Xs, An Allie Armington Mystery (27 page)

The double doors open and the same two men in white
who carried Larry away help guide Kingsley-Smythe onto what looks
like a gurney.

Bill motions Cliff to follow. “He’ll need
monitoring. Bang on the partition if you notice any change. And
remember, he must be completely covered except for his head when we
remove him from the van.”

Cliff starts to protest then, shoulders slumped,
inches in the rear to hunch next to Kingsley-Smythe.

After Bill and I squash into the seat behind the
driver, I point to the front seat. “Who are they?”

“They work with me.”

I shake my head trying to make some sense out of the
dreadful afternoon. Larry killed. Removed by those same men. And
they work with Bill. The equation doesn’t add up. At least it
doesn’t add up to suit my satisfaction.

“Where are we going?”

Bill puts his arm around me, draws me to him and
whispers, “Teterboro.”

THE VAN MAKES ITS WAY up Park Avenue to One Hundred
Twenty-Fifth, then takes the Henry Hudson Parkway to the George
Washington Bridge.

It’s warm inside the van, or at least I feel warm.
Maybe it’s because I’m pleasantly plastered to Bill’s right side. I
like the feel of his strength against me. Like that his arm circles
me protectively.

Timing. It’s all about timing. I’m dead-sure we
belong together. But how can we get there? Are there too may
stumbling blocks in our way?

When I was ready, he wasn’t. When he was ready, I
wasn’t. I look into the blurry lights and send up a fractured
prayer, “Please, whoever’s running this show, there must be some
way the two of us can get in synch.”

As the van speeds along Highway 46,
Kingsley-Smythe’s fate, the red address book and the Colombian
connection fade from importance as I remember the only night Bill
and I spent together. Peeling his shirt away to see the scar his
shoulder took for me. Feeling his face between my breasts.

Hearing him murmur, “I’ve dreamed about this.”

Overcome with longing, I fold into Bill and nestle
my head against his shoulder.

At first he plants soft kisses on my forehead, then
on my eyes, and then his mouth covers mine.

The van is dark. The thrum of the engine drowns our
rising passions. We could be two teenagers in the back of a balcony
during a Saturday Matinee. Instead we are two people in love,
making up for lost time and banking a little hope for the
future.

We arrive at Teterboro much too quickly. Once the
van is inspected and allowed through the gate, a cart with a
blinking yellow light leads us to a small jet parked some distance
from the hangar.

Bill and I exit the van in time to see the two men
in Hermann’s uniforms roll the gurney to the door of the plane and
watch as Sigrid Hale disappears into the interior.

Cliff, who has followed the gurney, hurries toward
us. “We’re all set. What next?”

“Wheels up in five. Go ahead and board. I’ll be
right behind you.”

Bill slips his arm around my waist and turns me to
him. “I’ve decided I’m not cut out for cops and robbers. This is my
last assignment. I want time for the better things of life—mainly
you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Damn, you’re tough. What in hell do you think I
mean?” When I don’t answer, he says, “The government has cut us a
deal. They’ve promised to let Uncle Jason and Cliff slip out of the
country in return for idents and corroborating testimony. All I
have to do is get them settled. Then it’s over.”

“Over?”

“I’ve already handed in my resignation.”

Can I believe what I’m hearing? If it’s true—I go
hot and cold at the same instant. One part of me wants to scream
with joy while the other waves that old familiar red flag.

“It’s a little over two weeks until Angela’s
wedding. Can you be there?”

Bill draws me to him for a long goodbye kiss until
the engines begin their whine.

I watch him stride toward the waiting jet. Halfway
there he turns and shouts, “I’ll try like hell.”

IT’S STOPPED SNOWING but I hardly notice the arctic
temperature as I stand alone watching the jet taxi to the runway
and disappear into the deepening sky.

I wait until I can no longer see the running lights,
then turn and almost bump into the golf cart with the flashing
yellow light on the roof.

“Ride?”

At the sound of a familiar voice, I peer inside the
plastic cover to see Jaime Platón at the wheel.

My mind reels. What in hell is he doing here?
Spying? Or did Bill know who was in the cart? Has Jaime been
working with Bill all along? And does he also know who Sigrid Hale
really is? So many unanswered questions.

I slide beneath the plastic and stare ahead as the
cart jerks forward.

Finally my curiosity wins over my confusion. “What
are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to escort you back to the hotel. Greene
and Mindy are waiting. I think he’s made dinner reservations
downstairs.”

“But how did you—never mind, I don’t want to
know.”

Jaime laughs. “That’s the first time I’ve heard
those words out of your mouth. Of course you want to know. And
there are some things we want to know too.”

He stashes me in the car then enters the hangar
offices. Only a few minutes pass before he returns and we’re on our
way back to the George Washington Bridge.

We ride along in comfortable silence until Jaime
clears his throat and says, “From what I saw, it looks like you and
Cotton are still very much a couple.”

I allow myself a pleasant warm shiver before I say,
“Guess you could say so.”

I wait for the usual warning or at least the
customary look he gave me in the past, but none comes. Instead he
gives me a brief raise of his eyebrows and a thin smile. “Guess I
never stood a chance.”

I feel the heat in my cheeks, partly from the
pleasure of hearing his wistful tone, partly from the embarrassment
of enjoying it. “Oh, Jaime. You’ve been such a good friend and so
wonderful to me. Any woman would be—”

He raises his hand. “I’m not begging. I just wanted
you to know how I feel.” He stares into the oncoming traffic for a
few seconds then says, “If you ever need me, all you have to do is
call.”

MINDY AND GREENE are seated on the same side of the
table, leaving Jaime and me to do the same. Only, things are very
different. Greene can hardly keep his eyes off the diminutive
detective, and her cheeks are flushed with excitement.

Once the champagne arrives and is poured all around,
Greene raises his glass. “Here’s to the success of our dream team.
Thanks to Danes’s supplying us with a glass that had Larry
Templeton’s fingerprints on it, we were able to match his with the
ones we picked up when Sheri Browne was murdered. We now know for
sure that Larry Templeton murdered Caro, Sheri and the other three
women.”

I’m on the verge of asking if they found Larry’s
body, but decide to hold that back until I get more
information.

Greene saves me the trouble. “When Bill informed
Jaime that the DEA was moving Hale and Danes out of the country, he
asked that Jaime be there to witness the transfer. In return for
that, Larry Templeton has been turned over to us. The good news is
there’s a toe tag attached. It’ll save the state a pile of money.
As far as I’m concerned, the case is closed.”

Before anyone has gotten a glass to his lips, Greene
hurries on. “And here’s to you, Allie, and you, Jaime. This case
would never have been solved without your help.”

Again the glasses don’t make their target because
Greene pulls Mindy’s left hand from her lap to the table. “And
here’s to my Mindy. The brains of the outfit, who loves me enough
to say yes.” Mindy quickly lowers her head and pushes her hand to
the center of the table. There on the ring finger is a modest but
brightly sparkling engagement ring.

I lunge across the table to embrace her. “How
wonderful. I’m so excited for you.”

Then I grab Greene’s hand and pump it until he gives
a pained “Thanks” and pulls it away.

While Greene and Jaime trade information on the
latest basketball scores, I reach for Mindy’s hand a second time.
Just the right size for her tiny hand. “Gee, that was fast.”

She blushes and lowers her eyes. “I feel badly that
I kept this from you, Allie. Greene and I have been dating since
last April, but we decided to keep it professional in public.
That’s why I hesitated to ask you to be my roommate.”

I smile. “I understand—perfectly.”

“Greene gave me the ring after the four of us left
Arturo’s the other night.”

“How about your parents?”

She shrugged. “They were ecstatic to hear I was
engaged. Not so happy about my marrying a black man, but Greene and
those dimples of his won them over.” She turns to give him an
adoring look.

“Is that what you call him? Greene?”

Mindy covers her mouth with her hand and giggles.
“That’s what I call him except when we’re making love.”

I decide to drop it at that. “Greene” has always
suited me just fine.

“When’s the big day?”

“Not sure yet. New Year’s is too soon. Maybe April.
We had our first date on April Fools’ Day. That would make a proper
anniversary.”

THE NORTH SHORE

AS WEDDINGS GO IT WAS LOVELY. The ceremony was held
at six in the evening in a quaint Episcopal Church on Sheridan
Road. The place was packed—mostly with Duncan’s family and
friends.

The Other Armingtons, who live in Wilmette and who
we fondly refer to as the “OAs,” represented our side. Dad’s
brother, Aiden, and his wife, Sallie, have three kids. Alan and
Ardythe, who live in the Chicago area, came with their spouses.
Arlene, the only cousin I really like because she isn’t the
prettiest one in her family either, was absent.

No one but our immediate family made it from
Lampasas. Mother was furious until Dad quietly pointed out that it
was the day after Christmas.

Angela was radiant in pale pink, with a fingertip
veil falling from a crown of pale-pink roses. I wore a deeper shade
of that color and carried a smaller bouquet of the same.

And now we are in Lake Bluff at a small but elegant
club perched at the edge of a high bluff above Lake Michigan.

It’s only seven thirty, but it seems like we’ve been
standing in the receiving line for an eternity. I’m next to
Duncan’s father, who is best man. He’s very nice. Even made some
comment about how he and his wife hoped I would be the one. That
was embarrassing.

The line is still snaking out the double doors into
the entry hall. I lean out a little further hoping to see someone
familiar. Someone who said he’d try like hell to make it.

To my amazement, dinner is served very close to the
appointed time. Duncan’s mother runs a tight ship.

My parents, the Other Armingtons and I are seated at
a table for ten, but since we are only nine Mrs. Bruce has supplied
a very attractive cardiac resident working with her husband at the
local hospital.

He’s single. Knows how to make small talk. Properly
interesting and moderately interested. Still, I find myself looking
toward the open double doors every five minutes or so. I must be so
obvious that he asks if I’m expecting someone.

I smile. “Not really.”

He smiles back. “I’m glad.”

And the dinner goes on and on. Toasts. Duncan’s is
so sweet. More toasts. Welcome to the family. More wine. More
champagne.

And finally the cake. The garter. The bouquet Angela
tries to toss my way but someone else snatches it in midair.

Seconds later Angela grabs my arm. “You have to help
me change. It’s time to get out of here.”

She looks so radiant I could scream. The little
green gremlin from my childhood returns, but only for an instant. I
put my arms around her. “You look wonderful. I know you two will be
happy.” “We will.” She gives me a steady look. “And you will be
too. I’m sure about that.”

I turn away, not wanting her to see my beginning
tears. “Someday. Maybe.”

A knock at the door saves the moment, and Angela
rushes to open it. It’s Duncan, tapping at his watch. “How much
longer? They’re waiting to pelt us with the birdseed.”

I had forgotten about his obsession with being on
time. Poor Angela.

I pull the heavy coat over my shoulders and follow
the bride and groom out to the central hall.

Angela plants a kiss on my cheek; then Duncan drags
her into the cheering crowd.

I turn and walk to the back of the room to look out
over Lake Michigan. From there you can see the lights of Chicago to
the south.

In the background there are cheers and the sound of
wheels screeching away. Then the beginning goodbyes. It’s time to
go.

Not yet. Not yet.

I shiver and grab my coat around me, then feel his
warmth before Bill’s arms reach around me and pull me into him.
“I’m a little late. Sorry about that.”

I turn into his embrace. “You made it. That’s all
that matters.”

I’m most grateful to Ellen Reid, who together with
Dotti Albertine, Laren Bright and Brookes Nohlgren, brought this
second book to life.

LOUISE GAYLORD is the award-winning author of
Anacacho,
first in the Allie Armington Mystery series, and
the novel
Julia Fairchild.
A world traveler and opera buff,
Louise divides her time between Houston, Texas; Santa Barbara,
California; and Old Forge, New York, in the Adirondacks. Louise is
currently at work on the third book in the Allie Armington Mystery
series.