At 7:35 A.M. Amy was on her way to the office. Morning traffic was heavy on Arapahoe, but she was traveling on automatic pilot, deep in thought.
She had been up all night. The drive home from Coors Field had seemed like a blur. It wasn’t until 3:00 A.M., hours after she’d put Taylor to bed, that she’d even stopped shaking. She couldn’t talk about it, didn’t even tell Gram. Four different times throughout the night she’d picked up the telephone to call the police. Each time she’d hung up before she’d finished dialing, the words of her attacker echoing in her ear.
You ever talk to the police again, it’s your daughter who pays.
She wondered who the man was, if he had children of his own. Could one parent actually utter such words to another? Of course. That was how children grew up to be creeps like this. They were everywhere, she knew, people who could hurt children. No one had ever threatened her child, however, at least not directly. She remembered how horrified she’d felt when another pretty little girl had been murdered in Boulder. It had happened miles from their apartment when Taylor was just a baby. As a mother in the same city, she had felt threatened, even violated. This morning, she felt terrified.
But she had to do something.
She stopped at the traffic light. A restaurant marquee across the street advertised a Friday fish fry. Tomorrow was Friday — one week after her meeting with Ryan Duffy. The deadline was up. He was supposed to explain the money. Maybe he could explain who had jumped her in the parking lot.
And to think she had initially hoped to get to know him better. Fool.
She steered into the corner filling station and stopped at the pay phones by the vending machines. She checked her Filofax for the number and dialed it. On the fourth ring, she got an answering machine.
She thought before speaking. She wanted to get her point across, but she had to be vague in case a secretary or someone other than Ryan retrieved the message.
“Dr. Duffy,” she said in a businesslike tone. “It’s time for our follow-up appointment. Meet me at the Half-way Cafe in Denver. Tonight at eight o’clock. I’m sorry this can’t wait until tomorrow. It’s important.”
She hung up and drew a deep breath. Very important.
38
Amy arrived in Denver a few minutes early. Traffic out of Boulder wasn’t as bad as she had expected, and, unlike most days at the office, no one had snagged her on the way to the elevator with some end-of-the-day crisis.
The Half-way Cafe was a trendy downtown restaurant-bar off Larimer Square. It had started as a popular lunch spot for the office crowd, which explained the name. “Meet me at the Half-way” was a cutesy play on “meet me halfway,” a saying often heard in business. The owners, however, soon found that the “halfway” theme offered endless possibilities. Half-priced dinners. Half-priced drinks. It all contributed to a booming business. Amy had picked it for tonight’s meeting only because it was a well-known place, easy to find. In hindsight, she worried that Ryan might read something into her selection of the Half-way, like the makings of a deal — or a relationship.
Amy reached the restaurant at 7:50. She considered leaving her name with the hostess, but Ryan already knew what she looked like. He could find her easily enough. She walked past the lively restaurant section to the bar and took the last available booth in the back. She waited alone, surrounded by oxblood leather. The music was a little too upbeat for her mood. At the table beside her, a foursome was laughing over salty popcorn and draft pilsners from the microbrewery. Two other guys were making fools of themselves arguing over a game of electronic darts. Behind the century-old oak bar was a big-screen television. The baseball game was playing. Amy looked away, harrowed by the reminder of last night’s attack in the parking lot. She checked the blackboard menu without interest. She was suddenly too nervous to read, let alone eat.
The waitress arrived in less than half a minute — another hallmark of the Half-way Cafe. “Just one tonight?”
Amy started, then relaxed. “No, I’m waiting on someone.”
“Can I bring you something to drink in the meantime?”
“I’ll just have coffee, please.”
“Half-cup or full cup?”
She gave a funny look. “Full, of course.”
“One double coffee,” the waitress mumbled as she scribbled in her pad.
“No, not a double. Just one regular-size cup.”
“A double is one cup.”
“That’s confusing.”
“Not if you’re at the Half-way Cafe.”
“Ah,” said Amy. “So a half-cup would actually be a quarter-cup?”
“No. A half-cup would be a half-cup.”
“But you just said a double cup is a single cup.”
“No. A double coffee is a single cup. A double cup is two cups. A single coffee is a half-cup and-”
“I think I got it,” Amy interrupted. “Why don’t you just bring me the pot?”
“Half-pot or-”
“Never mind.”
Amy rolled her eyes discreetly as the waitress walked away. Should have called this place the Half- brain Cafe.
“May I join you?”
Amy turned at the sound of his voice. It was Ryan.
“Please,” she said.
He slid into the booth and sat directly across from her, nearly banging his head on the low-hanging Tiffany-style lamp. Amy took a good look at him, studying his features more intently this time. If ever she were required to describe him, she wanted to do an ample job. A general “handsome” wouldn’t do.
Ryan caught her stare. “I feel like I’m in a police lineup,” he said, making light.
“Should you be?”
“Whoa. Not exactly picking up where we left off last week, are we?”
“Here we are…” The cheery waitress brought Amy her coffee, then glanced at Ryan. “Something for you, sir?”
Amy jumped in, averting another go-round with Half-Brain. “He’ll have what I’m having. Not half of what I’m having. Not double what I’m having. Exactly the same thing.”
“ Sor-ree.” The waitress backed away, then disappeared.
Ryan asked, “What was that all about?”
“My apologies,” she said with a hint of sarcasm. “I’ve had a pretty tough week. As I’m sure you’re aware.”
“I honestly don’t have any idea how your week was.”
“Do you expect me to believe that?”
“Yes.”
She watched his expression, searching for signs of deception. The fact that he had even shown up, she realized, said much about that. Why would he have even bothered to come if he’d known her apartment had been ransacked and the money stolen?
She tried another tack. “Your sister is definitely an interesting person.”
“My sister?”
“You two seem very different.”
“You… talked to my sister?”
She checked his eyes this time. He seemed genuinely unaware. “We talked while you were away on your business trip. At least your mother said it was a business trip.”
“You talked to my mother, too?”
“Just on the phone. I tricked her, actually. She didn’t know who I was.”
“So you met Sarah separately?”
“Yeah. I went down to see her. Don’t you Duffys talk to each other?”
“Evidently not.”
The waitress brought Ryan his coffee, gave Amy a half-smile, then disappeared.
Amy asked, “So, how was your so-called business trip?”
“Interesting.”
“What a word. Interesting. Sex is interesting. The Holocaust is interesting.” She glanced at the game on the television set. “Baseball is interesting. In fact, the walk back to your car after the game can be very interesting.”
“What in the world are you talking about now?”
She searched again. Either he really knew nothing, or he was an extremely talented actor. “Nothing,” she said. “I assume your business trip had something to do with our talk last Friday. Can you prove to me that the money came from a legitimate source?”
“Unfortunately, no.”