Sketch Me If You Can (17 page)

“Well, I hope you have a good evening too,” she said to the empty room. But as she went to answer the door, she began to think that maybe Zeke was right. Maybe she should just beg off, say she was coming down with a bug. She’d be doing Vince a favor. She wouldn’t be very good company in her current state of mind.

W
hen Rory opened the door, Vince greeted her with an engaging smile. He was wearing chinos and a white linen shirt that was a perfect foil for his bronzed skin. Rory found herself smiling back, her mind apparently willing enough to take a hiatus from stress.

She invited him into the house and then ran upstairs to get the handbag and sweater she’d forgotten to bring down with her earlier. It was a safe bet that the restaurant’s air conditioner would be cranked up to frigid. When she came back down, she found Vince surveying the living room with raised eyebrows.

“Interesting choice,” he said, joining her back in the foyer. “I imagine you get a kick out of people’s reactions the first time they come in here.”

Rory laughed. “It’s certainly a conversation starter.”

“So I guess it’s safe to say that you have eclectic taste?”

“Actually I can’t take credit for the décor. My uncle was the one who loved the old and ornate as much as the new and sleek. I’ve just grown to appreciate it.”

“Adaptability’s an admirable trait.”

“In all honesty, it’s not really a trait that runs rampant in my life”

Vince laughed. “Thanks for the heads-up,” he said, glancing at his watch. “We should probably head out if we want to make our reservation.”

“Just a second.” At the keypad beside the door, Rory punched in the numbers that armed the security system. “Okay, I’m right behind you.”

Vince opened the door and was just stepping over the threshold when the door flew shut, shoving him out and barring Rory’s way. She could hear the muted expletive on the other side of the door.

“Ezekiel Drummond!” she growled under her breath. She didn’t have time to deal with the marshal at that moment, but he was going to have to answer for his actions when she got home.

Once she was outside, she produced a sheepish smile for Vince’s benefit. He was waiting in the driveway beside the little white Mercedes convertible she remembered from the open house.

“I am so sorry about that,” she said as she walked up to him.

“You didn’t by any chance forget to mention that you have multiple personalities, did you?”

“No.” She laughed, thinking that Zeke was lucky he was already dead.

Vince ushered her around the car and opened the passenger door for her.

Rory slid into the plush leather seat. “I think it has to do with the way the door is balanced,” she said, plucking an explanation out of thin air. “A good breeze from the kitchen windows sometimes slams it shut like that.” Who was she kidding? The man was a builder for goodness’ sakes.

“I’ll take a look at it later,” Vince said, taking his seat behind the wheel. If he suspected she was lying, he didn’t show it.

Rory thanked him, hoping that he’d forget about the door during the course of the evening.

When they arrived at the restaurant, Vince gave the maître d’ his name and they were immediately escorted past a dozen other people with reservations who were still waiting to be seated.

“I think we’ve just made some mortal enemies,” Rory whispered after they were shown to a table in a quiet corner. She could still feel the well-honed arrows of envy and anger being shot in their direction.

Vince shrugged. “I’ve done some favors for the guy who owns the place.” He started browsing through the wine list. “I don’t ask for special treatment, but I also don’t refuse it when it’s offered. How does a Cabernet sound?”

“Cabernet sounds wonderful,” Rory said, trying to feel less guilty about the line cutting and more appreciative that they didn’t have to wait. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until the rich, complex aromas of the food wafted toward her from the other tables.

The meal was smoothly and meticulously served, everything from the warm, crusty rolls to the dark chocolate crème brûlée beyond reproach. Lulled into a lovely state of relaxation by the wine and food, Rory found that she didn’t mind the inevitable game of twenty questions that was part of any new relationship.

He told her about his career in the construction field, where he’d worked his way up from a summer job as a “gofer” when he was sixteen to owning his own firm. Along the way, he’d learned how to do every job involved in building a home and was not averse to rolling up his own sleeves even now and pitching in when a worker was out sick or a job was running late.

He found Rory’s job as a sketch artist interesting, especially since he’d never met an artist before. And he laughed appreciatively at the anecdotes she recounted. The only awkward note of the evening came when a man with a grubby beard and baggy jeans approached their table.

“I’ve been trying to reach you all day, Conti,” the man said without preface or greeting.

Vince seemed more annoyed than surprised to see him there. “I would have gotten back to you when I wasn’t busy,” he answered coolly.

“Yeah, well Petrillo told me you’d be here tonight.”

“I’ll have to remember to thank him,” he replied without humor.

The man leaned down so that his mouth was near Vince’s ear. “I wasted two hours waiting for you.”

Vince stood up so suddenly that the man blanched and fell back a few steps. “Please excuse me,” he said to Rory as he took the man’s elbow and maneuvered him into the alcove near the restrooms. A minute later he was back in his seat and the man was making his way past their table and out of the restaurant, his face set in an ugly scowl.

Vince offered Rory an apologetic smile. “You just can’t please some people. You do your best for them, but they’re never satisfied. They think they have the right to intrude on your time no matter where you are or what you’re doing.”

Rory nodded in commiseration. Even in her job she’d learned that dealing with the public could be difficult, if not downright impossible. She could only imagine how it was in construction, where millions of dollars were often involved.

The rest of the meal was pleasantly uneventful. After they’d sipped a bit of the anisette that had come to their table, compliments of the maître d’, Vince asked for the bill. From what Rory could see, it was well over three hundred dollars. She’d never had a dinner that expensive. Or that wonderful. A girl could really get used to being wined and dined like this. Vince paid in cash, including a generous tip.

“You’re a brave soul walking around with that much cash these days. I never have more than twenty bucks on me.” She laughed. “And I’m a cop.”

“Not to worry, I’m pretty good at taking care of myself. Besides, I have this theory that easy credit is what sank Atlantis.”

“I’ll try to remember that the next time I’m thinking of buying something with money I don’t have,” Rory said.

The short drive back home was as enjoyable as the dinner had been. The air was still warm, so they rode with the top down and Rory leaned back against the headrest and picked out the constellations that she remembered from childhood. She hadn’t enjoyed herself on a date this much in a long time. A first date no less.

Vince came into the house long enough to take a look at the rebellious door. He inspected the hinges and the way they were attached to the doorjamb. He had Rory make sure the kitchen windows were wide open. The door didn’t move an inch on its own. Then he tried swinging the door closed using various degrees of strength. The door operated perfectly every time, no slamming shut, not even the slightest squeal or creak. Rory wasn’t surprised.

He turned to her with a shrug. “I’ve never met a door I couldn’t fix, but I can’t find anything wrong with this one. And you said it’s happened more than once?”

“Yes, but not often,” she rushed to point out. “Maybe only once before.”

“Well, it seems fine now. Maybe it was just a ghost.” He laughed. “A ghost who doesn’t like company.”

Be careful, Rory warned herself, play it for fun. “Oh great,” she said wryly. “That should be good for a few nightmares.”

“Not to worry. You can call me anytime you need some ghost busting. I run a full-service company.”

If he only knew what he was offering, Rory thought, smiling back at him.

They were both silent for a moment, and Rory debated asking him to stay for coffee. But he took the decision out of her hands, thanking her for a wonderful evening and bending his head to give her a quick but tender kiss good night.

Just enough to leave me wanting more, Rory thought as she locked the door behind him and set the security system for the night. She’d have to watch herself; this guy knew his way around women. He could certainly teach the marshal a thing or twelve.

She looked toward the stairway with longing. She could almost hear her new bed calling to her with its promise of comfort and sleep. The day had started early and been emotionally draining, but she had a bit of business to finish with Zeke first. If she went straight to her room, he would have to break another rule to join her there, and he’d already broken too many. Instead, she went into the living room, kicked off her sandals and tried to make herself comfortable on the couch. She called his name without response. She’d give him twenty minutes. After that she was going up to bed and their conversation could wait until the next day. In any case, over the course of the evening her anger had mellowed into irritation and she was no longer looking for a fight. The marshal could thank Vince for that.

Two hours later, Rory awakened disoriented, thinking that she’d gone up to bed and wondering how she’d come to be on the couch. As soon as she saw Zeke in his chair, she remembered why she was there.

“I flickered the lights,” he said as soon as he saw that she was awake.

Rory pulled herself upright, her back against the arm of the couch. “That’s fine,” she said, rubbing her eyes. She wasn’t happy that he’d been sitting there watching her sleep again. It made her feel vulnerable, defenseless. But since she’d never covered this circumstance in her list of rules, she had no recourse.

“What’s not fine,” she went on, groping her way through the cobwebs of sleep, “is that little prank you pulled with the door this evening.”

“But it
was
funny,” Zeke said, grinning.

“Not to me. I’m the one who had to come up with a crazy story about the door being unbalanced and the wind blowing it shut like this is Tornado Alley or something.”

Zeke started to laugh, a rumbling, infectious laugh, and Rory had a hard time keeping a straight face. It actually
was
a little funny, but she didn’t dare let him know that.

“I barely know Vince,” she said, “and I don’t need him thinking it’s me that’s unbalanced.”

Zeke found that to be equally funny. As Rory waited for his laughter to subside, it occurred to her that he looked a little different, and it wasn’t just the difference between a sullen Zeke and an upbeat one. His hair was still long and greatly in need of a styling, but he’d made an attempt to comb it into submission. And his shirt, although wrinkled, was whiter and no longer frayed at the cuffs. Even his thick mustache appeared to have been pruned. Rory didn’t know how he’d accomplished the makeover, or why. Had he measured himself against Vince and found himself wanting? She decided not to remark on the changes. It was late; she was tired, and based on their record so far, it was reasonable to assume that even a compliment might trigger a new argument.

“I’m glad I’ve been able to entertain you,” she said, yawning, “but I’ve really got to get some more sleep.”

“Hold on,” Zeke said, his expression mutating from amused to deadly serious in less than a second. “What if I swore to you on my oath as a federal marshal that I know for sure and certain that Mac was murdered? Would you take my warnin’s more to heart then?” His dark eyes were locked on hers, daring her to dismiss his claim.

“I’d still want some proof,” she said, momentarily taken aback by his words, as well as by the sudden change in his demeanor. “And I’d want to know how you can be so sure.”

Zeke looked away from her to study the fireplace, as if that fieldstone structure might hold the answers to her questions. “You don’t make it easy, do you?” he grumbled.

“I didn’t know that was my job.” She wished he’d forgo the drama and just get on with it. As she waited for his reply, it struck her that he might be trying to scare her into obedience. She was pretty sure that he would never have tried that tactic with Mac. But then Zeke came from a time when a man wouldn’t presume to tell another man what to do. Telling a woman how to run her life was an entirely different matter. Of course, Zeke was probably having his own difficulties dealing with the mores of
her
time, what with women piloting spacecraft, serving in government, wearing skimpy clothing and engaging in premarital and extramarital affairs with impunity. He must’ve thought he was witnessing a modern version of Sodom and Gomorrah. She’d almost talked herself into some sympathy for his plight, when he turned back to her.

His brows had lowered into dark eaves, beneath which she could see a storm raging in his eyes. “I know Mac was murdered,” he said in a harsh whisper, as if the words themselves were caustic, grating against his throat as he uttered them. “I know because I was there.”

Rory was stunned into silence, a riot of questions conceived but stillborn as she tried to wrap her mind around this new information. It was one thing to harbor suspicions about a loved one’s death, quite another to find out that your intuition was right.

“I don’t understand,” she said once she was able to sort out her thoughts. “If you were there, why didn’t you stop it? Why didn’t you help him?”

“Don’t you think I wanted to?” Zeke shot back. His image started to waver, fading in and out as if his emotional upheaval were making it difficult for him to appear at all.