Hide Yourself Away (21 page)

As they waited for their wine to arrive, Grace wanted to get it out of the way. It would either relieve her or ruin the evening, but she was certain she had to tell B.J. about her visit to the police. Not only had she brought his name into things, but she wanted to confide her concerns. Yet she told herself to be careful not to make him feel that she was leaning too heavily on him.

“Here’s to you, Grace,” he said, holding his glass toward her. “You’ve been making work a lot more enjoyable for me.”

Trying to decipher the meaning of the toast, Grace smiled as their glasses touched. Maybe this wasn’t a date after all. Maybe this was just one colleague dining with another. She hoped not. She was feeling more and more attracted to the man who sat
across from her. It wasn’t just physical, though with his high cheekbones and angular jaw, B.J.’s face was certainly appealing. But he was also smart and sophisticated, yet down to earth. He didn’t take himself too seriously. Not like Frank at all.

“Should we look at the menu?”

“Yes.” Grace nodded. “But you’ll have to guide me. I don’t know much about sushi.” Oh God, she sounded like Jan fawning over Frank. Inwardly, Grace cringed, and she pinched herself under the table.

“How about we try some of almost everything then?” B.J. suggested.

Grace looked up from the menu. “I’m game, but I’ll have to pass on that Dancing Eel Roll.”

“Done.” B.J. laughed as the waiter came to take their orders. “We’ll have some pan-seared tuna with ponzu sauce and that salad of crab, octopus, conch, and shrimp in kimchi sauce to start, and a double combination platter with the California rolls, sashimi, and sushi.”

Halfway through her second glass of wine, Grace made her announcement. “I went to talk to the police today, B.J.”

His brown eyes widened a bit. “‘Bout what? Did you tell them that Sam is missing?”

“No, I didn’t think it was my place to go into that, though if Sam doesn’t show up soon, somebody’s got to tell them.” She shook her head. “No, I wanted to tell them something that might help in the investigation of Madeleine Sloane’s death.”

“I don’t understand. What?”

B.J. listened intently as Grace described her conversation with Madeleine at the clambake.

“Whoa,” he sighed as she finished. “If Linus knew that you were sitting on this and that you went to the cops with it instead of telling him, he’d go ballistic. This is just the sort of thing he’d kill to have on the show.”

“I’m not going to tell Linus, B.J. I have no desire to be interviewed on
KEY to America
about what Madeleine confided in me. It was a private conversation, and I don’t want to exploit it. I only told the police because I thought they should know. It could help in the investigation.”

He smiled appreciatively, reached across the table, and covered her hand with his. “You’re a good girl, Grace Callahan. I don’t know if that kind of thinking is going to score you points in this business, but I admire you for it.”

Grace was taken aback by the thrill she felt at B.J.’s touch, a vaguely familiar feeling, now, here again, vital and exciting. The last years with Frank had been passionless. It had been a long time since she’d been touched by a man—you couldn’t count the hugs she routinely got from her father. Grace didn’t want to kill the mood, but before things went any further, she had to tell B.J. that she’d mentioned his name. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but you never knew how somebody would react when the police were involved. Grace would dread talking to Frank about something like this. He never wanted to get involved in anything
that had any chance of causing him problems or complications.

“The police asked who was with me when I met Madeleine at Shepherd’s Point,” she said softly. “I told them you were.”

“No problema. Let them come talk to me if they want to, Grace. I have nothing to hide.” He wrapped his hand tighter around hers.

The steel band was playing on the wharf when Grace and B.J. came out of the restaurant. Caught up in the heady feeling caused by a combination of the tropical beat, the warm night air, and her companion for the evening, Grace took B.J. up on his offer of another drink.

“Do you think they make piña coladas?” she asked.

“Your wish is my command,” said B.J., bowing mockingly. “I’ll make it myself if the bartender won’t.”

As he went to the bar on the dock to retrieve their drinks, Grace leaned against the railing at the water’s edge and people-watched. The crowd was a festive one, dancing and laughing under the stars. Others strolled along the wharf, stopping to look in the windows of the shops that flanked the cobblestones. Everywhere she turned there was a sense of well-being and seeming ease, and Grace felt lucky to be part of it all. Tonight, she was part of a couple enjoying a summer holiday.

She saw a man and woman stepping from a sailboat onto the dock. Grace could make out the word
SEAWOLF
painted on the stern. As the pair drew closer, she recognized Gordon Cox with a pretty strawberry blonde a good thirty-five years his junior. The couple was almost upon her before the professor noticed Grace and quickly dropped his companion’s hand. Grace pretended she hadn’t seen it.

She raised her own hand in a wave. “Hi, Professor. Nice to see you again.”

“Well, hello there,” the professor said. Grace was fairly certain that he didn’t remember her name, and she decided to let him off the hook.

“Hi, I’m Grace Callahan,” she said turning to the redhead.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Judy Hazel.”

“Judy is one of my history students,” the professor offered a bit too hurriedly.

“I see,” said Grace. “I just wanted to tell you, Professor, you did a great job on the broadcast this morning.”

“Thank you, Grace. But I must say I didn’t appreciate being put on the spot like that. I didn’t like speculating on what might have happened to Madeleine just to provide fodder for that executive producer of yours.”

Grace didn’t offer the fact that she was the one who had suggested Gordon Cox to Linus. Instead, she steered the conversation in a different direction. “What do you think will happen with the tunnel now?”

“I really don’t know.” Gordon shook his head. “Madeleine
was Agatha Wagstaff’s only heir, so I suppose, in time, there is a chance that Agatha will turn over Shepherd’s Point to the Preservation Society. For now, Agatha has forbidden any more work to be done on the slave tunnel. But I haven’t given up on convincing her.”

By the time B.J. returned with her piña colada and his Rolling Rock, the professor and his friend had moved along. Sipping her pineapple-flavored drink, Grace felt some of the magic of the evening diminish as she thought of Madeleine and the loved ones the young woman had left behind. Her father and that reclusive aunt of hers must feel devastated.

Grace knew she was one of the last people to have talked with Madeleine before she died. She felt somehow that she should pay her respects and tell Oliver Sloane and Agatha Wagstaff that, on the night she died, Madeleine had talked about how much she loved them.

Grace and B.J. walked hand in hand across Thames Street and then up the hill on Touro Street toward the Viking. As they drew
closer to the hotel, Grace felt her heart beating faster, unsure of where the night was going to end up.

They were on the porch when B.J.’s beeper went off. He unclipped it from his belt and squinted to read the message.

“Crap.” B.J. angrily snapped off the beeper.

“What is it?”

“Linus wants me to edit forty-five seconds out of the scrimshaw piece.”

“Now?” asked Grace aware of the disappointment in her voice.

“Now.”

TUESDAY

—— JULY 20 ——

  CHAPTER  
74

Graced watched as the second
KTA
broadcast from Newport opened. Constance and Harry stood atop a stone bastion affording them and the viewers at home an exquisite, sweeping view of Narragansett Bay. Harry delivered the introduction.

“Newport’s Fort Adams is the largest coastal fortification in the United States. An engineering and architectural masterpiece, from 1824 until 1950 Fort Adams housed generations of American soldiers, but now it’s the centerpiece of a state park, open for the public’s enjoyment.”

Constance took her turn. “This eighty-acre park is one of the great open spaces of Newport. Every summer the world’s best jazz musicians perform at the Newport Jazz Festival, held on the broad field in front of the fort. We’ll have some of those musicians with us today. We’ll also take you on a tour of where our soldiers lived and the casements where the big guns once roared. Enter with us, if you dare, one of the listening
tunnels beneath the walls of the fort. Harry and I are also going to take a little sailing lesson, and we’ll have a primer on the art of scrimshaw. All that and more, this morning, on
KEY to America.”

  CHAPTER  
75

Last night’s combination of wine and rum had left Grace feeling groggy, and the blinding sunlight hurt her eyes. The jazz musicians were no draw for her this morning. The drummer seemed to be banging extra hard just for her benefit.

She went through the motions, appearing to be interested in each segment, dreading the tour she was expected to take with Professor Cox after the broadcast. All she wanted to do was escape to her room for a little nap and, maybe, see if she could catch Lucy for a quick visit.

If she got the job with
KTA,
getting up extra early would be a way of life and she could kiss late-night socializing during the week good-bye. Not that that would be a problem, since she didn’t exactly have a ripping social life. But if she got a night or
early-morning shift, and B.J. continued to work during the day, their time together would be limited.

Look at yourself. Already imagining a rosy future with B.J. Take it easy, girl.
One night did not a relationship make.