Silver Serenade

by Gerry O'Hara

  The phone rang, startling her out of her reverie. It was Cash.

  “Christie, I called your office and the secretary said you would be in late. Is something wrong?”

  “I didn’t sleep well. My mind ran a marathon all night.”

  “About the Farleys?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would have been better if you had been thinking about me. That would have put you to sleep,” he teased.

  “Thinking about you would definitely have given me sweet dreams,” she replied.

  “That’s what I like to hear. Have you unearthed anything new on the case?”

  “Dani is driving down with some cards she made for her dad when she was a second-grader. The cards should hold the answer, whatever it is. And I have to admit that makes me nervous. I’m afraid Mrs. Farley will be devastated if this is another dead end.”

  “Why don’t I take you out to dinner tonight, cheer you up?”

  “I’m not sure I’d be good company. So many thoughts are whirling through my mind. Anticipation and anxiety have me tied into knots. I’m not up for a night on the town.”

  “You have to eat. I’ll pick up some deli food and bring it to your place. Seven sound okay?”

  She did want to see him, longed to see him, in fact. “Seven works. And thanks, Cash.”

  “Hey, I’m trying to be your knight in shining armor.” He chuckled, and she could visualize laugh lines around his eyes. “See you later.”

  Christie walked into the bedroom and opened the closet. She shuffled through the hangers, looking for an outfit to wear. She chose a pair of gray slacks and a blue knit pullover, then she showered and dressed. A short time later she was in her office. There was a message from Dani saying that she expected to be in San Francisco by three o’clock.

  Christie tapped her pencil on the desk blotter. It was impossible to concentrate. She felt as though she was on a caffeine high. She peeked into the other office and told Tom that she was going to Starbucks for a decaf latte and a bagel.

  Sitting at a small sidewalk table, she watched pedestrians hurrying to lunch or appointments. A woman wearing a neatly tailored suit and carrying a leather briefcase rushed past, her focus obviously unbroken, as she headed to her destination. She poked the button at the pedestrian crosswalk and waited for the walk icon to flash on. Christie could almost sense her impatience. She felt the same way; three o’clock couldn’t come soon enough. Concentrating on other cases was difficult when Dani was foremost in her mind. Would the woman bring her a major clue to her identity, or just a bunch of innocuous childhood scribbles?

  She felt an urge to talk to Cash again. Maybe his voice would ease her jangled nerves. Her fingers poked the familiar numbers on the keypad, and she listened to the phone ring. Disappointment was sharp when she heard Paige’s voice. Cash was out of the office taking a deposition. She decided not to leave a message; what could she say, that she needed some verbal hand-holding? She knew that he would reassure her if he could.

  Her mind latched onto the realization that Cash’s entry into her life had changed her outlook. She was ready to share her insecurities and risk allowing him to enter her inner sanctum. This indicated a huge step forward. Her heart was now open to the possibility of love—his love. To be honest with herself, she admitted that she had already crossed over; her feelings for him were deep. That placed her in a vulnerable position, but she was ready to embrace that stage in their relationship.

  She tossed her empty coffee cup and napkin into a trash can and then strolled down the sidewalk. She peered into shop windows, hoping to edge out thoughts of the Farley case. The stores were high-end, and although she admired the leather purses and shoes in one store window, she realized that she could not afford even a key case in the designer collection. Why would anyone pay so much? she wondered. She suspected that a trendy hobo-style purse in the center of the display cost almost as much as a down payment on a car. She shook her head and walked on.

  In a pocket park, a bunch of pigeons scrabbled for handouts. She wished that she had kept a few crumbs from her bagel to feed them. It always amazed her that in the middle of high-rises, pigeons or starlings found their way to even the smallest plot of grass. An elderly man on a concrete bench dug into his pocket and then sprinkled sunflower seeds on the ground. The pigeons pushed and shoved their way to the banquet. One bird fanned its wings and screeched at the greedy crowd that had elbowed him out of line for the snack bar. Just like some humans, Christie thought.

  She looked at her watch. Dani would arrive in a little more than an hour. She returned to her office and transcribed notes from a case she was working on for an auction house. The minute hand on the wall clock clicked forward as her fingers flew across the computer keyboard. When she finished she hit the Print button.

  She thought about the consequences involved in the Farley case, both human and financial. There might not be any winners in the resolution, and that clawed at her gut. If Dani was Danielle, Mrs. Farley would be ecstatic, but Dani’s memories of her father would be compromised.

  Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Christie filled a small watering can and walked to the window. On the sill a trio of orchid plants was in bloom; their dainty scarlet blossoms climbed long, spiky stems. She generously watered each plant, then went to the small palm that was on the stool beside the bookcase and doused it with water. Then she remembered that the plants had been watered yesterday; she had probably drowned them.

  At a quarter to three Dani walked into the office. Christie stood and stepped around the desk, hand extended. Dani gripped her hand firmly. “You made good time,” Christie said.

  “There wasn’t much traffic.” Dani pulled a chair close to the desk and sat. Christie stared at the manila envelope on Dani’s lap. Let’s get on with it, she thought. A great deal depended on the contents of that envelope. Finally, Dani put the packet on the desk.

  Christie opened the envelope and gave it a shake. Half a dozen cards scattered across the desk blotter. Made of brightly colored construction paper, they were decorated with childish drawings scribbled in crayon, embellished with lace doilies, yarn, and glitter. The assortment fanned out like a kaleidoscope.

  Heart pounding, Christie picked up a Father’s Day card. The sun and a rainbow had been crayoned across the front. She opened the card and read the greeting, “Dear Daddy, Happy Father’s Day. Love, Dani.” The words were in unsteady printing, with a backward e. Another card had a picture of a Christmas tree decorated in red and green glitter.

  Christie laid out each card, open to the inside writing, then reached into the second drawer in her desk and removed the thirty-year-old schoolwork that Gladys Farley had given her. She placed them above the greeting cards and positioned her magnifying apparatus over them. The backward e’s, the slant of the crossed t’s, the shape of the b’s, the unsteady arched m’s and n’s, the fancy curve of the f’s and k’s, and the i’s dotted with checks that looked like tiny hearts, so familiar to her now, were nearly identical on the greeting cards. After all the hours she had spent scrupulously studying each letter, and unsuccessfully looking for a clue in Dani’s present-day writing, the answer was revealed in a bunch of crudely constructed cards.

  It was so quiet in the room she could hear Dani’s breathing. Outside a car alarm went off, breaking the silence.

  “They don’t match, do they?” Dani said.

  “We have a Hallmark moment,” Christie said, softly. “They match.”

  “They match,” Dani repeated in a whisper. Two simple words that would forever change lives.

  A few hours later Christie was home, eagerly awaiting Cash. She was still riding high on the euphoria of not only solving the Farley case, but having provided a storybook ending. It wasn’t every day lost loved ones were reunited. Mrs. Farley had invited Christie to have dinner with her, Drew, and Dani at the Palace Hotel. She had demurred, telling Mrs. Farley she’d take a rain check; the reunion should be private.

  The doorbell rang an
d she hurried to answer it. Cash loomed large in the doorway and without hesitation Christie stepped into his arms and pressed her face against his chest.

  “What’s that all about! If I’d known that a sack of takeout would guarantee a reception like this, I’d be over with a brown bag every night.” He put his arms around her and held her tightly.

  He touched her cheek with his fingertips. “Are those tears?” She nodded. “What’s wrong?” Cash held her at arm’s length, his brows furrowed in concern.

  “Actually, everything’s wonderful,” she said. “I just need you to hold me a little longer.”

  He pulled her close again, and for a few minutes neither spoke. There was comfort in his embrace. Familiarity, too, and strength. He smoothed her hair back from her forehead and gently kissed her beneath each eye. Her eyelids fluttered like butterfly wings as his mouth blotted each tear dry. His touch was warm and soothing, melting her bones.

  He spoke softly. “Tell me what happened?”

  They sat on the couch and Cash held her hands while she spoke.

  “Dani is Gladys Farley’s daughter. The handmade cards proved it. There were other signs, possibilities, but the cards—they said it all.”

  “I’m glad for you, Christie. I know you would have been disappointed if it had turned out any other way.”

  “Devastated is more like it. I let myself get too involved in the personal side of this case, and it drained me.”

  “You have a soft heart and I love that about you.”

  She felt heat creep through her veins. No matter how he used the word love, it infused her with warmth.

  “Maybe you need some R & R, a weekend away. I have just the prescription. I’ll take you to the jazz and bluegrass festival in Lake Tahoe. We can fly into Reno, rent a car, and stay at the Hyatt in Incline Village. I went last year and they had some great bands. We could stop and see your folks, too. What about it?”

  “Sounds great! I don’t know much about bluegrass, but I enjoy jazz.”

  “Tell you what, I’ll buy you a straw hat and I guarantee you will fit in with the country crowd. They have some hot banjo players, and the place will jump. Now let’s eat this food before it gets cold.”

  “You’re always so practical.”

  Practicality was obviously the last thing from his mind when he said good night. He held her so close she could almost feel the breath being squeezed out of her lungs. She was aware of his fingers at the back of her neck, inching upward into her hair. Drawing her face closer to his, he hesitated a second and their gazes locked. Their lips were nearly touching and she could taste his breath. When their mouths joined, her lips parted ever so slightly and she drank in his kiss. Her eyelids flickered shut and blocked outside thoughts. At that moment, only Cash filled her mind and heart. And it was a glorious sensation.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Christie looked up from the report she was detailing for the Farleys. Tom leaned against the office door frame, coffee mug in hand.

  “Great job, Christie. If you ever contemplate a career switch, I could use another investigator on my staff.”

  Christie laughed. “I don’t envy you your job, Tom. I had a lucky break. I’ll stick to document examinations.”

  “Mrs. Farley called before you came in. I think you can expect a generous bonus.”

  “She doesn’t have to—”

  Tom raised his hand with his palm toward Christie. “She wants to. You brought her more happiness than you can imagine. And peace. There’s probably a little something in it for me, too, for referring her to you, so we’ll both benefit.”

  “Winners all around. No complaints there.”

  The phone rang, and Tom gave a brief salute, then returned to his office.

  It was Cash. “I got tickets for the Lake Tahoe jazz festival. Put on your straw hat, we’re heading for the mountains.”

  Christie laughed. “You sound like a hayseed.”

  “Watch your mouth, lady. Bluegrass is serious music. I’ll convert you yet. Shall we talk about it over dinner tonight?”

  “Only if I can cook for you. It’s my turn—more than my turn, actually.”

  “I’ve never said no to a home-cooked meal. What time?”

  “Sevenish?”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  Christie left the office early enough to make a quick run to the market to pick up the ingredients for clam linguine and a salad. She browsed the fresh loaves of bread and selected a sourdough baguette. Almond praline ice cream was the last item to go into the basket. She had a container of frozen strawberries in the refrigerator to top the dessert.

  Cash arrived at her apartment at six forty-five. When she remarked that he was early, he grinned sheepishly and told her that he figured the time was as close to “sevenish” as patience would allow.

  “I was eager to see you. After all, it has been almost twenty-four hours since we’ve been together. I can’t believe I said that. I sound like a kid with a schoolboy crush.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” she asked, stretching on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss. He grabbed her around the waist.

  “You don’t get away that easy,” he said. “I may act like a schoolboy around you, but I’m not settling for a child’s kiss.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hard. Her response was anything but a schoolgirl’s. His kiss sent shivers along her spine and melted her heart. She wanted to cling to him endlessly, but a buzzer sounded, and they broke apart.

  “What is that?” Cash asked.

  “The kitchen timer. The clam sauce is ready.”

  Cash tossed the salad while Christie spooned the clam sauce over the pasta. The timer buzzed again.

  “Now what?” Cash asked.

  “Garlic bread. Without the timer I invariably scorch it.” She reached for a pot holder, withdrew the cookie sheet, and shoved the oven door shut with her hip. She slipped the garlic bread into a wicker basket and covered it with a cloth napkin.

  “This looks delicious,” Cash remarked as he carried the bowl of linguine to the table. “Where are the candles? You can’t have an Italian dinner without candles.”

  “In the sideboard.”

  He opened a drawer, took out a pair of candles and glass candleholders, and placed them on the table. “Matches?”

  “Same drawer, they probably got pushed to the back.”

  In a few minutes, they were sitting across from each other. The candles’ soft glow sent light and shadow dancing across the table. Cash uncorked a bottle of chardonnay and poured a glass for each of them.

  “To us,” he toasted.

  “Yes, to us,” Christie replied, warmed by the thought.

  A few days before the Tahoe jazz festival, Christie called her parents to make sure they would be in town. Her mother expressed disappointment that she and Cash would not be staying at their home in Reno. Christie explained that the concerts ended late, and it was a long drive over Mount Rose Highway to Reno, and not one they would want to chance late at night, especially with the threat of black ice. Her mother conceded to her daughter’s safety, but insisted on cooking dinner for them on Sunday. Christie would have suggested eating out, but she knew her mother delighted in fussing over her.

  She looked forward to seeing her parents, but was a little nervous about having them meet Cash. She hoped they didn’t assume this was a serious relationship and grill him. Since she herself wasn’t sure where their romance was headed, she didn’t want her parents to jinx it with intrusive and possibly embarrassing questions. She had told her mother that Cash was “just a friend,” but it was obvious that her mother did not believe her for a minute.

  Friday came quickly. Cash had been explicit about packing light. Christie brought a carry-on suitcase and a small duffel for odds and ends. Jeans and a couple of long-sleeved shirts should take her through the weekend. A jacket, too, because even in late May it could snow in Tahoe. For good measure, she tossed a quilted vest into the duffel.
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br />   Cash picked her up at her apartment and they headed to the airport. He spoke enthusiastically about the jazz festival and kept her mind off the prospect of flying.

  Cruising over the Sierras, Christie was tempted to close her eyes and blot out the view of the ridges and treetops. The mountain peaks appeared to be a wingtip away. She tried to remember that Cash was an excellent pilot, but acknowledging that fact did nothing to quell the butterflies in her stomach. When the Beechcraft Baron touched down at Reno Airport, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  In a short time they were driving over Mount Rose Highway in a rented SUV. Cash’s snow warning did not materialize, but the weather could change before the weekend was over. At the Hyatt in Incline Village, the parking attendant took the keys to their vehicle and handed Cash a receipt. Inside the hotel the lobby was framed in rough-hewn beams and heavy rock facing. Thick, wrought-iron chandeliers were suspended from the high ceiling. The decor resembled a Swiss chalet.

  A massive, double-sided rock fireplace partially separated the reception area from a large gambling casino. Christie could hear excited voices from the craps tables. White-shirted dealers stood attentively at a number of poker tables while players checked their hands. Red lights whirled on top of slot machines; bells clanged and coins shot into metal trays.

  Waitresses in short black skirts plied customers with free drinks in the hope of keeping them gambling. The casino had the look of a mini Las Vegas. The difference was that when you walked out the door, you were met by a magnificent environment. Nothing like this natural beauty of lake and forest existed on the Vegas Strip.

  They rode the elevator to the fifth floor, where Cash and Christie had adjoining rooms. Her suite was furnished with a pair of overstuffed love seats positioned to take advantage of a view of the lake peeking through tall ponderosa pines.