaware that his presence was enough to fill her with nervous excitement. Was it possible he didn’t feel as strongly about her as she did about him? Perhaps he really considered this a friendly day out. Which is all you wanted it to be, anyway, she reminded herself.

Ben suggested they step outside to the bow. A blast of cold air hit them as they opened the heavy glass doors to the outdoor deck. The wind roared as it whipped Cara’s hair around her face. It was exhilarating to stand at the prow as the ferry steamed onwards, the wind so strong it felt to Cara as though her whole face were being pulled backward. She breathed deeply in the cold salty air.

Before them, the green swath of the island came into focus, dotted with small inlets and surrounded by the cloudy, mystical blue shapes of other low-lying islands. They passed a small sailboat and another ferry heading in the opposite direction. Small whitecaps formed and dissipated in the murky waters. In the distance, Seattle appeared like a toy city, veiled in a grey mist.

Cara glanced at Ben, who appeared equally enthralled by the scene. After a few minutes, the waterfront estates of Bainbridge Island came into view as they entered an inlet. Before them lay rocky, wind-tossed beaches, behind them a swath of towering evergreens.

They returned to the truck as the ferry docked at the town of Winslow in Eagle Harbor. Ben gunned the engine and followed the row of cars out over the pier and down the two-lane road. He headed west to loop around the harbor, giving Cara a drive-by tour of Winslow’s quaint downtown.

“It’s a tourist trap, but a very picturesque one,” he said.

They passed a bakery, and Cara’s stomach grumbled. She hadn’t eaten that morning, and it was almost noon.

“I promised Tom we’d be there in time for lunch,” Ben said. “Otherwise we could stop and walk around a bit.”

After a fifteen-minute drive, they turned east again, along a road flanked by evergreens.

“That’s Blakely Harbor, a little south of where we came in,” Ben said, pointing.

Cara looked out but couldn’t see the water through the trees. Ben turned left on a private road which angled downward for about half a mile. The water came into view ahead of them as they parked in the driveway of a rambling brown wood house. Cara flipped down the sunshade and tried to tidy her windblown hair in the small mirror. She fumbled in her bag for her lipstick.

“You look great.” Ben gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

As he spoke, the front door opened, and a boy of about five, with a sunburned face and a shock of wild brown hair, ran out. He was barefoot, dressed in shorts and a tie-dyed shirt. He stared at the truck and then ran back inside, yelling, “Ben’s here with his friend!”

Chapter Twelve

Ben and Cara walked through the open door of the Sanders’ home into a high-ceilinged post and beam room, an open-space combination of living, dining and kitchen area. A small, curly haired girl dressed in nothing but a diaper ran in a circle around the slate-flagged floor, waving her hands in the air and singing to herself. She glanced at them through long bangs.

“Hi Alice.” Ben bent down to her level. “Remember uncle Ben?”

“I’m not Alice, I’m Sleeping Beauty,” the little girl announced, and went back to her singing and dancing.

A moment later, a short, thickset man strode into the room and wrapped Ben in a bear hug. “Good to see you, buddy,” he said.

“Tom, I’d like you to meet Cara. Cara, this is Tom Sanders.”

Tom turned an interested gaze on Cara as they shook hands. “Nice to meet you. Trudy’s out back, puttering with the plants. We’ll eat al fresco today, if it’s not too cold for you.”

Like Ben, Tom was in his mid-thirties, but unlike Ben he had started to develop a small paunch. He had unruly brown hair and a frank, freckled face with wide-set brown eyes. He was deeply tanned and dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts.