Part 17 (1/2)
”I don't think she expected you here.”
There was silence a moment. That's when CJ noticed he had one hand on a wine bottle that sat on the counter.
”Wine?” he asked.
”Sure.” She hoped she sounded nonchalant.
He retrieved another gla.s.s from the cabinet and filled both halfway. He handed her one.
”Cheers,” he said.
She smiled and sipped. Then she realized he hadn't asked why she was there. ”My decorators,” she suddenly said.
”What?”
”I'm having the house painted. Elinor said I could come here because of the paint smells. You know what that's like.”
”Sure,” he said, asking no more explanation. ”When is she coming back?”
CJ wished she could take out a bowl and some salad greens. It would give her something to do while she stumbled over the lie. But it was his kitchen, not hers, so she stood in one place and drank from her gla.s.s. ”Tomorrow.”
”That must be some crisis.”
She nodded. ”I guess.” She couldn't very well have said Elinor wouldn't be home until Friday. Let her sister deal with her husband on that.
”So,” Malcolm said. ”We're alone then?”
They'd known each other nearly thirty years. They'd shared, well, everything once. Almost everything. She still thought about him more than she should. And now she didn't know what to say. ”Janice was here earlier.”
”I know. She's back in Was.h.i.+ngton now. She's having a problem with her job. She tried talking to her mother, but you know how well they get along.”
Or, rather, don't get along, CJ thought. The same way E had often argued with Father, parent and child, too much alike.
”So that's why I came. To talk to Elinor about Janice.”
”Well,” CJ said, ”it's too bad you missed her.” She sipped her wine again, trying to avoid Malcolm's eyes. He looked tired. His hair had more gray than the last time she'd seen him; his shoulders were a little slumped.
”We could sit down,” he said.
”Or I could make a salad. You could turn on the news.” She supposed that sounded odd, but in the moment, it was the best she could do.
”Sure,” he replied. ”That would be good.”
He moved toward the dining area and clicked on the television. CJ opened the refrigerator and pulled out the drawer to the vegetable crisper. And soon they were like an old married couple, saved from conversation by CNN and romaine.
At another time, in another place, Elinor might have been flattered. She might even have been tempted to do G.o.d-only-knew-what. After all, the man was not unattractive.
Toying with her martini, Elinor tried to casually study him without being noticed.
He was tall with dark hair. From where she sat to where he sat, she could not tell if his eyes were dark or light. He was young-well, younger than she was. In his mid- to late thirties. A black tank top clung to his rippled abs and curved around well-sculpted arms.
Like Elinor, he was alone.
And he kept looking at her.
She turned her gaze back to the sidewalk, to the colorful paper lanterns that lined the street, to the thatched kiosks with the racks of coconut tchotchkes and bountiful beads and T-s.h.i.+rts in shades of tropical fruits. She had chosen to stay at the Cayman Cabana instead of a downtown or beachfront hotel for the same reason she had flown coach: no one would suspect Elinor Harding Young to mingle with the middlecla.s.s, straw-tote-bag set.
Tomorrow morning she'd get a cab. Even then, she wouldn't ask to be driven straight to the bank. She'd already studied the booklet of attractions that was displayed on the rattan table in her room. She'd decided to ask the driver to bring her to the shopping district in George Town. No one would question why a woman was alone if she wanted to shop.
The pineapple shrimp arrived and she said no to a second martini. As much as she would have enjoyed its glow, she could not trust herself while that man sat three tables away.
Picking at the shrimp, she wondered if she'd ever been this d.a.m.n scared in her life.
Maybe she should call Mac. Tell him what happened. Tell him the truth. Would he be her savior, or would he divorce her? After all these years of marriage, why didn't she know?
Because of CJ, of course. Because of the fire that Father had started between them, then he'd gone and died and left Elinor to deal with the ashes.
Maybe she should call Remy. Ask him what to do. But would he dismiss her as a hysterical woman, no longer worthy of his love?
Love? Ha ha.
”Excuse me.”
Elinor pulled her eyes from the sidewalk.
He was standing beside her, the muscle man from three tables over. He held a drink in each hand.
”I hate eating alone. Can I bribe you with a martini?”
She looked at the angle of his jawline, the thickness of his neck. She noticed his eyes were brown, liquid brown. His lips were just full enough to be quite inviting, his black jeans just tight enough to hint at stimulation of the very best kind.
Pus.h.i.+ng back her chair, Elinor stood up. She was close enough now to feel his heat. She plucked the gla.s.s from his hand, then set it on the table. ”You're welcome to sit here, but I'm afraid I can't join you. It's been a long day, and I must meet my husband.”
She picked up her bag and exited the restaurant, aware that she'd barely touched the pineapple shrimp and would be hungry by morning.
It might have seemed like a chicken thing to do, but Poppy didn't much care. She went downstairs, slipped past the study, and breezed through the kitchen on her way out the door.
”Tell my husband I've gone to the club and didn't want to interrupt him,” she said to Nola, who was emptying the dishwasher.
”Then you'll see him there. He went with his brother. He said you might be sleeping and I shouldn't disturb you.”
When she arrived in Momma's driveway, Poppy called Manny. She supposed she'd reach his voice mail, but she wanted to let him know she'd like to see him in the morning. That way she couldn't back out.
”Detective Valdes.”
It wasn't his voice mail but his voice.