Whiskey Island (14 page)

“Well, you’ve been here a lot of your life. And if you need to be here again, I suppose that’s okay. Look at me, for God’s sake.” Casey left Peggy to suds and elbow grease, scooting behind the bar to disappear into the kitchen.

Jon Kovats stood at the segmented sinks on the far wall, the sleeves of a dress shirt rolled to his elbows. He was washing dishes.

“What in the hell’s going on here?” Casey demanded over the blare of the radio.

Jon turned, and this time it really was Jon, not a stranger who resembled him. “Megan’s emptying trash. She said to tell you to start shredding cheese.”

“Jon, what are you doing?”

He looked as if he were afraid her IQ had dropped fifty points. “You can’t tell?”

She spaced her words as if she were talking to a child. “Why are you in a saloon kitchen washing dishes?”

He turned back to the sink. “Because one of your helpers is sick.”

“I thought you had a job. Did they kick you out of the district attorney’s office?”

“I’m moonlighting.”

Megan returned, heading directly to the sink beside Jon’s to wash her hands. “Casey, we need that cheese pronto. I ran out yesterday.”

Casey’s voice was icy. “Megan, meet Jon. Jon, Megan.”

“Good grief, I know Jon.” Megan dove into the corner and came up with an industrial-size skillet. “I’ve known him since high school.”

Casey knew better than to continue trying to straighten this out. “Fine. Maybe you know him better than I do. I haven’t seen him in ten years. Maybe you two have been pen pals all that time.”

“Like I ever have time to write letters.” Megan poured oil into the skillet and dumped in a bowl of chopped onions.

Casey flicked on the food processor and started on the five-pound block of cheese beside it, whacking off a chunk to feed through. Greta, Megan’s still-healthy assistant, came to stand beside her to shred lettuce. She was round faced, middle-aged and usually quiet, which was why Megan valued her help. Today she wasn’t as quiet as usual. “I know Jon, too.”

Casey tried not to sound interested. “Do you? Everybody seems to know him.”

“Yeah. Jon put away the guy who mugged my Ralph.”

Casey remembered Megan telling her that Greta’s husband, who worked as a newspaper carrier in the mornings, had been beaten and robbed early one morning not too long ago. The attacker had been quickly apprehended, tried and convicted.

“Did he?”

“Jon told me he’d put that jerk away for a long time, and he did.”

Casey pondered that as she whacked off another chunk of cheese. She wanted badly to turn around and see what Jon was doing, but she was determined not to fall prey to her own urges. She didn’t know what kind of game he was playing, but she was determined not to play along.

She fed the cheese through the processor as the other women bustled around the kitchen. They had worked together so long that assignments were instinctive, and anything that needed to be done was, without fuss. Megan’s whiskey onion soup, bubbling in the island soup well, perfumed the room, and steam rose from the sink and stove, saturating the air and kinking Casey’s hair.

She finished the last small bits, turned off the processor and carried the shredded cheese to the island, where it would top baked potatoes, salads and Rosaleen’s shepherd’s pie, the day’s special. She saw then what she should have guessed.

The sink was empty of dishes.

Jon Kovats had vanished.

Whiskey Island Saloon was busiest between 11:30 and 1:30. The lunch crowd died away after that; Megan’s assistants went home, and Megan usually left to shop for supplies or make deposits at the bank, leaving the afternoon to limp along under the guidance of her bartender.

Today Casey had taken care of what work was left over and tended bar for the few patrons who dropped in for an afternoon drink. She had fallen naturally into the routine.

Things always picked up again by five, when the saloon filled with people stopping after work. Barry arrived about four-thirty, and Megan usually came back about then and stayed until nine, when the kitchen closed for good. Normally the evening menu was limited, and even when Artie wasn’t there, Barry could handle most of it. Usually Megan spent the evening hours doing prep for the next day’s soup and special, or baking the Irish soda bread that was a menu staple.

Today she returned with a trunk filled with paper towels and napkins just as Casey was pulling on her coat.

“Going out?” Megan asked with interest.

“It’s time to pick up Ashley.”

Megan had almost forgotten about Ashley. Now she remembered that Casey had found day care at St. Brigid’s for the little girl. Even when she was around, Ashley was so quiet she blended into the scenery. Megan had been dubious about having a child on the premises, but so far her presence hadn’t been much of a disruption.

“Does she like her class?” Megan said.

“Megan, what in the hell was that thing with Jon about?”

Megan tried not to smile. Casey had been annoyed with her all afternoon, but there hadn’t been time for questions. Megan thought her sister was particularly attractive when she was angry. Something about the way she held her head. Maybe something about the way she threw back her shoulders. Aunt Deirdre had always scolded the teenage Casey about her posture.

Casey glowered, and Megan explained as the room began to fill up. “He came in through the kitchen. You know I always liked Jon, so we caught up a little. I told him how busy I was, and the next thing I knew, he was washing dishes. He’s darned good, by the way.”

“He shows up, then he disappears. Shows up, disappears.”

Megan was intrigued. Casey’s record with men was spotty. She had a discerning eye, selecting only the choicest of losers. She had even tried marriage to one of them, ending it with an amicable enough divorce. Casey had gotten her car and what was left of their joint bank account. Stan had gotten the sweet young thing at his office.

Megan pulled her sister to one side to avoid a party of three men who were making a beeline for the bar. “You and Jon were so close. You were inseparable.”

Casey scrunched her face in distaste. “We were friends. That’s it. It’s not like we were ever anything else.”

“Never?”

“I think Ashley and I will be out for a while.”

“Planning to make it a party of three?”

“What’s with the questions, Megan?”

“What’s with the attitude, Casey?”

Casey straightened her shoulders, and Megan decided Aunt Deirdre had been right about Casey’s posture. They squared off, the way they had so many times before. “I understand men,” Casey said. “I can read a man like a book.”

“A comic book.”

“You’re skating on thin ice, Meg.”

“I interrupted. What was the rest of the sentence?”

“I understand men. I don’t like it when I don’t.”

“In other words, Jon threw you for a loop. He’s as smart as you are, so you can’t predict him. He’s more like, oh, I don’t know, Batman than the Incredible Hulk.”

“Just tell me why you’re so smug. When was the last time
you
had a man in your life, predictable or not?”

Megan supposed that if she’d been having this conversation with any woman except a sister, she would be insulted. But sisters were a lifetime inoculation against thin skin. “Look, I don’t like your choice in men. That bozo you were flirting with the night of the party was an all-time loser. Tell me you’re not going to sleep with him.”

“At least I have that choice!”

“Touché.”

Casey paused a moment. “Oh, screw it, Meg. I’m sorry. We’re at it again. I knew this would happen if I came home. That was a low blow.”

“But not much lower than me asking if you planned to sleep with the Elvis impersonator.”

Casey grinned. “We’re bad. Both of us.”

Megan said hello to another group who had just arrived to sit at the bar, then turned back to her sister. “Well, are you?”

“No! I’m not going to sleep with him, and I doubt he’ll ever come back here, anyway. You’re right, he was a bozo of the worst order. Maybe I’m smarter than we think.”

“Impossible. I think you’re as smart as they come. Just stuck in a rut where men are concerned. You like being on top, Casey.”

“And exactly how would you know about that?”

Megan slapped her sister’s shoulder. “I’m not talking about your sex life.”

“Let’s talk about yours, then. From what I can tell, it’s been a long time since you’ve had a man in your life, Meg. Why is that?”

Megan knew the real answer, and she suspected Casey did, too. Both women had trouble committing. Understanding why didn’t take a psychology degree. “I’m too busy to go on a search.”

“In other words, if the right man walked through that door right now, that’s all it would take?”

Megan thought of Niccolo Andreani. The former Father Nick. She had thought about him too often since the morning at his house when he had told her a little about his life. He was the most attractive man she’d met in a long time, and probably the most unavailable.

She lifted her chin. “No. I’m too busy to have a relationship.”

“You don’t have to hold up the world, damn it. It might just keep spinning without you.”

It was an old observation. For once, Megan simply shrugged. “Maybe I’m afraid to find out if that’s true.”

“Afraid it’s true, or afraid it isn’t?”

“Casey, think what we’ll both save on therapy if you stay a while.”

“Maybe Ashley and I will track down Jon and see what’s going on. Why don’t you take the evening off?”

“It’s pierogies tonight. We get a crowd.”

“Artie and Barry can manage. And Saturday afternoons are slow, so you don’t have to do anything tonight. I’ll come down earlier tomorrow morning to help with prep.”

Megan was tempted. She was more tired than usual because of the missing assistant. She’d been on her feet since six that morning. She wasn’t even sure she’d eaten lunch.

“Tell you what,” Casey said. “Tomorrow’s soup is vegetable beef, right?”

“That’s the plan.”

“I’ll get the stock going tonight after Ashley’s asleep, so that there won’t be so much to do in the morning. But only if you promise to leave right now.”

“I was going to make bread, too.”

“There’s plenty in the freezer.”

Megan could feel her body beginning to relax in anticipation. She had four hours of public television on videotape that she’d wanted to see for weeks. She could have a glass of red wine, stir-fry a simple dinner, have a long, hot soak in the tub.

Casey must have read her answer. “Good girl.”

Megan summoned the energy for one last try at martyrdom. “But you’re tired, too.”

“Not nearly as tired as you. Besides, if I find Jon, I’ll drag him back here to wash dishes while I cook.”

“Okay. I owe you.”

“That would be nice for a change.” Casey started around her, squeezing Megan’s shoulder as she passed. Megan heard the door close a moment later and knew her sister was gone. Because of the ascending noise level, she didn’t know that Niccolo had passed Casey in the doorway until she heard his voice behind her.

“Megan?”

In other words, if the right man walked through that door right now, that’s all it would take?

Megan faced him. “Hi. You’re too late for lunch and just a little too early for dinner. But you could have a drink.”

“I came to see if you’d like to have dinner with me.”

“Here?”

“No. Somewhere quieter, where we can talk.”

Her antenna extended full length. She had a sinking feeling she knew what they were going to discuss. “I usually work until nine.”

“Casey says you’re off tonight.”

“When did you have time to discover that?”

“As she held open the door for me she said ‘Get her out of here, Nick, before she completely forgets there’s an outside world.’”

Megan figured Casey had a lot to answer for. She hoped Jon Kovats was harder to track down than a four-leaf clover. “Suddenly I’m a charity case?”

“I came to ask you to dinner. It was just nice to get the family’s permission.”

She liked his smile so much. There was gentle humor in it, and it lit up his dark good looks like dawn hovering at the edge of the world. “Tell you what, why don’t we go to my place? I was going to stir-fry fresh vegetables, and I think I have shrimp in the freezer.”

“Wouldn’t you rather go out? You cook all day long.”

But she didn’t cook for
him,
and she didn’t cook in her own kitchen. Oddly, she wasn’t as tired as she’d thought, even with more questions on the horizon. “You can help,” she said. “I’m great at giving orders.”

“I’ll bet. Can we swing by my house for a bottle of wine?”

“We’d better, if you want anything grand. I specialize in the discount region of California.”

“Maybe I’d better bring coffee, too.”

She smiled her answer. She had been looking forward to a night alone. She found that she was looking forward to this even more.

10

F
or a no-nonsense, take-charge sort of woman, Megan had an apartment that was surprisingly whimsical and personal. Standing in her living room, Niccolo felt much the way he had in the confessional as he listened to the hidden secrets of a stranger’s soul.

“Would you mind very much if I take a shower and change?” Megan said. “I’ll hurry, but these clothes smell like a pack of Winstons.”

“Take your time. Shall I open the wine?”

“There ought to be an audience and applause. That’s not a four-dollar cabernet.”

“Just say something kind after the first sip.”

She flashed him a smile and trailed off into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Niccolo was glad to have the chance to look around. Megan Donaghue interested him more than he wanted to admit. He had known many attractive women through the years—the priesthood hadn’t rendered him blind or immune to a woman’s charms. He hadn’t left because of the injustice of celibacy, but he had never pretended he would miss it, either.

Still, he was acutely aware that he was particularly and painfully vulnerable now, and Megan was the woman stirring the glowing embers of his sexuality.