Trusting Again (16 page)

And then there was Bella. She pouted like the spoiled brat she was, behaved badly in front of Cynthia and her friends, and almost made a scene when he didn’t immediately follow her for the opening ceremony. This was one of those times when family obligation was the bane of his existence.

As soon as the formalities opening the exhibit were concluded, he’d dragged Bella out of the museum and taken her to her father’s house. She’d screamed at him most of the way there about humiliating her in front of all of Portland by chasing after another woman when he was at the event with her. She’d raked him over the coals about being a bad friend when he’d been there to support her in her “hour of need,” as she kept insisting it had been. He’d responded that she was behaving like a selfish child and he was sorry he’d ever agreed to go with her.

He didn’t even walk her to the door when he got her home, just watched from his rental car to make sure she got inside safely before heading for his hotel. They parted on such bad terms, he was sure Bella would call his father and report his behavior like he was some sort of errant schoolboy.

He was tired from his trip, wrung out by what had gone on at the museum and unsure how to go about making it right with Cynthia. Trying to figure how to get her to listen to him without interference from her friends kept him awake half the night.

The one thing he had figured out was, if the evening at the Art Museum had been bad, the next day held the potential of being even worse.

It lived up to his expectations.

Knowing Cynthia stayed with Amanda St. Claire when she was in Portland, as soon as he got out of bed, after a very short and not very restful night, he started looking for where Amanda lived. He tried 411 and drew a blank. When he searched online, he found her website and an email address, her exhibition schedule, dozens of images of her work and the websites of every gallery where she exhibited but no address or phone number. Not surprising, probably, but frustrating nonetheless. He knew Amanda was married, but didn’t know if she shared a last name with her husband, although he assumed she didn’t as there were no St. Claires, male or female, listed in Portland.

After he exhausted all the on-line alternatives, he was left with one option — and it wasn’t one he looked forward to. The only way he could think to find Amanda’s address was to convince Liz Fairchild to give it to him. So he headed for Northwest Portland to The Fairchild Gallery, steeling himself for whatever price Liz might extract for giving him what he wanted. He was willing to take whatever she dished out as long as he ended up with a way to reach Cynthia.

He arrived ten minutes before the gallery was due to open. Through the glass door he could see Liz at the rear of the gallery, talking on the telephone. He didn’t knock, knowing she’d eventually come to open the door and he didn’t want to interrupt her phone conversation and make her any more angry at him than she already was.

However, it was neither a knock nor the need to open the gallery that drew her attention to him. Whirling around, making what looked like a dramatic point in the conversation, she saw him at the door. She looked shocked, then angry, immediately turned her back to him and let him cool his heels at the door until she was ready to end her conversation and let him in.

To say she was inhospitable was to underestimate her venomous tone by a considerable amount. “What the hell are you doing here? Haven’t you caused enough trouble already?” she asked.

“I’m not trying to cause trouble, Liz. I’m trying to repair the damage from last night. Can I come in and talk to you? Please?” He tried to take a step into the gallery but Liz blocked his way.

“What would I want to talk to you about?”

“The obvious. Cynthia.”

“I don’t think there’s a single thing I care to discuss with you in regard to that subject. Although there’s a whole hell of a lot you need to talk to her about. If she’ll talk to you. Which I doubt.”

“Look, I know I need to straighten things out with her, but I don’t know how to find her. She’s not answering her phone or returning my … ”

“After what you put her through at the Art Museum? Do you blame her?”

“She wasn’t answering her phone before that. Is she staying with … ?”

“And why the hell do you think I’ll tell you where she is? You have brass balls, Hernandez, if you think I’m going to help you hurt that poor woman any more than you’ve already done.”

“I don’t want to hurt her; I want to talk to her. Hell, I never intended … ”

“You never intended what? To humiliate her by flaunting your girlfriend in front of her and her friends? Didn’t you think dating other women when you’ve been practically living with her would hurt her?”

“Bella’s a family friend. We weren’t on a date. Her father … ”

“She was hanging on you like you were a Christmas tree and she was tinsel. That’s not how my family friends act.”

“I’m not responsible for … ”

“Of course not. You’re not responsible for being so overwhelmingly attractive that women hang all over you, are you?” Her expression was positively poisonous. “What arrogant male bullshit. I really thought you were better than that.”

Marius was silent, even after she’d finished her rant.

“Don’t you have anything else to say for yourself?” Liz asked.

“When you decide to let me finish a sentence, I do. And I’d prefer to do it inside unless you want to continue being performance art for the neighborhood.”

He saw her look at the passersby walking slowly, pretending to look in her gallery’s windows but actually enjoying the conversation they were eavesdropping on. “All right. You can come in. I’ll give you one minute to finish enough sentences to convince me I should help you.”

He stepped into the gallery and Liz closed the door before pointedly looking at her watch. “One minute. Go.”

“My father asked me to come to Portland to attend the funeral of an old and dear family friend — Bella’s father. I called Cynthia a dozen times to tell her about the change in plans, but she wasn’t picking up so I could only leave messages. After the funeral, Bella stayed in Portland to wind up her father’s affairs. One of which was the glass exhibit where some of Mr. Rodriguez’s collection was on display. She thought she needed to be there to represent the family, but didn’t want to go alone. I agreed to go with her as a favor to a woman who’d just lost her father.” He took a deep breath. “Is my time up?”

“Keep going. You’ve got my attention.”

“Bella has always been spoiled and indulged by her father. She’s young and scared and right now … ”

“She’s looking for another man to spoil and indulge her?”

He was surprised at how astute Liz’s observation was about a woman she’d seen for only a few minutes. “Possibly. I’ve never seen her behave that badly before. She knows I’m in love with Cynthia, but that didn’t seem to change the way she was acting. Then, after the conversation with all of you, she was embarrassed, accused me of deliberately humiliating her in front of everyone and yelled at me the whole way to her father’s house. So, in the course of one fun evening, a family friend who’d just lost her father, the woman I love, and three of her friends all ended up pissed at me.”

“Is this the truth, Marius?”

His mouth curved into a half smile. “Thank you. At least I’ve progressed from Hernandez to Marius. And, yes, it’s the truth.”

“Why didn’t you tell us all this last night?” Liz moved further into the gallery, leading Marius toward her office.

“I tried and got shut down.”

“You didn’t try hard enough.”

“I probably didn’t. I was jet-lagged, out with a badly behaving family friend and facing a wall of angry females surrounding Cynthia. It was escalating into a nasty scene and I couldn’t deal with it. I thought — I hoped — Cynthia would at least talk to me long enough to let me explain what was going on. I was wrong.” He wiped his hand over his face, feeling tired and out of gas.

Liz seemed to see him clearly for the first time. “You look like hell. Like you could use a cup of coffee.”

“I could use a gallon of coffee. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“In my office, I’ve got coffee and Amanda’s address and phone number. That’s where Cynthia stayed last night. I don’t imagine she slept any better than you did. Maybe you can catch her before she leaves to go back to Seattle.”

• • •

Half an hour later, he was in the Alameda neighborhood where Amanda lived, having decided he wouldn’t risk a phone call, fearing that would only make Cynthia run again, this time for who-knew-where. And he was too tired to go on a wild goose chase. If he was going to have to chase, he wanted to know where he had to go. He would either find her here or find a way to convince Amanda to tell him where Cynthia had gone.

He sat in his car by the curb for a few minutes, finishing up the third cup of coffee Liz had given him and getting up his courage to tackle what was going to be another tough conversation. Finally, he walked up the driveway to the door. The first response to his knock was the bark of a dog; the second was a man with sandy brown hair and a wary look who opened the door. Somehow, Marius was sure the man had been watching him from the house.

“Can I help you?” the man asked. He was holding the collar of a large, black, curly coated dog.

“My name is Marius Hernandez,” he began.

The man’s expression turned from wary to curious. “You’ve got guts. I’ll give you that. I’m Sam Richardson, Amanda’s husband.”

Marius asked, “Is Cynthia here?”

“She was. She left early this morning for home.”

“Damn. I hoped … ”

“Who is it, Sam?” Amanda appeared behind her husband, a baby in her arms. She clutched the baby tighter when her eyes caught sight of Marius. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“That seems to be the universal greeting for me this morning. Liz said the same thing.”

“Is that how you found me? You tortured Liz?”

“I explained to Liz that I needed to talk to Cynthia. And once I explained why, she gave me your address, yes.”

“Remind me not to speak to her again,” Amanda said. “She’s a traitor.”

“If you’ll let me explain … ”

“Explain what? That you’re a bastard? I don’t need to hear an explanation for that. I already know it.”

Sam stepped back from the door. “Maybe you should come in and talk to my wife in the living room.” He waved Marius in. “And I’ll take Kat, pretty lady. You’re holding her so tight, she might not be getting enough oxygen.” He took the baby from his wife’s reluctant arms. “I’ll leave you two to figure this out between yourselves. And good luck, Hernandez, you’re gonna need it.” He headed for the steps with his daughter, calling for the dog to follow him.

Amanda glared at him. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“Can we sit down?”

“I’m fine standing up and you won’t be here long enough to get tired of being on your feet. Say what you have to say and leave.”

He gave Amanda the same short version of what he’d been doing in Portland he’d given Liz. When he was finished, she dropped abruptly into the chair she’d said she didn’t want to sit on.

“Oh.”

“I tried to tell you all at the museum without making too much of a scene, but I couldn’t get past your wall. I understood why you were doing it but it didn’t make it easy for me to explain what was going on.”

“So you’ve talked to everyone now?”

“I went to see Liz this morning. She was reasonably gracious … ”

“That’s saying a lot for Liz.” He thought she was close to smiling.

“Reasonably gracious after she gave me hell. But she told me Cynthia was staying here, gave me your address and phone number. I’d been trying to call Cynthia for two days but she wasn’t picking up.”

“She wasn’t answering the phone before she left Seattle and she didn’t bring her cell with her.”

“I wanted to see her, not just talk to her, that’s why I hoped she was still here. She didn’t say she wasn’t.”

“Didn’t say she wasn’t? Then you talked to her?”

“Yeah, isn’t that what I just said? I talked to her this morning. She gave me hell but once I explained it all, she was okay. She forgave me. That’s how I got here.”

“She forgave you. Then you know why she was upset.”

“Of course I know why she was upset. I’m the one who upset everyone.”

“No, I mean beyond what happened last night. She told you about the baby.”

“The baby? What baby?”

“Cynthia didn’t tell you she was pregnant?”

“How could she tell me anything when she won’t talk to me?” He wasn’t sure if he was more surprised, worried or anxious. “Pregnant? Mother of God. She was all alone when she found out, wasn’t she? She must be terrified. That’s why she was in Portland. To see you, not go to the glass exhibit.”

“Won’t talk to you? You said you talked to her. That she forgave you.”

“Liz … Liz forgave me. Why would I be here if I’d already talked to Cynthia? I’m here because I hoped she’d be with you.” He started toward the door. “I have to get to Seattle.”

“This is awful. I had no business telling you. I have to call her, explain.”

“NO!” He whirled around and reached for Amanda as she picked up the phone.

Sam walked back into the room just as Marius grabbed Amanda’s arm. He took two quick steps toward his wife.

“Let her go, Hernandez. Now.” His hands were in fists as he spoke. He put his arm around his wife, pulled her against him, turning sideways to shield her with his body.

Marius may not have recognized Sam’s cop face but he heard the ring of authority in the low, hard tone of his voice. He dropped Amanda’s arm and put both hands in the air. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Amanda patted her husband’s arm. “I’m fine, Sam. After what I just did, Marius has every reason to be angry at me but he’s not going to hurt me.”

Marius dropped his hands but hoped the pleading tone in his voice would be enough to convince Amanda. “Please don’t call her. I don’t want her running again. Let me talk to her first. I have to make sure she’s all right.”

Amanda squirmed out of Sam’s protective embrace and went to Marius. “I’m so, so sorry. I should never have said anything. Please forgive me?”