Lead-Pipe Cinch (16 page)

He gave me a sheepish grin. “Well, the ultimate dinner I can cook. I suppose there are others.”

He sat down next to me, and glanced at the TV. Frozen on the screen were the opening credits of
Real Genius
.

He looked back at me. “A little nostalgia?”

I nodded. “I suppose. All I know is that it makes me feel better.”

Wade took his own plate and sat back, propping his feet up.

I pushed “Play” and spooned up my soup. By the time Val Kilmer’s Chris Knight was explaining the temporary ice to sycophant Kent, I had finished my soup and sandwich and was reaching for another half.

I’d seen the movie dozens of times—it was an unofficial Caltech orientation—and I found myself mouthing punch lines along with the characters. I smiled when my on-screen alter ego—Jordan—got the guy, and giggled in anticipation before the first kernel of popcorn popped in the final act.

The credits rolled as Tears For Fears sang about everybody wanting to rule the world. I let it run. I didn’t want the movie to end, because I’d have to come back to reality.

“Was it really like that?” Wade asked when the last name had scrolled past and the studio logo filled the screen.

“Pretty much,” I replied. “I never got invited to a pool party in a lecture hall, but otherwise it wasn’t far off. The pressure? That was completely real.

“Like when the guy in the study scene stands up and just starts screaming? We all had days like that. Every year there were a couple people who couldn’t take it. Usually they would go home for a holiday or something and just not come back.”

I sat for a minute lost in the memories of my years at one of the country’s toughest schools. “There was this one time, after finals?”

Wade nodded. “That meant keggers at my school.”

“I’m sure there were those, too. But this time we had just finished finals, and I walked into one of the lounges. There was a girl sitting at a table with a little kid’s coloring book and a great big box of crayons. You know the kind with sixty-four colors and a sharpener built into the box?”

“A coloring book?”

“Yeah. She looked up at me, and said in this little girl voice, ‘I am coloring because I can.’ It was that kind of place.”

“And yet you stayed. Why not pack it in and come back here to go to school?”

I took the last piece of sandwich off the plate. I held it up to Wade with a questioning look and he shook his head. “If you’re sure,” I said, and took a bite. Even stone cold it was still good. It was hard to mess up grilled cheese.

I thought about Wade’s question as I chewed the cold sandwich. Why had I stayed in the pressure cooker that was Tech? Why had I worked so hard to finish my degree, and then turned around and gone right to work on my Masters?

“I couldn’t imagine
not
doing it,” I said finally.

Wade chuckled softly. “And you were too stubborn to quit—too proud to give up.”

I laughed, too. “Maybe so. But I truly loved what I was doing. I was learning about things that interested me, studying stuff I wanted to know. There wasn’t anywhere I would have rather been.”

“The computers or the math?”

I scowled. “What do you know about that?”

He gave me a sheepish grin. “I talked to your dad a couple times after you first went away. He told me a lot about what you were doing, and bragged about how well you were getting along. He was really proud of you.”

“I’m glad of that.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and moved back to relatively safer ground. “I liked it all, I think. The math was interesting, but it was mostly a means to an end; a way to understand the computer better. The field was moving faster and faster, changing so rapidly it seemed like the minute you learned something it was out of date. But that was part of what I loved about it.”

Wade got up and took the DVD out of the player and returned it to its case. He put the case on the shelf, picked up the dirty dishes, and carried them to the kitchen.

“Then why did you quit, Georgie?”

“I told you, I lost my job.”

Wade came back from the kitchen. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but he seemed to think better of it. Instead he settled back onto the sofa and put his arm across my shoulders.

“You getting tired yet?” he asked.

I yawned and stretched. “Yeah, a bit.”

He stood up and offered me his hand. He pulled me up out of the sofa and laid the afghan over the back. “Go to bed. I’ll finish cleaning up here.”

I’d spent all evening taking orders from Wade. For tonight only, it was a habit. I went to bed.

The smell of coffee woke me up. There shouldn’t be coffee. Not unless the dogs had developed opposable thumbs overnight. And even if they had, they would use them for something more to their liking than coffee. Maybe getting their own green treats from the cupboard.

The fog lifted a little from my brain. Blake’s death. Murder. Wade making dinner.

Wade. I remember him promising to clean up if I went to bed. What I didn’t remember was him leaving. I had not asked him to stay, but my nose was telling me he did.

I put on my robe—the heavy quilted one that zipped all the way to my chin. I stopped in the bathroom to run a comb through my hair and splash water on my face.

In the kitchen Wade had a big pot of coffee, and a goofy grin. “I slept on the couch,” he said. The wrinkles in his clothes and his bed-head hair testified to that.

“You’d had a rough day. I figured you might have a bad night. Are you feeling any better this morning?”

I took the cup of coffee he offered me, and leaned against the counter. “I’m okay, I guess.”

I looked around for the dogs.

“I let them out a few minutes ago,” Wade said. “The phone’s been ringing for a couple hours. I turned the ringer off so it wouldn’t wake you.”

“Thanks.” I looked over at the answering machine. It blinked steadily, and the message counter was in double digits. “I’ve been ignoring the messages, but I’ll have to deal with them pretty soon.”

“Yeah. Some guy named Stan called a couple times already this morning. Seemed to be anxious to talk to you.”

Stan. I had forgotten about him last night, but escape time was over. It was time for the real world again.

“Uh, Wade, about last night?”

“Yeah?”

“You know all the things I told you? They’re not things I want to share with the world. It’s kind of embarrassing to have people know I got thrown out of my own company. And it’s humiliating to have everyone know I got dumped.”

He looked me in the eye. “Yes, that it is.”

I felt a hot flush creeping up my neck and across my face. Wade knew exactly how humiliating it was, and I was the reason.

“Oh, Wade, I’m sorry!”

He shrugged. “Long time ago.”

He walked to the back door and took a look out to check on the dogs before he continued. “But you don’t need to worry. I know how to keep a secret. Remember, my job gives me access to the finances of half the people in this town. I keep the books for their businesses, do their taxes, help them with college aid applications, set up retirement accounts—just about any kind of financial advice or service they need. If I can’t keep things confidential, I’m out of business.”

“I know.” I felt bad for even bringing it up and it showed clearly in my tone.

“Your secrets are safe with me.” Wade raised three fingers in a scout salute and made a solemn face.

It was a serious promise, but I had to chuckle at his clowning around. He grinned back and glanced up at the clock on the kitchen wall.

“If you’re okay,” he said, his voice serious once again, “I really should take off. Before someone calls your mother and reports that my car was here all night.”

I rolled my eyes. “Probably too late, Councilman Montgomery. I’d be willing to bet your reputation is already in tatters. And all for nothing, I’m afraid.”

He recoiled in mock horror. “I am shocked. Shocked, I tell you! A respected City Councilman!”

He chuckled. “You don’t think people would approve of my spending the night with the best-looking plumber in town?”

Considering my dowdy bathrobe and general early-morning dishevelment, it seemed like a huge compliment. “Gee, thanks, Wade,” I said with a touch of sarcasm. “Since I’m the only female plumber in town, I suppose that’s a good thing.”

He grinned at me, then his expression grew serious again. “Are you sure you’re okay? I can stay if you need me.”

I shook my head. “Get out of here. You have better things to do than hang around and wait on me.”

I headed to the living room, and he followed.

“If you’re sure . . .”

“Wade, I really appreciate what you did. The last couple days have been incredibly stressful, and you gave me a chance to relax for a few hours. I’m much better this morning—a night’s sleep will do that for you—and you need to get home.”

I took his jacket off the hook near the front door. “Thank you. It was exactly what I needed.”

Wade shrugged into his jacket. He reached over and put his hands on my shoulders. “Anytime, Georgie. Call me if you need me.” He bent down and kissed my forehead. “Okay?”

“Sure, Wade. And thanks again.”

He started down the front steps, then turned back. “Don’t forget the dogs are outside.”

The dogs got their treats, and I was pouring a second cup of coffee when the answering machine picked up again. The volume was turned low, and at first I ignored it, just as I had for the last couple days.

When I heard Stan Fischer’s booming voice, though, I picked up. He’d been part of the board that ousted me, but Stan had been the one person who offered me a chance to get out of Samurai with some shred of dignity.

“Hi, Stan. It’s Georgiana. How are you?”

“Georgie Girl! Good to hear your voice! Wondered what had happened to you after you left S.F. I thought you might keep in touch, but nobody ever heard from you.” His voice dropped into a somber register and he went on. “Terrible thing about Blake. Terrible. When they first called me I thought it was an accident, but now the sheriff says he was murdered. Have you heard anything about that, Georgie Girl?”

I cringed every time he used that name, but there was nothing I could do. He thought it was cute and told me I should take it as a compliment. Why, I wasn’t sure, but I had learned there were some things that weren’t worth arguing about with Stan Fischer.

“To tell the truth, Stan, I was going to ask you the same question. I only just heard they were calling it a murder.” There wasn’t anything I could add.

“I’m supposed to come out there and talk to the sheriff this morning,” Stan replied, “but I’d like a chance to see you before I do. You know, get the skinny on what the place is really like, maybe figure out what Blake was doing.”

“I’d love to see you,” I answered. I didn’t have to even think about it. There was still a soft spot for Stan Fischer in spite of all that had happened.

“How about you let an old man buy you breakfast? Anywhere in that burg serve a decent one?”

I laughed, remembering Stan’s definition of a decent breakfast. Although he hadn’t worked on the pipeline in decades, he retained an addiction to caffeine, salt, and grease.

Dee’s would be perfect.

“Breakfast sounds fine, Stan. And it would be great to see you, but who’s this old man you’re bringing along?”

I paused to listen to his answering guffaw. “And is there any reason this should be a private meeting?” I asked. It was the phrase he had used with me, the day he offered me the chance to resign.

“None I can think of,” he answered. “Can you?”

There were dozens, starting with not publicizing my connection with Samurai and the late Blake Weston. Dee’s was tiny, but it was gossip central for Pine Ridge.

Too bad. Everyone was going to know soon enough, if they didn’t already. Now that Blake’s death had been ruled a murder, it would be the single biggest topic of conversation in town.

All I could hope for was damage control. And talking to Stan Fischer was the first step in that process.

“Not a one,” I lied. “There’s a place here in town that’s exactly what you like.”

We spent a few minutes planning to meet at Dee’s. I started to give him directions, but he dismissed them. “Got a GPS in the rental car,” he said. “I’ll be able to find it, no problem.”

I figured the time it would take Stan to drive out from his hotel. Traffic shouldn’t be as bad on Saturday, but I didn’t want to be late. Still, there was time enough to take a shower and make myself presentable.

I slid into the next-to-last booth at Dee’s twenty-five minutes later. A couple other booths were occupied, but not by anyone I knew well. I’d grabbed a mug of coffee on my way past the counter, and told Dee a friend of mind would be along in a few minutes and we’d order when he got there.