"Are you sure?" Andrea asked.
Maggie was already out of her chair and guiding Andrea forcefully into it. She finished off her drink in two loud gulps, then took the umbrella and put it in her pocket. She waved at both of them. "Have fun, you two. I'll call you tomorrow, boss."
Stride nodded at her, smiling sarcastically. "Thanks, Mags."
Maggie gave him a broad wink while Andrea was settling into the chair next to Stride. Then, before she walked away, Maggie leaned over and whispered in his ear.
"She wants you, boss," Maggie said. "Don't blow it."
10
Andrea slipped her leather coat off her shoulders and draped it over the nearest stool. She was dressed to kill. Her black skirt strained to cover her thighs. Her legs were athletically curved and sleek under black stockings. She wore a pink satin blouse, which glinted under the casino lights. The top two buttons were undone, revealing a hint of bare skin that swelled as she breathed. Her makeup was impeccable and had obviously taken time to apply, from the pale gloss on her lips to the delicate streak of eyeliner above her long, light lashes. A thin gold chain graced her neck, and she wore sparkling sapphire earrings that accented her eyes.
It was a vampish look, full of invitation, but Stride realized that Andrea simply couldn't pull it off. She was uncomfortable. She tugged at her skirt, trying in vain to pull it farther over her legs. Her smile was shy and awkward, not at all confident. She played with her necklace, twisting it between her fingers, doing everything possible to avoid looking directly at him.
He realized she was nervous and didn't know what to say. Neither did he. It had been a long time since he had been on his own, dancing the delicate dance with the opposite sex. He tried to remember what it was like, but he had been with Cindy for so long that he couldn't remember anything that sounded clever. The last time he had dated was in high school, and he assumed that nothing he had said then would sound clever now.
Finally, the dealer coughed and gestured at the cards.
"Do you play?" Stride asked.
Andrea shook her head. "I'm afraid not."
"Do you prefer the slots?"
"Well, to be honest, I've never gambled," Andrea admitted. She turned and very briefly met his eyes. "Sometimes I'd come here or go to Black Bear with Robin, but I always watched him. I never played myself. This is my first real visit."
Stride saw the dealer sigh.
"Why did you come?" Stride asked.
Andrea nodded her head in the direction of the nearest row of slots. Stride turned and saw two women, pretending to play but obviously more interested in observing them at the blackjack table. The women were whispering and smiling. He recognized one as another teacher from the high school.
"My cheering section," Andrea explained. "They told me that it was Friday night, and as an eligible divorcee, I needed to strut my stuff in public. And I guess this is about as close as Duluth gets to a hot nightspot if you're over thirty."
"Well, I'm glad they did," Stride said.
"Yeah," Andrea said. "Yeah, I guess I am, too."
"Do you want to play?" Stride asked. "I'd be happy to help you lose some of your money."
Andrea shook her head. "The noise is giving me a headache."
"Would you like to go somewhere?" Stride asked. "I know a place by the water that serves the best margaritas in town."
"What about your partner?"
Stride smiled. "Mags can take a cab."
Stride glanced at his watch. It was almost one-thirty in the morning. They drove down into Canal Park; the parking lots of the bars and restaurants were still jammed with cars. He steered onto the street that led across the canal bridge.
"I don't recall any good bars on the Point," she said.
Stride glanced at her, embarrassed. "Well, actually, I'm the one who makes the best margaritas," he said. "And my place is on the water."
"Oh," Andrea said. He sensed her sudden hesitation.
"I'm sorry, I guess I should have explained. Look, I don't have any intentions here. You said you hated noise, and my porch is quiet, except for the waves. But we can go somewhere else."
Andrea glanced out the window. "No, it's okay. I'm with a cop, right? If you get fresh, I can always call-well, you." She laughed, comfortable again.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure. But those margaritas better be good."
He reached his house a few blocks after the bridge and pulled into the strip of sand that counted as a driveway. When they got out, the street was still and dark. Andrea studied Stride's tiny house and the jumble of skeletal bushes out front with a puzzled smile.
"I can't believe you live on the Point," she said.
"I can't imagine living anywhere else. Why?"
"It's so rough out here. The storms must be brutal."
"They are," he admitted.
"You must get buried in snow."
"Sometimes the drifts go up to the roof."
"Doesn't it scare you? I think I'd feel like the lake was going to swallow me up."
He leaned across the roof of the car and stared at her thoughtfully. "I know it sounds crazy, but sometimes I think the storms are my favorite part. They're the reason I'm here."
"I don't understand," Andrea said, confused. She shivered as a gust of wind blew past them.
"Let's go inside."
He put an arm around her to warm her as they walked toward the door. She let her body drift against his, and it felt good. He could feel her shoulder through the sleeve of her leather coat and feel her hair brush against his face. He let go long enough to fumble for his key. Andrea wrapped her arms around herself.
He let them inside. The hallway was dark and warm. He heard the ticking of the grandfather clock. They lingered silently together after Stride closed the door. He realized now that Andrea was wearing perfume, something soft, like rosewater. It was strange to catch the aroma of a different woman's perfume inside his house.
"What did you mean about the storms, Jon?"
Stride took her coat and hung it inside the closet. In her skimpy outfit, she was obviously still cold. He hung his own coat up and closed the closet door. He rested his back against it. Andrea was watching him, although they were both barely more than shadows in the hallway.
"It's like time hangs there suspended," Stride said finally. "Like I can get sucked inside the storm and see anything or anyone. There are times, I swear, I've heard my father. Once I thought I could see him."
"Your father?"
"He worked on one of the ore ships. He was washed off the deck in a December storm when I was fourteen."
Andrea shook her head. "I'm so sorry."
Stride nodded quietly. "You still look cold."
"I guess this was a stupid outfit, huh?"
"It's beautiful," Stride said. He felt an urge to take her in his arms and kiss her, but he resisted.
"That's sweet. But yes, I'm cold."
"You want a sweatshirt and jeans to put on? I'm afraid that's the height of fashion in this house."
"Oh, I'll be okay. It's warm inside."
Stride smiled. "But I was going to suggest we sit on the porch."
"The porch?"
"It's enclosed, and I've got a couple good space heaters."
"I'm going to freeze my ass off, Jon," Andrea said.
"That would be a shame, because it's a very cute ass."
Even in the darkness, he felt her blush.
They walked into the kitchen. Both of them blinked as Stride turned on the light. He realized to his dismay that the last three weeks of the investigation had left his house in chaos, particularly the sink, which was stacked with dishes. The dinette hadn't been cleared in at least two days. In addition to dirty glasses and plates crusted over with the remains of spaghetti, stacks of research notes littered the table.
"Nice," Andrea said, smiling.
"Yeah, I'm sorry about this. I'm not used to having my house visitor-friendly. Except for Maggie, who doesn't care. She lords it over me. I guess I should have thought of this before I asked you over here."