He watched the lights above the elevator doors, avoiding eye contact.
“This wasn’t my idea,” she said, pleading.
Finally, he looked at her. “What were you trying to do to me in there?”
“It’s for your own good.”
“My own good? This I gotta hear.”
“It was my lawyer’s idea to accuse you of hiding your income, just to put you on the defensive. I wouldn’t let him use that ploy at a real deposition or in the courtroom, anyplace where it could embarrass you. But today was just a settlement conference. It’s just posturing.”
“ Posturing? It’s an outright lie. How could you let him pull a stunt like that?”
“Because it’s time you woke up,” she said sharply. “For eight years I begged you to get your career in order and earn the kind of money we deserved. You could have been a top-flight surgeon at any hospital you wanted, right here in Denver. You just gave it all up.”
“I didn’t give it all up. I’m still a doctor.”
“You’re a waste of talent, that’s what you are. It’s time you stopped playing Mother Teresa for all the poor sick folks in Piedmont Springs and started making some real money — for both of us.”
“You and your lawyer are going to make sure of that. Is that the plan?”
“If forcing you to write a hefty alimony check every month is the only way to blast you out of Piedmont Springs, then by God, I’m going to do it. You brought this on yourself. I didn’t work two jobs putting you through med school so that I could wake up every morning to the smell of cow manure blowing in from the fields. Piedmont Springs was not the future we talked about before we got married. I’ve waited long enough to get out of that hellhole.”
The elevator doors opened. Liz started out to the main lobby. Ryan stopped her.
“Is that what’s driving you, Liz? You just can’t wait to get out of Piedmont Springs?”
Her eyes turned cold. “No, Ryan. What’s driving me is that I’m sick and tired of waiting for you.”
He swallowed hard, tasting the bitterness as she quickly walked away.
12
Friday afternoon traffic was heavy as Amy reached Denver. She parked near the Civic Center about a mile from the coffee shop, then walked a block to the 16th Street Mall and caught the free shuttle. The bus ride was part of her plan to conceal her identity, to the extent possible. It was conceivable that Ryan’s father had sent the money to her without telling anyone, taking the name and address of Amy Parkens with him to the grave. She didn’t want Ryan to find out who she was simply by checking her license plate.
She was getting nervous about meeting Ryan face to face. She wished she had a friend in law enforcement who could run a criminal background check on the Duffys, make sure the money was clean. She didn’t. Snooping around was no way to get answers anyway. She had learned that from her marriage. Weeks of discreet, behind-the-scenes inquiries had brought only aggravation. The answer had come only after she’d invoked the direct approach and asked him point-blank, “Have you been screwing another woman?” No soft-pedaling it with the usual euphemisms — “seeing someone,” “having an affair,” or “cheating on me.” It had hurt to hear the truth. But at least she knew.
The direct approach. In a pinch, there was no substitute.
The shuttle bus dropped her at Larimer Square, a historic street that boasted authentic Western Victorian architecture. But for the determination of preservationists, it would have been bulldozed for yet another glass and steel skyscraper, like so many others that had sprouted in the days when Denver meant oil and the TV hit Dynasty. It had become Denver’s most charming shopping district, home to specialty shops, cafes, and summer concerts in brick courtyards.
On the corner was the Green Parrot, a coffee house with a bird sanctuary motif, having been converted from a century-old drugstore. A big brass chandelier hung from a thirty-foot coffered ceiling. The soda fountain was now a busy espresso bar. The floor was old Chicago brick. Flowering orchids adorned each of the decorative wrought-iron tables. Bubbling fountains and an abundance of green plants made coffee klatches feel like a day at the park. Huge wire cages towered above the tables, some fifteen feet high, each displaying colorful exotic birds.
Amy checked her reflection in the plate-glass window before entering. She had chosen her outfit carefully. Nothing too sexy. She didn’t want Ryan to infer that his old man had left a box full of money for his twenty-eight-year-old mistress. She wore a navy blue suit with a peach blouse, shoes with only a two-inch heel. No flashy jewelry, just faux pearls and
matching earrings. Sincere, but serious. She entered the double doors and stopped at the sign that said, “WAIT HERE TO BE SEATED.”
“Can I help you?” asked the hostess.
“Yes. I’m supposed to meet someone here at four. His name is Dr. Duffy.”
She checked her clipboard. “Yes, he’s here. He said he was expecting someone. Follow me, please.”
Amy gulped. He had actually come.
Most of the tables were filled, and the after-work crowd was beginning to file in for wine and locally brewed beers as well as coffee. The hostess directed her to the booth by the window. The man rose to greet her. He looked younger than she’d expected. More handsome, too. A good-looking doctor. Gram would be doing cartwheels.
“Dr. Duffy?” she said as she approached.
They shook hands. “Right. And you must be…”
She hesitated. No last name. “Call me Amy.”
“Okay, Amy.” He didn’t push for a surname.
“Have a seat.”
The waitress appeared as they slid into opposite sides of the booth. “Can I bring you something?” she asked.
“How about a decaf cappuccino?” said Amy.
“And for you, sir?”
Ryan paused. “I’ll just have coffee.”
“We have two hundred kinds.”
“Pick any you like. Surprise me.”
She rolled her eyes, jotted something on her pad, and left.
Amy took another look at Ryan. He really was handsome.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
She blushed, embarrassed that he’d caught her staring. “I’m sorry. I guess you just don’t look anything like the small-town country doctor I was expecting.”
“Well, I make it a point never to smoke my corncob pipe outside of Piedmont Springs.”
She nodded and smiled, as if she’d deserved that. “Anyway, thanks for coming, Doctor.”
“Call me Ryan. And you don’t have to thank me. I’m pretty eager to find out what this gift is you’re talking about.”
“Then I’ll just get right down to it. Like I said, I got a package a couple of weeks ago. When I tore away the brown paper wrapping, I found a box for a Crock-Pot. No return address, no card inside. I checked the serial number with the manufacturer and found out the warranty was registered in the name of Jeanette Duffy.”
“That’s my mom’s name.”
“Does she own a Crock-Pot?”
Ryan chuckled, thinking of the mounds of corned beef at the gathering at their house after the funeral. “You bet she does.”
“A Gemco Crock-Pot, by any chance?”
“As a matter of fact, it is. I was with my dad when he bought it for her.”
It was the added confirmation she needed. “Good. Anyway, I opened the box.”
“I assume there wasn’t a Crock-Pot inside.”
“No.” Her expression turned more serious.
“There was money it. A thousand dollars.” Amy watched his face carefully. She felt duplicitous, but it wasn’t entirely a lie. It did contain a thousand dollars. She just didn’t tell him that it also contained 199,000 more. Not yet, anyway.
“A thousand dollars, huh?”
“I don’t know if it was your mom or your dad who sent it. Either way, with your dad just passing away, I didn’t want to bother or upset your mom. That’s why I called you. Honestly, I’m not sure what to do.”
“Keep it.”
She was taken aback by the quick response. “No questions asked?”