Читать книгу The Police Chief's Lady - Jacqueline Diamond, Lori Copeland, Jacqueline Diamond - Страница 10

Shortly after six p.m., Ethan found the outdoor terrace already filled at the Café Montreal, Gwen Martin’s establishment at the south end of The Green. Once in a while, he stopped in for lunch or dinner, as much to keep his ear to the ground as for the exceptional food. He preferred to dine with his mother and Nick, but tonight they were attending a kids’ birthday party.

On this warm June evening, customers sat enjoying their meals as colored globes glowed in the twilight. Ethan identified the scents of garlic, sausages and orange crepes, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. He paused briefly to exchange greetings with Archie and Olivia Rockwell before making his way inside.

A waitress showed him to a table near the glass-fronted pastry display. Although picking out a dessert was hard to resist, he ordered only his usual bowl of onion soup and a patty melt on rye.

Ethan had no idea what a real French café looked like, whether in Paris or Montreal, but he enjoyed the ambience created by Impressionist prints on the walls and striped awnings above the service counters. He also appreciated that between this cafe and Pepe’s Italian Diner, Downhome offered international cuisine in addition to the Southern fried chicken, hush puppies and grits available at the local coffee shop.

His fellow diners were a mix of workers, farmers and retired folks. The strangers sprinkled among them must be travelers passing through. The town didn’t attract tourists except the one weekend a month when Gwen organized a Farmers Market and Crafts Fair on The Green.

The owner, in a red-and-white checked apron, stopped by his table. Although she wore her steely gray-on-black hair in the usual bun, tendrils curling from the sides softened the contours of her face. “So what do you think of our lady doctor? I heard Nick went to see her.”

“She seems competent.” Ethan had been impressed by Jenni’s assurance and by the rapport she’d struck with Nick, whatever his other reservations about her. Despite his impulse to demand further treatment, he’d recognized that she was probably right to avoid antibiotics. “What’s the consensus?”

“The women love her. They say their husbands are suddenly deciding they need the physicals they’ve been putting off for years.”

“They’re not jealous?” he asked.

Gwen shook her head. “Any woman can tell Jenni’s not on the prowl.”

“I don’t see how.”

“She isn’t needy. Or greedy, either.” Gwen swung toward the pastry counter and addressed the young man behind it. “Box me up a dozen of those tarts, a couple of pounds of cookies and a lemon pie, would you, Jimmy?”

“Sure thing,” he called back.

“What’s that for?” Ethan inquired.

“Potluck at Karen’s.”

“Oh, right.” He remembered Jenni mentioning it. Too bad he wasn’t invited. The food would be great, and always curious, he’d love to know the topics of conversation.

“Still think we made the wrong choice of physician?” Gwen challenged.

“Too soon to tell.”

“According to the grapevine, she paid you a visit Monday morning.” The café owner watched her employee box the desserts. “Must have been an interesting discussion.”

“Very.” He let it go at that. No point in feeding the gossip mill, which was obviously working overtime.

Gwen shook her head at him. “One of these days, Ethan Forrest, some woman is going to get under your skin. You’ll open that gorgeous mouth of yours and poetry will flow out.”

He raised his water glass in a toast. “I live for that day, chérie.”

She gave an exaggerated sigh. “If I weren’t old enough to be your mother, I’d take a stab at it myself.” Across the counter, she accepted a stack of pastry boxes. “Well, I’m off. I’ll give the ladies your regards.”

“Please do.”

His onion soup arrived, encrusted with melted cheese. Savoring the taste, Ethan let his thoughts wander back to that afternoon.

He wondered what Jenni had meant about her parents not being around much during her younger years. Perhaps they’d shuffled their child off to boarding schools.

Having worked summers and weekends since he was a teenager, Ethan found it hard to sympathize with a poor little rich kid, but he had to admit Jenni had turned out squarely grounded. She must have worked hard in medical school, and he assumed she put in long hours at her profession.

That she’d chosen to relocate to Downhome puzzled him. Even in light of the scandal in L.A., she must have had other options. Perhaps she’d decided to play at being a country doctor.

What had Mom been thinking when she offered to rent to Jenni? The last thing Nick needed was to grow attached to a short-term renter.

More people entered the restaurant, and Ethan forgot about Jenni as acquaintances stopped to say hello. One expressed concern about the portrait thefts. A couple of people asked if he’d heard the talk of a proposed new shopping center on the west side of Downhome. He had, of course. Rumors had swirled for months over the sale of several hundred acres in that area, but so far a proposal had not come before the city council. Ethan knew no more than anyone else.

He was digging into his patty melt when Barry Lowell slid into the chair across from him. “Mind if I join you?” The editor had picked up a Reuben sandwich at the take-out counter.

“Be my guest. Did your sister ban you from the premises tonight?”

“What? No.” He pulled the plastic lid from his soda cup and took a swallow. A few years younger than Ethan, Barry had thick brown hair that perpetually flopped on to his forehead, almost covering the scar he’d received in prison. Although he worked next door to the Snip ’N’ Curl, he rarely found time to pay it a visit. “I just finished putting the paper to bed.”

The Gazette, which came out on Tuesdays, was printed in Mill Valley. Ethan assumed Barry sent his pages over there electronically. “Competing with other media must be hard when you only publish once a week.”

“It’s not hard at all,” Barry said between bites. “You think CNN’s going to cover the disappearance of Pepe Otero’s family photo?”

“I suppose not.” Hearing a touch of bitterness in the editor’s voice, Ethan avoided making further comments about the national media and turned to the need for people to lock their doors until the wave of break-ins was solved.

Barry readily agreed. It was a far cry from the kind of journalism he longed to practice, though, Ethan knew.

By all accounts, Barry had been an ambitious teenager, editing the school paper and working part time for his parents’ Gazette. He’d made no secret of his plans to write for a major newspaper someday.

When he was seventeen, he was accused of killing a farmer during a prank. Based on the testimony of his best friend, Barry had been convicted of manslaughter, despite his claim that he’d only struck a glancing blow in self-defense.

Although Ethan’s family had moved away by then, he’d read the police reports since his return. The case was a tragedy all around, since it seemed obvious Barry hadn’t intended to harm anyone. Still, he must have struck harder than he realized, because the farmer died of his injuries.

In prison, Barry had taken college courses and, following his release, earned a journalism degree from the University of Tennessee. His murder conviction had ended his dreams of making it in the big league, however, and he’d eventually returned to Downhome to take over the Gazette from his parents.

“So you get to relax for the weekend?” Ethan asked, making conversation.

“No. I’ve got an advertising publication to put together.” Barry downed a handful of french fries before continuing. “And I’m working on a story of my own, kind of a long-term thing. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“I’ll be in my office for a few hours tomorrow,” Ethan said. “If you want to access records, though, you’ll need to wait till Monday, when Amy’s on duty.”

“No, no, I’d just like to show you what I’ve put together. I’d appreciate your opinion,” Barry explained.

“It’s a crime story?” This aroused Ethan’s interest. If the newspaper planned to run an exposé, he wanted advance notice. “I’d be glad to read it.”

Barry swept aside the remains of his meal. “Are you free tonight?”

It occurred to Ethan that his colleagues in Nashville would have found it odd to see a police chief eating dinner with a convicted murderer, and even odder to find him treating the man as a friend. But Barry Lowell had reclaimed his place in society, and besides, Ethan liked him.

“Sure. We can walk over to your office right now.”

“It’s not at the office. It’s at my house,” Barry said. “I was hoping you could stop in on your way home.”

Now, that was a tough one, Ethan thought ironically. He’d just been invited to the very place where Jenni, Karen et al were probably dissecting him and the town’s other single men.

Discretion urged him to schedule a visit some other time. But he’d like to get his outreach program started this summer, and if he had a chance to join the conversation, he might be able to enlist the support of the other ladies.

He supposed the tactic might irritate Jenni. On the other hand, she could hold her own, and Ethan was in the mood for a round of sparring.

“That would be fine,” he replied.

Barry crumpled his paper napkin. “Let’s go.”

THE LOWELLS’ TWO-STORY BRICK HOUSE on Heritage Avenue rang with lively voices and good fellowship. Jenni found it hard to believe she was the center of attention, accepted by the other women as if she belonged here.

She wasn’t accustomed to belonging. They almost seemed to have mistaken her for someone else—although she knew that wasn’t true.

Karen had set out her best patterned china on the cloth-covered dining table, along with a plate of deviled eggs and platters of cold cuts and sliced bread. She’d waved away Jenni’s offer to cook something, as well—a relief to Jenni, since her chief culinary skill was reheating pizza.

Jenni was surprised to discover that Karen’s women friends ranged in age from their thirties all the way up to 80, but in a town this small, she learned, people didn’t segregate along age lines—and the menu proved the big winner. Gwen Martin had brought incredible pastries from her café. Rosie O’Bannon, the forty-something owner of the beauty parlor, produced a multilayered taco dip with sour cream, guacamole and refried beans. She proudly offered it as a California recipe in Jenni’s honor.

Rosie’s niece, Leah, a first-grade teacher, was introduced as Karen’s best pal since childhood. She’d prepared not one but two dishes—a green bean casserole and a Jell-O mold. Leah radiated goodwill, appearing not the least threatened that her closest pal had acquired a new friend.

From the nursing home, Karen had fetched Mae Anne McRay, the liveliest octogenarian Jenni had ever met, who’d prepared a fruit salad. Despite being confined to a wheelchair due to osteoporosis, she served on the city council.

Two people were missing. Renée Lowell, Karen and Barry’s mother, whom Jenni had met previously, had stayed at the convalescent home because of a headache. A quadriplegic since a tractor hit her car years earlier, Renée had inspired Karen to apply her business administration training to running the convalescent center.

In addition, Amy Arroyo, the police chief’s notoriously absentminded secretary, hadn’t shown up by the time the women began taking their places around the table. Karen went into the kitchen to call her and returned a few minutes later.

“She forgot,” she reported.

“No surprise there,” Gwen responded.

“She said she’s taking a bubble bath and reading a book. Naturally, she didn’t remember to fix any food, either.” Karen shook her head indulgently. “I urged her to come anyway, but she declined. I think she was embarrassed.”

“She should be,” Mae Anne observed.

“I hope it’s a good book. Still I doubt it’s worth missing this feast,” Jenni said.

“Amy ought to pay more attention to real life,” the hostess replied. “I hope you aren’t offended.”

“Not at all,” Jenni responded. “I learned a long time ago that it’s healthier to forgive and forget.”

“Does that include Ethan Forrest?” Karen teased as she took a seat.

Across the table from Jenni, Leah let out a low whistle. “Getting a little personal, aren’t we?”

“He didn’t mean to attack her in front of the council!” cried Rosie, who, Jenni was learning, tended toward the dramatic. “Surely she doesn’t hold it against him.”

“Of course not. The woman isn’t blind.” Mae Anne helped herself to the Jell-O mold. She’d positioned her wheelchair at the foot of the table, where the food gravitated toward her. “He’s the best-looking single man in Downhome. How could anyone hold a grudge against Ethan?”

“He was at the café earlier.” Gwen tilted her head, apparently visualizing him. “It’s a darn shame he’s still carrying the torch for his late wife. That man’s too good to waste.”

“There are other desirable men around here,” Jenni protested. “Like your brother, Karen.”

“Not in his current state,” her hostess replied promptly. “He’s got too much to prove before he can even consider getting involved with anyone.”

She’d explained earlier about her brother’s murder conviction. Sharing a house with a killer had made Jenni uneasy at first, but Barry had reassured her with his openness and his intellectual curiosity about almost everything. She’d come to believe he really was innocent.

“Rosie’s son Mark is cute,” volunteered Gwen. “He’s a lieutenant at the police department.”

“Too young for me, even if he wasn’t my cousin,” Leah noted. “He’s only twenty-eight. I’m surprised he doesn’t have a girlfriend, though.”

“He went to the senior prom with Amy, but he doesn’t have a girlfriend now,” responded her aunt. “He’ll probably die a bachelor and I’ll never have grandchildren!”

“Aren’t there any other cute guys over thirty?” Jenni asked.

“Pepe Otero.” Rosie clapped her hand to her mouth. “I didn’t mean to say that! He likes Gwen.”

“He does not,” said the café owner. “Besides, he wouldn’t dare ask me out. It’s kind of a long story, Jenni. See, he gets food at a discount from Beau Johnson, who’s mad as a wet hen because I organize a once-a-month Farmers Market that he considers competition for his grocery store. Beau ups the prices anytime I walk in the door, so I buy my supplies out of town.”

Rosie nodded. “When she needs milk, I pick it up for her.”

Jenni wondered if they were joking. “You don’t mean the grocery store changes prices for different customers!”

“Just Pepe and me,” Gwen explained. Heads nodded. “Pepe gets a discount—because Beau figures his restaurant is my competition.”

“Well, if Pepe won’t ask out the woman of his dreams because he might have to pay more for milk, he’s a pretty poor prospect,” Jenni said.

“I agree,” Gwen volunteered. “A man ought to have the courage of his convictions. A woman, too. If I were young enough, I wouldn’t give up a chance at Ethan Forrest, even if it meant paying triple for everything.”

“Could we not talk about the chief?” Jenni asked, and then realized she’d probably revealed more than she meant to about the state of her thoughts.

Tactfully, no one pointed out that she wouldn’t mind if they were discussing, say, Beau Johnson’s romantic attributes. Or anyone else’s.

“Okay,” responded Karen. “Who has news to share?”

During the brief silence that followed, Gwen handed around a plate of cookies. At last Leah spoke. “I guess this is as good a time as any to make a confession.”

Karen paused with a gingersnap in one hand. “About a man?”

“No! About myself.” The teacher steepled her hands on the table. “I suppose I should have discussed it with you before, Karen, but I came to this decision on my own. I’m going to leave Downhome.”

A flurry of shocked responses filled the air. “Why?” and “Since when?” and “Where would you go?”

Jenni listened with a trace of envy. She couldn’t help recalling that no one at the hospital in L.A. had seemed distressed upon hearing of her impending departure.

“I’m not sure where,” Leah explained. “Next month, I’m going to visit my cousin in Austin, Texas, and then an old friend in Seattle to apply for teaching jobs. It could take a while to land one, so my departure isn’t imminent.”

“What brought this on?” Karen looked the most stunned of anyone.

Leah gazed around the table. “Certainly not a desire to leave my old friends. Still, except for college, I’ve lived my whole life in Downhome. If I don’t leave, I’ll grow old here without ever having an adventure. I guess that sounds kind of naive, but it’s what I want. And I’d like to have children, too.”

“I can relate to that,” Karen admitted. She and Leah were both thirty-two, a year younger than Jenni.

She understood their feelings. Sometimes when she held a baby or examined a child, she was overcome by a longing to have one of her own. However, her parents had set such a poor example that she wasn’t sure how well she would handle motherhood. She might risk it if she met the perfect guy, but how likely was that?

“You were always such a shy child,” Rosie said. “Then you turned from a duckling into a swan in high school and scared off the guys.”

“Is that what happened?” Leah asked ruefully. “They sure steered clear of me. It was painful.”

“Is finding Mr. Right part of your plan?” Karen asked.

“Not really.” Her friend gave her an apologetic smile. “I want to do exciting things, get to know new places, do something wild. I can’t act that way here. A guy—well, he might hold me back. I’ve been thinking about adopting a baby from a foreign orphanage.”

“I had a brief spell of wanting kids when I was in my thirties, but I got over it,” said Gwen. She’d never married, Karen had mentioned.

“Congratulations, Leah,” Mae Anne said.

“Because I’m taking a risk?” the teacher inquired.

“No. Because you got our minds off Ethan Forrest for about five minutes.”

Chuckles sounded around the table, then broke off as, in the next room, the front doorknob turned. Jenni still hadn’t grown accustomed to the Lowells’ habit of leaving their house unlocked during waking hours.

Barry entered. Peering through the archway between dining and living rooms, Jenni was startled when she glimpsed his companion.

“Uh-oh,” Rosie muttered.

“Well, now, that just blows the whole thing, doesn’t it?” commented Mae Anne, sending them into gales of laughter.

In the living room, Ethan wore such an endearingly baffled expression at their mirth that Jenni almost sympathized with him. Then she remembered telling him that she’d planned to attend this party tonight. He’d accompanied Barry knowing full well she would be here.

She reminded herself not to make assumptions. Maybe he had business to conduct. Besides, the warmth with which some of the other women greeted him made her realize how much female attention he must attract wherever he went.

Determined not to reveal her mixed feelings, Jenni gave the men a lazy grin and stretched like a cat. “Hi, Barry. Good to see you, Chief.”

Ethan’s appreciative gaze made Jenni blushingly aware that the movement had drawn her knit top tightly across her breasts. Darn it, she’d been trying to act casual, she thought as she shifted to a more modest position.

“Good to see all of you,” Ethan said. “Carry on, ladies. We have a few things to discuss.”

With a nod, Barry headed for the stairs. “Want to take some food with you?” Karen offered.

“No, thanks.” As usual, her brother was in a hurry.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Ethan strolled to the table, his powerful build inside the tailored suit drawing more than a few pairs of admiring eyes. As he claimed a cookie, he graced them all with a knowing wink that brought a round of smiles. Then he followed Barry up the stairs, leaving behind the sophisticated scent that had plagued Jenni’s senses all week.

Nobody spoke until, upstairs, a door closed. “That man,” Gwen said at last, “has charisma.”

Jenni didn’t bother to argue.