A Rendezvous to Die For (26 page)

He grinned at me sheepishly,
peering down at his hands, then back up at me. “To tell you the
truth, I used that as an opening to come and see you. I don’t know
anything about the guy.”

I gasped aloud and placed my
hands on my hips. “You can’t trust anybody these days!” I said,
teasing and feeling my face flushing. So it
was
a date.

At that very moment, the phone on
his belt played the beginning of some unrecognizable song. He quickly
took the call, spoke only a few words, and rose from the table. “The
unpredictable world of an EMT,” he said, pushing his chair under
the table and turning to face me. He smiled crookedly. “It’s an
emergency. I have to go.”

I walked him to the door. He took
my hand and kissed me on the cheek. “I want to see you again.”
Already on his way down the stairs to the outside door, he turned to
offer a little wave. That was that. I put my hand on my cheek, and,
humming a little tune, went to finish cleaning up the kitchen.

Chapter
23

Thursday—Week
Three

After a night of tossing and
turning, I vowed to become more serious about clearing my name. I
wanted my life back. There was no sense in even feigning an interest
in guys like Nick, if Deputy Shaw were to decide to arrest me. I did
not want to spend even a minute behind bars, and I certainly didn’t
want guys visiting me in jail.

I returned to my computer with
renewed energy and again faced the grainy digital photo with the
shadowy figure of a man in the corner. Who else could help me
identify him? I’d asked almost everyone but Marty. I’d be taking
a chance, if the man in the photo turned out to be Marty. I’d be
tipping him off to the existence of the photo, and then I’d have no
place to hide. But, at this point, I was willing to take the chance.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

I enlarged the entire photo, then
isolated separate portions of it and enlarged them, too. When I had
finished, I had filled several folders with about a dozen exposures
each. With strength of purpose, I headed over to Marty’s with my
briefcase by 11:10. He was in his backyard, as usual. I told him what
I had and presented one of the folders to him. “Think you can shed
any light on the person in this photo?” I pointed to the image.

Marty leafed through the
pictures, taking his time with each one, turning them in different
directions to catch the light. “I’m going inside to get a
magnifying glass.” He tromped off to the house. When he returned,
he said, “The outfit is curious, Cassandra. The man is wearing
unusually warm clothing for such a hot day. That’s not in keeping
with the Rendezvous.”

“
But, do you recognize who it
is?”

“
There’s something familiar
about the figure.” He squinted. “I can’t quite put my finger on
it. If I could get a copy of the photos, I could study them later.”

“
Go ahead and take the folder,
Marty,” I said. “I have the photos in my computer and can print
as many as I need.”

He gathered the pictures up and
slipped them under his arm. “Have you shown these to Shaw?”

“
He doesn’t know about them,”
I said. I explained how I had taken it with my digital camera,
removed the card and stuffed it into my jeans pocket. “I completely
forgot about it, until it fell out while I was doing my wash. When
I—”

“
Have you had lunch yet? I made
some sandwiches and a salad and I’d just as soon not eat alone.”

“
Sure.” I glanced at my
watch. “Sounds better than the microwave dinner I was planning.”

Plus,
I’d finally get inside Marty’s house!

We walked through an entranceway
tacked onto the kitchen, typical of centuries-old houses. Coats,
caps, and other kinds of men’s outdoor clothing hung from pegs
framed by dark wainscoting. Boots and shoes peeked out from under the
coats. When we continued through a door at the end of the passageway,
an old-fashioned screen door sprang shut behind us. We emerged into a
dimly lighted kitchen. I noticed that Marty still had the
room-darkening shades pulled down to cover the two windows that
looked over the back yard. He switched on a light. White
floor-to-ceiling wood cabinets flanked one entire side of the
kitchen. Another wall had been retrofitted with twentieth century
appliances—a gas stove, refrigerator, and sink. The faded
blue-flowered linoleum still bore the outline of appliances that had
formerly stood there.

The scant counter space that
divided the upper and lower cabinets was cluttered with an ancient
bread box, a can of Maxwell House coffee, a pile of magazines and
newspapers, and what looked like a day or two’s mail. When I pulled
out a chair to sit at the weathered wooden table, an orange tabby cat
jumped down to the floor. It rubbed against Marty’s legs as he
puttered at the table, moving salt and peppershakers, napkin holders,
and various condiments to one side to make room for the salads and
sandwiches. He had apparently been reading a military magazine, which
he picked up and added to the pile of papers on the counter.

I’d been in rooms like this
before, but this one was populated by a bachelor who cared nothing
for decorating and updating. I peered around for anything personal.
No magnetized photos of smiling grandchildren adorned the fridge.
Aside from the counter clutter, the room was a study in minimalism. A
door led to the next room, but with the draperies in that room pulled
together, it was dark, too. If I’d been bolder, I would have
visited the bathroom as a maneuver to see more of the house.

Marty and I made small talk about
the weather. He busied himself setting the table and putting out the
food. “Up for a beer?” He held out a can to me. “Nothing beats
the heat better than a cold one.” I opened the tab. He opened his
and sat across from me. The weather seemed to be the only topic we
could talk about. We kept discussing it. “The weather in Kansas
City was even hotter than it is here, if you can believe that,” he
said, taking a bite of his sandwich.

I didn’t let on I knew he had
been in Kansas. “Oh, so that’s where you were when the sheriff
called you to come back home.”

He cleared his throat. “I had
some engine trouble with the helicopter and it was in the shop when
the sheriff called. I had to wait overnight to get airborne.”

“
Were you in Kansas for
business or pleasure?”

He took a sip of his beer and
settled back in his chair, as if to ignore my question. “A little
of both.”

“
I heard an accident victim was
transported to a burn unit in Kansas City,” I said, prompting him
to continue his story.

“
That’s right,” he said.
“My schedule was open, and I was ready to get out of town for
awhile.” He took another sip of beer and another bite of his
sandwich. “And besides that, I had some personal business. I’ve
been trying to solve a puzzle for forty years.” He carefully placed
his half-eaten sandwich on the salad plate. “I’ve been chasing
around the country following up whatever clue came my way. Sometimes,
even out of the country. Mexico. Canada. Ireland, of all places. But
after a couple of years, the trail got cold and I’d be lucky to get
a lead a year.”

“
What are you looking for?” I
asked, taking another bite out of the surprisingly good tuna
sandwich.

He examined the ceiling, his eyes
focused on a distant point. Finally he said, “I don’t know much
about you, Cassandra. Let me ask you a question, though. If your
mother disappeared with your brother and you had no idea where they
were or why they left, what would you do?”

If I had seen the dreaded
“family” question coming, I could have deflected it. As it was,
he had taken me by surprise and his question had the effect of a blow
to the stomach. I struggled to keep from spitting out my sandwich.

“
You don’t have to answer
that,” he said gently. “I don’t talk about my family much
either.”

“
Does . . . does your family
live close by?” I asked, relieved to be off the hook. “I don’t
think I’ve ever seen them visiting.”

“
As far as I know, they don’t
live nearby,” he said. “That’s what I’ve been trying to
discover for forty years. If they just took off . . . or if something
terrible happened to them, well, it’s a living hell not knowing.”

“
Forty years is a long time.”

“
Sounds crazy,” he said. “But
when a part of you is taken away, without your knowing why, it leaves
a scar.”

My hand involuntarily flew up to
stroke the scar on my neck. “I can only imagine.”

* * *

After taking the plunge with
Marty, I was convinced the best way to get information was simply to
throw myself into the enemy camp. Since it was only 1:15, I decided
to visit Jack, the newest on my “questionable friends” list. He
didn’t know I knew about Eric. I wanted to see his reaction to the
person in the mysterious parking-lot photo. Glad I had made several
copies while I was at it, I hopped into my Jeep and drove over to the
stables.

Jack was astride a loping horse
on the right side of the arena. When he reached the far end, he
turned the horse toward the center. Orange construction-zone cones
were positioned in a straight line at about ten-foot intervals. As I
watched, Jack dropped the reins in front of him and urged the animal
into a trot. Without any obvious guidance, the horse maintained its
gait, weaving in and out of the cones until it came to a stop in
front of the gate. The guy knew how to handle a horse. I applauded as
he dismounted.

He came over and casually threw
his arm across my shoulders. “Hey, Cass. Long time no see. What’s
our pretty detective turned up now?”

I shrank away from his touch and
held out one of the folders of photos in front of me. “I’m trying
to identify the person in this photo, Jack. Willis Lansing and Marty
are looking at it, too.” I handed him the folder.

“
Where’d you take the photo?”

I described the circumstances to
him. “The authorities don’t know this photo exists, Jack, so be
careful who sees it. Think you’ll have time to look it over in the
next couple days?”

“
Sure, no problem.” He tucked
the folder under his arm. “By the way, Virgil came by this morning
to pay Midnight’s board.”

“
Did you talk to him?”

“
For a few minutes. I thought
he should know that Strothers was here asking about him the other
day.”

“
Was he surprised?”

“
He said he didn’t know
Strothers was in the area, that he thought he’d gotten beyond his
reach. He thanked me profusely for letting him know.”

I frowned. “Funny he hadn’t
read about Strothers in the newspaper.”

“
Guess he’s not a newspaper
reader. At least now that he’s informed, he can watch his back.”

“
Good thing you talked to him.
Maybe we can keep one person out of Strothers’ clutches.”

Jack eased down on his haunches
to stroke a striped cat. “Virgil would be a sitting duck for
someone like Strothers.” He gazed up at me. “I’ll do all I can
to help you.”

“
Did you tell him I’d like to
buy his horse?” I bit my lower lip.

“
Yes, and he didn’t give me a
forceful ‘no.’ Just said he’d think about it. Maybe he’s
softening.”

“
I can only hope.” With that,
I pulled a handful of carrots out of my pocket and went to see
Midnight. Anticipating treats, he trotted over. I led him into the
barn, secured him across the aisle, brushed him, saddled up, and
headed out on the trail. We rode quietly through the woods, and then
he ran flat out on a straightaway quarter-mile stretch of field. It
was invigorating. As I reached down to pat his mane, I realized I was
thinking more and more of him as “my” Midnight. After only one
short month, I couldn’t imagine a future without him.

On my way back to the carriage
house only thirty minutes later, I thought about the four people who
had seen copies of the parking-lot photos—Anna, Willis, Marty and
now Jack. One more person might be able to help me. Frank Kyopa. He
was in town, attending a commission meeting. I made a U-turn and
headed towards town, staking myself in a conspicuous spot outside the
City Hall meeting room. Hopefully, the commission would take a break.
I didn’t have to wait long. Ten minutes later, they emerged,
chatting among themselves. I caught Frank’s eye and motioned him
over. “Could I have a couple minutes of your time?” I asked,
brandishing the last folder of photos. “I have something I’d like
to run by you.”

We went back into the meeting
room and I spread the pictures out on the conference table. “I
snapped these pictures when I left the Rendezvous to return to the
parking lot for some new camera batteries,” I explained. “As it
happens, that was about the same time Eric was murdered. It probably
means nothing, but I’d sure like to know who is emerging from the
woods in this photo. Does anything look familiar to you?”

Frank selected one of the
close-ups and then another, studying them one by one. “Very, very
interesting, Cassandra. This could be the photograph of the murderer.
Too bad the images aren’t clearer.”