When the Sun Goes Down

by Gwynne Forster

“Hello, Carson. How are you?”

  “Fine. How’s it going? Is Shirley at home?”

  “Yes, I am. And I would have opened the door for you, if my big brother hadn’t beat me to it.”

  He handed her a dozen red roses. “I’ve met a few brothers in my day. Protectiveness of their sisters seems to be in their DNA. Shall we go?”

  “Yes. Thanks for the flowers. I love American Beauty roses. I’ll be ready as soon as I put these in the dining room.

  “Good night, Gunther,” she said, knowing that she had aroused his curiosity with that remark. She couldn’t help grinning at the expression of shock on his face.

  “I think you upset him,” Carson said as they settled into his BMW. “I take it you didn’t tell him that you were having dinner with me.”

  “He wormed it out of me.”

  “Didn’t you want him to know?”

  “I didn’t mind, but I’m trying to change his perception of me as the family baby.”

  A deep laugh rumbled out of Carson. “But you are, and both of your brothers will always see you that way. You look beautiful. Stunningly beautiful.”

  “Thank you. You’re practically breathtaking.”

  She loved his laughter, and he treated her to a good dose of it. “Be careful about saying such things. You wouldn’t like me to wreck this car, would you?”

  “You said you liked things cut-and-dried, and I hate looking for acceptable synonyms and euphemisms. I belong to the tell-it-like-it-is school.”

  “That is not true. The second occasion on which we worked at your father’s house, you spent the entire time doing precisely the opposite. If you’d said what you were thinking and feeling, we’d be talking about something else right now.”

  “I didn’t get any help from you. Do you think I’m stupid enough to stick my neck out?”

  “No. But I thought you were smart enough to see what had to be as clear as spring water.”

  She turned to face him fully. “Are you saying—”

  “Right. The same bug that bit you, bit me.”

  Chapter Four

  As he drove along Old Dominion Pike, he reflected that Shirley hadn’t responded to his admission that he was attracted to her. He hadn’t imagined that she played her cards so close to the chest, and he still didn’t believe it. “You haven’t asked me where I’m taking you,” he said, deliberately changing the subject.

  From his peripheral vision, he saw her draw a fortifying breath. Then she turned so that her back was to the passenger’s door. “Carson, I would trust you with the life of my newborn baby, not to speak of my own life. And from the look of you tonight, I think I’d be foolish to question your taste.” She then resumed her previous position. “Where did you grow up?”

  “I was born in Washington, D.C. I’m thirty-six, divorced, and childless.”

  “Let me guess. You were born between mid-July and mid-August.”

  “Yeah. I was. July thirty-first. How’d you figure that out?”

  “Because you’re the epitome of a Leo. Alpha male from your head to your toes. Where’d you go to school to learn how to be a detective, if you don’t mind my asking.”

  “Hmm. How soon they forget. I don’t mind at all. I have a bachelor’s in criminology and a JD from Howard. Four years practicing law was as much as I could stomach, and after four years as a police detective, I got a private detective’s license. I opened my own agency three years ago, and for the first time, I couldn’t wait to get to work. This is also the first time I’ve taken a job searching for something, and I’m not sure that I should have.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “So am I, and not for the money, either. Did your studies at Morgan prepare you to be a public relations director?”

  “Not really. What I studied in psychology helps, but you actually learn it on the job. What I need for my job is some smarts and a caring heart, because I spend my time helping people and solving their problems.”

  Now we’ll see how much truth there is to her claim that she trusts me, he thought to himself as he parked in front of the Harbor Court Hotel in Baltimore. He got out, walked around to the front passenger’s door, opened it, released her seat belt, and held out his hand. She took it and walked with him to the front door of the hotel. He handed his car keys to the valet, accepted the ticket, and walked with her to the elevator. She still held his hand and hadn’t said one word. He stepped on the elevator with her and pushed the button to the second floor. He would have liked to see her face when he selected the floor, but he couldn’t find the button while watching her.

  The elevator door opened, and with his finger at her elbow, they stepped out. “Good evening, madam, sir. Your name please, sir,” the maître d’ said.

  “Montgomery.”

  “Right this way, sir. Your table is ready.” They followed the man to their table. “I hope you enjoy the flowers that Mr. Montgomery ordered for you, madam. If you wish to take them with you, I’ll be glad to arrange it.” He seated her and left them.

  “Carson, this is absolutely splendid, and thank you for these beautiful roses. I didn’t know this place existed.”

  “And you didn’t think I was bringing you to a hotel?” he asked her, mildly taken aback. Maybe she really did trust him.

  “Not really. You knew I hadn’t eaten, and you’re too sophisticated to try to make love with a starving woman. Besides, you’re not the type to play juvenile tricks.”

  He stared at her for a full minute. Then he rested his elbow on the table and supported his brow with his thumb and forefinger, dying for the pleasure of letting out a belly laugh. This woman would always keep it up front and center, and he liked that. He knew better than to push it further, because she might issue him a challenge, and he hadn’t decided to extend their friendship beyond this one night, though he knew he could learn to care very deeply for her.

  After a memorable meal with fine wine, followed by liqueurs and espresso, he asked her, “Do you like to dance?”

  “Do I? Dance in my middle name.”

  “Wonderful.” He took her hand and walked with her to the elevator. “There’s a nice lounge at the Sheraton. The music is reasonably good, provided you like jazz. Do you?”

  Happiness suffused her at the thought of dancing with him to live jazz music. She squeezed his fingers. “I love jazz, and it’s my favorite dance music.”

  “Then we’ll go. I hope they have one of those New Orleans bands tonight.”

  “I don’t care if the music is canned, so long as it’s jazz.” He gazed down at her, not imagining that the prospect of dancing could make a woman shine with such happiness. I hope I never do anything to dim that light in her.

  Later, he had occasion to wonder at his behavior. Driving home after he left her, he kept thinking that he had wanted to kiss her and that she would have embraced him. Why hadn’t he done it? Why hadn’t he capped off the most delightful evening he’d spent in years with a warm embrace? “To thine own self be true,” he quoted, and directed his mind to the problem of locating the Farrell will.

  Flush with delight about her evening with Carson, Shirley walked into Gunther’s living room and found him at loggerheads with Edgar. “What is wrong here?” she asked them, rushing to where they stood. “What is this about?”

  “Why can’t we auction off the whole business, split what we get for it, and let somebody else worry about finding the damned will?” Edgar said. “You two don’t care, because you’re loaded. But I need the money. What do you want me to do? Go rob a bank?”

  She looked at Gunther, who stood like a statue with his arms folded, his feet wide apart, and his only movement the slight quiver of his upper lip. “Edgar, you know we can’t do that. Father didn’t have any debts, because he didn’t believe in buying what he couldn’t pay cash for. That means his estate is worth at least a couple of million dollars. You want to give all that to the highest bidder for fifty or sixty, even a hundred thousand? Why don’t you get a steady job
at a night club or with a symphony orchestra? You could make ten times what you bring in now.”

  “I’m a first-class musician, and you’re asking me to put myself down with these chickenshit guys who don’t know a bass clef from a treble clef. You could lend me some money, but you’re so damned much like Father that you’d rather sit back and watch me drown.”

  “Cut the melodrama, Edgar. If I loaned you money every time you asked for it, I’d soon be as broke as you,” Gunther said. “You could make a thousand dollars every night, and you’ve done it, but you’d rather walk around here with your nose in the air, superior to everybody you see. Knock it off, man. I gotta go to work in the morning.”

  “Tomorrow’s Saturday,” Edgar said.

  “Yeah,” Gunther replied, “and I’m working. That’s why I have money.”

  “He doesn’t pay rent or utilities,” Shirley said to Gunther after Edgar left, “and he plays that guitar most nights. What does he do with the money? You think he’s on drugs?”

  “I don’t think so. I think he gambles, and for high stakes at that. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had some gambling debts and that he’ll have to pay up soon.”

  “But, Gunther, that could be dangerous.”

  “Anybody who tries to make easy money lives to regret it. That’s one of Father’s sayings that I wish Edgar had listened to. Enough about Edgar. How was your evening?”

  “Great until I walked in here and saw the two of you at each other’s throats. Carson’s a classy guy, Gunther.”

  “He certainly dressed for you, and you did the same for him. Did he kiss you?”

  “Uh ... no.”

  “What? What kind of guy takes out a woman who looks like you, brings her home, and doesn’t kiss her? And why’d you let him get away with it? Did you want him to kiss you?”

  “Yeah. I did, but I added the morning we worked at Father’s house together plus this evening and considered the man he was on both occasions. It added up to, if I don’t ask for what he’s not giving, he’ll give me what I want.”

  “Explain that logic to me.”

  “He knows I’m attracted to him, and he told me that the same bug that bit me bit him. You know I’m patient, Gunther. If he doesn’t want me, he’d better stay out of my company.”

  “Tread carefully, sis. He’s sophisticated and worldly.”

  “I know.” She described their evening together. “We danced as if we’d been born doing it.”

  “And he didn’t kiss you. He’s a stronger man than I am.”

  “What will we do about Edgar?”

  “If we bail him out this time, next week we’ll have to do it again. He owes you three thousand, and he owes me four or five times that much. I stopped being a sucker.”

  They said good night, and Shirley climbed the stairs thinking of Gunther implying that, given similar circumstances, he wouldn’t have willingly left the woman without kissing her. Not all men are the same, she told herself. One thing was certain: Before she left for Fort Lauderdale, she’d investigate the Ellicott City housing market. Edgar was desperate enough to attack Gunther, and that would be catastrophic.

  She got into bed and turned out the light. Damn. She really had wanted a kiss, but since she wasn’t ready for a hot relationship with Carson, she didn’t mind that he’d chosen not to do it. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt her to learn more about the man. A brother who looked that good could bamboozle a saint with a simple grin. I’m as much woman as he is man, she told herself, and his curly lashes won’t make me shrivel. It occurred to her that she was one up on him, because he had a telltale sex sign that he couldn’t hide: When his libido reared up, his brown eyes took on a grayish cast. It didn’t make sense to laugh, but she closed her eyes happily and thought about selling her Fort Lauderdale condominium.

  A call from Carson the next morning surprised her. “I enjoyed our evening together, Shirley, and I hope you slept well,” he said. “I need to talk with you for an hour at least, either at your brother’s place or the Farrell house. Can we meet, and where do you suggest?”

  Just like that, huh? “If you don’t need to go out to Father’s house, could you come over here at about ten-thirty?”

  “Thank you. I’ll be there.”

  Anger suffused her, and she knew it was unreasonable. She calmed her temper, dressed in white slacks and a pink T-shirt, and went down for breakfast. She greeted Gunther and Mirna, got half a grapefruit, a banana, a piece of cheese, and a cup of coffee, and joined them.

  “Carson’s coming over at ten-thirty to interview me. He’s convinced that the will is in Father’s personal quarters. I’ve told him all I know, so—”

  “Maybe he’s using it as an excuse to see you,” Mirna said. “It’s been done before.”

  “He doesn’t need an excuse.”

  Gunther prepared to leave for work. “See you later. Give Carson my regards.”

  Carson arrived at the appointed time. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked him after they greeted each other.

  “Thanks, but I had some.”

  She led him to the living room and sat in a chair facing him. “What could you possibly have missed?” she asked him.

  He leaned forward. “Did he belong to any clubs? And did he have any hobbies? Did he have a place to work away from home?”

  “I don’t think he belonged to a club. He would have considered that an unnecessary expense. But he had a very serious hobby, and when we were searching, I didn’t see any evidence of it, which is strange.”

  “What was it?”

  “He had a passion for robots and other replicas of people. He made robots and collected many.”

  “Thanks, Shirley. I have to find them. If they were as dear to him as you say, we may be on the right track at last. I can hardly wait until Monday when Edgar returns to Atlantic City. I’ll be in touch.”

  Carson’s search that Monday morning left him perplexed and disheartened. The one robot that he found on the floor beside a chair in the living room and that he’d seen before, a machine-made barking dog, could not have contained the will. Tired and disheartened, he dropped himself into a chair and tried to think. When his cell phone rang, he looked at the caller ID and swore.

  “What is it, Edgar?”

  “I need some money. Can you advance me a couple thousand against my share of the estate?”

  Taken aback by the audacity of the request, he waited a bit before responding. “I’ve been working on this job for weeks now with no result. If I don’t find that will, I’ve wasted time when I could have been earning a substantial amount. I don’t do business this way. The answer is no.”

  “Who do you think you are? If you don’t find it soon, I’ll put somebody else on the job.”

  “Really? Check your contract. I have to get back to work.” One more reason why I don’t want to get involved with Shirley Farrell. I want that man as far from me as he can get.

  Gunther got home that evening a little later than usual. He missed his sister’s company. Hiring Mirna was the smartest thing he had done recently. The woman kept his home as if it were her own, and her skill as a cook was such that he didn’t consider eating out.

  “Hi, Mirna. What’s that I smell? It’s making my mouth water.”

  “Hope you had a good day, Mr. G. We got somethin’ good tonight, so just let me know when you’re ready to eat.”

  “It’s always good if you cook it. I’ll be away Friday evening, Saturday, and most of Sunday, so you have Friday, Saturday, and Sunday off. I can get my own breakfast Friday morning.”

  “Thank you, sir. Mr. G, the Lord gon’ bless you for being such a good person. I can run down to Virginia and see my mother. She’s kind of poorly.”

  He patted her shoulder. “If I can do anything to help, let me know.”

  Shortly after noon on Friday, he left his office with Medford and another of his employees and headed to Ocean City. “Nothing like fishing in Assawoman Bay,” Medford said.

  “It�
��s the best way I know to get rid of your concerns. Totally de-stressing,” Gunther said. “What are we going to do with so much fish?”

  “Take it home. We can get those refrigerator boxes, put the fish in them along with some ice, and they’ll be fine,” Medford said. “Fish used to be cheap, but not anymore.”

  By Sunday afternoon, they had as much fish as they could pack into their refrigerator boxes, but Gunther also had developed difficulty breathing and a high temperature. After he got home, he put the fish into his freezer and went to bed. The following morning, Mirna awakened him.

  “Mr. G, it’s nine o’clock, and you not up yet. You’re hot. I think you have a fever.”

  He rolled over and tried to focus, felt as if he were on fire, and asked Mirna to bring the thermometer from the cabinet in his bathroom. She put the thermometer under his arm until it beeped, took it out, and looked at it.

  “My goodness, Mr. G. I think I ought to call your doctor. It says 103.5 degrees.”

  “I’ll get up in a few minutes.”

  “I’m gonna call Miss Shirley.”

  Hours later, Gunther awakened in Johns Hopkins Hospital and was informed that he had pneumonia. “When may I go home?” he wanted to know.

  “You’ve been here a couple of days,” the doctor told him. “Pneumonia is nothing to play with, so plan to be here for the remainder of the week and expect a considerable period of recuperation. I suspect you’ve had this for a while.”

  “You need someone with nursing experience, Mr. G,” Mirna told him when he came home. “You know I’ll do my best to look after you, but the doctor said you’d be better off with a nurse or an LPN.”

  “What’s an LPN?”

  “A licensed practical nurse, meaning she doesn’t have a degree. At least she won’t think she’s too good for the job.”

  “I don’t know where to start looking for an LPN.”

  “You can ask the doctor, or I can ask my friend Frieda if she knows anyone. She’s an LPN.”

  “Why can’t she come? At least we’d have someone you know and trust. Where does she work?”