T's Trial: A Bone Cold--Alive Novel (14 page)

Lyla nodded.

Mariette smiled. “I need your opinion. I’m sure you’re familiar with all of these. Any personal favorites?”

Lyla reached for the bottle of Joy. “One of these days, I will own this, but for the moment,” her eyes roamed the array of glass, “I’m afraid I’m not a user of any.”

“Well, why don’t we see if there are any potential favorites among them.” Lyla relaxed, became more animated, narrowed the field to two “must haves if I was buying,” Joy and Chanel No. 5. “I knew you were a classicist.” Mariette thanked her for her time and strolled off toward Women’s Wear, seemingly looking for another interviewee.

No sooner had Mariette reached the aisle, than Sam followed in her wake. He was all button-down and khaki. This time, Lyla smiled and she let her eyes travel lazily from head to toe and back. “You’ve been teasing me. ’Fess up.”

“Maybe a little.” He leaned over the back of the opposite chair. “You like this look? Think it’s me?”

“I think it’s more Fletcher, but what’s not to like? You look very—” desirable came to mind, “business.” Good. You look very good. Say it, Lyla. But she didn’t.

“It’s not what I had in mind for tonight, but I might get it anyway.” He eased back up, glanced at his watch. “Hmmm, reservations in an hour. Guess I’d better hurry.” He turned abruptly, left the inevitable question on her lips, in her mind.

*  *  *

The tailor was back in the dressing area. “I’ll take this. Fix up a few things in the line for fall wear. What did you find out about the perfume?”

Mr. Goode helped him slip out of the shirt, signaled two young men to pick up the appropriate purchases. “A very classic lady. Narrowed to two old time favorites—”

“Get a bottle of each. The real stuff. Have them gift wrapped.” Another clerk was dispatched. T rapidly buttoned the new shirt, reached for the pants. Perfect. Braces. Choice of three ties, he chose the most outlandish, had to have Goode tie it. Damn!—he was nervous! “I’ve got dinner reservations. Guess I shouldn’t have played so long.”

“Nonsense, sir. Should I call and tell them you’ll be late?”

“I think I can make it. Hell, it’s still light. Nobody else’ll be there.”

“People eat earlier in Dallas than you think, sir. This isn’t the Coast.” He slipped the coat over T’s shoulders, smoothed it down. “Grand, simply grand. Perhaps you could start a new look with your band.”

T smiled back at him in the mirror. “A noble thought, but not one whose time has come.” He sorted the stack of business cards into his wallet. “I’ll send these tickets here, in your care.”

“I’ll see that they’re properly distributed. Now, would you like to check our selections?”

“No, I trust you.” He turned slightly to view himself in the mirror. “Good work, Mr. Goode. I don’t think my brother would recognize me. Where’s the bill? I’ll sign.”

“Out front, sir. I can get it for you…”

“We’ll do it out there. Like normal people.”

T followed the man out. He made sure he was looking straight at Lyla when she saw him. The appreciation in her eyes was unmistakable. He’d done something right, and he was more than a little proud of himself. He came over to her. “It’ll just be a minute. They’ve got to give me a final tally.”

Lyla noted the packages and hanging bags appearing at the desk. “I’d say you did some damage.”

“Been a long time since I shopped.”

“You clean up rather nice.” She bit her lip as if she wanted to take it back. T held his breath, let it out slowly at her next words. “Sam, I’m glad I came.”

“Not half as glad as I am.”

“Sir,” Mr. Goode was standing behind him. “Your card.”

It was an effort for T to leave her and go to the desk, but he did. He hastily scribbled his name. “Your gift is in the small bag. Shall I hide it in the sweaters until you need it this evening?”

“Excellent idea.” T pocketed his charge card. “Mr. Goode, it’s been a pleasure.” He extended his hand, and for the first time in many years, Edwin Thomas Samuels left a store without a police escort.

Chapter Twelve

“I
’m impressed,” Lyla muttered.

“With the place or the fact that I could get here?”

They were pulling up the incline to the leading Dallas restaurant and hotel. “People who live here for years still get lost coming.” She eyed him. “Your secret, sir?”

“Better to be lucky than good.” He put the car in park as the valet approached. No need to mention the two hours he’d spent on Tuesday, circling in the area until he knew he could arrive from any direction. Her door was opened and she was handed out and onto his waiting arm. He didn’t let her think about just walking in beside him. He wanted them attached.

Under the canopy, through the leaden glass doors, under the curving staircase, into the oval rotunda. The bar was to their right, the ‘see and be seen’ room straight ahead. The last time he’d been here, BCA had sat in there and caused quite a disturbance. He wanted neither the room nor the notoriety tonight.

He slipped her hand from under his arm and she stayed where he left her, standing in the middle beside the ornate flower arrangement. T unconsciously straightened his tie, approached the reservations desk.

It was guarded by an older tuxedoed gentleman T recognized immediately and had hoped to avoid. His wish that the maitre d’s infamous memory would fail him and he’d forget the last time he saw any member of Bone Cold—Alive died as he saw the spark in the man’s eye. He even beat T to the verbal punch. “Mr. Fletcher, I presume?” At least, he kept his voice low.

“Hello, John. I thought it best to use Fletch’s name. Didn’t want to start a riot among the staff if I used my own.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s not like last time. Just me. Just the lady.” He motioned with his eyes over his shoulder. “She thinks I’m an ordinary working stiff.”

“At The Manorborne?” John rolled his eyes. “Mr. Samuels—”

“Thomas. Sam Thomas.” He looked over the edge of the reservation book and pointed. “Look, right by Fletch’s name, it says ‘table by the kitchen, in the back’ something like that. Out of the way. Trust me. I’m on the wagon. I’m a new man.” John still glowered. “What if I play piano in the bar for an hour? Sober, I am as outstanding as I ever was high.”

John pursed his lips. “Ma’am?” he leaned around T and called to Lyla. She had wandered as far as the breakfront, turned at the raised tone of his voice. He motioned for her to come.

Lyla quirked a brow at T then slowly walked over. Taking his arm, she laced her fingers around it. “Are we ready, Sam?”

John hesitated under T’s stare and Lyla’s closed smile. “I’m afraid the only table available is on the verandah.” His voice ended on a raised note.

“Fine with me if it’s okay with Sam.” As Lyla drew half a step closer to him, T hoped she couldn’t feel the beating of his heart through the suit coat.

“Very well.” His mind made up, John snapped the menus and led them through the half-empty main room to the glassed-in verandah, then to the left, and a table for two overlooking the small garden. T seated himself with his back to the other diners.

Their water glasses were filled immediately. “Something from the bar, sir, madam?”

“I’ll be drinking water all evening, Lyla. I’m driving. Have at it.”

“Water will be fine for me, too.” Her voice was low.

He scowled. “Lyla, please. If you could have anything—”

She took her attention from the menu. “Okay. Bourbon old-fashioned, two cherries, light on the sugar.”

T smirked. “And where did you learn to order like that?” he asked when the waiter was gone.

“Just because I live in beer country doesn’t mean it’s my only drink.” She couldn’t resist. “I thought Fletch was the one recovering.”

“We kind of did it together.”

“Oh.” She closed her menu.

“I do not believe you have made up your mind so fast. It takes longer than that to read the appetizers.”

“Melinda came here for her anniversary. She told me what to order if I ever came and I’m going to follow her advice.” She toyed with the lemon in the water. “Otherwise, I shall be so stuffed you’ll have to roll me out of here.”

“Uh-huh.” He continued perusing the listings. “What’s Melinda’s spouse do?”

“Contractor. Ordinary people can eat here, too. Why, just look at us. But then, you’ve been here before and I bet it wasn’t a memorable experience.”

T looked at her. “Oh, it was memorable.” Just because he couldn’t remember didn’t mean anything. “But it was a lifetime ago, Lyla. Maybe we’ll get around to it before the evening’s over.”
But I doubt it.

“Is that what I’m supposed to say when you ask me questions about me?”

“Now what makes you think we’re going to talk about you?” He closed his menu, folded his arms on top of it.

She mimicked his movements. “Well, if we’re not going to talk about you, then that just leaves me, doesn’t it?”

“Start anywhere you’d like.”

*  *  *

They had ordered, and true to her word, Lyla stuck to Melinda’s suggestion: tortilla soup, spinach salad, and crème brulee. “Is that all?” The waiter was incredulous.

“Maybe two crème brulees.” She twirled the cherries in her drink with her finger, licked it. “I’ll just have to see.”

T ordered the same, but stuck a rib eye into the entree section with asparagus on the side. “I’ll share, Lyla.”

“I’d rather have two desserts, now that the notion has come to me.”

T watched the waiter stop at the kitchen door and report to John.

“Tell me about Bertie.” He stretched a little under the table, crossed his arms on its top. He wanted to reach over and take her hand but didn’t dare.

“So that’s how we begin on me.” She pulled the hot bread apart and buttered half. She chewed slowly and contemplated him. “Why don’t you tell me about Fletch?”

“After Bertie.” He smiled. “And Norm and Dub and everybody else I’ve heard about. Everyone but you, if that’s the way this is to be played.”

“So what do you want to know?”

“How many times has the old girl been married?”

“None. Really,” she replied noting his disbelieving eyes. “Leastwise, not that she’ll admit to. Grandfather said there’d been a lover in her younger days and she’d actually run off with him but her folks tracked her down and brought her back. The rest is history.”

“What do you believe?”

“I think it doesn’t matter. She and her sister globe-trotted until the sister got sick. She used to keep a list of all the countries she’d never been to. It was short until the Soviet bloc started breaking up and adding new ones. I think maybe she and Norm should get together now.” She finished the piece of bread, reached for another.

“That’s what’s going to fill you up and cut out that second dessert.” He took the freshly buttered piece from her, popped it in his mouth. “Norm not married?”

Lyla reached for another piece of bread, started buttering. “Norm is a saint in the marital world. When his wife had a stroke he went to the nursing home twice a day for two years, feeding her, making sure she was cared for properly.”

“I thought they had physical therapy for that kind of thing.”

“It was fifteen years ago and it was really bad. But he was as faithful and good as anyone could expect. Then she died, and all that good influence was gone.”

“So he needs ol’ Bertie for an influence.”

“Popular wisdom holds that would work.” She watched as the soup was served. “But I don’t know if it would. After all, they’re in-laws.”

That got his attention. “What?”

“In-laws. Norm’s wife was Bertie’s sister, her traveling companion.” She tasted the tortilla soup. “Umm. And to think the meal just gets better.”

“From what I hear Norm doesn’t seem the sort to let his wife go off around the world.”

“Osborne family money. I mean, what could he say?”

They sipped in silence for a minute. T caught Lyla studying something over his shoulder. “Something interesting happening behind my back?” But he didn’t turn and look.

She shrugged. “Lots of tables being filled, all from the other end. No one near us.” She switched her attention back to him.

Hmmm. John really, really didn’t trust him. Good. He liked his privacy. He pushed back from the table as he finished his soup and went back to the subject he was most interested in. “So the house we’re in was your grandfather’s.” She nodded. “How long have you lived there?”

“About ten years.”

He twisted his mouth. “C’mon, Lyla. Don’t make me ask all the right questions.”

“No dice, Sam.” Their soup bowls were removed. “I mean, is this an even exchange? After I show you mine, do you reciprocate?”

“Of course.” Her raised brow said she didn’t believe it. They were silent again. “Okay, so tell me about your grandfather.”

“Why not tell you about me?”

“’Cause I don’t think you will. So I’ll content myself with the philosophy behind the yellow pine.”

She smiled at that. “Some philosophy. That’s what the saloons were selling when they were torn down. Grandfather never missed an opportunity to save a dollar.”

“A man after Fletch’s own heart.”

The salads were served and Lyla warmed to the subject. “Grandfather was not a role model. He gambled and fished and drank and fished some more. To be honest with you, Sam, I’m not sure how he made a living. Probably bootlegged.” She caught some spinach on the tines of her fork. “Grandmother took in sewing, cooked for the prominent families in town during the holidays.”

“See, being a hostess is in your blood.” He watched her chew slowly, wash it down with the last of her cocktail. He turned cautiously to summon the waiter for more.

“No, no more, Sam.”

“Hey, I’m driving. Evening’s yours to let go.”

“One’s enough. That’s in the blood, too.”

“Whatever you wish.” They ate a bit in silence. “You were telling me about your grandfather, the profligate?”

She smiled. “Don’t think the Baptist church didn’t see him that way, too. Never darkened the door. Had to have someone else make my grandmother’s funeral arrangements. He was too embarrassed.”