Split Second (20 page)

“I think you need to tell the police,” Maggie told her again.

“No,” she said quickly, and immediately her face grew scarlet. “I mean, I…I’m not even sure she met him. I wouldn’t want Rachel to get in trouble with Sid.”

“Then you need to at least tell them about the telephone repairman so they can question him. Have you seen him in the area?”

“Actually, I’ve never seen him. Just his van once—Northeastern Bell Telephone Company. I’d hate to have him lose his job because of my hunch.”

Maggie studied the woman who clutched and wrung the hem of her cardigan. Susan Lyndell didn’t care about some nameless repairman’s job.

“Then why are you telling me all this, Ms. Lyndell? What do you expect me to do?”

“I just thought…well…” She leaned against the wall again, and seemed flustered that she had no clue what she expected. Yet, she made a weak effort to continue. “You’re with the FBI. I thought maybe you could find out or do a check…you know, discreetly without…well, I guess I don’t know.”

Maggie let the silence hang between them as she examined the woman’s discomfort, her embarrassment.

“Rachel’s not the only one who’s flirted with a repairman, is she, Ms. Lyndell? Are you afraid of your husband finding out? Is that it?”

She didn’t need to answer. The anguished look in Susan Lyn-dell’s eyes told Maggie she was right. And she wondered if Ms. Lyndell would even call Detective Manx, though she promised to as she turned and left, hurrying away, her head pivoting with worried glances.

T
ess McGowan smiled at the wine steward who waited patiently. Daniel had rambled on into the cellular phone the whole time the tall young man had uncorked the bottle and poured the obligatory amount for the taste test. At first, when he noticed Daniel on the phone, he had offered the glass to Tess. She quickly shook her head. Without a word, she directed the steward to Daniel with her eyes, so as not to embarrass the inexperienced man, whose smooth, boyish face still blushed.

Now they both waited. She hated all the interruptions. It was bad enough they were having an unusually late Sunday dinner because of Daniel’s business dealings. Why couldn’t he, at least, take Sundays off? She fingered the long-stemmed rose he had brought her, and found herself wishing that just once he could be more creative. Why not some violets or a clump of daisies?

Finally, Daniel firmly, but calmly, called the person on the other end of the line “an incompetent asshole.” Fortunately for Tess and the wine steward, that was his closing.

He snapped the cellular phone in half and slipped it into his breast pocket. Without looking up, he grabbed the glass, sipped then spit the wine back without giving it a swirl in his mouth.

“This is sewer water. I asked for a 1984 Bordeaux. What the hell is this crap?”

Tess felt her nerves tense in anticipation. Not again. Why couldn’t they ever go out without Daniel making a scene. She watched the poor wine steward twist the bottle around, desperate to read the label.

“It
is
a 1984 Bordeaux, sir.”

Daniel snatched the bottle from the young man’s hands and took a look. Immediately, he snorted under his breath and handed it back.

“I don’t want a goddamn California wine.”

“But you said domestic, sir.”

“Yes, and as far as I remember, New York is still in the United States.”

“Yes, of course, sir. I’ll bring another bottle.”

“So,” Daniel said, letting her know he was ready to talk to her though his hands rearranged his silverware and folded the napkin in his lap. “You said we had something to celebrate?”

She pushed up her dress strap, wondering why she had spent two hundred and fifty dollars on a dress that wouldn’t stay up on her. A sexy, black dress that Daniel hadn’t noticed. Even when he looked up at her, he raised an eyebrow at her fumbling instead of at the dress, and instantly he frowned at her. Dear God, she didn’t need another lecture about fidgeting in public. The man spent more time rearranging his dinnerware than he did eating, and yet, he felt he could lecture her about fidgeting. She pretended not to notice his frown and launched into her good news. If she kept enthusiastic, he couldn’t possibly ruin this night for her. Could he?

“I sold the Saunders’ house last week.”

His brow furrowed, reminding her that he didn’t have time to remember where the hell each of her clients lived.

“It’s the huge Tudor on the north side. But the best part is that Delores is letting me keep the entire selling bonus.”

“Well, that
is
good news, Tess. We should be having champagne and not wine.” He turned in his chair, going into what looked like a search-and-destroy mode. “Where the hell is that incompetent imbecile?”

“No, Daniel, don’t.”

He scowled at her for squelching his noble gesture, and she hurried to correct it.

“You know I enjoy wine much more than champagne. Please, let’s have wine.”

He raised his hands in mock defeat. “Whatever pleases you. Tonight is your night.”

He began to sip from his water glass but stopped, grabbed his napkin and wiped at the water spots. Tess braced herself for another scene, but Daniel managed to get the glass in satisfactory condition on his own. He replaced his napkin and the glass without taking a sip.

“So, how much is this selling bonus? I hope you didn’t spend it all on that overpriced frock that won’t stay on your shoulders.”

She felt the heat crawl up her neck before she had a chance to contain it.

“Of course not.” She kept her voice strong and managed a quick smile, pretending to enjoy his savage attempt at what he called dry humor.

“So? How much?” he wanted to know.

“Almost ten thousand dollars,” she said, holding up her chin proudly.

“Well, that is a nice little chunk of change for you, isn’t it?”

This time he sipped his water without cleaning the glass. Already his eyes darted around the room, looking for familiar faces. She knew it was a sort of professional habit and not meant to be rude, but each time, she felt as though he was hoping to be rescued from a mundane conversation with her.

“Do you think I should invest it?” she asked, hoping to bring his attention back to her with the one topic he loved to discuss.

“What’s that, sweetie?” His eyes only glanced at her. He had spotted a couple he seemed to know at the reservation stand, waiting for their table.

“The bonus. Do you think I should invest it in the stock market?”

This time he looked back at her with that smile she immediately recognized as the beginning of another lesson.

“Tess, ten thousand dollars really isn’t enough for you to be getting into the market. Maybe a nice little CD or less risky mutual fund. You really don’t want to mess with something you don’t understand.”

Before she could protest, his cellular phone started ringing. Daniel quickly flipped it out of his pocket as though it were the most important thing in the room. Tess pushed up her strap. Why kid herself. The damn phone
was
the most important thing in the room.

The wine steward returned, glanced at Daniel on the phone again, and Tess wanted to laugh at the young man’s pained expression.

“Why the hell is it so hard to fucking get this right?” Daniel barked into the phone loud enough for other diners to look over. “No, no, forget it. I’ll do it myself.”

He slapped the phone shut and was on his feet before he had it tucked back into his pocket.

“Tess, sweetie, I need to go take care of something. These idiots can’t seem to get one fucking thing right.” He pulled out a credit card and slipped out two hundred-dollar bills from his money clip. “Please have a shamefully expensive dinner to celebrate your bonus. And you don’t mind taking a cab home, do you?”

He handed her the credit card and the folded bills. He pecked her on the cheek and then left before she could object. But she noticed he had enough time to stop at the door and talk to the couple he had seen earlier.

Suddenly, she realized the wine steward was still at the table and now staring at her, stunned and waiting for her instructions.

“I think I’d like the bill, please.

He continued to stare, then held up the uncorked bottle. “I didn’t even pour one glass.”

“Enjoy it later with the other waiters.”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m serious. On me. Really. Oh, and before you bring the bill, would you add two of the most expensive entrées you have on the menu.”

“You want them as takeout?”

“Oh no. I don’t want them at all. I just want to pay for them.” She smiled and held up the credit card. Finally, he seemed to get the message, smiled back and hurried off to take care of it.

If Daniel insisted on treating her like a hooker, she could certainly accommodate him. Maybe her silly little mind couldn’t possibly comprehend something as complex as the stock market, but there were plenty of other things she knew about that Daniel didn’t have a clue about.

She signed the bill for the wine steward, making sure to add a hefty tip for him. Then she took her two hundred dollars and hailed a cab, hoping the anger would burn off by the time she got home. How could he ruin this for her? She had been looking forward to a celebration. Maybe ten thousand dollars was a drop in the bucket for Daniel, but for her it was a tremendous accomplishment in a long journey uphill. She deserved a pat on the back. She deserved a celebration. Instead, she had a long, lonely cab ride home from D.C.

“Excuse me,” she said, leaning forward in the stale-smelling cab. “When we get to Newburgh Heights, forget the address I gave you. Take me to Louie’s Bar and Grill on Fifty-fifth and Laurel.”

T
ess McGowan smiled at the wine steward who waited patiently. Daniel had rambled on into the cellular phone the whole time the tall young man had uncorked the bottle and poured the obligatory amount for the taste test. At first, when he noticed Daniel on the phone, he had offered the glass to Tess. She quickly shook her head. Without a word, she directed the steward to Daniel with her eyes, so as not to embarrass the inexperienced man, whose smooth, boyish face still blushed.

Now they both waited. She hated all the interruptions. It was bad enough they were having an unusually late Sunday dinner because of Daniel’s business dealings. Why couldn’t he, at least, take Sundays off? She fingered the long-stemmed rose he had brought her, and found herself wishing that just once he could be more creative. Why not some violets or a clump of daisies?

Finally, Daniel firmly, but calmly, called the person on the other end of the line “an incompetent asshole.” Fortunately for Tess and the wine steward, that was his closing.

He snapped the cellular phone in half and slipped it into his breast pocket. Without looking up, he grabbed the glass, sipped then spit the wine back without giving it a swirl in his mouth.

“This is sewer water. I asked for a 1984 Bordeaux. What the hell is this crap?”

Tess felt her nerves tense in anticipation. Not again. Why couldn’t they ever go out without Daniel making a scene. She watched the poor wine steward twist the bottle around, desperate to read the label.

“It
is
a 1984 Bordeaux, sir.”

Daniel snatched the bottle from the young man’s hands and took a look. Immediately, he snorted under his breath and handed it back.

“I don’t want a goddamn California wine.”

“But you said domestic, sir.”

“Yes, and as far as I remember, New York is still in the United States.”

“Yes, of course, sir. I’ll bring another bottle.”

“So,” Daniel said, letting her know he was ready to talk to her though his hands rearranged his silverware and folded the napkin in his lap. “You said we had something to celebrate?”

She pushed up her dress strap, wondering why she had spent two hundred and fifty dollars on a dress that wouldn’t stay up on her. A sexy, black dress that Daniel hadn’t noticed. Even when he looked up at her, he raised an eyebrow at her fumbling instead of at the dress, and instantly he frowned at her. Dear God, she didn’t need another lecture about fidgeting in public. The man spent more time rearranging his dinnerware than he did eating, and yet, he felt he could lecture her about fidgeting. She pretended not to notice his frown and launched into her good news. If she kept enthusiastic, he couldn’t possibly ruin this night for her. Could he?

“I sold the Saunders’ house last week.”

His brow furrowed, reminding her that he didn’t have time to remember where the hell each of her clients lived.

“It’s the huge Tudor on the north side. But the best part is that Delores is letting me keep the entire selling bonus.”

“Well, that
is
good news, Tess. We should be having champagne and not wine.” He turned in his chair, going into what looked like a search-and-destroy mode. “Where the hell is that incompetent imbecile?”

“No, Daniel, don’t.”

He scowled at her for squelching his noble gesture, and she hurried to correct it.

“You know I enjoy wine much more than champagne. Please, let’s have wine.”

He raised his hands in mock defeat. “Whatever pleases you. Tonight is your night.”

He began to sip from his water glass but stopped, grabbed his napkin and wiped at the water spots. Tess braced herself for another scene, but Daniel managed to get the glass in satisfactory condition on his own. He replaced his napkin and the glass without taking a sip.

“So, how much is this selling bonus? I hope you didn’t spend it all on that overpriced frock that won’t stay on your shoulders.”

She felt the heat crawl up her neck before she had a chance to contain it.

“Of course not.” She kept her voice strong and managed a quick smile, pretending to enjoy his savage attempt at what he called dry humor.

“So? How much?” he wanted to know.

“Almost ten thousand dollars,” she said, holding up her chin proudly.

“Well, that is a nice little chunk of change for you, isn’t it?”

This time he sipped his water without cleaning the glass. Already his eyes darted around the room, looking for familiar faces. She knew it was a sort of professional habit and not meant to be rude, but each time, she felt as though he was hoping to be rescued from a mundane conversation with her.

“Do you think I should invest it?” she asked, hoping to bring his attention back to her with the one topic he loved to discuss.

“What’s that, sweetie?” His eyes only glanced at her. He had spotted a couple he seemed to know at the reservation stand, waiting for their table.

“The bonus. Do you think I should invest it in the stock market?”

This time he looked back at her with that smile she immediately recognized as the beginning of another lesson.

“Tess, ten thousand dollars really isn’t enough for you to be getting into the market. Maybe a nice little CD or less risky mutual fund. You really don’t want to mess with something you don’t understand.”

Before she could protest, his cellular phone started ringing. Daniel quickly flipped it out of his pocket as though it were the most important thing in the room. Tess pushed up her strap. Why kid herself. The damn phone
was
the most important thing in the room.

The wine steward returned, glanced at Daniel on the phone again, and Tess wanted to laugh at the young man’s pained expression.

“Why the hell is it so hard to fucking get this right?” Daniel barked into the phone loud enough for other diners to look over. “No, no, forget it. I’ll do it myself.”

He slapped the phone shut and was on his feet before he had it tucked back into his pocket.

“Tess, sweetie, I need to go take care of something. These idiots can’t seem to get one fucking thing right.” He pulled out a credit card and slipped out two hundred-dollar bills from his money clip. “Please have a shamefully expensive dinner to celebrate your bonus. And you don’t mind taking a cab home, do you?”

He handed her the credit card and the folded bills. He pecked her on the cheek and then left before she could object. But she noticed he had enough time to stop at the door and talk to the couple he had seen earlier.

Suddenly, she realized the wine steward was still at the table and now staring at her, stunned and waiting for her instructions.

“I think I’d like the bill, please.

He continued to stare, then held up the uncorked bottle. “I didn’t even pour one glass.”

“Enjoy it later with the other waiters.”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m serious. On me. Really. Oh, and before you bring the bill, would you add two of the most expensive entrées you have on the menu.”

“You want them as takeout?”

“Oh no. I don’t want them at all. I just want to pay for them.” She smiled and held up the credit card. Finally, he seemed to get the message, smiled back and hurried off to take care of it.

If Daniel insisted on treating her like a hooker, she could certainly accommodate him. Maybe her silly little mind couldn’t possibly comprehend something as complex as the stock market, but there were plenty of other things she knew about that Daniel didn’t have a clue about.

She signed the bill for the wine steward, making sure to add a hefty tip for him. Then she took her two hundred dollars and hailed a cab, hoping the anger would burn off by the time she got home. How could he ruin this for her? She had been looking forward to a celebration. Maybe ten thousand dollars was a drop in the bucket for Daniel, but for her it was a tremendous accomplishment in a long journey uphill. She deserved a pat on the back. She deserved a celebration. Instead, she had a long, lonely cab ride home from D.C.

“Excuse me,” she said, leaning forward in the stale-smelling cab. “When we get to Newburgh Heights, forget the address I gave you. Take me to Louie’s Bar and Grill on Fifty-fifth and Laurel.”