It might have been Dennis, but he thought it was Donald. Donald had always been the paunchier of the two. He had on a blue parka and a dumb-looking ski hat, the kind with the little red pompom on top. But Dennis, of course, would be dressed the same way and Dennis had a gut of his own. It could just as easily have been Dennis.
A double date with parents wasn’t what he’d had in mind, but he thought that it might grease the flow of conversation. He did call his father and his father came down. His father showed up at the Hotel Jerome sporting his Stetson and that big shearling coat. The tea did lead to dinner after all.
Mrs. Geller - Katie – was a handsome woman who almost could have been an older sister. Same coloring, same smile, and almost the same figure, give or take some matured redistribution. She wore a black turtleneck and a Harris Tweed jacket with a sprig of holly pinned to the lapel. She had the same easy warmth that had attracted him to Claudia. And his father had always had an effortless charm that Whistler had never quite managed. The two parents hit it off right away.
The fact that his father lived over in Europe - where he said that he was an investment consultant - seemed to add to the comfort level between them. A pleasant encounter, but ships in the night. He’d be flying back in another two days. She knew that they would probably not meet again, but she told him that she hoped he’d send a postcard. That allowed Whistler’s father to give her his card and ask Kate for her home address. She reached into her purse for a card of her own and placed it on the table before him.
Whistler’s father caught his eye and showed him the address. Whistler must have frowned when he saw it.
“Is something wrong, Adam?” Mrs. Geller had asked him.
“Wrong? Oh, no. Nothing at all.”
“It’s Claudia’s address, too, if that’s what you’re wondering. She’s moved back in for a while.”
“You’ve…read my mind, Mrs. Geller.”
What had caused his reaction was the name of the town. Cherry Creek was on the long list of affluent communities that were mentioned in Felix Aubrey’s ledger. If a town was listed, someone there was in his pocket. It might be a police chief or a county prosecutor, a tax assessor or a judge. Whistler couldn’t recall what names were listed or how many property seizures had occurred there. But the fact that Aubrey had connections in that town seemed reason enough to avoid it.
Not that he’d been invited. Whistler pushed it from his mind. The future was one thing, the present was another, and he was enjoying the evening. During dinner he began hearing all about Claudia. Not from Claudia herself, who kept trying to change the subject, but from her intensely proud mother.
“She’s a wonderful dancer. She studied ballet.”
He said, “I’m not surprised. I’ve seen her ski. Good skiers always seem to be good dancers.”
“She didn’t stick with it. She keeps trying new things. Did you know that she’s a tri-athlete?”
“No, I didn’t,” Whistler answered. “I’m surprised and impressed.”
“She’s competed in two triathlons so far. Races mountain bikes, too, and she ice skates like a dream. In college, she was a star pitcher.”
“Women’s softball?”
“Men’s baseball. She was pretty hot stuff. Claudia was the only girl in the state to play on a varsity team. She was featured once on ESPN. Scholar-athlete, too. Straight A’s right through school.”
“Mom, quit it,” said Claudia. She was drumming her fingers. “Besides, most of that isn’t true.”
“It isn’t?” Whistler asked.
“Well, it’s way overstated. To begin with, I did not have straight A’s.”
“Okay, Dean’s List,” said her mother. “Same thing.”
“No, it’s not. As for pitching, my best season was five wins, eight losses, so don’t sign me up with the Yankees just yet. As for mountain bike racing, lots of starts, zero wins. As for those two triathlons, I only finished one, and in that one I barely staggered across. And as for ballet…”
“Boobs too big,” said her mother.
“Sure, and whose fault is that? Look at yours.”
“I’m…ah, still impressed,” said Whistler, almost blushing. “I’m not that good at anything I’ve tried.”
“Not true,” said his father.
“Didn’t think so,” said Claudia. “Let’s talk about you for a change.”
That was where the lies started, mixed in with the truth. Grew up in Europe, went to French and Swiss schools, then came over here to go to college. All true.
“By here, you mean the States?”
“Here in Colorado. Boulder. I went to UC, but…well, I didn’t finish. I dropped out in my senior year.”
“Flunking? Girl trouble? What made you leave?”
“Nothing like that. I just needed a change. I joined the army. Finished school in the service. After that, I got into consulting.” Partly true.
“What kind of consulting?”
“Right now I’m with the Department of Commerce. Trade agreements, import quotas...that kind of thing. Dry stuff, on the whole, but I do enjoy the travel.” This part was entirely false.
But Claudia and her mother had no reason to doubt them. And his father, as long as they were being inventive, proceeded to fill in the blanks. He told a few stories about his boyhood, young-manhood, all intended to make him seem wholesome, unthreatening, and at least a passable athlete.
“So he’s an only child? No brothers or sisters?”
His father answered, “One of him is enough.”
Neither Claudia nor her mother seemed to catch the evasion. In fact, there had been a younger sister. His father said to Claudia, “Adam lives outside Washington. Do you ever have occasion to go east?”
“Not to Washington. I’ve never been there.”
“I’m sure Adam would be happy to show you around.”
She grinned. “Not to push it, though, right?”
“Yes, he is,” said Whistler, “but he’s going to stop.”
“Not on my account. I’m enjoying it.”
She later told him how he’d stammered and blushed as he tried to ask his next question. “Sometimes I have business out here...well, in Denver. If I were to call you...”
“I’d like that. Please do.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“I mean…look…I know I’m putting you on the spot…”
The grin spread wider. “Did your father just kick you?”
Yes, he had. “No, I want to. What I mean to say is…”
“Do I have to kick you myself?”
“No, you don’t.”
“Then call me the next time you’re coming.”
SEVEN
Too young, too nice, and maybe too bright. Add to that the fact that she lived in Cherry Creek where Aubrey must have eyes and ears. On the other hand, as his father said later, the question was more like “Where doesn’t he?” Even so, it seemed a better idea not to venture where there might be dragons.
He would not call Claudia.
Well…maybe he would.
Maybe she would agree to meet him in Denver. Neutral ground. More to do. Better restaurants.
He did call. He suggested it, but she wouldn’t hear of it.
She said, “You’re invited to come out to the house. Your father says you need some home cooking.”
“My father? When was this?”
“Mom and your father have been emailing each other. You know, just stuff about skiing and such, but your name came up once or twice.”
“Once or twice?”
“Yeah, I know. He’s still trying to push us together. But so what? Let’s see if we click.”
“Um…there’s no boyfriend? No one else in your life?”
“Tom Cruise, Richard Gere and a few Saudi Princes. But I’ll dump them if you’re coming out.”
“Start dumping. I’ll be there next Friday night.”
“You’ll stay at the house?”
“Sure, I’d love to.”
He flew out for the weekend. They spent two full days together. He came back almost every two weeks after that. He’d heard from Aubrey once. A request for a meeting. Whistler refused. After that, only silence from Aubrey.
Even knowing that he was probably still under surveillance, Whistler went about his days normally. He and Claudia would do all the usual things. Go to movies, go to dinner, take long walks or long drives. He would often ask her mother to join them. She did on occasion, but would usually decline. Other times, he’d help out at the garden center. It was just down the hill from their house. Spring was approaching and both greenhouses were filled with trays of spring flowers grown from seed. Whistler’s knowledge of plants had been almost nil if one didn’t count poppies and hemp. But he found that he rather liked working with plants of the gentler and decorative sort. Trays that he’d prepared would have burst into life between one visit and the next. It was not a big thing; it was done every day, but it still seemed a minor miracle to him. He could almost see himself doing this with his own life. It seemed such a peaceful occupation.
His father, early on, had phoned Stanton Poole.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Some…relation to young Adam?”
“I’m his father, yes, but I’m something more than that.” He suggested that Poole make a call of his own. He gave him the name of one Roger Clew, a senior State Department official. He suggested that Poole telephone Clew at once and ask him about Harry Whistler.
“It is in your interest to know who I am and who my associates are. That
established, you will receive a visit from another acquaintance of mine and Mr. Clew’s. It will be a civil visit. You’ll be shown certain papers. I think you can guess what they are.”
“I’ve no idea.”
“Yeah, you do. From Aubrey’s ledger. And yes, my son took it.”
“I’m…sure that I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
“Make the call.”
Poole did make the call. It had its effect. Clew suggested that he take Harry Whistler at his word if he hoped to postpone meeting Jesus. The “associate” appeared at Stanton Poole’s office with selections from the ledger in hand.
Who were these associates? His father wouldn’t say. This was normal enough, a need-to-know thing, but it still annoyed him that Poole could be told while he, Whistler, who was central to all this, was being kept in the dark. He did, however, at least know Roger Clew. Clew had worked Europe for much of his career, his specialty being Intelligence. He had been to the house in Geneva many times. But Whistler hadn’t seen him in a good fifteen years. The last time was after his mother had died. Clew was one of the speakers at her service.
His father said that Poole made a show of being shocked when his caller let him read a few pages. Poole swore that he knew nothing of any “loss or leakage” of property that had been seized. He denied that people who were otherwise innocent were targeted for punitive raids. This was interesting, said his father, because he hadn’t been accused of targeting and looting the innocent. Poole said that he would certainly have a talk with Felix Aubrey and get to the bottom of this matter. The visitor said, “Let’s go do that together.”
Aubrey tried to stonewall, claimed the ledger was a forgery. The visitor advised Aubrey to rethink that point of view. She said that Harry Whistler had expected the denial. There was ample corroboration, she said, in the form of several sworn affidavits.
“She?” Whistler asked.
“A very capable she. Not that her gender is relevant.”
“And what affidavits? Affidavits sworn by whom?”
A shrug, a slight smile. “Let him wonder.”
“I…take it that there are no affidavits.”
“If not, they’d be easy to come by and he knows it. There’s always somebody who’ll flip or sell out at the mention of a possible indictment.”
“Or the threat of a possible accident.”
“Whatever.”
“So, where was it left?”
“They behave. We’ll behave. And you walk away from this, Adam.”
Whistler was doubtful that they’d leave it at that. They’d fret for a while. They’d try to cover their tracks. But sooner or later they’d look for a way to try to regain an advantage.
“They must know that I’ve been spending some time in Cherry Creek.”
“Sure they do. And they’d naturally wonder whether what you’ve been doing is turning whoever’s on their payroll out there. They would wonder whether that’s where those affidavits came from. They’ll look into that and they’ll satisfy themselves their people out there had never heard of you before. They’ll see that your only interest in Cherry Creek is a girl who happens to live there. They’ll check her out. It should go no further. But of course you’ll be watched while you’re visiting.”
“They’ll tap the Gellers’ phone.”
“Sure they will. Wouldn’t you?”
“They’ll also be reading those emails you swap. They’ll know that you’re friendly with Kate.”
“Adam, they read what I want them to read. Their content is innocent, and they serve as a reminder that I’m not as far way as I seem. They also suggest that you have more on your mind than causing trouble for them.”
Whistler still wasn’t sure. This all seemed too easy. And it wasn’t like his father to leave so much to chance. Ordinarily, his father would probably have urged him to come over to Europe for a year or two. Stay away from Cherry Creek. Forget about Claudia. Or stay in touch, if he feels that he must. Better yet, bring Claudia to Europe.
He would also have made sure that Aubrey and Poole were left with no doubt that he was serious. He would have had the twins visit each of their homes late at night when they were in bed with their wives. They’d wake up to a gun muzzle stuck in their mouths. A twin would say, “Hush. Don’t wake up the nice lady. Harry Whistler asked me to drop by.” They would be asked to blink to show that they understood. The twin would say, “For now, all I want is to give you food for thought about how easy I could make you not a problem. Blink again so I know you started thinking.” He’d get his blink and probably a squeal. “That’s good. Go back to sleep. I’ll let myself out. Your alarm system sucks, I should mention.”
Maybe they’d done that. Or maybe these faceless “associates” had. But Whistler didn’t think so. As far as he could tell from his father’s account, it was simply a semi-polite office visit that laid out the terms of their parting of ways.
His father heard the silence. “What’s bothering you, Adam?”
“Me walking away with them not even singed. You might have been a little too generous.”
“Perhaps. But this thing’s a done deal.”
“If you say so.”
“Adam, let it go. Forget about those turkeys. There will always be hypocrites; there will always be thieves. What we’re short of is people like the Gellers.”
And of course that was it. His father was being less thorough than usual because he was still playing cupid. Add to that, he’d grown fond of Katie Geller himself. Initially, the idea behind all those faxes was to give the potential young lovebirds a nudge. They’d ended up nudging themselves in the process. His father’s original intention had been clear right from that first day in Aspen. His hope was that the closer his son got to Claudia, the less he would care about things he couldn’t change and find something more useful to do.
He said, “Adam, go. Get on with your life. Give Katie a kiss for me, okay?”
If indeed the plan was to get him refocused, that part of it was working fairly well. He found himself losing interest in Aubrey. He found himself being gentled by a woman who was so much better than any of those people that his heart did not have room for much else.
Still, one could not have called it a whirlwind romance. They had kissed; they’d held hands, but that was all.
She had already asked him, “Is something wrong, Adam?”
“Well, you’ve never...I don’t know. Never mind. It’s okay.”
“No, go ahead. If something’s bothering you...”
“Nothing is. It’s okay. Never mind.”
Whistler never claimed to know much about women, but he knew that “never mind” never meant “never mind.” Whatever it meant, he thought he’d probably find out before this latest visit was over. She said, “Let’s go someplace quiet. Just us.”
She said that she’d like to drive up into the mountains. They’d park and they’d walk a trail that she knew that offered some fabulous views. He took that to mean no interruptions.
She hadn’t said much while on the way up. Perhaps she was saving it for one of the views. He began to worry that she’d heard something somewhere and wasn’t sure whether to confront him with it. They parked and started up the trail that she’d mentioned. Still nothing, but she seemed quite distracted.
Her distraction, and his own, almost got them both eaten. They had rounded a blind spot on the trail they were following and came upon a cougar and two cubs. The mother mountain lion had just caught a rabbit. She hadn’t killed it; the rabbit was still kicking. She was probably teaching the cubs how to hunt. Occupied by that task, she hadn’t heard their approach, or perhaps the scent of fresh blood had masked their own. The startled cougar snarled and braced for a charge, but seemed torn between going after these intruders and staying to protect her cubs and her lunch.
Whistler, on instinct, went into a crouch, first pulling Claudia behind him. He looked for a rock, a stick, any weapon, but there were none within reach. All he could think of was to slip off his jacket, maybe use it to blind the big cat if she charged.
He heard Claudia hiss, “Stop that and stand still.”
She was at his side, one hand on his shoulder, the other on the jacket that he had removed to keep him raising or flapping it.
“Don’t crouch,” she said. “Stand up straight so you look big. Now back away slowly and stare, stare her down. Don’t look at the cubs. Only her.”
Whistler's Angel (The Bannerman Series) Page 5