No Perfect Secret (6 page)

“You are being disingenuous, Frank. You
must
know how to use a computer.”

“I do
—I used them in college. We had them in the library and the tech room.” He’d written all of his term papers on an old Royal that he’d gotten in the ninth grade. He loved that machine. There was something wonderful about having to use pressure and power to make the keys clickity-clack. He hadn’t had to worry about learning word processing, saving to floppiess, or memory sticks, formatting disks, or a screen going blank when he hit the wrong key. “Here’s something else—on the Nesmith thing. Could Nesmith transfer funds out of his personal account while he’s on a drop?”

“Sure
—but with restrictions. What I mean is—he’d probably have to use an internet café. The particular computer he used would have to download the bank’s security program. It wouldn’t matter if the bank was on the Isle of Wight or in the US, the security program would have to be installed in the computer he used. Don’t be fooled by all those tales of some guy walking into an internet café in Amsterdam and transferring a million dollars out of an account in the Bahamas to a numbered Swiss account. It doesn’t happen that way.”

“How long would it take to download the security program?”

“Two minutes, perhaps five probably, but he still couldn’t—”

“Would his wife be able to tell?”

“If she knows his password. Bank sites, e-mails, instant messaging—all are password protected. In addition, you have to be careful of phishing.”

“Fishing? What in hell does fishing have to do with computers?”

“Let’s pay the bill, Frank. I’m getting a headache.”

“Well, that’s good news. I don’t have to worry about being dragged back to your brownstone, and ravaged.”

“You are so not funny, Frank. And you do, too, have a bald spot.”

“It was really nice being friends with you, Helen. We’ll have to do it again.”

Caburn was smiling. Wonder of wonders, so was Helen. Except on Helen a smile looked like she had gas.

CHAPTER THREE

A fog was
rolling in as Anna drove home from work on salted streets—but it wasn’t so dense it hid areoles of Christmas lights and the decorations on the street lamps. Seen from a distance the towering tree on the White House lawn sparkled; there was bouncy Christmas music on the radio and she discovered she was beginning to get into the Christmas spirit. Usually she and Kevin went together to get their tree. Well, she didn’t have to wait on him. She’d shop for it, decorate it, and present it as
fait accompli
.

When she pulled up in front of her house, Frank Caburn was leaning against his car
, his hands gloved, his arms folded into each other, trying to keep warm perhaps. She could see traces of his breath in the frosty air.
Now, what?
Her good mood plunged.

“Hey, there,” he said, smiling. “I thought I’d drop by to see how you were doing.”

“You said you would call first.” Anna clicked the remote to lock her car, walked around it, and headed toward her front door. Oh, no, there was Clara-Alice peeking between the blinds, back to her usual paranoid self.

“Phone’s dead. I forgot to charge it.”

“There are landlines,” she threw over her shoulder.

“Uh, Anna, I have some news.”

She stopped and turned to face him, and stood very still, bracing herself. He took a few steps in her direction. He was tall, above six feet. She had been so self-absorbed and distracted last night she had only peripherally noticed his height. Of course, she had noticed his exceptionally fine looks. But he had brought some serious worry into her life and her focus had been on that.

Last night she had known instinctively that
Frank Caburn was a threat to Kevin. With a sense of self-revelation, she realized the man was an ancient, more common risk to herself. She appreciated a sexy looking man in a magazine or on the street—but Caburn was too-close sexy—in her space sexy. Yes, she had considered having an affair, especially when arguments with Kevin ran into days; more so when he gave her the silent treatment and turned his back to her in bed. Consideration had been as far as it went.

T
he problem was there were no suitable men at work. Her male colleagues were much older, married, obese, or gay. Her female colleagues were the same, well maybe not gay. They did not go out for drinks after such brain-draining work. Even if there had been a colleague to flirt with, she would not have jeopardized her job. She had the urge, but not the man. Now here was a man—and she discovered herself backpedaling.

His vicuna overcoat was unbuttoned to reveal a dark suit, a blue shirt, and a striped tie loosened at his collar. Unlike last night, today he was clean-shaven and the woodsy scent of his aftershave bespoke of cozy evenings spent on soft rugs before a roaring fire. Her mind took it to another level and added a very good burgundy wine.

Erase the thought, she told herself and took a deep breath. “What news?”

He glanced briefly at the break in her window blinds. “Here’s what I was thinking: Maybe we could go somewhere...
uh, somewhere neutral.” He caught her look of skepticism. “No, no—nothing like that.”

“I have things to do. I’m going shopping for my tree.”

“Well, listen. Let’s catch a bite to eat and I’ll help you pick one up. I haven’t done a fun thing like Christmas tree shopping since I’ve been in D.C.”

“Did I mention that I’m thirty-four years-old?”

“I think so.”

“Then why do you think I can’t see how transparent you are?”

What was she talking about?
“Yeah—I know.” He looked genuinely dejected. “It’s a flaw in my character. I was born with it. I’ve never been able to put one over on my sisters. They see right through me.”

He brushed his hand over his head and Anna remembered his hat. She considered his invitation. She considered
Clara-Alice. She considered her marriage. All of her life she’d given a wide berth to trouble. But trouble had landed on her doorstep and there wasn’t anyone she could ask for advice. She sometimes talked to her mother, but her mother was dead and did not talk back. It was up to her. Something was missing in her life. She wanted what she was missing, even if she could only look at it.

“All right,” she relented, while her head and her hormones sent different messages. “But everything has to be open and above board.”
That way maybe I won’t do something stupid
.

“Way open,” he replied. “None other. This is government business
—like I told you last night night.”

“I’ll have to check on my mother-in-law,”
and freshen up
. She pointed to Lila Hammond’s house. “I think my neighbor may have found your hat. Her name is Hammond.”

Clara-Alice
opened the door before Anna could turn the knob. “Is he coming in?”

“No. I don’t think that’s a good idea. He has something to talk to me about Kevin’s situation. I’m going to have a cup of coffee with him.”

“Anna! Is that wise?”

“Probably not. But I’m so anxious about Kevin. He sai
d he’s got some news. I’m loath to leave you alone, though. Why don’t you call Lila to come over?”

“Well, actually, I’m going over to Lila’s. We didn’t make the movies today, so we’re playing Scrabble tonight.”

“Do you want me to walk you over?”

“No. I
—I’m... I’ve been thinking all day. I’m tired of being scared and confused all of the time. I used to be so independent. I find I’m missing that.”

“Well, it wasn’t an easy thing you went through. I’ll help any way I can.”

“Lila is twenty years older than I am and she’s still driving. I’d like to get my driver’s license back.”

“We can do that. But...
we ought to wait for good weather, good road conditions.”

“Oh. You’re right. If I skidded into a car or light post, that would put paid to it, wouldn’t it? Well, I’ll just get my coat and key. Don’t forget to lock up. Oh. Forget I said that.”

Less than fifteen minutes later, Anna stepped through her door and faltered. Her face flushed hot and thick. Caburn was wearing his hat. It sat on his head at a rakish angle, the brim dipped just so. Sex personified. Her hormones began to bounce around like jellybeans in a microwave. She didn’t have a sprig of hope she could resist the man if he didn’t keep his word—open and above board.

“I almost had to dance a jig to get my hat back from Mrs Hammond,” he told her. “I had to promise I’d come back and eat her meatloaf one night.”

“She’s a pistol—and you can’t go wrong eating her meatloaf. It’s terrific.” He ushered her into his car, and headed toward downtown, taking almost the same route Anna did every day to work. After he passed a couple of restaurants and a Starbucks, she felt a spike of alarm. “Where are we going?”

“There’s this French restaurant that’s really gotten raves, iCi Urban Bistro, I thought
—”

“What! I’m not dressed for a place like that.” She still wore her fitted slacks suit, the low-heeled boots, her only bling a pair
of small gold earrings. She wore her wedding band, and on her right hand a pearl ring. She‘d redone her makeup and added a splash of Chanel—but that was ordinary—not glamour.

“Sure you are.”
You look delicious
. “It’s just going to be an after work crowd. The food’s great, and I’m starving. Please say you don’t mind. If you do, I’ll turn around and hit the nearest fast food joint.”

Anna thought about it. “All right
—but if I see one woman in there dressed to the nines, we’re leaving.”

Good lord. Didn’t this woman have clue? She could wear a potato sack, and be the envy of every woman
this side of the Mississippi river. Caburn had left work early, driven home before the rush hour, showered, shaved, grabbed his wallet and his checkbook, and made it to the bank to cash a check before they closed. He was searching his brain for small talk when Anna pre-empted him.

“I like French cuisine. I spent a year in France after I graduated college. I
attended a cooking school in Paris.”

“You had to go all the way to France to learn how to cook?” Oh, dumb.

Anna offered up the tiniest of smiles. “No, of course not. Mom and I had planned to go to Europe after I graduated college. We’d seen a Discovery special on how the Chunnel was built—so that was on our list; then Paris, and Spain—and if our money held out, Italy. She died of an aneurism in my senior year.”

“Oh, that’s tough.”

“Yes. It was. I didn’t feel like doing the trip by myself so opted instead for a couple of courses at
Le Cordon Bleu.”
She hesitated. “You probably know. I met Kevin on the flight home.”

“I didn’t know,” Caburn told her. “Love at first sight, huh?” He absolutely did not believe in love at first sight. He did believe in lust at first sight. That was a
guy thing. And yet, something was going on—his brain and his body were having a tug-of-war. He wanted Anna to think well of him. There was nothing for it, but to be on his best behavior.

“More like curiosity,” Anna was saying. “He had that
leather pouch chained to his wrist—very mysterious. It gave him some cachet. I was on my way home to Kansas City. I had a job waiting at the city library.”

“No fooling! You won’t believe this. I’m from Ford, Kansas, and I went to Kansas State.”

They chatted up this coincidence until Caburn eased into a parking slot on 15th Street, less than two dozen yards from iCi. Once seated in the restaurant, his coat and hat on the side chair between them, and Anna’s purse on the edge of the chair and the wine and appetizer menus in hand, Caburn watched Anna look around the place with a critical eye. “Are we staying?”

“It’s very nice.”

He relaxed. “Would you like to choose the wine? The only thing I’ve had on the list is the Tempranillo. It’s a nice red.”

Anna looked up from the menus. “Before we order, I want you to agree that we split the check.” She watched his expression sour.

“Don’t do that.” Oh, Lord. She was a feminist. They were spread out all over D.C. like a virus. Probably a card carrying member. His anxiety level shot through the roof.

“It’s not negotiable.”

He sighed. “Agreed.”

“Good. I’ll have a Cosmopolitan now and only a
glass
of wine with my entrée. The Tempranillo will be fine because I’m having the Flat Iron Steak, medium—which I think is French for beef from the Kansas City Stock Yards.”

He smiled in surprise. “You’ve had lunch at the Stock Yard Café.”

Anna returned his smile. “Yes, a long time ago. Mom worked at the Hotel Muehlebach. I often went to work with her during summer vacations. One morning there was this huge plaster cow in the lobby. The hotel was hosting the Cattle Association convention. So, instead of eating in the hotel, we went to watch a cattle auction, then had lunch next door.” She wore a smile of remembrance. “I think the hotel has been turned into condos now, if it hasn’t been imploded.” She paused. “I wonder how that worked. There were a suite of rooms that belonged to Harry Truman, and the hotel had to get special permission to renovate them. There were framed historical documents on the walls and Margaret Truman’s piano still in the suite. Mom said there was a rumor that’s where the President signed off on the Executive Order to drop the bomb on Hiroshima.” She glanced around suddenly, returning to the present. “Oh. I’m sorry. I promised myself before I took my degree in Library Science that I would never get that boring.”