Past, Present and a Future (Going Back) Read online

“What was that?” Gil tilted his glass to finish his wine.

  “I got the feeling there’s something between Vince and Davis. The way Davis squinted at Vince when he filled him in on the reports I’ve made the last couple of days. As if he were thinking Vince had screwed up somehow.”

  “Yeah? Hmm. Interesting, but I hate to say it, Clare, that’s another hunch, just like the one about Jeff Withers.” He craned round to the stove behind him. “I think, from that heady fragrance, our dinner is almost ready. Want to bring the salad into the dining room?”

  “Of course.” Clare picked up the salad bowl from the kitchen table. “We could eat in here.”

  “Nah. We’ve spent too much time in the kitchen the last couple of days. Time for a change of scenery.” He led the way to the tiny dining area off the living room. A small round table was set with a linen cloth, plates, silverware and candles.

  “Nice!” she exclaimed. “I’m amazed you could put this together, considering the move.”

  “As you know, most of the stuff has been shipped off,” he said. “I had to dig into one of the boxes I plan to take back to the city with me.”

  “So you’re going to keep some things?”

  “The dishes and silverware were wedding gifts to my parents and my mother was always so proud of them, I couldn’t bring myself to give them away. The tablecloth, napkins and candles all came from the dollar store on my way home.”

  His slightly mischievous grin, as if he’d been caught in the act of something, made her laugh. The Gil Harper she’d been chatting with for the past hour while they prepared dinner had reminded Clare more of the adolescent Gil she’d dated.

  “I think it’s nice of you to keep something of your parents’,” she said. “I wouldn’t have suspected that you’d have such a sentimental side.” She placed the salad bowl on the table and took the chair that Gil had pulled out for her.

  “I’m actually a very sentimental person in many ways,” he said, lingering behind her chair. “Though I doubt that trait was much in evidence when I was a teenager. Here, I’ll take the plates back into the kitchen and serve the ragout and rice from there.”

  Clare sipped her wine while he came back and forth with plates of steaming food. “It smells delicious,” she said, bending over her plate. “You can cook for me anytime.”

  “I’m hoping there will be another time,” he said as he took his seat. Then raising his glass to hers, he added, “To that other time.”

  Clare knew the heat rising in her face wasn’t from her dinner. She’d made the remark innocently, the way people do when they murmur polite nothings at the table. And she suspected Gil had guessed that, from the twinkle in his eyes as he’d given his playful toast.

  She lowered her eyes to her dinner and began to eat. “This is wonderful,” she said. “Where did you learn to cook?”

  “Fending for myself at university. I never liked those instant macaroni meals a lot of students live on. Of course, I could ill afford to flavor my cooking with imported wine back then.”

  “Do you…uh, have a special person to cook for at home? In the city?” she impulsively asked.

  “Are you asking me if I’m in a relationship with someone?” He paused to smile. “If so, the answer is no, not at the moment. And you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Well, we’ve cleared the air about that. Now, ready for seconds or are you saving yourself for dessert?” He grinned.

  “Is the dessert worth sacrificing a second helping of ragout?”

  “Hmmm. Depends on how you feel about chocolate mousse cake. Though I have to add that I didn’t make it.”

  Clare groaned. “My problem is I want it all.”

  Gil stood up and reached for her empty plate. “You always had difficulty making decisions. Especially choosing ice cream. I remember all too well standing at the counter in Ernie’s variety waiting for you to choose a flavour.” He winked and carried their plates off to the kitchen.

  Clare knew she was blushing again. The memory he’d conjured was still in her mind’s eye when he returned with dessert and coffee. Clare decided it was time to steer the conversation away from the past and told him what she’d learned from Laura that morning.

  He carefully set his fork onto his plate. “That’s bizarre. My parents didn’t know Laura’s mother and father, except to say hello to them at church or on the street. As for the mayor—I don’t think Dad even voted for him, much less counted him as a friend.” He shook his head in disbelief.

  “If it’s any consolation, it was a riddle to Laura and me, too. Her father implied that if he hadn’t done as requested, Mayor MacRoberts would personally have called your father with the offer. And Mr. Dundas also said that he felt his own job was at stake.”

  “I’m certainly glad Dad didn’t have to know any of this. How would you feel finding out your job had nothing to do with your skills or abilities but because some person wanted someone else to do a favor?” He peered down at his dessert, momentarily forgotten.

  Clare couldn’t answer his rhetorical question but felt she had to say something. “Don’t you think it odd that my mother and your father had these puzzling events at roughly the same time that summer? Is there a connection?”

  His head shot up. “Like what? There is no common link is there, other than the timing?”

  “It seems too coincidental.”

  “I’m not making a connection at all, Clare. Your mother lost a job and my father gained one. But they were two very different jobs for different employers.”

  She had to agree on that point, but couldn’t shake the nagging sensation in the back of her mind that they were both missing something. But what?

  “Very strange,” he was muttering. “I found nothing at all in my father’s papers that hinted at any of this. I only recall what he told me himself, at the time. He didn’t understand any of it, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him from accepting a job.”

  “I wonder if we could track MacRoberts down and ask him about the job thing with your dad.”

  Gil shot her a look as if she’d just reported being abducted by aliens. “Even if we managed to do that,” he said slowly, implying that was unlikely, “I doubt he’d come right out and tell us. Why would he?”

  They’d reached a dead end, Clare realized. She pushed the last bite of dessert around her plate before giving up on it. “That was an incredible meal, Gil. Thank you very much. It was nice not to have to eat in a restaurant or to impose on Dave and Laura again.” She gazed out the window to the dark street. “I should go soon, but let me help you with the dishes first.”

  He protested, but she resolutely carried plates into the kitchen and began rinsing. “Unfortunately, the dishwasher went with some of the other appliances to Hartford,” Gil said as he joined her at the counter. “How about if you dry and I wash?”

  “Suits me. Got any towels?” She peered around her.

  “Hmm. I’ve kind of been letting them drip in the rack.” He cocked his head at her and smiled. “Guess you’re off the hook this time. But tell you what, to make my job more pleasant, how about sitting right there—” he pointed with his finger “—and talking to me while I work.”

  She didn’t mind at all, wanting to prolong the evening as much as possible. “Do you realize,” she began as he stacked dishes into the sink, “that this is the first time we’ve spent more than a few hours together doing something…well, I’m not sure what the word is that I’m looking for—”

  “Ordinary?”

  That was it, she thought. She watched his hands moving with deft assurance at his task and for a bright, painful second remembered those same hands and fingers exploring the unseen and untouched parts of her body. The furtive groping under blankets at his parents’ house while they watched television in the basement and the exhilarating discovery of her sexuality. Though Gil had been her first sexual partner her passion had not been restricted to his physical touch. She had once loved him.

 
; He turned abruptly from the dishwashing. “What’s the sigh about?”

  “Just thinking about what you said. Doing something ordinary for a change, instead of dwelling on all that happened years ago.”

  “Yeah,” he replied. “I’m glad we had this opportunity to be together again in the present, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do know and I’m glad, too, Gil. I wouldn’t have wanted to go back to my life in New York thinking that we…well, that we couldn’t be friends.”

  He placed a wineglass in the dish rack, then dried his hands on a paper towel from a roll above the sink. “Can we be friends, do you think?” he asked. He turned around from the counter, standing inches away from where she was sitting.

  “I hope so,” she said softly. She could swear her pounding heart echoed in the small kitchen.

  “Me, too.” His voice was low and husky. “Maybe we could even…you know…get together—as friends—when we get back home.”

  She smiled, not wanting to disillusion him. But part of her wondered if it would ever be possible to be just friends with Gil Harper. They hadn’t managed to do that as teenagers, she realized, recalling how quickly their dating had turned serious.

  “So tell me,” he murmured, “what’s missing in your life?”

  The question startled her. Searching for an answer, she was slow to respond when he was suddenly leaning over her, pulling her gently to her feet. His hands settled on her shoulders and he drew her closer. “If you could add anything to your life right now,” he whispered, his breath sweet with a hint of chocolate puffing lightly on her brow, “what would it be?”

  When she tilted her head, the tip of her nose nudged against the edge of his chin. He didn’t wait for an answer—not that she had one to give. His mouth came down on hers, his tongue running along the outline of her lips. Clare swayed into him, raising her arms up behind his neck, and held on as if letting go would be irrevocable. She felt his heart hammering against her own and when she opened her mouth to him, heard from far away a slight gasp.

  His hands—that touch rushing up from deep recesses of memory—forked through her hair then trailed along the nape of her neck, up and down to her jaw, circling from one side to the other and back, a feathery sweep of cheek, lips, eyes and ears. “Oh, Clare,” he groaned, his mouth at her lobe. “I remember this—your smooth skin, the hollow at the base of your throat, your soft hair.”

  His mouth moved from her ear down her neck to kiss that hollowed place and Clare shuddered, pressing closer. The hardness she felt against her groin ignited some long-buried spark and she heard someone moan—was it her?—as she closed her eyes, yielding completely to the sensation of Gil touching her and wanting her. When his hands slipped beneath her sweater and unclasped her bra, she gasped.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he moaned, lowering his face into the niche between her shoulder and neck. Her nipples hardened under his fingertips.

  Clare raised her arms up behind his neck, holding him tightly against her. She wanted his mouth on hers again, to soar back through time and make it all turn out so very different.

  But he pulled away, letting her sweater drop around her. Visibly trembling and breathing hard he sagged against the counter, his arms draping loosely over her shoulders. “I’m not sure this is such a good idea,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Maybe we should focus our energy on laying to rest the ghosts of our past and then…well…see what happens after.”

  Clare felt the tremors subside. She fought to regain a steady intake of breath, calming herself, and focused on the pulse drumming at the base of Gil’s throat, inches away. His neck was still flushed and as she stared at the tuft of dark hairs below that hollow, she remembered the first time she’d teasingly unbuttoned his shirt and skimmed her fingers through the nascent chest hair of his teenage body.

  She closed her eyes, feeling a stab of regret so acute she knew he’d see it if she didn’t hide it. Her most vivid sexual memories were linked with a seventeen-year-old youth. Now, she wanted to experience the man he’d become. But deep inside, she wondered if it was too late.

  “You’re right,” she whispered. She cleared her throat and quipped, “Besides, there’s only that narrow bed in your room left, isn’t there?”

  His laugh was husky and uncertain. “We didn’t seem to mind it when we were seventeen.”

  “But we were much narrower ourselves.”

  He gave her a smile that made her ache. “I’m glad that part of you hasn’t changed, Clare. The quick comeback. That resilience.”

  If he only knew how slack that resilience is at this very moment. She slipped free of his arms and moved a safer distance from him. “I should go,” she said, meaning it this time.

  He didn’t argue, but cast a look that she thought was almost mournful. “Shall we meet in the morning? Maybe discuss where we go from here?” he asked.

  She frowned, thinking at first that he was referring to what had just happened.

  He must have had the same thought for he swiftly clarified, “What our next step is going to be.”

  “Sure,” she said, disappointment breezing through her. “Laura has to take Dave to a doctor’s appointment and Tia will be at school. I offered to baby-sit Emma about ten.”

  “Maybe I could drop by there. I try to go for a run first thing every morning since I don’t have a bike here.”

  Clare nodded dully and proceeded to the hall to get her coat from the closet. Something he’d said nagged at her and as she pulled on her coat, the murky thought surfaced.

  “Remember when we went to see Stan Wolochuk? He had his bicycle in the hallway? We talked about how he used to ride it to school every day.”

  Gil seemed mystified for a second, but then he said, “Yeah. Why?”

  Clare stopped, one arm still outside her coat. “That day. The day Rina was killed. When I finished my work and went to hand it in, Wolochuk wasn’t in his office. Remember?” Her brain seemed to be operating in slow-motion as the sequence of events rolled in her mind.

  “Go on.” His eyes narrowed as he tried to follow her line of thought.

  Clare paused, visualizing the scene again. “The parking lot was half-empty when I left—most of the students and teachers had gone for the day. The bike rack was empty, too. In fact,” she stopped to catch her breath, “there were no bikes in it at all. Not even Stan Wolochuk’s.”

  Gil’s impassive shrug deflated some of the excitement coursing through her, but Clare didn’t drop her thought. “He always rode that bike, Gil. Every single day.”

  “So he left before you did.”

  “But his briefcase was still in his office. And he hadn’t locked up. I didn’t know where he went, but I assumed he was still on school property.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “What if he was the person I saw riding the bike across the field? The person you saw riding the bike on the ravine path, after you left Rina?”

  He wiped a hand across his face. “I don’t know, Clare. What reason would Wolochuk have had for riding after Rina?”

  “To tell her something? Maybe to do with the argument they had.”

  He chewed on his lower lip, considering her explanation, nodding his head for such a long moment Clare wanted to reach out and shake him. “Then maybe we ought to pay Stanley another visit after you finish baby-sitting tomorrow morning. What do you think?”

  “He has to be involved somehow, Gil. That’s the only way that Jason’s actions make any sense. The whole family seems to be afraid of me for some reason.” Clare eased her arm into her coat and buttoned it up.

  “Or afraid of your book.”

  The book. Of course. The poster vandalism and note were all about the book, rather than Clare herself. Except for the pushing. And perhaps that had occurred because she obviously wasn’t taking any of the messages to heart. She hadn’t left Twin Falls.

  “This could be a real lead,” she enthused.

  He smiled. “Spoken like a true inves
tigator.”

  She smiled back, her spirits reviving at the warmth in his face. “Thanks for dinner, Gil. It was wonderful.”

  “It was,” he murmured. “It was good to do something ordinary for a change.”

  Clare felt a catch in her throat. As if being in Gil’s presence could ever be ordinary. She opened the door and stepped out into the crisp autumn night.

  “Want me to follow you back to the hotel?” he suddenly asked.

  Startled, she turned around. “Why?”

  “After last night…”

  “I’m sure Vince Carelli has frightened Jason off for good.” At least, I hope so, she silently added. She was tempted to take Gil’s offer but after the kiss in the kitchen, would she be able to wave goodbye in the hotel parking lot? “I’ll be fine. Honest. And if you like, I can call you as soon as I’m in my room.”

  “Okay. Do that.”

  They stood a minute longer on the porch, their eyes unwilling to let go. “I’m glad tonight happened,” Clare whispered.

  “Me, too, Clare. Me, too.”

  She went down the sidewalk toward the Jetta parked at the curb. Gil stood in the doorway watching until she drove away. He was still there as she made a right at the first intersection. His parting words had been husky with emotion and she sensed that, had she wavered for an instant before climbing into the car, he might have dashed toward her. And she’d have gone back inside with him.

  The deserted loneliness of the hotel parking lot scarcely registered with Clare as she strode toward the hotel entrance. Once, just as she reached the corner, she craned back, almost expecting to see Jason looming out of the shadows. But the cheery lights of the reception area reassured her. The night clerk was in the inner office, his back to her, as she quickly crossed the lobby. The hotel was quiet midweek. Except for the occasional traveling salesman or other businessmen, few people came to Twin Falls that time of year.

  The elevator was already on the ground floor and Clare stepped inside, knowing that in a few seconds she’d be talking to Gil on the phone. Her heart rate picked up at the thought. As soon as it reached the third floor, she jumped off and briskly headed for her room at the end of the hall. She walked past the fire exit, recessed in a dark stairwell just feet away, and was about to insert her card key into its slot when a hand grasped hold of her shoulder.