Nightway (16 page)

“See something interesting?” John questioned with a sideways glance at her.

“This article on Faulkner and the controversy with the hospital about a conflict of interests. I heard Dr. Fairchild talking about it today on the telephone,” she explained while she skimmed the first paragraph of the article. “Faulkner’s on the hospital board and his construction company just happened to submit the low bid for the construction of a new wing.” A name leaped
out of the newspaper print. “John! J. B. Faulkner owns Falcon Construction, the company you work for.”

“Yes, he does.” He nodded. “Personally, I don’t see what all the fuss is about. Why wasn’t this possibility of a conflict of interests raised when the invitations to bid were sent out to the contractors? I think it’s a case of a sore loser. The submissions were made by sealed bids, which were opened in the presence of all the hospital board members.”

“You have a point,” Lanna conceded. “But you also have to admit that it looks suspicious.”

“Only to suspicious minds.” His reply was sharp and quick.

She shrugged her shoulders, understanding the loyalty he felt toward his employer. “From all I’ve heard and read, Faulkner has fingers in just about every pie in town. He can afford to let somebody else have a slice now and then.” She held to her point of view without sounding argumentative.

John turned in his chair to send her a curious, twinkling look. “Have you got something against being rich?”

“No. I like to see the little guy get a break now and then, though.” She smiled. “This J. B. Faulkner sounds like a pretty ruthless character.”

“Oh?” He continued to study her with that same look, amused and indulgent. “How did you manage to learn so much about the man when you haven’t even been here a year?”

“He’s practically a legend in Phoenix.” There was a wryness to her smile. “I don’t care how large a city is; the minute you come into any town you hear all about the richest men. There are plenty of stories about Faulkner and how he bought acres of land around here for next to nothing, then sold it for a hundred or two
hundred times what he paid for it. He cheated the original landowners out of a lot of money.”

John tipped his head back and laughed heartily. “He never cheated a soul. He paid the asking price. It just so happened that he turned around and sold it later for a handsome profit. The man had the foresight to see that this city was going to grow. He gambled that he was right, and the gamble paid off. I don’t call that a crime.”

“He didn’t have to cheat to win, did he? I guess I never looked at it that way,” she realized. “I think some people are born lucky. J. B. Faulkner must be one of them.”

“I don’t know about that,” John disagreed. “He might be lucky in some ways. I … I’ve heard he’s a lonely man. Money can buy power, influence, and favors, but it can’t buy friends. It can’t even assure him of the love and respect of his family.”

“I know you’re right. But when I’m driving down the highway sweltering in my little car and some air-conditioned Cadillac zips past me, I have a hard time feeling sorry for the people inside,” she laughed. “I’m too busy feeling sorry for me. What it amounts to is old-fashioned jealousy.”

“Now that is the most honest statement I’ve ever heard anybody make!” John folded the paper shut in a decisive action. “You have just won yourself a dish wiper.” As he followed Lanna into the kitchen, he noticed the book of wallpaper samples lying on the counter. “What’s this? Planning a little decorating?”

“Yes. I want some new vinyl paper for the bathroom, so I decided to give myself a birthday present.” She set the salad bowl down and flipped the book open to the sample she had marked. “What do you think of this one?”

“It looks nice.” But he barely glanced at it. “When is your birthday? You never mentioned it to me.”

“A week from Friday, but I’m pretending to forget about it. I’ll be twenty-six, and I think it’s time I stopped counting.”

“When you reach my age, that’s the time to stop counting,” John insisted dryly.

“Yes, well, I’ve just about decided that I’m not going to have a husband to look after me when I’m your age, so I’d better start putting money away to take care of myself.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” he teased. “An old maid should have some money in her sock.”

“Thanks a lot!” She flashed him a look of mock anger, brandishing a tablespoon.

“What are you going to do to celebrate your birthday?”

“I’m open to suggestions. Will you come over for dinner?” Lanna invited.

“I have a better idea. I’ll take you out for a steak dinner.”

“You have yourself a date,” she said, accepting with a decisive nod.

“White linen, candlelight, champagne. I didn’t expect all this, John.” The flickering flame brought a burnished glow to light Lanna’s mane of brown hair and glittered on the gold combs that sleeked it away from the sides of her face. She reached for the glass the waiter had just filled with the sparkling wine and lifted it in a salute to her table companion. “Thank you.”

“This is a special evening,” he reminded her in his warm, gravelly voice. “We have a birthday to celebrate.”

Lanna sipped at her champagne, laughing softly at the bubbles that tickled her nose. “It would be awful if I sneezed, wouldn’t it?”

“In very bad taste.” He clicked his tongue in reproval.

“I’m sure the maître d’ would frown in his haughty way,” Lanna murmured, eyeing the short man showing a couple to their table.

“He wouldn’t dare. I’d have him fired for spoiling your evening,” John threatened.

Returning the wineglass to the table, Lanna fingered its fragile stem. The pale, effervescent liquid in the glass was only a shade lighter than the amber dress she
wore, the whipped cream material softly outlining her figure.

“I feel like this champagne,” she remarked, “sparkling with a heady glow. This is a better birthday celebration than having a crowd of people. How do you know where all these wonderful, little out-of-the-way restaurants are? This place has everything—atmosphere, a sense of quiet elegance, and privacy.”

“Why do you think I chose it? This is where I bring all my girl friends,” John chuckled and leaned forward in an air of confiding. “I am the envy of every man in this room.” His eyes danced with a wicked mischief. “Everyone is wondering whether you are my granddaughter or my mistress. Can’t you just hear those women asking what a dirty old man is doing with such a young and attractive woman?”

“I’ll bet they are wishing they were in the company of such a distinguished-looking man,” Lanna retorted. The tarnished silver of his hair glistened in the candlelight, vitally thick and wavy. In a dark suit and tie, he looked at ease in the formal attire, maturely masculine and relaxed. “You look very handsome in that suit. Do you know this is the first time I’ve seen you wear something other than your everyday work clothes?”

“I haven’t been a night watchman all my life. And quit looking at your watch,” he ordered gruffly.

“I was thinking we should order.” Lanna defended. “I don’t know how long it will take to get served, and I don’t want you to be late for work.”

“Didn’t I tell you?” John straightened in his chair. “I have the night off, so there isn’t any rush.”

“No, you didn’t tell me.” The initial rush of pleasure had barely passed when a flicker of guilt crossed her expression.

His keen gaze noticed it. “Is something wrong?”

“I was just thinking.”

“About what?” John persisted.

Lanna smiled at him and warned, “You aren’t going to like it.”

“Then it’s my fault for asking. What is it?”

“When a man has a Friday night free, he should spend it with his wife and family.” She met his gaze with a little toss of her head. John had never discussed with Lanna the details of his marital problems, but she knew the relationship with his wife was strained from the odd comments he’d made.

“As it happens, my wife is out of town,” John stated. “She took my grandson and daughter-in-law north for a visit. And my son had other plans for this evening. So if I had stayed home, I would have been alone. Having dinner with you isn’t interfering with any family duty at all.”

“I’m glad.” A curiosity that had been plaguing her refused to be denied its satisfaction any longer. Most people his age talked nonstop about their children and grandchildren, but John rarely mentioned his. “Don’t you get along with your sons? You never talk about them. I don’t even know their names,” she realized. “Do they live here in Phoenix?”

“My eldest son does.” He paused a second. “It’s very hard to describe your own children. My youngest is sharply intelligent with enormous potential, yet he doesn’t seem to have any ambition. We don’t get along very well. Now, my oldest son … I guess he reminds me of myself in a lot of ways.” He looked up, a gleam in his eye. “I don’t know whether I’ve told you this or not, but I’ve never had a woman friend before. Or maybe I should have said a friend who was a woman,” he corrected with a laugh.

“The reverse is true for me,” Lanna admitted, aware that he had again deftly changed the subject, but since he was reluctant to discuss his family, she didn’t pursue
it. “I have never enjoyed a genuinely platonic relationship with a man before. It’s a first for both of us.”

“The time I have spent with you has made me the happiest I’ve been in years. For some reason, people don’t get around to saying things like that to the people who are important to them, but I want you to know how I feel.” Tears pricked her eyes at his touchingly serious confession only to have him suddenly wink and raise his glass. “Enough sentimentality. For the rest of the night, we are going to eat, drink, and be merry. Happy birthday, Lanna.”

They did all three. Lanna’s wineglass was never fully emptied of champagne because John constantly kept refilling it despite her laughing protests. A thick, juicy steak dwarfed her plate, accompanied by tender asparagus spears and a baked potato drowning in butter and globs of sour cream. To top off the gluttonous repast, there was a miniature birthday cake complete with a burning candle. Most satisfying of all was the lively conversation between the two, the lulls never lasting longer than a bite of food.

Sated, and just a little tipsy, Lanna was reluctant to move when John stopped the borrowed station wagon in front of her apartment. With an effort, she turned her head to look at him, a dreamy contentment in her smile.

“Will you come in for coffee?” she asked.

He hesitated, then nodded. “Of course.”

But Lanna heard the thread of weariness in his voice. “Tired?”

“I’m getting too old for this drinking and carousing around,” he joked and stepped out of the car.

Her legs were unsteady when he helped her out of the car. The coolness of the desert night air made her head swim with the aftereffects of all that champagne.
She swayed against the support of his hand under her elbow.

“Whew! I’m a little light-headed,” she admitted with a self-conscious laugh. “I’ll need more than one cup of coffee. Are you good at sobering up your friends, John?”

“I have a great hangover cure. Should I leave the recipe in case you need it in the morning?” His twinkling glance mocked her mellow state as he guided her to the building entrance.

“I’ve never had a hangover in my life, but I’ve never gotten drunk on champagne before, either.” In front of her apartment, she stopped to dig to the bottom of her evening purse for the door key.

“You’d better let me do that,” John suggested when she found the key, but had difficulty getting it to go into the lock.

“Gladly.” She surrendered the key and stood back while he unlocked the door.

Directly across the hall from her apartment, a door opened and Mrs. Morgan walked out. There was a sickly pallor to her face. Lanna’s concern was instantaneous.

“Is something wrong, Mrs. Morgan?”

“Influenza. It’s going around again. It came on me this morning. I can’t work at the plant like this, but it doesn’t stop me from doing my laundry. Late at night is the only time you can find an empty washing machine in the building.”

“How true,” Lanna murmured in agreement.

But Sylvia Morgan had already been distracted by the sight of John dressed in his dark suit. Her scrutiny was so pointed that Lanna felt obligated to make an introduction.

“I don’t believe the two of you have officially met,
have you?” she began. “John, this is my neighbor, Mrs. Sylvia Morgan. My friend, John Buchanan.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Morgan.” John acknowledged the introduction with a polite nod of his head as he returned the door key to Lanna.

“Don’t I know you?” Mrs. Morgan frowned and tipped her head to one side.

“I’m sure we have never met,” John replied on a faint thread of amusement.

“You look so familiar to me. I just know I’ve seen you before, but I can’t remember where. Things like that bother me,” the woman sighed. “You look like someone I should know.”

“I have that kind of face.” He smiled his unconcern. “People are always telling me I remind them of their uncle or cousin or some character actor on television.”

“Maybe that’s it.” Mrs. Morgan seized the possibility. “Maybe you remind me of an actor. I never thought about that.”

“Did you say you had your clothes in the washing machine?” Lanna prompted.

“Yes. Yes, I did.” The woman hesitated, as if reluctant to leave. “I’d better be getting them into the dryer or else I’ll be up all night. Probably will be, anyway,” she grumbled.

Lanna made no move to enter her apartment as she watched her neighbor walk down the hallway toward the building’s laundry. Sylvia Morgan paused at the corner to look back, then disappeared down the connecting corridor.

“She was waiting to see if I was going to invite you in,” Lanna explained as she entered the apartment ahead of John. “She’s convinced you are my sugar daddy.”

John laughed, but the sound lacked it’s usual heartiness. “I’m not surprised. It’s a conclusion more than
one person would reach if they saw us together.” He moved across the room to sit heavily on a chrome chair at her breakfast table. “Don’t take too long making that coffee. My old bones need a pick-me-up.”