Finding Sarah (16 page)

“Can I get you another?” Randy
asked.

“Nah—I’ve got to get going.” He
gave Randy a broad grin. “Retirement’s done some good things on the home front.”

“Hey, thanks for the time.”

“No problem. Call if you need
anything else.” Dobs squeezed out of the booth and headed for the door,
stopping to chat with more old friends at the bar on his way.

Randy sat and finished his beer,
trying to digest the information Dobs had given him. Something roiled his gut
like a bad clam in a bowl of chowder.

Sarah hurried to put away the
last of the St. Michael’s clay sculptures, remembering how Randy had come in
and helped her last week. Tonight, Chris would be waiting in the parking lot.
Chris’ refusal to tell her what the legal department said about Diana’s letter unless
she had dinner with him gave her little choice. The sooner she got this dinner
over with, the better she’d feel.

She let her memory drift back to
last night in Rob’s parking lot. To the pleasure of Randy’s kiss. But she’d
sworn to herself that they should slow down, that she and Randy were rushing
into things. Both of them were dealing with emotional issues. Were they
reaching out for comfort, or did they have true feelings for each other?
Distance, she’d told herself. And then she turned around and invited Randy on a
date. Now, here she was, having dinner with Chris.

She finger-combed her hair,
slipped into her coat, and took a deep breath. Please, let him tell her that
Diana didn’t have a leg to stand on.

The Eclipse’s lights flashed
across the parking lot and she trotted over. Chris had the passenger door open
for her. Other than a package of Big Red gum on the dash, his car was
immaculate. When she’d had a car, it was more like a purse on wheels. She
tossed the gum into a well of the console.

“Help yourself,” Chris said after
taking a piece. “Can’t seem to give it up, but it beats smoking.”

“No, thanks.” She adjusted the
seat belt, holding her purse in her lap and staring straight ahead. “Where are
we going?”

“Won’t change your mind about
Martinelli’s? It’s not that late.”

“No, I told you. I’m tired and I
wanted something close … and casual.” No dark rooms illuminated with candles.
Something bright, businesslike. This was a business dinner. Nothing more.

“Then it’s the Wagon Wheel. They
can manage a halfway decent steak.” Chris flipped on his blinker and turned the
corner. Sarah wasn’t surprised that he found a parking place right in front of
the restaurant, or that he could parallel park and end up exactly the same
distance between the cars in front and behind him.

Once they were seated, Chris
ordered a bottle of wine and some potato skins. Sarah flashed back to their
dating days. Had he ever let her order for herself? But then, she had to admit,
all they ate was burgers or pizza. She buried herself in the menu, determined
to choose something different. “I’m going to have the shrimp kabobs.”

“At a steakhouse? Besides, I
ordered a Cabernet. Let me order the rib eye for you. You’ll love it.”

“I feel like shrimp tonight.” She
closed her menu and set it at the edge of the table.

The wine came, Chris proclaimed
it satisfactory and the waiter poured two glasses. Sarah took a deep sip,
letting the tannins sit on her tongue for a moment before swallowing.

“It should breathe for a few
minutes,” Chris said. “And I want to propose a toast. I think I’ve found the
solution to your problems.”

Sarah’s mood brightened. Had
Chris’ connections found a loophole? “Really? Tell me.” She raised her glass.

Chris tapped his glass against hers,
then took a sip of his wine. “I want to help you. You don’t want my charity. I’ve
finally figured that out.” He smiled and reached in his breast pocket. “But if
we’re a team, it’s a partnership, not charity.”

“What do you mean? Partnership?”
She took a huge gulp of her wine and nearly choked in the process.

Chris pulled out the blue
envelope Sarah had given him. “I ran this by our legal department, and they
said she can pretty much do what it says.”

“Pretty much? That means they
found some loophole, right?”

“Not exactly a loophole. But if
you’ll check your contract, they said there’s almost always a grace period of
half the payment cycle. So you’d have some extra time.” His green eyes
sparkled. “But what if I buy her out? She gets her money, she’s off your back,
and I’m a business partner.”

Sarah’s heart stopped. She felt
her mouth opening and closing. Afraid she looked like a dying fish, she clamped
her lips together. Grateful for the waiter’s arrival with their food, Sarah
gave Chris a nod. Business partners. Even an eighty-twenty split was too much.
He’d want more. More from her, she knew it. “That’s very generous, Chris, but—”

“You don’t have to say anything
right now, Sarah. But think about it. I’m sure once you look at the options, it’ll
make perfect sense. We’re good together. We always have been. Let me help.”

“I’ll think about it. I’ve paid
her for this month, so I’m set for now.” She worked a shrimp off the skewer.
Somewhere, she unearthed the strength to look him in the eyes. “But it would be
business. Nothing more. I’d run the shop. If I’m going to consider it at all,
you’d have to agree to be a silent partner.”

“As a mouse, Sarah.” He reached
across the table and squeezed her hand.

Sarah heard Chris’ voice, saw
that the food on her plate had diminished, but she had no recollection of the
conversation or the taste of the meal. She looked at the empty wine bottle.

She pushed her plate away. “I’m
stuffed.” The boulder in her belly had displaced any room for more food.

“No dessert? They have a great
chocolate mousse pie.”

“No, thanks.”

“I’ll order one and we can share.”
He motioned to the waiter.

Well, if nothing else, Chris
couldn’t read her face the way Randy could. If he could, he’d never have that
eager puppy-dog look. Puppy dog. She thought of the cats. Could Chris have
deliberately poisoned cats? Why did Randy think Chris would rob her, or poison
house pets? It made no sense.

The pie arrived and the waiter
set an extra fork in front of Sarah. She toyed with it while Chris ate,
refusing his urges to taste. Still thinking about the way Randy said her
thoughts were transparent, she schooled her face into a neutral expression. “Do
you have any pets?”

He wiped his mouth and looked at
her, his expression unreadable. “No, I’m on the road a lot. Irregular hours. Too
complicated. Why?”

“I don’t know. I was thinking
about getting a kitten.” She studied his face for some kind of reaction, but
all he did was fork up another piece of pie.

He chewed, swallowed, and wiped
his mouth again. “I guess I think of myself as a dog person, but if you wanted
a cat, I’d go along with it.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “I’d
do anything for you. For us.”

Oh, God. Had he thought she was
talking about them, as in a couple? She strove to keep the dismay off her face.
“There’s no
us
. Not the kind of
us
I think you mean.” She ignored
the way his hands tightened around hers. “I value our friendship, but I don’t
want you to think it can be more than that. Even if I take your offer, it will
be strictly business, and I need time to think about it.”

She pulled her hand away and
excused herself. “I’ll meet you at the door.” She stood, definitely feeling the
effects of the wine. She had no idea how much of the bottle she’d drunk—between
the waiter and Chris, her glass had remained full. Lightheaded, she wove her
way through the restaurant to the ladies’ room.

As she washed her hands, Sarah
stared at her reflection. Too pale. Worry and lack of sleep were etched on her
face. She knew she could never live with Chris owning a single bit of her shop.
What had she done? What if Diana accepted his offer? All she could think about
was Chris, slowly inching his way into the running of her shop. Choosing her
merchandise the way he chose her dinners, or the clothes he wanted her to wear.
Although, in all fairness, he had found some decent artists. If he agreed to
let her run the business, he might discover more, which could only help. Maybe
there could be a positive side.

Memories of her conversation with
Randy hit her like a two-by-four across the skull. Survivor’s guilt, he’d
called it. Of course. Chris had recommended the artist David saw the day he
died. Chris felt guilty. That was why he’d become so persistent after David
died.

Empowered with a new sense of resolve,
she straightened. She’d make him see there was no need to blame himself. That
she could hang on without him. She freshened her lipstick and went to find
Chris.

As they drove home, she tried to
tune out his chatter and collect her thoughts.
Tell him.
But the words
wouldn’t come. He parked the Eclipse in the alley behind her house. She opened
her door before he had a chance to. As she swung her legs around and got to her
feet, she wobbled a little and felt his arm at her waist.

“A little too much wine, Sarah?
Let me help you.”

“I don’t need help,” she said.
But she gripped the handrail as she made her way up the stairs. At her door,
she turned to face Chris, forcing herself to speak. “Thanks for everything.”
She formed her words carefully, hearing them from a distance. “You don’t have
to feel bad, you know. It wasn’t your fault.”

“What are you talking about?”

“David. You feel guilty, that’s
all. It’s called survivor’s guilt. Randy explained it.”

Oops.
She wasn’t going to talk about
Randy in front of Chris. Too late. “Just because you gave him the name of that
artist, it wasn’t your fault. I don’t blame you. So you don’t have any
obligation to help me.”

She squinted to see if Chris
reacted, but his face was blurry. “You’re out of it, Sarah. Get some sleep and
we’ll talk another time.” He kissed her forehead and squeezed her hands before
leaving her at the door.

She rubbed her fingers, staring
at her hands. The man had quite a grip. She sighed. He’d been right about one
thing. She’d had more than her share of that bottle of wine. It took two tries,
but she unlocked the door, remembering to lock it behind her.

Her head swam, but it wasn’t just
the wine. David, Randy and Chris whirled through her brain like horses on a
carousel. She floated to the stereo and put a CD into the player. “Building a
Mystery” filled the room. Knowing sleep wouldn’t come easily, she powered on
her computer. As she had done so many times after David had died, Sarah sat
playing Mahjongg solitaire. With enough complexity to require her full
attention, the game had filled the lonely days and nights. She hadn’t played in
months and she began familiarizing herself with the intricate tile markings.

Mahjongg’s magic hadn’t faded.
Sarah rubbed her eyes and looked at the clock. Ten-thirty. She remembered the
other benefit of the computer game—staring at the screen numbed her brain and
made her tired enough to sleep. She got ready for bed and crawled under the
covers. The phone on the nightstand beckoned. She reached for it. No, she’d
been the one to say they should keep things distant. After ten minutes of
tossing and turning, she succumbed. Without turning on the light, she punched
the button for Randy’s home number, her heart thumping.

She heard his voice, the
television in the background. She almost hung up.

“Hello?” she heard again.

“Hi. It’s me. Sarah. Are you
busy?”

“Not that busy.” The television
noises disappeared.

She stifled a yawn. “Anything on
my Gertie?”

“Sorry, not yet. She’s a phantom.
And you sound tired.”

Sarah turned onto her side and
snuggled deeper under the covers. She felt her body sinking into the mattress,
her eyes closing. “Had wine with dinner.” No need to tell him she’d had dinner
with Chris. She didn’t want to think about Chris now.

“Where are you? It sounds like a
bad connection.”

“In bed. Under the covers.”

Sarah heard a deep intake of
breath. “God, Sarah, don’t do this to me. I’ve spent the last two days trying
not to think of you like that.” Randy’s voice had become hoarse. “You are
making things very hard.”

Sarah giggled. “Hard, as in
difficult?”

“That, too.” He groaned.

Sensations built deep in her
belly. Time to change the subject. “Can you tell me about the kitchen case?”
She heard Randy take a breath, pause and when he spoke again, she heard the
professional cop.

“The Sherman’s maid ratted on the
daughter and I found evidence at a frat house at Willamette University. The
Sherman girl was pissed at her parents for not letting her date the older guy
and thought that having someone trash the place, take a few things, would be a
good way to get at them. She told her boyfriend that her parents would be out
and suggested the Zimmer’s house, too, as a cover-up.”

“That’s rotten.”

“Yes, but it’s in the hands of
the court system now, and I’m back on your case. Kovak’s got a case involving
Oregon Trust and I’m going to see if there’s any connection to yours.”

“Mmm hmm.” His words barely
registered.

“You didn’t hear any of that last
part did you?”

“Of course I heard it. But I
think you’ll have to tell me again another time, when it makes sense.”