Part 5 (1/2)

”Calm down, Honorary Aunt. They're in Dylan's bas.e.m.e.nt. Kids have no nerve endings, they can sleep on concrete and love it. Now, what on earth happened to that Montoya person last night? She's the TV star, right, the gypsy?”

”She was.” I gulped some wine and gave her my tired little routine about not discussing the details.

”I get it,” she said. ”But you must be in shock. You want some company?”

”No, that's all right.... Actually, yes, I would like company. If you don't mind having dinner with Aaron Gold?”

”Aha, the cute reporter. Cute guys always welcome. Don't you want him all to yourself?”

”No,” I said. ”No, tonight I definitely do not want Aaron all to myself.”

Chapter Eight.

DINNER STARTED OUT AWKWARD AS h.e.l.l. STANDING IN MY living room, faced with a trio instead of a duet, Aaron masked his surprise with a bland and off-putting courtesy that was worthy of Zorro, and Lily responded in kind. The two of them had heard plenty about each other from me, so I knew there was some sizing up going on as they shook hands and commented on the weather. living room, faced with a trio instead of a duet, Aaron masked his surprise with a bland and off-putting courtesy that was worthy of Zorro, and Lily responded in kind. The two of them had heard plenty about each other from me, so I knew there was some sizing up going on as they shook hands and commented on the weather.

Lily looked smas.h.i.+ng, in a royal-purple sweater and skirt that set off her statuesque figure and coffee-colored skin. Aaron was less rumpled than usual in yellow dress s.h.i.+rt and spiffy black leather jacket. I wore jade silk and an uncomfortable smile. Despite my second-and third and fifth- thoughts about Aaron, I really wanted these people to like each other.

My two companions did have one thing in common: both of them a.s.sumed I was upset by what I'd witnessed and persisted in treating me with kid-glove kindness. If Aaron was going to tackle me for an interview, it wouldn't be tonight.

”I made reservations at Toscana,” he said as we walked out to the parking lot. The rain was thinning again, to the sloping mist so typical of Seattle. ”I hope that suits you, Lily?”

”Sounds wonderful, Aaron,” she replied graciously, but then frowned at the sight of his vintage Volkswagen Bug, recently acquired third-hand from someone at the Sentinel. It was banana-yellow, with appropriate brown spots of rust. ”Umm, how about if I drive?”

I was just as glad-at least Lily's Volvo had some legroom-but that left the brave caballero scrunched in the backseat with her sons' toys and soccer gear. Hardly the way to start a romantic evening. Serves you right for conspiring with Eddie, I thought, but without much spirit. Then, as we drove to the University District making the smallest of small talk, I stopped thinking about Aaron and thought about whether I was truly as upset as he and Lily believed me to be.

Certainly I felt sad for Mercedes, and revolted by the horrible way that I'd found her. But as more time pa.s.sed, there was also plain old vulgar curiosity. Who, of all the masked revelers at the Aquarium last night, had gone home with blood on his hands? And did those same hands try to drown Corinne, or was she fantasizing? Was the killer's motive as deep and murky as Elliott Bay, or as simple and sharp as the glint off a diamond ring?

The Italian bistro Aaron had chosen was dim and intimate, perfect for lovers but a bit much for new acquaintances. We had our choice of tables on a Sunday evening, so we settled ourselves into a corner booth flanked by shelves of wine bottles and hanging plants. The waiter lit our candle, poured our Chianti, and left us. We reviewed the menu, then fell into an uneasy silence.

”So, Lily,” said Aaron after a moment. We both turned to him brightly, a couple of nice girls waiting for the boy to start the conversation. ”Carnegie tells me that you're African-American.”

Lily gaped, stared, and let out a whoop of laughter. Aaron stayed deadpan, but his eyes were sparkling.

”Yes,” she replied, once she got her breath back. ”Yes, I've been Black for quite some time now. And how about yourself? One of the Chosen People, are you?”

Aaron grinned. ”As Chosen as they come. Pa.s.s the wine.”

An hour later we were all full of penne puttanesca and the two of them were arguing about jazz.

”Chuck Mangione?” Aaron protested, flouris.h.i.+ng his fork. He'd shed his jacket and rolled back his cuffs. I vaguely recalled the musician's name, but mostly I was busy admiring Zorro's sword arm, which was very brown and strong-looking. ”Mangione is a sure cure for insomnia! You can't listen to his stuff and operate heavy machinery.”

”It is beautifully hypnotic,” Lily insisted. ”I used to fall asleep listening to him.”

”You weren't falling asleep, you were falling into a stupor. Mangione isn't fit to tie Coltrane's shoes.”

”Oh, not another 'Trane sn.o.b!”

”Bite your tongue,” Aaron shot back. ”Next thing you'll be telling me you listen to Yanni and Kenny G!”

Lily bridled. ”And what's wrong with Kenny G?”

”A lot of brides want Kenny G played at their weddings,” I chimed in. ”But only after the ceremony.”

They looked at me, puzzled. I think they'd forgotten I was there.

”Why after?” asked Lily.

”They don't believe in sax before marriage.”

They both chortled, and Lily threw her napkin at me, saying, ”Bad jokes from the woman who hates jazz.”

Aaron looked at me in horror. ”You hate jazz? Say it ain't so, Slim. Say it's only Sominex jazz like Mangione's.”

”It's true,” Lily insisted. ”Carnegie loathes everything except Dixieland. She's hopeless.”

I tried to take a dignified sip of wine, but my gla.s.s seemed to be empty again, so I put it down. ”Just because I don't like irritating music with no melody and no rhythm-”

”Philistine!” said Aaron. ”She's beautiful, but she's a philistine. What am I going to do with her?”

Lily snorted. ”I bet you could think of something, a Chosen guy like you.”

”I bet I could,” he said, doing Groucho Marx with his eyebrows.

”OK, time out,” I said. ”No more of this.”

”Well, then,” said Aaron, ”let's talk about murder.”

I could swear the candle flickered when he said the evil word, but maybe it was just the shadow that descended on our spirits. Then the flame rose again, and I got mad.

”Dammit, Aaron, I should have known-”

”Hey, it's no crime to be curious. Besides, I'm just wondering how you're doing, after what you've been through.”

A likely story. ”Aaron, this evening is off the record.”

”Of course it is.”

”I'm serious,” I told him. ”If I see one word in the Sentinel-”

”Look, if you think I'm so unscrupulous, how come-”

” 'Scuse me!” Lily, her diplomacy radar on full alert, made off for the ladies' room and left us to argue in private.

Aaron sat back, breathing hard, and folded his arms. ”Stretch, when I say something is off the record, it's off. You can bring along a chaperone if you want, but don't question my integrity, all right?”

”It's just that after seeing you there last night, it's hard to separate the person from the reporter.”