Remember the Time (23 page)

Matt leaned forward. “Did you know he sent me something of his every Christmas?”

“What?”

Matt nodded. “Yeah. Every Christmas since I was nine years old. Uncle Mike always delivered whatever it was, and it always came with a letter.” Kate reluctantly looked into his eyes and saw unshed tears. “Christmas was always more special for me because of those letters. He encouraged me and made me feel like I could do anything. Paul Armstrong was like an angel sitting on my shoulder. So don’t tell me about missing him.”

“Why didn’t anyone ever tell me?” Kate said, almost to herself. “Why all these secrets?”

“I don’t know,” Matt said. “I wish someone
had
told you. I hate to be the cause of any hurt for you.”

The sincerity of his words brought Kate out of herself. “I’m sorry, Matt. I can be very selfish.” Now she was the one reaching across the table, taking his hand in hers. She attempted a smile, but it wavered. “All this time, you’ve reminded me of someone, and now I know who it is and why.”

His fingers interlaced with hers. “Please don’t be mad anymore, Kate. My mom and Uncle Mike … they were only trying to save you some pain. Their intentions were good.”

“I’m trying to see it that way.” Kate withdrew her hand from his. “I think you’d better take me home, Matt.”

They had driven home in silence. Now that the secret had been let out, Matt wanted nothing more than to talk with Kate about Paul, but he held back. He was wise enough to know that it had to come from her first. And there was something more he wanted from Kate.

Her touch in the restaurant had shocked him with its intensity. As he gripped the steering wheel, he could still feel her fingers in his. A chance at a woman like this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Matt wasn’t thinking about the difference in their ages. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking at the moment. All he knew was that he was sitting beside Paul Armstrong’s wife—widow—and he wanted her. He didn’t examine the reasons why. Matt Keller never dealt in introspection. He knew what he wanted, and went after it. It was this single-mindedness that had gotten him where he was at such a young age. Matt Keller never doubted Matt Keller.

Helping her out of the car, Matt walked Kate to her door and waited for the invitation that never came.

• • •

Kate spent another restless night. Her ankle ached. Her mind wouldn’t let her sleep. Questions ran around and around inside her head, never finding a way to stop, like a hamster on a wheel. With the help of another glass of wine and a Percocet her ankle didn’t hurt anymore and her eyes closed sometime after two
A.M
.

“I
can’t believe it, sugar, but we’re almost done.”

Julia and Kate were eating a late lunch in Julia’s kitchen Friday afternoon. Kate had been unusually quiet, and Julia wanted to pull her friend out of her introspective mood. Kate nodded, continuing to push her shrimp salad around her plate. “I’ll miss having you here. We’ll have to get together at least once a week so you can catch me up on the latest news.” The corners of Kate’s mouth lifted to approximate a smile, and she nodded again. “What is it, sweetie? You’re not yourself today.”

Kate shrugged. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“I hope it’s because you miss Michael.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Her pensive eyes met Julia’s. “I keep wondering why people can’t just tell each other the truth.”

“What happened last night?”

“Nothing, really. Nothing important. Just a small secret that got away from Matt.” Kate pushed her chair away from the table and stood. “I don’t like surprises, that’s all.”

“Sometimes surprises are the jolt we need to get back on track. Make us remember we’re alive.”

Kate thought of Mike quoting John Donne, and her
face softened. “Yes, I guess some of them can do just that.”

Kate and Julia hadn’t quite finished the inventory, and Monday would be their last working day. As sorry as she was to see it end, a chilling rain had begun in the late afternoon and Kate looked forward to getting home, lighting a fire, and finishing the mystery she’d started a few days ago. She didn’t want to think about anything except how Inspector Morse was going to find the killer.

She ran from her car to the front porch with a magazine over her head. As usual, her umbrella was in the house and not where it was needed. Kate quickly changed into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, tucked her feet into her slippers, and headed for the kitchen. She turned on the oven to preheat it for the frozen pizza that she called dinner, and filled Homer’s food bowl.

Expecting Homer to be under the cover of the back porch, she didn’t bother calling him. Instead, she left the back door open and went into the den to start the fire. When she returned, the oven was ready and she began unwrapping the pizza. But something was missing. She looked around and wondered why she wasn’t hearing the sounds of Homer’s crunching noises as he ate.

She sighed and went to the back door. “Homer? Where are you?”

There was no sign of him. Kate peered through the rain and the gathering dark, then flipped on the floodlights. “Homer!” she called, waiting to see the familiar black streak come across the yard. Again, nothing. “Shit, Homer … where are you?” she whined, knowing full well he’d gone through the hole in the fence again.

Resigning herself to it, she put on her shoes. Grabbing the umbrella out of the hall tree, she went out the front door and headed for Mike’s house, Homer’s favorite hangout.

“Homer,” she muttered to herself. “You are ruining my evening and there will be hell to pay.” She was surprised to find Mike’s front porch empty, and she traipsed around to the back of the house. “Homer? Damn it, will you come
on
!” Nothing. Kate stood still, the rain drumming on the umbrella, and grew frightened. He had never run away before. Surely he was somewhere in the neighborhood. She called for him again.

“Damn it, Homer,” she said again in a whisper, walking across Mike’s yard and up the street to the next house.

She had rung every doorbell on the street, but no one could help her. It was totally dark now, and she ran back to her house in a panic. She made a quick pass through the house, in case she’d missed him, or closed him in a room by mistake, but he wasn’t there. The backyard, still lit up like a midnight-madness sale, yielded nothing. She checked the garage, but the scurrying sounds she heard were only mice running for cover.

Testing the flashlight, she discovered it needed batteries, and Kate wasted precious minutes searching for a fresh pack. Once they were installed, she went out in the street again, and, starting at the bottom, began slowly working her way through the neighborhood, shining the light in corners, calling his name.

Paul will never forgive me. Never in a million years
.

As she stood in the middle of the street, tears of frustration welled up in her eyes and spilled over her cheeks. The oncoming headlights didn’t register with her.

Matt jammed his foot on the brakes and swerved to miss her. His heart pounding, he quickly clambered out of the car and ran to her. “Kate! What’s going on? Shit, I could’ve killed you!”

She let the umbrella drop to her side. “Homer’s missing. I’ve looked everywhere for him! Everywhere!” she sobbed.

“Come on, Kate. You’re getting soaked. Get in the
house.” He grasped her elbow and pushed her toward the steps and walkway.

“No! I have to find him. What if he’s been hurt?”

“Okay, then get in the car and we’ll look for him.” He didn’t want to say that it would be a near impossibility trying to find a black dog on a night like this.

Matt slowly drove down street after street, while Kate, clutching the edge of the door, peered out into the darkness, silently crying. Once in a while she’d whisper, “He’ll never forgive me. Never.”

An hour went by, and Matt finally said, “Kate, I don’t think we’re gonna find him tonight. We’ll try first thing in the morning, again. Okay?”

She didn’t answer, and he took it upon himself to drive her home.

As they passed the park, she put her hand on his arm. “Please … can we check here?”

“But Kate, the park is closed. We’ll have to do it on foot.”

“I don’t care.”

She jumped out of the car before he’d stopped completely, and ran toward the gate, shouting the dog’s name. Squinting against the rain, she scanned the lighted areas, and then thought she saw something move in the shadow of the bandstand. Ducking under the gate, she began jogging toward it. Her foot found an indentation in the grass, and her weak ankle twisted under her weight, bringing Kate to her knees with a cry. The large raccoon that had been scavenging through the trash bin scurried away, and Kate cursed in pain and frustration.

Matt’s fingers closed around her upper arm, lifting her to her feet. “Let’s get out of here. I promise I’ll look for him tomorrow, Kate.”

Back at her house, he settled her in the armchair next to the fireplace in the den and threw a blanket over her shoulders. “What can I get you?”

“Brandy,” she said, through chattering teeth. “It’s in the pantry. And bring my purse.”

He poured a generous three fingers into a glass and brought the bottle into the den with him. She took the glass and felt the first swallow burn its way down her throat. He left the room for a moment and she swiftly pawed through her purse until she found the bottle of Percocet. When he returned holding a towel, she had already finished what he’d given her, along with two pills, and was pouring herself a second helping.

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to sip that stuff?”

She obliged him by taking a small amount into her mouth and letting it trickle down her throat. He knelt in front of her and began untying her shoelaces. The leather court shoes she wore were soaked through, and he pulled them off, while Kate allowed the brandy’s warmth to seep through her body.

Kate felt his fingers on her ankle as he found the cuff of her socks and rolled them off, one foot at a time. He took her right foot between his hands and slowly began rubbing it. She pulled her foot away at the intimacy of the gesture.

“I think the brandy is doing the trick, Matt,” she said. “I’ll go get a dry pair of socks.”

Before she could move, he was on his feet. “I’ll get them for you. Just tell me where.”

She was so tired. Really didn’t want to move. “Upstairs. The second door on the right. They’re in the top drawer of the long dresser.”

Matt bounded up the stairs, two at a time. Switching on the light in her bedroom, his eyes swept the room until they found the dresser. She’d said the socks were in the top drawer, but there were three top drawers, and he opened the one on the left. He was confronted with silk, satin, and lace—her underthings. His hand involuntarily reached in and fondled a black lace panty. A matching
camisole nestled nearby and he picked it up and brought it to his cheek, letting the smooth fabric caress his skin before placing it back in the drawer. Taking a deep breath, he shut the drawer and moved on to the next one. Pulling out a pair of thick wool socks, he quickly left the room.

Kate was sitting back in the chair, her eyes closed, the nearly empty glass in her hands. She heard him come in, and mournfully said, “I can’t stop thinking about Homer. I know he’s out there somewhere, hurt. And it’s all my fault.”

“You need to get your mind off him. We did all we could do tonight.” Matt took the glass from her fingers, and she began to protest, but he stopped her. “I just want to towel off your hair. It’s still really wet.” He walked behind her and draped the towel over her head. He gently used the towel as a blotter to remove the excess moisture from her heavy hair. “Lucky I came by,” he said.

“Yes,” she murmured. “Lucky …”

Kate didn’t stop to think why he had come by in the first place. It didn’t seem to matter, now that she was warm and tired. Her neck seemed to have turned to rubber. She could barely hold her head up.

“Mmm, that feels so good,” she said, as he let the towel drop to the floor and began massaging her temples. His fingers moved through her hair and found the nape of her neck, where they continued their soothing pressure. She felt herself floating on a warm sea, and didn’t immediately notice that he’d stopped.

Lazily opening her eyes, she watched him as he knelt in front of the fire, worrying it with the poker. He had pushed up the sleeves of his sweater, and the play in the muscles of his forearms hypnotized her.

“I could use another drink,” she said softly.

He turned to look at her. “I thought you were asleep.” He stood and picked up her glass and the bottle. Pouring
the last few drops, he held up the bottle and waggled it. “Empty.”

Her voice thick, she found herself speaking carefully, slowly. “There’s another. In the pantry. Bring the key, too.”

“Key?”

“Hanging there … The key …”

When he was gone, she upended the glass and swallowed the last of the liquor. “Where are you, Homer?” she whispered. “Paul is gonna be so mad when he finds out I’ve lost you.”

She could hear Matt’s returning footsteps, and then he was standing above her, backlit by the greens and purples of the Tiffany lamp. The only other light in the room came from the fireplace, and with unfocused eyes she gazed at him. She felt her heart skip a beat and struggled to stand, wanting to take him in her arms, but her knees wouldn’t let her.

“Kate? Are you sure you really need this?” he asked, as he put down the bottle.

“I’m so sorry, baby …”

Her voice was so low, it didn’t reach him.

Kneeling, he held out the key. “What’s this for?” he asked.

Straining to concentrate on his hand, she then returned her eyes to his shadowed face, puzzled. “You know what it’s for.”

“The tower room?”

Kate slowly reached out and cradled his face with her hands. “Can you forgive me, baby?”

“For what, Kate?”

“Please tell me you forgive me,” she whispered.

“Kate. It’s me. It’s …”

But for Kate it was too late for understanding. She brought her lips to his, cutting off his words. He responded with their first touch, and it was too late for Matt. Kate’s lips parted, and his tongue mingled with
hers. Her breath was hot and sweet from the brandy, and instinct took over.