Katharine stared back at me in bewilderment. “What? What are you talking about? I’m confused.”
We were sitting side by side on the couch. Through reflex, I reached out and patted her on the knee. It felt strange, yet familiar. “That makes two of us, Kat.” Kat was the pet name I’d called her all of the years we were together. It just popped out. Strange, yet familiar. I withdrew my hand somewhat awkwardly. “I’m going through his personal notes. I’m hoping that something will jump out at me as so atrocious, so out of character for Benjamin, that I will instantly know it is the transgression he was talking about.”
Katharine’s face took on a sterner countenance. “I don’t understand why he didn’t just tell you what he was talking about? Certainly not fair to expect you to find a needle in a haystack.”
“Oh, he had every intention of telling me. It’s just that he didn’t live long enough.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wished I had used a little more tact. Fortunately, my words didn’t seem to impact Katharine. She seemed more focused and less emotional than a few minutes ago.
“I don’t know, Jack, you may be on a wild goose chase. Dad seemed to be overly remorseful in his last couple of weeks. He apologized to me for several things that happened when I was a kid — you know, his missing some school function of mine — things that I had long ago forgotten, but he felt compelled to apologize for. It was as if he was searching his memory banks for any transgression he could possibly recall and make amends. Like he was afraid to die with anything on his conscience. I wonder if there is anything that you will be able to identify as a wrong. After all, he was an advocate. Every issue he dealt with had two sides to it, and usually the other side felt they had been somehow wronged. That is the life of the litigator. You know that.”
I was relieved that Katharine’s rare display of emotion had passed. She was back in her analytical mode. What she said made sense. Maybe it was just a case of a dying man attempting to make amends for any wrong he committed, regardless of its scale. I said, “You may well be correct, Katharine. I certainly haven’t seen anything to indicate otherwise. At least, not yet.” I reverted back to the beginning of our conversation. “So, you’re going to stay here a few days?”
She looked directly at me. A warm glow came to life in her eyes. “That was my plan. That is, if it’s okay with you?”
I swept my arm around the room and chuckled. “I think you have it backwards. This is your place. I should be asking you if it’s okay with you if I stay.”
“It’s not only okay, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Her warm smile and dancing eyes were visions I had long ago buried in my memories. Now here they were, on full display. Strange, yet familiar. I nodded and rose. “I’m going to get back to work.”
As I started toward the stairs, Katharine said, “I see that Sharon stocked the kitchen for you. Do you mind if I make dinner for us? You work a couple of hours and then break for dinner, how does that sound?”
What, no cold sandwich tonight? I turned and smiled at her. “That would be great. Thanks.”
The wide swing in her emotions was unsettling, but I guess that was to be expected this soon after Benjamin’s death.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
As did everyone else in the diner, the trim woman dressed in tailored slacks and a starched white shirt, tracked the large man with her eyes as he lumbered through the front door and made his way toward her booth. He wore a deep scowl across his broad black face. The seat in the booth groaned audibly as he slumped heavily into it. At six foot four inches tall and 240 pounds, he was the antithesis of the small woman, in her mid-fifties, seated across from him. He looked across the table, attempted to smile but failed, and said, “Hi, Marge. So, what’s going on?” Before Marge could answer, a waitress tentatively approached the table and asked meekly if he would like to order. Pointing to the coffee cup in front of Marge, he said, “I’ll just have coffee. Thanks.”
Marge said, “Before I start, why don’t you tell me what’s got you wearing such a sour face today, Moe?”
The waitress returned with a cup and filled it from an insulated carafe that she left on the table.
Moe took a sip of the coffee and said, “Aw, my niece, the one that’s down here in college at Miami. She’s running around with a bunch of real knuckleheads. Jocks. I’m worried she’s gunna screw up and do something stupid.”
Marge asked, “What do you mean by something stupid?”
“You know, flunk out.”
“I thought she was really bright. Isn’t that’s what you’ve always said?”
Moe shook his head. “Yeah, she’s bright all right, but she still needs to go to class and do the work. She’s partying with these jocks and missing classes. They don’t need to worry about grades. A whole host of people are making certain they get the grades they need. She doesn’t have anyone but herself.”
“Have you tried to talk to her?”
The scowl deepened. “Yeah. I talked myself hoarse. She’s not listening to her old dumb uncle.”
Marge asked, “You want me to try to talk to her?”
Moe looked startled. “You’d do that? You don’t even know her.”
Marge smiled. “I know you, Moe. I like to think we’re friends. Of course I’d try to help a friend. Besides, even though I’m old, too, I am a woman. Maybe she’d take it better from a woman. Maybe she’d be more inclined to listen to a woman.”
The scowl faded considerably for the first time since he’d entered the diner. Moe said, “I’m going to drive down and have dinner with her tonight. Let me see how that goes. If I don’t think I’m making headway, I might just take you up on your offer.” He took a drink of his coffee and asked, “Now, what is it you wanted to talk about?”
Marge looked down at the table for a second and then returned Moe’s gaze. When she spoke, there was a tentative ring to her voice. “I talked to Jack earlier today. I brought him up to speed on the issues we’re having with the insurance and potential contractors.”
Moe interrupted. “Don’t tell me he just blew you off. He flies away to Michigan and forgets about us back here dealing with the leftovers of the damn hurricane.”
“No. No. Nothing like that. He offered to do anything he could to help from up there, you know, make some phone calls.”
“Yeah, like his calls would have more weight than yours.”
“Moe, you’re getting this all wrong. Jack is just as anxious to finish things up there and get back down here to help as we are to have him return. It’s not that at all. In fact, I would imagine he’d much rather be down here with us than up there with the ex-wife he loathes.”
Moe flinched. “He’s with his ex?”
“Well, sorta. When he first got there and his father-in-law died, he was around her a lot.”
Moe smirked. “Oh, and how did that go?”
“From the couple of comments Jack made, I would guess not very comfortably.”
“Where is he now?” Moe asked.
“He’s at the lodge that his father-in-law owned in northern Michigan. That’s why it’s so hard to talk to him. Cell coverage is real sketchy. He said he’s doing everything he can to wrap up things up there as soon as possible.”
Moe cocked his head and asked, “So, what’s got you so worried?”
“I mentioned that a Percy Strickland was trying to reach him. He told me he would attempt to return the call.”
“Yeah . . . what exactly is wrong with that?”
“I did a little research on this Percy Strickland. He’s a big real estate broker. Remember the guy in the fancy car who came to see Jack one of the last days before he went north? They talked in the car parked on the street in front of Cap’s Place. Jack told us over lunch that he made an offer to buy Cap’s Place. I’d bet that was this Strickland.”
“So?”
Marge pursed her lips. “If Jack is still talking to this Strickland, it means a sale is still possible.”
Moe rubbed his hand across his shaved head. “As I recall, Marge, when he told us about it, you advised Jack to take a good long look at the offer.”
“I know. I know. I was suggesting what might be in his best interest. It might be in his best interest to take the money and not deal with the headaches of rebuilding and take the risk of the business not coming back. There’s no guarantee that, even if we do reopen, people will come back. People are fickle. Creatures of habit. They start going to other places and that becomes their new habit. No, it might be best for Jack if he did sell.”
Moe nodded. “But that’s not necessarily best for you and me and lots of other people?”
“Exactly.”
They sat quietly for several seconds. Finally, Moe said, “Maybe the fact that Jack hasn’t gotten back to this Strickland is a sign that he’s not interested. Any idea how much money they’re offering?”
Marge shook her head. “No, no idea. Although, I did have an interesting conversation with Justin yesterday. I was at Cap’s, and he was working at the marina. We chatted for a few minutes, and he mentioned that Johnny told him the owners of the marina had a very good offer for the marina. Johnny thinks they might sell.”
“Wow, wonder what Johnny would do? He’s been managing that marina since the earth cooled. Maybe the new owners would keep him.”
Shaking her head, Marge said, “Doubt it. Someone is trying to buy all of these properties to redevelop the area. They’ll tear everything down and build something all new. I’m sure they’ll have a marina, but it’ll be all new and different.”
Another period of silence and then Marge said, “I’ll be fine. Well, not fine, because I’ll really miss Cap’s Place. I’ve grown to really love the place and all of you characters, but I’m fine financially.” She hesitated and then said, “I just wanted to alert you, Moe. You know . . . so you could be thinking about alternative strategies.”
“Oh hell, I’ll be fine. Guy like me, black ex-con, I can get a job anywhere. People calling all the time wanting me to come to work for them.”
She reached out and patted the back of his hand. “Maybe I’m worrying about nothing. I just wanted to make certain you were fully aware of the situation.”
Moe gave her a weak smile. “You know Jack as well as I do. Simply because selling might be the best thing for him doesn’t mean he’ll do it. He sometimes has a tendency to do things that aren’t good for him.”
Marge nodded and smiled. “Ain’t that the truth.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I resumed reviewing Benjamin’s notes and files, but my mind kept wandering. First, there were the seeds of skepticism sown by the governor’s call and then Katharine’s statements about Benjamin’s last days. Maybe it was a wild-goose chase. Of course, I’d never know if I didn’t thoroughly review the materials. Unfortunately, my thorough review was also being impeded by the woman downstairs. I found her presence unnerving. For several years now, I had nurtured an image of her as evil. The limited interaction I had with her when she came to Florida to ask me to come up and see her dad and the couple of occasions since my arrival hadn’t done anything to dispel that image, but the woman downstairs seemed to be a different person. More akin to the person I had originally fallen in love with all of those years ago. This sudden shift in my impression of Katharine left me feeling as if I was on the rolling deck of a sailboat caught in a storm.
I slogged through the next couple of hours with the low murmur of smooth instrumental jazz drifting up from downstairs. I must have been more focused on my task than I realized because I didn’t hear Katharine come upstairs. Suddenly, she was standing behind me, saying softly, “Can you take a break if I put dinner on the table?” I must have jumped a foot in my chair because she raised both hands and said, “Oh my gosh, Jack, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
I clasped my hand over my heart and said, “If I recover from my recent heart attack, I’d love to stop for dinner.” We both laughed, and I followed her back downstairs.
Katharine had set two place settings perpendicular on one corner of the dining table. Flames danced in the fireplace, and the music played softly in the background. She gestured toward a wine decanter and said, “I opened a bottle of pinot noir. If you’ll do the honors, I’ll bring dinner in.” With that, she disappeared back into the kitchen.
It took me a few seconds to process the entire scene. When I got up this morning, I could never in my wildest imagination have created this picture for my dinner. I filled the two wine glasses on the table, took a long drink from one before refilling it, and called out, “You need a hand in there?”
Katharine emerged from the kitchen carrying a large covered serving dish. She placed it on the table and answered, “Sure, there are a couple of wilted spinach salads on the counter in there. If you get those, I’ll get the hot bacon dressing.”
I followed her back into the kitchen and collected the salads on the counter. Katharine picked up a small clear glass pitcher of dressing and a couple of serving spoons. Once we were both seated at the table, Katharine removed the cover from the serving dish and said, “Pork loin with roasted potatoes and baby carrots.”
Gesturing toward the kitchen, I said, “Wow, you found all of this in there?”
Katharine laughed and replied, “Looks to me like Sharon did a nice job of stocking the kitchen. Well, with the exception of sandwich materials. They seem to be running low.”
“You’ve seen where I live. It came with a fully staffed kitchen. My culinary skills haven’t progressed much since . . .” My sentence trailed off, and I left unspoken the reference to our marriage.
She smiled faintly and raised her wine glass. “Bon appétit.” We clinked glasses.
As Katharine served the pork and vegetables, I again noticed she was not wearing an engagement ring. “So, tell me about Dr. Reynolds. I understand that you are engaged.”
Katharine looked at me intently, as if she was looking for a hidden meaning in my inquiry. “Well, let’s see, Phil is a neurosurgeon. We met at a function at the Detroit Institute of Arts. Phil is on the board of directors.” She paused briefly as if sorting facts and deciding which ones to share. “We dated sporadically for a few years. Both of us were more focused on our careers than our social lives. Eventually, as the saying goes, one thing led to another, and we started to see each other more and more frequently. A couple of months ago he asked me to marry him. I said yes, but we haven’t set a date yet.”
A multitude of nasty comments flooded my mind, but I chose the high road. “Well, congratulations.” I lifted my wine glass in salute, then with a gesture toward her left hand, I said, “No engagement ring?”
“Oh, that. There is an engagement ring. It’s . . . it’s . . . well, it’s huge. It’s a little ostentatious, even for me. I usually only wear it on special occasions.”
“What, dinner with me isn’t a special occasion?”
She grinned. “Well, if I had known.”
I complimented the meal, and Katharine told me how she had taken an interest in cooking the last few years. She found it was a great distraction from the stresses of the legal profession. She talked at length about a couple of cooking classes she had recently taken. I was almost mesmerized listening to her. When we were married, she could barely boil water. We lived almost exclusively on takeout and frozen pizzas.
Without preamble, she switched subjects and said, “Enough about my life. Tell me about yours. Is there a special someone in your life?” Both the subject and her sincere tone were unexpected.
Relying on my oft utilized tack of deflecting through humor, I replied, “There certainly is. It’s just her name changes frequently.”
My quip garnered a motherly scowl. “I’m surprised by that, Jack. I thought you would have settled down by now.”
My first thought was, I thought I was settled down — with you — but that didn’t work out so well. Fortunately, my mouth didn’t engage until I came up with something less antagon
izing. “Nope. No one really special yet. To be honest, Cap’s Place keeps me pretty busy.” Of course, the last statement was a bald-faced lie; Marge and Moe run the place, but Katharine had no way of knowing that.
Katharine smiled, a warm seemingly genuine smile. “You really are a great guy, Jack. I’m certain you’ll meet someone. You deserve to meet someone. You deserve to be happy.”
I didn’t know if it was the dinner, the wine, or the fireplace, but I suddenly felt very warm. All I could muster in reply was to say, “Thanks, Kat. Thanks.”
We chatted as we finished dinner. The conversation of two old friends who hadn’t seen each other in a long time catching up. Sharing new details of our lives while frequently harkening back to times and events when we were much closer. Lots of remember whens. We finished dinner and the wine. Katharine pushed back from the table and said, “How about you helping me clean up the dishes and then we can go for a walk? The fresh air would feel good.”
“I’ll gladly help you pick up, but I really should work some more tonight.”
“Tell you what, you go for a walk with me tonight, and I’ll help you go through my dad’s stuff tomorrow. Deal?”
I knew better. I just couldn’t stop myself. “Sure. That sounds like a good deal. A little fresh air would be good.”
It only took us a few minutes to clean up after dinner. We took a couple of jackets from the front closet. The one she picked was obviously hers, and it made me wonder if the ones I’d been wearing were Benjamin’s or Phil’s. The shoes I had been wearing earlier were still damp. Katharine rummaged around in the back of the closet and pulled out a pair of duck boots. “Here, wear these. They were Dad’s.”
The rain had stopped, and the sky had cleared to reveal millions of stars. The temperature had dropped, but that only added to the ambiance of autumn in northern Michigan. The rains of the past few days had started to take down the leaves, and in the areas of the trail bounded by deciduous trees, the path looked as if it was carpeted in a mosaic pattern of dull reds and oranges. We walked along in silence, both of us enjoying the quiet surroundings. Light from the nearly full moon filtered through the trees and provided a soft illumination. In stretches of the trail where the tree cover blocked out the moonlight, I would snap on the flashlight Katharine had retrieved from the coat closet.
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