Irv was working, but the place was busy, so he didn’t have time for anything in the way of conversation except a quick hello. After a few minutes, I’d finished the scone, and I decided to drink the rest of the latte on the walk home. When I got back, I realized that the 4Runner needed to be washed, so I opened the garage door and drove out on to the street. I spent about an hour giving the car a thorough cleaning, inside and out. After putting it back in the garage, I sat on my deck for a while, chatting with the elderly woman who lives next door. She had to leave to do some grocery shopping, so I went back inside and got some laundry together. While it was in the machines in my basement, I looked through the last two issues of Sports Illustrated. There was an article on some guy for the Twins, a pitcher I’d never heard of, who had just signed a two-year contract for fifteen-million dollars after going 5-8 last season. I was 6-1 my senior year in high school. Briefly, I wondered what the area code was for Minnesota.
By the time the laundry was done, I had to start getting ready for my big night out. What to wear, what to wear, I thought while shaving. Most of the time, I use a good electric shaver, but on special occasions, I always go back to my Gillette Fusion. Not that I necessarily considered tonight a special occasion. I just hadn’t had a really good shave in a while, that’s all. In the shower, I decided on a pair of olive green casual slacks, a brown and green checked Nautica shirt that Dennis had given me on my last birthday, and topsiders with no socks. Checking myself out in the upstairs hallway mirror, I realized that Laura Fleming would have no choice but to throw herself upon me. Well, that’s what she gets for letting Angie set her up on a blind date.
Driving over to Angie and Simon’s, I realized that I’d never gotten around to my nap. Oh, well, perhaps tomorrow, I told myself, as I parked on the street outside their house and got out of the 4Runner.
Nervous energy? Me?
Never.
Chapter 26
Angie and Simon have a two-year-old Voyager, which was parked in their driveway, and a Buick Skylark, which I guessed was in the half of their garage that wasn’t filled with bikes and golf clubs and soccer balls and roller skates and softball equipment and . . . well, enough stuff to stock a couple of decent-sized flea markets. Next to the Voyager was a new-looking white Chevy Malibu with tan leather upholstery. I assumed it was Laura Fleming’s.
It was a fairly warm evening, with the temperature around sixty-five degrees, and I figured everyone would be on the patio, so I walked around the side of the house to the backyard. I could hear voices as I reached the corner of the house, and by the time I opened the gate in the fence, Pepper was there to greet me. After ruffling the hair on his neck and giving him the chew-toy I’d brought along, I latched the gate and turned toward the patio. Simon was standing at the built-in gas grill by the door to the kitchen, and Angie and another woman were sitting in two lounge chairs off to one side.
The first thing I noticed about Laura Fleming was the intelligence that emanated from her very being, her culture and class and sophistication . . .
Oh, all right. The first thing I noticed about Laura Fleming was her body. When I got my first look at her, she happened to be turning to put a glass of iced tea on the table behind her, and it would have taken a much stronger man than moi to have ignored the way that that movement stretched the long-sleeved navy knit pullover she was wearing. The shirt was tucked into a pair of white slacks that fit the curve of her hips rather well, I thought. She was wearing white tennis shoes with no socks, allowing me to observe her ankles, which were very slender and attractive. I have long held to the theory that slender ankles are a sure sign of great legs, and I was willing to bet that Laura Fleming’s legs would do nothing to dissuade me from that position. I noticed the medium-length brown hair that framed her face, the high cheekbones, the slightly upturned nose, and the brown eyes that looked directly at me and made my knees just the least bit wobbly. When she stood to say hello, I saw that her figure was very well distributed along her 5’7” frame.
“Well, speak of the devil,” Angie said. “Laura, this is Jeremy Barnes. Jeremy, Laura Fleming.”
“Hi,” I said, and I’m proud to say that my voice didn’t break even once.
“Hello, Jeremy,” she said.
And then she smiled.
There was something about that smile, a hint of . . . what, I wasn’t quite sure, but I felt certain that if we’d been anywhere near a body of water, she could have launched a ship or two.
I would have been perfectly happy to just stand there and look at her the rest of the night, but the spell was broken by the sound of the kids racing out of the house.
“Jeremy!” shouted Abby, as she flung herself at me. If I hadn’t caught her and swung her up into my arms, she’d have banged headlong into my stomach. Close behind her was Matt, who was too old for such nonsense, of course. He did manage to end up with his arms around me, though.
“Jeremy,” he said, “don’t you think it’s really, really cruel for parents to have a family barbecue and send their children off to the far corners of the earth?”
Angie laughed as she said, “Two blocks down the street is hardly the ends of the earth, bucko.” Looking at me, she added, “I called in a couple of markers with the parents of their best friends.” Turning back to the kids, she said, “And when I first suggested to you guys that you stay overnight with Eleanor and Jeffrey, you were all for it. It wasn’t until you heard about the cookout with Jeremy that you suddenly got homesick.”
Glancing my way again, Angie said, “Simon and I thought we’d make this an adults-only evening. What do you think?”
The kids looked at me hopefully. They know what a sucker I am for those looks, and I almost gave in, but then I caught a glimpse of Laura Fleming. She had a bemused look on her face, as if she were saying, What’ll it be? The kids or me?
I put Abby down and scowled at her and her brother.
“Beat it, urchins!” I growled. Then I knelt beside them and whispered, “Next month, I’ll take you to the zoo and let you buy all the souvenirs you want and eat all the junk food your tummies can hold. Deal?”
“Yay!” they shouted, as they ran back inside to get their overnight bags.
I stood up and said to Angie, “You just have to be firm with them. Takes years of practice, but it can be done. Perhaps you and Simon would like to enroll in my correspondence course on child-rearing.”
“Give me a break,” said Angie. Hearing a horn sound from the street, she told Simon, “Honey, I’ll take the kids out to their ride. How soon will the steaks be ready?”
“About fifteen minutes,” he replied.
Angie went into the house, and Simon turned to me. “JB, how about getting drinks for everyone? There’s beer in the frig for the chef, and I think Laura and Angie are both having iced tea.”
“Want some help?” Laura asked.
“Absolutely,” I said, and off we went.
While I got Simon’s beer, Laura poured more iced tea into Angie’s and her glasses.
“Iced tea for you, Jeremy?” she asked.
“No, thanks,” I said, as I pulled a 16-ounce bottle of Coke out of the refrigerator. “Angie and Simon drink Pepsi. It’s one of their few flaws, actually. But they usually keep some Coke around for me.”
Then I thought of something.
“What about you, Laura? Do you drink Coke, or have you gone over to the dark side?”
She laughed and said, “Coca-Cola, of course. The Flemings have a long and proud tradition as Coke drinkers. I have an uncle who used to tell me that Pepsi was commie-propaganda-pure-and-simple.”
After a pause, she said, “So, Jeremy, what did Angie say to get you to come tonight?”
I considered my usual flippant response, but then I said, “She told me that you were one of the nicest people she’s ever met.”
Laura’s face colored slightly, and she said, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t fishing for a compliment.”
“I know you weren’t
. Okay, your turn. How’d she get you here, other than that paste thing with the five-year-olds, that is.”
“She told you about that, huh? Well, Angie said that she’d known you forever, that you weren’t a jerk, and that you were almost as cute as Simon.”
“Almost?” I asked. “Hey, that election’s not over yet.”
“Oh, really?” she said, grinning.
“Definitely. I’m counting on a lot of support from the outlying districts.”
She smiled and held her glass up and said, “Here’s to nice people.”
“Nice people,” I said, as I touched my bottle of Coke to her glass.
Angie walked in then, and the three of us joined Simon on the patio. We all sat around the big umbrellaed table, eating steaks and salads and baked potatoes. Laura and I were next to each other, and it took quite an effort on my part to keep from turning and staring at her.
“Angie told me you used to teach,” she said.
I nodded and replied, “Nine years. High school English.”
“Did you like it?”
“Some days. Some days not.”
“He won’t tell you this, of course,” said Angie, “but Jeremy was a great teacher. His students loved him.”
Laura turned back to me and said, “If you don’t mind my asking, why did you quit?” She seemed to really want to know, as opposed to asking just to be making conversation.
“I reached the point where the daily frustrations, the ones I’m sure you know all about, began to outweigh the good times I had with my classes. Staying for my tenth year would have meant reaching the top of the salary scale, with that big jump in pay. I didn’t want to be in a position where I might stay on the job because I couldn’t afford not to.”
“Plus,” said Simon, “as good a teacher as JB was, he’s an even better private investigator.”
“And how’d that happen?” Laura asked. “I mean, how did you become a private detective?”
“My Uncle Leo had his own agency, and I used to work part time for him on summer vacations, mostly gathering background information, stuff like that. Eventually, though, I got my license so I could be of more assistance, and when I quit teaching, he asked me to come in full time. He retired several years ago and gave me the agency.” I stopped and gave my head a small shake. “But enough about me. How about you, Laura? What keeps you in teaching?”
“I guess the good still outweighs the bad for me,” she said. “Most days, anyway.”
“I’ve told Angie a thousand times, I don’t think I’d have the patience to deal with the little kids.”
“It’s not easy,” Laura agreed. “Most of the children in my class this year want to do well, which helps. Actually, most of the grief I endure on a day-to-day basis comes from lousy administrators and ineffective parents.”
“Amen,” said Ang.
The rest of the evening passed just as pleasantly. I noticed that no one asked about the Pendleton case, which I was sure was Angie’s doing. I appreciated getting a break from it.
After dinner, we had coffee and dessert while watching the sun go down. When it began to get a little chilly, we moved indoors to the family room. Simon, as always, was good-natured about being left out of so much of the conversation, which always happened when the company was comprised mostly of educators. Occasionally, he’d get even with Angie by inviting several real estate types from work over and they’d all sit around and talk mortgage rates at her all night.
By a little after ten, Angie and Laura were both yawning.
“Past your bedtime, babe,” Simon said to Ang.
“Mine, too,” said Laura. Turning to me, she added, “Sleep deprivation is an occupational hazard for elementary teachers. However,” and here I got those eyes full bore, “occasionally, I manage to stay awake all the way to midnight.”
Angie and Simon said good-bye to us at the front door, and I walked Laura over to her car.
“I had a good time tonight,” I told her.
“So did I,” she said.
“I could wait a couple of days and ask Angie if you liked me and then maybe get your phone number and call and ask you out.”
“Yes, you could.”
“But the suspense might kill me.”
“Yes, it might.”
“Will you go out with me sometime?”
“Yes, I will.”
She gave me her number, and I stood in the driveway and watched until the Malibu had rounded the corner at the end of the street.
When I got home about fifteen minutes later, I dialed Simon and Angie’s number.
“Hello?”
“Ang? It’s Jeremy.”
“Hey, Jeremy.”
“The Cecelia Johnson fiasco?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re now officially off the hook for that.”
“I know. Goodnight, Jeremy.”
Like I was gonna sleep.
Chapter 27
I managed to wait until two o’clock the next afternoon before calling Laura Fleming. Willpower. My middle name.
She answered on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Laura, this is Jeremy Barnes.”
“Oh, hi, Jeremy. It’s nice to hear from you.”
“I just wanted to tell you again how much I enjoyed myself last night.”
“I had a good time, too,” she said.
“Okay, woman,” I said, “enough with the niceties. Are you free for dinner some night this week?”
There was a pause. I didn’t like pauses, not in this kind of conversation. However, it turned out not to be that kind of pause.
“I’d love to have dinner with you, Jeremy,” she said, “as long as you don’t mind eating a little earlier than most people do.”
“Anytime from 6:00 a.m. on is good for me,” I told her. “In a pinch, even 5:00 a.m. is all right. We can definitely get the early-bird specials that way.”
Giggling a little, she said, “Well, not quite that early. But I have breakfast at five most school days, so dinner is often around four-thirty.”
“Great,” I said. “What day?”
“How about tomorrow? I have an after-school meeting that should end about four, so I could meet you somewhere afterwards.”
“What about Silvio’s?” I asked, naming a restaurant just a few blocks away from Fairview School.
“Okay. I can be there shortly after four.
We spent a few minutes talking again about the night before, and then we hung up. Talking with Laura was easy. I looked forward to doing more of it.
Tomorrow. She’d suggested tomorrow. She could have said later in the week, or next week, or next year. But she’d suggested tomorrow. Couldn’t wait to see me again. The old charm’s still there.
Now I had another phone call to make, one that I wasn’t looking forward to at all.
Rachel Pendleton answered on the second ring. She must have been right by the phone.
“Rachel, this is Jeremy Barnes. Do you think we could get together for a few minutes sometime today?”
“Have you found something out?” she asked.
Well, yes, Rachel, as a matter of fact, I have. Your husband was cheating on you, and I wondered if you knew, because that might constitute a motive for murder. And I thought it would be nice if I dropped by and observed your reaction when I told you. While you were still grieving and all, you know.
“Perhaps,” I said. “Mostly, I just thought we ought to get together so I can bring you up to date on my investigation.”
“I’m not going anywhere today,” she said. “You could come over right now, if you’d like.”
* * *
Which is how I came to be sitting across from Rachel Pendleton in her living room half an hour later. She was wearing blue jeans again, this time with a yellow, short-sleeved T-shirt and white tennis shoes. As I’d noticed on my first visit, Rachel didn’t have the classic All-American beauty-queen look, by which I mean blonde hair and big boobs, but mos
t women don’t look like that. Doesn’t keep a lot of them from being beautiful and, in many cases, extremely sexy.
She’d offered coffee, and I’d accepted. Taking my first sip, I looked at her and could see that, unlike at our initial meeting, she seemed to have applied some makeup. Not much, but it was a start. I was glad to see it. It was obvious that, with a little makeup and the right outfit, Rachel would be a great-looking lady. I didn’t understand why Terry would cheat on her. Well, at least I was making progress in one area of this case. The Things I Didn’t Understand column was filling right up.
“So, Jeremy,” she said, “what have you learned?”
This wasn’t going to be easy, no matter how I did it, so I might as well just get it over with.
“Rachel, I’m sorry to have to bring this subject up, but were you and Terry having any marital problems?”
“Marital problems? No, of course not. Why would you ask that?”
I took a breath.
“Because in the course of my investigation, I learned that Terry was apparently having an affair.”
Within just a few seconds, her eyes mirrored several emotions. Confusion. Surprise. Shock. Sadness. They were all there, except the anger. That would come later. Her reaction seemed completely genuine.
“An affair?” she said, in a halting voice. “I . . . I don’t . . . I mean . . . an affair? That can’t be. Not Terry. We were happy. We were very happy. Who? I mean, who was he having an affair with?”
“No one you know,” I told her. “A woman he met last fall. I’m sorry to have to tell you, but I had to know if you had any information at all about this situation.”
“No, I don’t,” she said. “Why would Terry have an affair?”
“I don’t know,” I told her. “I honestly don’t.”
“Do you think his death was connected to this . . . affair, in some way?”
“I’m almost certain that it wasn’t, but I had to check it out anyway.”
Suddenly, a light seemed to go on in her eyes.
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