Sketch Me If You Can

by Sharon Pape

  “What do you think you’re doing?!” she snapped. “We had a deal.” The bedroom and bath were supposed to be her private sanctuary. Of course, as long as he remained invisible, he could violate her trust and she would never be the wiser. That thought led her to wonder just how long he might have been there watching her before he chose to show himself. In the name of sanity, she pushed the thought out of her head.

  “Oh, right, sorry.”

  Rory couldn’t see his face too clearly, but she decided that he sounded adequately contrite. It was a first offense after all. And maybe he really had forgotten. She had no idea whether ghosts had good memories or not.

  “Okay, okay,” she said grudgingly. “Now that you’re here, what’s so important that it couldn’t have waited until I finished my shower?” And shaved my other leg, she added to herself. She’d have to remember to take care of that before Vince arrived.

  “I’m worried about you. You’re as stubborn a female as I’ve ever known, and I don’t think you’re takin’ my warnin’ to heart. But if you keep pokin’ around into Gail’s death, you’re more than likely gonna wind up like Mac.”

  “Your concern is touching,” Rory said dryly, “but right now I’m more likely to die of haunting than of anything else.” Her heart was still beating a ragged tattoo from his unexpected appearance.

  Although the towel now covered her more than most bathing suits did, she remained in the shower. If she stepped out, she’d be less than an arm’s length away from Zeke. The bathroom might be modern and well appointed, but it was cramped with even one occupant. Mac had considered enlarging it, but that would have meant taking away the one small closet in the master bedroom. Not a reasonable option when the house had such little closet space to begin with.

  She drew her arms around herself as the heat from the shower dissipated and the central air blew across her wet skin and hair.

  “I don’t know you long,” Zeke said, either unable to see her discomfort or unmoved by it, “but I think I know you some. You’re still baitin’ the devil, ain’t you?”

  “Well, that depends. Which devil would you be referring to?”

  “You know darn well what I’m talkin’ about. I thought we agreed you’d hold off on interviewin’ anymore suspects till you had a chance to check out the crime scene proper.”

  “That’s strange,” Rory said, wanting nothing more than a dry towel and some clothes, “because I don’t recall agreeing to any such thing.” The minutes were ticking away, and soon one unshaved leg was going to be the least of her problems when Vince arrived.

  “Damn it, woman, why do you have to be so all-fired difficult? I’m only tryin’ to help you.”

  Hearing the exasperation in his voice, Rory had to admit that she was enjoying his frustration. After all, why should she be the only who was stressed by their relationship?

  “If you really want to help me right now,” she said, “get out of here and wait downstairs so I can get dressed.”

  She was surprised when he winked out of sight without argument. She set the towel aside and turned on the water, running the razor quickly over the unshaven leg. Once she was dry, she pulled on her favorite lavender and white sundress and strappy white sandals. She blew her hair dry in under five minutes, a new personal best, and applied a few strokes of mascara and some pale lip gloss to complete the look. She was on her way downstairs with five minutes to spare.

  Zeke was in the living room waiting for her. He was seated in his usual spot in the chair across from the couch, one long leg atop the other at a right angle, tapping his hand on the side of the raised boot. Rory noted the look of surprised approval that crossed his face when she entered the room. She realized that he’d never seen her dressed to go anywhere other than to work or to run errands. While it was always nice to be noticed, she had no intention of letting the unspoken compliment soften her attitude.

  “Okay, let’s get one thing straight here,” she said without preface, taking a seat on the couch. “I’ve never given you reason to assume that I’d be willing to follow your suggestions or directives.”

  “Maybe not, but you’ve given me every reason to believe that you’re as smart as Mac said you were.”

  “Meaning that I should be smart enough to listen to you, I suppose?”

  Zeke shook his head in frustration. “Meanin’ that you oughta know when you’re puttin’ yourself in harm’s way. Near as I can recall, Mac never mentioned you had a death wish.”

  “Oh, come on now,” Rory said. “That’s a little over-the-top, even for you.”

  The doorbell chimed before Zeke could respond.

  “That’d be your suitor,” he said tersely, making no effort to hide his irritation. “You need to tell him you’re busy. We haven’t finished talkin’ about this yet.”

  “I won’t do anything of the kind,” Rory sputtered indignantly. “Didn’t you hear me say that I don’t intend to take orders from you? You’re going to have to make peace with that fact, or you’re going to be very unhappy.”

  Zeke’s jaw clenched shut, and Rory was sorry that she’d come down so hard on him. He was suffering from his own demons, and she had a feeling she didn’t know half of them.

  “Look,” she went on more kindly, “I need to eat, and to be honest, I could use a break from all of this. It’s not as if I’m going to do anything rash over dinner.”

  Zeke didn’t reply. He rose out of the chair, vanishing halfway through the motion and leaving Rory to feel as if he’d metaphorically hung up on her.

  “Well, I hope you have a good evening too,” she said to the empty room. But as she went to answer the door, she began to think that maybe Zeke was right. Maybe she should just beg off, say she was coming down with a bug. She’d be doing Vince a favor. She wouldn’t be very good company in her current state of mind.

  Chapter 17

  When Rory opened the door, Vince greeted her with an engaging smile. He was wearing chinos and a white linen shirt that was a perfect foil for his bronzed skin. Rory found herself smiling back, her mind apparently willing enough to take a hiatus from stress.

  She invited him into the house and then ran upstairs to get the handbag and sweater she’d forgotten to bring down with her earlier. It was a safe bet that the restaurant’s air conditioner would be cranked up to frigid. When she came back down, she found Vince surveying the living room with raised eyebrows.

  “Interesting choice,” he said, joining her back in the foyer. “I imagine you get a kick out of people’s reactions the first time they come in here.”

  Rory laughed. “It’s certainly a conversation starter.”

  “So I guess it’s safe to say that you have eclectic taste?”

  “Actually I can’t take credit for the décor. My uncle was the one who loved the old and ornate as much as the new and sleek. I’ve just grown to appreciate it.”

  “Adaptability’s an admirable trait.”

  “In all honesty, it’s not really a trait that runs rampant in my life”

  Vince laughed. “Thanks for the heads-up,” he said, glancing at his watch. “We should probably head out if we want to make our reservation.”

  “Just a second.” At the keypad beside the door, Rory punched in the numbers that armed the security system. “Okay, I’m right behind you.”

  Vince opened the door and was just stepping over the threshold when the door flew shut, shoving him out and barring Rory’s way. She could hear the muted expletive on the other side of the door.

  “Ezekiel Drummond!” she growled under her breath. She didn’t have time to deal with the marshal at that moment, but he was going to have to answer for his actions when she got home.

  Once she was outside, she produced a sheepish smile for Vince’s benefit. He was waiting in the driveway beside the little white Mercedes convertible she remembered from the open house.

  “I am so sorry about that,” she said as she walked up to him.

  “You didn’t by any chance forget t
o mention that you have multiple personalities, did you?”

  “No.” She laughed, thinking that Zeke was lucky he was already dead.

  Vince ushered her around the car and opened the passenger door for her.

  Rory slid into the plush leather seat. “I think it has to do with the way the door is balanced,” she said, plucking an explanation out of thin air. “A good breeze from the kitchen windows sometimes slams it shut like that.” Who was she kidding? The man was a builder for goodness’ sakes.

  “I’ll take a look at it later,” Vince said, taking his seat behind the wheel. If he suspected she was lying, he didn’t show it.

  Rory thanked him, hoping that he’d forget about the door during the course of the evening.

  When they arrived at the restaurant, Vince gave the maître d’ his name and they were immediately escorted past a dozen other people with reservations who were still waiting to be seated.

  “I think we’ve just made some mortal enemies,” Rory whispered after they were shown to a table in a quiet corner. She could still feel the well-honed arrows of envy and anger being shot in their direction.

  Vince shrugged. “I’ve done some favors for the guy who owns the place.” He started browsing through the wine list. “I don’t ask for special treatment, but I also don’t refuse it when it’s offered. How does a Cabernet sound?”

  “Cabernet sounds wonderful,” Rory said, trying to feel less guilty about the line cutting and more appreciative that they didn’t have to wait. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until the rich, complex aromas of the food wafted toward her from the other tables.

  The meal was smoothly and meticulously served, everything from the warm, crusty rolls to the dark chocolate crème brûlée beyond reproach. Lulled into a lovely state of relaxation by the wine and food, Rory found that she didn’t mind the inevitable game of twenty questions that was part of any new relationship.

  He told her about his career in the construction field, where he’d worked his way up from a summer job as a “gofer” when he was sixteen to owning his own firm. Along the way, he’d learned how to do every job involved in building a home and was not averse to rolling up his own sleeves even now and pitching in when a worker was out sick or a job was running late.

  He found Rory’s job as a sketch artist interesting, especially since he’d never met an artist before. And he laughed appreciatively at the anecdotes she recounted. The only awkward note of the evening came when a man with a grubby beard and baggy jeans approached their table.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you all day, Conti,” the man said without preface or greeting.

  Vince seemed more annoyed than surprised to see him there. “I would have gotten back to you when I wasn’t busy,” he answered coolly.

  “Yeah, well Petrillo told me you’d be here tonight.”

  “I’ll have to remember to thank him,” he replied without humor.

  The man leaned down so that his mouth was near Vince’s ear. “I wasted two hours waiting for you.”

  Vince stood up so suddenly that the man blanched and fell back a few steps. “Please excuse me,” he said to Rory as he took the man’s elbow and maneuvered him into the alcove near the restrooms. A minute later he was back in his seat and the man was making his way past their table and out of the restaurant, his face set in an ugly scowl.

  Vince offered Rory an apologetic smile. “You just can’t please some people. You do your best for them, but they’re never satisfied. They think they have the right to intrude on your time no matter where you are or what you’re doing.”

  Rory nodded in commiseration. Even in her job she’d learned that dealing with the public could be difficult, if not downright impossible. She could only imagine how it was in construction, where millions of dollars were often involved.

  The rest of the meal was pleasantly uneventful. After they’d sipped a bit of the anisette that had come to their table, compliments of the maître d’, Vince asked for the bill. From what Rory could see, it was well over three hundred dollars. She’d never had a dinner that expensive. Or that wonderful. A girl could really get used to being wined and dined like this. Vince paid in cash, including a generous tip.

  “You’re a brave soul walking around with that much cash these days. I never have more than twenty bucks on me.” She laughed. “And I’m a cop.”

  “Not to worry, I’m pretty good at taking care of myself. Besides, I have this theory that easy credit is what sank Atlantis.”

  “I’ll try to remember that the next time I’m thinking of buying something with money I don’t have,” Rory said.

  The short drive back home was as enjoyable as the dinner had been. The air was still warm, so they rode with the top down and Rory leaned back against the headrest and picked out the constellations that she remembered from childhood. She hadn’t enjoyed herself on a date this much in a long time. A first date no less.

  Vince came into the house long enough to take a look at the rebellious door. He inspected the hinges and the way they were attached to the doorjamb. He had Rory make sure the kitchen windows were wide open. The door didn’t move an inch on its own. Then he tried swinging the door closed using various degrees of strength. The door operated perfectly every time, no slamming shut, not even the slightest squeal or creak. Rory wasn’t surprised.

  He turned to her with a shrug. “I’ve never met a door I couldn’t fix, but I can’t find anything wrong with this one. And you said it’s happened more than once?”

  “Yes, but not often,” she rushed to point out. “Maybe only once before.”

  “Well, it seems fine now. Maybe it was just a ghost.” He laughed. “A ghost who doesn’t like company.”

  Be careful, Rory warned herself, play it for fun. “Oh great,” she said wryly. “That should be good for a few nightmares.”

  “Not to worry. You can call me anytime you need some ghost busting. I run a full-service company.”

  If he only knew what he was offering, Rory thought, smiling back at him.

  They were both silent for a moment, and Rory debated asking him to stay for coffee. But he took the decision out of her hands, thanking her for a wonderful evening and bending his head to give her a quick but tender kiss good night.

  Just enough to leave me wanting more, Rory thought as she locked the door behind him and set the security system for the night. She’d have to watch herself; this guy knew his way around women. He could certainly teach the marshal a thing or twelve.

  She looked toward the stairway with longing. She could almost hear her new bed calling to her with its promise of comfort and sleep. The day had started early and been emotionally draining, but she had a bit of business to finish with Zeke first. If she went straight to her room, he would have to break another rule to join her there, and he’d already broken too many. Instead, she went into the living room, kicked off her sandals and tried to make herself comfortable on the couch. She called his name without response. She’d give him twenty minutes. After that she was going up to bed and their conversation could wait until the next day. In any case, over the course of the evening her anger had mellowed into irritation and she was no longer looking for a fight. The marshal could thank Vince for that.

  Two hours later, Rory awakened disoriented, thinking that she’d gone up to bed and wondering how she’d come to be on the couch. As soon as she saw Zeke in his chair, she remembered why she was there.

  “I flickered the lights,” he said as soon as he saw that she was awake.

  Rory pulled herself upright, her back against the arm of the couch. “That’s fine,” she said, rubbing her eyes. She wasn’t happy that he’d been sitting there watching her sleep again. It made her feel vulnerable, defenseless. But since she’d never covered this circumstance in her list of rules, she had no recourse.

  “What’s not fine,” she went on, groping her way through the cobwebs of sleep, “is that little prank you pulled with the door this evening.”

  “B
ut it was funny,” Zeke said, grinning.

  “Not to me. I’m the one who had to come up with a crazy story about the door being unbalanced and the wind blowing it shut like this is Tornado Alley or something.”

  Zeke started to laugh, a rumbling, infectious laugh, and Rory had a hard time keeping a straight face. It actually was a little funny, but she didn’t dare let him know that.

  “I barely know Vince,” she said, “and I don’t need him thinking it’s me that’s unbalanced.”

  Zeke found that to be equally funny. As Rory waited for his laughter to subside, it occurred to her that he looked a little different, and it wasn’t just the difference between a sullen Zeke and an upbeat one. His hair was still long and greatly in need of a styling, but he’d made an attempt to comb it into submission. And his shirt, although wrinkled, was whiter and no longer frayed at the cuffs. Even his thick mustache appeared to have been pruned. Rory didn’t know how he’d accomplished the makeover, or why. Had he measured himself against Vince and found himself wanting? She decided not to remark on the changes. It was late; she was tired, and based on their record so far, it was reasonable to assume that even a compliment might trigger a new argument.

  “I’m glad I’ve been able to entertain you,” she said, yawning, “but I’ve really got to get some more sleep.”

  “Hold on,” Zeke said, his expression mutating from amused to deadly serious in less than a second. “What if I swore to you on my oath as a federal marshal that I know for sure and certain that Mac was murdered? Would you take my warnin’s more to heart then?” His dark eyes were locked on hers, daring her to dismiss his claim.

  “I’d still want some proof,” she said, momentarily taken aback by his words, as well as by the sudden change in his demeanor. “And I’d want to know how you can be so sure.”

  Zeke looked away from her to study the fireplace, as if that fieldstone structure might hold the answers to her questions. “You don’t make it easy, do you?” he grumbled.

  “I didn’t know that was my job.” She wished he’d forgo the drama and just get on with it. As she waited for his reply, it struck her that he might be trying to scare her into obedience. She was pretty sure that he would never have tried that tactic with Mac. But then Zeke came from a time when a man wouldn’t presume to tell another man what to do. Telling a woman how to run her life was an entirely different matter. Of course, Zeke was probably having his own difficulties dealing with the mores of her time, what with women piloting spacecraft, serving in government, wearing skimpy clothing and engaging in premarital and extramarital affairs with impunity. He must’ve thought he was witnessing a modern version of Sodom and Gomorrah. She’d almost talked herself into some sympathy for his plight, when he turned back to her.