That’s all it took for him to win Stella over. All other indiscretions would be forgiven.
14
Claire Bassett
It wasn’t possible.
Jason had seen someone who resembled Andrew and had imagined it to be him. I succinctly put it out of my mind every time it entered. I had to dismiss that possibility. There was no chance that Jason wouldn’t be certain if it had been Andrew.
Dressing for my evening with Jonathan, I chose my clothing with care. Nothing that would appear like I tried to impress. Dress slacks, a simple sweater, and a scarf to enhance it. I didn’t know the restaurant where we were headed, but he said casual.
I glanced in the mirror, again struck by the difference in my reflection from the days before tragedy visited us. The highlights in my hair left a glow that embraced my face with the smooth, angled cut, classy and sophisticated—everything that I was not. The look belonged to my mother. I always admired her refined countenance but didn’t share it. I looked good, but artificial, and that brought a sadness to my face.
I gave my parents one last thank you and instructions for bedtime routines.
Mom smiled. “Claire, you look stunning. I always knew you had suppressed beauty.”
A back-handed compliment if I ever heard one. The hidden meaning? She had to be the one to choose my clothes and hairstyle to get it done correctly. But I had to let it go. They were so good to me.
I kissed Drew and Isabella and closed the door behind me, fighting the nerves that churned my stomach.
Gauging from his look, Jonathan must have thought I looked stunning, too. He waited outside of Dante’s House when I walked from the parking lot. A warmth rose to my cheeks at the caress in his eyes. His gaze didn’t break, even as I stood before him. My hands moistened with a heat that flushed my skin. Without any touch, it became an intimate moment, unnerving me and reminding me I needed to talk about boundaries. But that would have been an intrusion into a moment so special. I returned his gaze until his hand took mine and we walked inside.
Dante’s was a well-kept secret, about twenty minutes south of Slippery Rock. A romantic setting, lit by candles, it featured live music from a piano, guitar, and vocalist. A soothing tune of “Where is the Love?” hummed through the speakers in harmony.
I stared, taking in the beauty. “How did you find this place? It’s incredible.”
“Investigative detective work. I figured I had to impress you if I want there to be a second time.”
“Jonathan,” I began to protest. But he placed a silencing finger close to my lips.
“Sorry. Let’s enjoy tonight.”
A hostess escorted us to our table where Jonathan pulled out my chair. He sat to my right rather than across from me. It did make conversation easier, but the nearness both warmed me and frightened me. I became far too vulnerable in this man’s presence.
A waiter filled our water goblets and inquired about our drinks. Turning toward me, Jonathan asked, “How’s Argentina Merlot?”
Not a wine connoisseur, I knew little distinction beyond red or white. I nodded my agreement.
“We’d like a carafe of Zuccardi’s.” He assured me I would love it. Looking at the genuine Italian menu, he began, with intentional humor, to decimate the names on the menu. They were authentic, and he spoke them with a harsh staccato so different from the fluid beauty of the Italian language. I laughed until the waiter returned with our wine.
The food came out to perfection, both taste and presentation. My chicken fricassee was fork tender, with crisp, parmesan edges and oven-roasted vegetables. Jonathan ordered linguine di mare, scooping a small taste onto my plate. The tangy sauce awakened my taste buds. Soft music created a surreal atmosphere with familiar tunes crooned by new voices: “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” “In the Still of the Night,” “Can You Feel the Love Tonight?” Music of romance. The whole evening swept me into a new world. The wine, the music, the atmosphere. And his eyes. Jonathan’s gaze stayed fixed on me all through dinner. When our plates were removed, he sought my hand and held it in his with the tenderness of a freshly plucked rose.
After we ate, we walked hand in hand to the lake behind the restaurant. Jonathan stopped by his car to retrieve his camera.
“I brought a night lens. Let’s see what we can capture.”
My untrained eye saw only darkness ahead, but Jonathan seemed excited about something.
“Look at the stars. This will make an awesome shot.”
I still didn’t see it, but he aimed, focused, refocused, and snapped a series of pictures. After setting the camera for review, he pulled them up in a tiny window. I gasped as I saw the millions of stars polka-dotting the black sky. On some, there were radiant light beams. On others, the formation of constellations was discernible. Even the thumbnail viewer displayed the beauty.
“Stand over there. No, on second thought, sit on the bench.”
I moved to the bench on a path to the lake’s dock. It sat on an arched overpass not more than six-feet long spanning the rivulets of water jutting into land. Jonathan’s camera snapped rapid-fire shots until I held my hand up, laughing.
“Stop. Enough of me.”
He snapped me laughing, walking back toward him, and with my hands rising to cover the lens. Only then did he turn the camera off and allowed it to dangle from the strap around his neck. With his hands free, he caught both of mine, raised them to his lips and kissed each hand. Caught between laughter and surprise, my effort to pull them away held little protest. Jonathan shifted my hands and drew me toward him, stretching my arms over his shoulders and around his neck. I began to pull back, but he held me, firm yet soft.
“I won’t hurt you, Claire.”
“I know.” I couldn’t manage more than that whispered response. He placed the gentlest of kisses on my lips. I wanted to lean into him and welcome the kiss. But I couldn’t. Guilt and desire battled until guilt overshadowed. I allowed the kiss, but I couldn’t encourage more. I pulled back.
He released me, capturing my hand.
“Was that so bad?” His words teased, but his voice cracked with emotion.
I touched his face with my free hand. “No, Jonathan. It was sweet. But it’s all I can do.”
“It’s all I’ll ask…for now.”
We walked to my car where he again leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on my cheek. I drove home realizing I never approached the topic of boundaries. We had already stepped over the ones my mind had established.
~*~
Monday morning, I walked to my desk. As I pulled out my chair, it contained a gold, nine-by-eleven mailing envelope, sealed only by the brass fastener. I smiled as I pulled out pictures of myself sitting, laughing, and walking. They were incredible pictures. I’d ask him later how many terrible shots had to be discarded to capture these. My favorite showed a darkened sky over a rippled lake with a vast display of stars bringing it all to light. A simple post-it note said, “You brought light into my darkness.”
I smiled at his words and then reached to drop the note in the trash. On second thought, I opened my drawer, moved the pencil tray, paper clips, and stapler aside, and stuck it far in the back. No matter the circumstance, when a woman is abandoned by her husband, she’s left to feel undesirable. When the pain of rejection threatened to consume me, I would steal a glance at my little yellow three-by-three square.
15
Scott Harrington
I felt sure of myself when we talked under the bridge, but uncertainty crept in, making me doubt my own words. Tyler had been delivering. All of a sudden, I questioned my guarantee that it would be dismissed. I needed to get some advice before I put him at risk. The thought of calling my father filled me with tension. I rubbed the stiffness in my neck, turned it from side to side trying to ease the taunt muscles, then picked up my phone and dialed.
A mixture of emotions came with his voice. The booming tones always spoke of his level of command, shrinking my confidence. The contrasting emotion wa
s relief that I had reached his voice mail. I didn’t leave a message. He’d see a missed call, but I doubted he would return it.
Hitting the keys on my laptop, I found another phone number and called a local attorney. He would see us in one hour. It’s only money, Harrington.
Lawrence Greene agreed to accompany us to the police station. We would share nothing until we had a signed immunity for Tyler. We reached him on a slow day and would go directly to the precinct. He would drive himself and meet us there.
I pulled the car into an open parking space in the lot behind the station. Tyler’s eyes darted back and forth, scanning the area. He placed a baseball cap on his head and gave the visor a final tug to shield his eyes.
I stifled a smile. “Hey, buddy, can’t get much safer than the police station.”
“I don’t need anyone to see me going in here. Or you, for that matter. They see you, they’ll figure I’m the one under the hat. Jim probably has his goons all over the city looking for me. By now, he knows I bolted.”
Tyler opened the passenger door and took off. I had to sprint from the car to the building to keep up with him.
Stepping inside the outer lobby, a tiny space with a half-wall separated us from the uniformed officer at the desk. Safety glass furthered the accessibility. Pamphlets, brochures, and folded maps were displayed on plastic wall-mounted bins for the public to help themselves.
Where was Greene? I couldn’t start this without him.
The officer spoke through the safety glass. “What’s your business today?”
“Um … We’re waiting for one other person to join us.”
“Well, you can’t wait in here. State your business, or you’ll have to be on your way.”
As he spoke, the door opened, and the attorney walked in. He marched to the window and took charge.
“We need to see a detective, please. Is Paul Everson available?”
“No, sir, but I can get you someone else. Adam Fulton is here.”
Sir? We almost got the boot, but he got a “Sir.”
“That’ll do.”
The officer picked up the phone and pushed a single button.
“Is Fulton back there?” He paused, listening before he continued. “OK. When he’s off the phone, send him out.” He hung up the phone and turned back to the window, motioning us to the bench. “Have a seat. Someone’ll see you soon.”
Turning, I could see the height markings on the doorframe. Tyler scooted to the far end of the bench, out of view of the window. Twenty minutes passed before a plain-clothes officer came to get us. The rectangular gold pin on his pocket said, “Detective Fulton.”
“Adam Fulton,” he introduced himself. What can I do for you today?”
We all stood but, as advised, Tyler and I remained silent.
Lawrence Greene asked for somewhere private where we could discuss a possible crime.
He turned and nodded to the uniformed officer. “I’m bringing ’em back.”
That set the desk officer in motion toward the side door that Detective Fulton had used. He opened it, requiring us to empty our pockets and walk through a scanner, confiscating our cell phones and my pocket knife until we were ready to leave.
The precinct room at the end of the hallway was filled with activity and cubicles. But we stopped short of that and were escorted to a small area that said “Processing” on the door. The uniformed officer handed Fulton a stack of papers and went back to the front desk.
Seated at a small table, he got right to business.
“So, what do you think you know?” He shuffled through the papers, looking for the one he needed.
“I have a client who has strong suspicion of a drug ring,” Greene took charge. “He assisted without knowledge, receiving minimum compensation to make deliveries without awareness of the contents inside the packages. He has become suspicious and would like to report it. However, before that occurs, we need assurance that he won’t be held culpable for that which he had no knowledge.”
Fulton’s eyes turned toward me and then to Tyler. “Are one of these men your client?”
“I can’t discuss my client relationship until I have the requested assurance.”
Fulton sat back, crossed his leg over one knee. “If what you’re telling me is true, he won’t be held accountable. If we determine that he knew what went down and gained from his involvement, that’s another story.”
Greene scratched his head. “Hmm. Well that leaves us at loggerheads. What’s your criteria for determination?”
Fulton leaned back, his fingers interlocked behind his head. “Q&A.”
Greene sighed. “This is most unfortunate. It could have been a major lead for you, filled with information. Thank you, and have a good day.”
With that he stood and motioned for us to do likewise.
“Hold on. Sit down. I said if you’re telling the truth, if he had no knowledge, he won’t be charged.”
I glanced at Tyler who had lost all color in his complexion.
Greene appeared to think it over and sat down. “I’ve drafted an immunity agreement. Please read it, and if you agree to sign it, you won’t be sorry.”
Fulton glanced at the paper. “There’s no name here?”
“It has my client number and the name will be completed upon your signature.”
Fulton reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a pen, and scribbled his name. Greene held his hand out for the pen, inserted Tyler’s name, separated the duplicate, and handed it to Detective Fulton. He folded the original and returned it to his briefcase.
“Detective Fulton, I’d like you to meet my client, Tyler Pulkowski. He’s accompanied by a friend, Scott Harrington. I’ll remain present for your questioning.”
Money well spent.
After an hour of questions, Tyler had shared his experience with the shelter. He discussed meeting Jim, and he gave detailed descriptions of the places and people receiving deliveries. I proved to be an unnecessary fifth wheel, only sharing how I had met Tyler and our conversations about his involvement.
“We believe Tyler is at risk here and want to see what security you might be able to offer.”
Fulton shook his head. “Lay low for a while. Keep away from the area. Did you find a place to stay?”
A sigh escaped as Tyler ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah.”
I turned toward the officer. “What can we do to help?”
“Leave us your contact. We’re going to put an undercover in there. If we need to talk to you again, we’ll call.”
“How will we know when this is over?” He stood up even as I spoke.
“Watch the news.” He walked to the door and motioned for the officer at the front desk.
“I’ll be staying on top of this,” Lawrence Greene interjected, speaking to Tyler.
He handed his card to the detective as the uniformed officer arrived to show us out.
~*~
I’d made a commitment to take Caroline to Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens, but that meant leaving Tyler alone at my place.
He sat on the floor, playing with Ginger, using a knotted rope that served as a tug-of-war. “Hey, Ty, I have a lunch date and a tour to do today. You OK here for a while?”
He glanced up. “Yeah, I won’t steal the silverware.”
I sighed with a shake of my head. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t want to leave you feeling anxious about the whole situation.”
“No, I’m OK. I don’t feel threatened here. It’s far enough away from town.” He gave the rope a pull and Ginger held tight, shaking her head back and forth. “And I have this girl to protect me.”
Tyler let the rope go free, ruffled Ginger’s fur, and stood up. “But I don’t have anything to do without a job. I can’t keep mooching off of you. I’ve got to pay you back for that lawyer. How much is that gonna be?”
“You’re not mooching. It’s not costing me anything but a little food, and Stella keeps us well fed. Don’t worry abo
ut the attorney. I’ve got that.”
“How much is that? I can’t let you pay to keep me outta trouble.”
“Tyler, you’re eighteen years old. You don’t need to be worrying about legal fees.” He stared at me in disbelief. Had no one ever taken care of him before?
“Thanks, Scott. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
“Relax. Watch some TV. You might find some college football.”
“You got anything I can read?”
I had forgotten the kid was a book lover. “Sure. Help yourself. There’s a shelf full of books in my bedroom.”
~*~
I was about to give up on Miss Savannah, Georgia, when she arrived at twelve twenty. I caught a glimpse of her strawberry-blond hair stepping out of a sporty coupe. I couldn’t make out the model, but it looked flashy and expensive. Not too shabby for a non-profit receptionist. Must have some of Daddy’s money flowing up from Savannah.
She walked toward me, arms swinging and hips swaying, showing off the long legs her skirt did little to cover.
“Car trouble?”
“Excuse me?”
I tapped my watch. “You’re late.”
She glanced at the face of my watch. “Only twenty minutes.” She put her arm through mine. “I’m starving.”
We headed in to our table.
The Mount Washington Restaurant sat high atop a cliff with a perfect view of the city, all of the tables positioned near the glass front. The fountain marked the spot where the three rivers met at the point. Our seats offered a clear view of the Duquesne Incline as the red trolley car made its slow journey up the tracks.
I might have expected a little admiration for the grandeur of the restaurant, but Caroline displayed nonchalance. She didn’t seem to notice the crystal chandeliers, the fine china, or the incredible view. She walked right in without a word, apparently indifferent to the opulence. She didn’t thank the waiter when he pulled out her chair. I offered a thank you on her behalf. Once seated, I eased into a chat about Three Rivers Mission. Still a journalist, I wouldn’t miss an opportunity to gather information.
“So, tell me about Ray Brockman. He’s rather elusive—never there when I am.”
The Least of These. Page 10