Love Remains (26 page)

“Just call me Sassy. Everyone does.”

He applied a cautious amount of pressure in returning Sassy’s handshake; she was so tiny and frail-looking. “It’s very nice to meet you, Sassy.”

“Why don’t you go on in, Robert. That way you won’t have to be surrounded by all us old folks.” Mamm waved him toward the pew Trina, Victor, and Sassy had stepped out from to greet them.

He started edging his way toward the end—and realized someone else was already sitting on the other end of the somewhat short pew.

No, not someone. Zarah.

He scooted the rest of the way down and, when she didn’t look up from her program when he stood right beside her, he tapped her shoulder.

She finally looked up. Anxiety, chagrin, and pleasure all flashed through her blue eyes. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself. Move over. I want to sit on the end so I can stretch my leg out in the aisle if I need to.”

With Bobby pressed as far against the pew in front of them as he could manage, Zarah slid down the bench, leaving him plenty of room at the end.

He sat, nearer to her than to the arm of the pew, then leaned closer—he could smell the fruity aroma of her hair. “I think you left something out when I told you I was going to come today with my grandparents.”

“I…I didn’t want you to change your mind.” She once again kept her eyes pinned on the playbill.

Oh, if only she knew how much he wanted to spend time with her—and how bad an idea that was for his objectivity when it came to the case.

“So, that was State Senator Todd Warren.” Bobby followed her lead and pretended to be more interested in reading the program than in looking at her.

“Yes. He’s new on the committee I report to quarterly for the commission. At the last meeting, he asked me if I would give him a tour of the facility, since he’d never seen it.”

Todd Warren. Thirty-seven years old. From the biggest town in the
smallest senatorial district in the state—a district filled with his family, from what Bobby had been able to pull quickly from the Internet. The state elections board had investigated his campaign for allegedly tampering with the election, but Warren and his election committee had been exonerated—possibly because the judge was a fishing buddy of the former senator, Warren’s great-uncle.

Bobby didn’t trust him. But whether that had to do with his investigator’s instinct or his jealousy, he couldn’t be certain. And until he could figure that out, he didn’t want to raise any red flags at work by initiating a background check on an elected official of the state. No matter that he was smarmy and had obviously made Zarah uncomfortable.

“So, what’s this musical about?”

That succeeded in getting Zarah to look at him. “You’ve never seen
The Music Man?”

He ducked his chin and raised his eyebrows. “Zare—think about it. Think about what you know of me and what my movie preferences are. Have you ever known me to willingly watch a musical?”

“It’s been a long time. Things change.”

“Certain things don’t.” Like how absolutely beautiful she was. “So, what’s it about?”

“The musical does a pretty good job of explaining itself. I don’t want you to lose the joy of learning the story as it goes along. I will tell you, though, it has one of those dreaded happy endings.”

He leaned closer, so that his arm pressed lightly against hers. “Which reminds me, you never did finish telling me that story yesterday.”

Goose bumps appeared on Zarah’s arms. Bobby smiled. He loved that he still had that effect on her. He straightened, putting a little space between them again.

“Ah, Dr. Mitchell, imagine running into you here.”

A vaguely familiar, short man with silvery dark hair and heavy dark eyebrows slid into the pew in front of them and leaned one knee on the seat.

“Dr. Forrester. I hoped you’d find the tickets I left for you yesterday.”

Bobby’s heart sank at the way Zarah’s face lit up when greeting her boss. Could he, too, illicit the goose-bump reaction from her?

“Yes, thank you for that. I brought a couple of people from the city arts council and one of the theater reviewers for the paper. And who is this?” Dennis Forrester turned his professorial gaze on Bobby.

“Oh…sorry. Dennis Forrester, this is Bobby Patterson.” She turned to Bobby. “Dennis is the president of the Middle Tennessee Historic Preservation Commission—my boss. Dennis, Bobby is an agent with the Tennessee Criminal Investigations Unit.”

Bobby stood—towering over Forrester—and shook the man’s hand. How could this man, with his earnest gaze and clean-cut, everyman appearance, be the same person who, on paper, looked like the mastermind of a huge real estate scam?

“It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Forrester.”

“And you, Agent Patterson.” Forrester turned his attention back to Zarah. “I just wanted to thank you for your thoughtfulness and tell you that if you paid for those tickets, I’ll be very unhappy.”

Bobby sat down in time to see Zarah grin at her boss unrepentantly. “I’ll never tell.”

Forrester reached across the pew back separating them and tweaked Zarah’s chin. “What am I going to do with you?”

“You could always fire me, I guess, as I’m stubborn, hardheaded, and don’t listen to you.”

Dennis tapped his forefinger against his lips as if seriously considering her suggestion. “No, that wouldn’t do. I’ll think of something fitting. I guess I could make you stay in DC longer than a week, just to get you out of my hair.”

Bobby’s head snapped around to Zarah, whose smile faded inexplicably.

“John would probably love to put me to work for however long you’d allow him to have me.” The teasing lilt was gone from her voice, though she worked hard to keep her tone light. Had Forrester’s
suggestion that he might want her gone for a while really hit her that hard?

At the front of the auditorium, the orchestra began their warm-ups.

“I guess that’s my cue to return to my seat. Agent Patterson”—Forrester held out his hand again, which Bobby shook—”so nice to meet you. Make sure our Zarah behaves herself—and that she didn’t sneak any work in here with her.” Forrester winked at Zarah and departed, just as someone else came along wanting the seat.

Dennis Forrester. Genuine guy—as he appeared? Or master manipulator? The sooner Bobby could get to the bottom of those questions, the better—for Zarah’s sake and for his own peace of mind.

Zarah raised a shaking hand and covered her eyes. She’d almost blown everything by blurting out that Dennis might just lose her to the National Archives if he wasn’t careful. She was of half a mind to cancel the interview. But she couldn’t pass up this kind of opportunity.

“When do you leave for DC?” Bobby asked.

“A week from Sunday. I’m on loan to the American History Museum for a few days to help them sort through a bequest they received of memorabilia and artifacts from a family that lived in this area for generations.” She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Dennis was out of earshot. “And I have a job interview with the National Archives while I’m up there.”

Bobby looked like he’d been sucker punched. “A…job interview in DC? I didn’t realize you were interested in leaving Nashville.”

Goose bumps ran up and down her body again, and she shivered involuntarily at the disappointment in Bobby’s tone. “I’m not. I want to stay here more than just about anything. But it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity just to get an interview with them. Of course, I’d have to get a second job just to afford rent up there.”

“But you have—” Bobby stopped, jutting his jaw forward as if using his bottom teeth to catch words before they escaped.

“I have what?” She so wanted to run her finger along that jaw, just as she’d done years ago. But she didn’t have the right. And even if she did, this wasn’t the place for that kind of public display of affection.

“You have your house you could sell. Stacy told me you got it for a steal and that she’s been trying to convince you to sell it because you could get more than twice what you paid for it. That’s a pretty profit.”

“But still not enough to afford something in DC or its suburbs.”

The house lights lowered and the room went dark—thanks to the blackout blinds covering the three-story-tall windows that ran along the left side of the auditorium.

As familiar as Zarah was with this particular musical—and she’d seen this cast perform it once already—her attention focused more on Bobby and his reactions than on what was happening onstage. In the beginning he seemed to enjoy it; but as the story unfolded, he didn’t react the way he should—the way everyone else in the audience did.

About halfway through the first act, Bobby’s hands lay fisted atop his thighs. But at the end of the first act, when Marian Paroo tore the page out of the journal that would provide evidence of Harold Hill’s guilt before giving the book to the mayor, Bobby crossed his arms.

The house lights rose, and when Zarah turned to look at Bobby, to ask him what he thought, she caught sight of a scowl before he quickly rearranged his expression into a smile and unfolded his arms.

“I’m almost afraid to ask you what you think of it so far.”

Bobby glanced at the stage and then back at her. “The performances are great. Your friend—Caylor?—isn’t really Irish, is she?”

“No. She spent a year in Britain—England, Ireland, and Scotland—working on her master’s degree. She’s always had an ear for accents, but she came back sounding like she’d grown up over there.” Zarah curled the card stock program in her hands. “But what do you think of the story?”

Bobby pressed his lips together—making them almost entirely disappear. “Honestly?”

She nodded. “Honestly.”

“It bothers me.”

“Bothers you? In what way?” With Kiki having left to go to the restroom with Sassy and Lindy, Zarah turned sideways, leaning her arm against the seat back.

“Well…this Harold guy, he’s a con man.” Bobby’s expression indicated this should be enough explanation.

But Zarah wasn’t quite following him. “Right. That’s who he is at the
beginning
of the story. I don’t want to give away the ending, but most stories are about someone who needs to go through some kind of change—a metamorphosis—and grow into a better person. So they have to start out with flaws.”

“Flaws? Zarah, the man’s a criminal.” Bobby nodded, red-faced, at the few people who turned at his raised voice. He turned to face her, his knee touching hers. “I’m just saying that I’ve had lots of experience with men like that over the past several years. They don’t change their ways.”

He looked so earnest, so concerned over the plight of the fictional people Harold Hill was in the process of swindling, that Zarah wanted to reach out and hug him. Instead, she leaned back a little. “It’s called willing suspension of disbelief. You should try it.”

Bobby ducked his head, a grin forming. “Fine. For your sake, I’ll try to enjoy the rest of the play—I’ll try to forget that master manipulators never stop trying to manipulate people.” He reached over and squeezed her hand.

Zarah swallowed convulsively. One thing she’d never forgotten over the years was the feel of Bobby’s hand around hers, the way it completely enveloped hers. Even though the contact ended quickly before Bobby stood to stretch, Zarah couldn’t stop thinking about it for the remainder of the performance.

During the curtain calls, Bobby stood with everyone else and clapped politely. And when the lead actor once again leaped back up on the stage to direct the audience in singing “Seventy-Six Trombones,”
Bobby remained standing but clasped his hands behind his back, jaw jutted slightly forward, looking like he was fighting with himself to keep from checking his watch.

Zarah—mouthing the words today, rather than expose her tone deafness again—didn’t bother hiding her smile. If he’d tried to suspend his disbelief, he’d failed. Oh well. He never had been a big fan of fiction—whether books or movies or TV.

As soon as the song ended, Kiki put her arm around Zarah’s waist. “We’re all going over to The Cheesecake Factory at the Green Hills Mall for supper and would love it if you and Caylor would go with us—to keep Robert company, as he rode over with his grandparents and would be stuck with just us old folks otherwise.”

Miss the opportunity to spend more time with Bobby—more time to see if she could figure out what she felt about him, what their future might be? And for Caylor to meet Bobby and start getting to know him? “I’d love to go. And I’m sure Caylor will, too. That’s one of her favorite restaurants.”

“Wonderful. We’ll meet you over there, then.”

Zarah followed Bobby out of the pew. “Why don’t you—”

“Dr. Mitchell, I’m glad I caught you. I wanted to introduce you to my guests.” Dennis came around and cupped her elbow to propel her forward, eliminating her chance to ask Bobby if he wanted to ride over to the mall with her.

“I guess I’ll see you at the restaurant.” Bobby’s face had gone strangely blank—almost cold—at her boss’s interruption.

“See you there.” She watched him make his way through the crowd to catch up with his grandparents even as Dennis started the introductions. Odd. She hadn’t remembered Bobby as the jealous type, but he’d definitely shown that tendency a couple of times just in the past two days.