“That’s why it’s going to get more serious tomorrow. I want to talk to Paula Bedford in the morning. She’s been estranged from her father for years, and I want to see if she will tell us why, or offer some insight. I think she will talk to you more readily than to me. But understand this: once we do this, it may really be a little like going to war.”
“That settles it,” Livvy said. “I need fuel. I am eating this semi-warm pepperoni pizza. Despite having one too many already, I am scrounging through your beer supply for another cold one. My apologies, but I am requisitioning your couch, where I expect to have a supremely restful night. And I demand a toothbrush, even if it’s yours.”
Chris stood up again when she mentioned the semi-warm pizza and picked up her plate. She looked up at him in challenge.
“I have, unfortunately, no better alternatives to any of that,” Chris said, carrying the pizza back to the flashwarmer. “Although I might be able to find you your own toothbrush.”
Chris dried his hands in a ‘fresher after finishing cleaning up in the kitchenette, then walked back into the table, gripped the back of his chair and looked down at his guest. He had to give her credit – a lot of credit. She’d hung in there, absorbing not only the bare facts of the case but the processes that had allowed their accumulation. A pro all right.
“You should have had more pizza,” he said quietly.
“Mmmm. I’m good. It was good, though, thanks,” Livvy murmured, and turned her head from one side where she had laid it down on her crossed arms on the table to the other so that she could look up at him.
“Just very tired. Put the toothbrush where I can find it, please. I’ll wait for you to…”
Chris cocked his head to one side and grinned. His guest – his first guest in probably a decade – appeared to have fallen asleep between one word and the next. He scanned the apartment, letting his gaze linger for a moment on Louie, who was lying on his blanket near the door. His eyes were open. He gazed back at Chris and thumped his tail on the floor twice.
“I guess I made an impression,” Chris said.
Louie lifted his head for a few seconds, then laid it back down on his forepaws and closed his eyes.
“Everyone’s a critic. Maybe I can consider this a practice run,” Chris said softly, still looking at Louie. “At being a better host.”
Chp. 9 Force Concentration (Thursday)
Livvy woke up the next morning in Chris’ bed. She was draped thoughtfully in a sheet, but was wearing nothing but her extremely expensive French underwear. She had a vague memory from late last night of having fallen asleep somewhere and then being aware of Chris helping her to her feet.
“Come along Hutchins, time for bed.”
“What’s this? After only four beers?” she remembered asking.
“Five, and I do remember warning you to eat your pizza,” Chris had said.
“No, you told me to eat my pizza. You see, I listened. To everything,” she’d said a little blurrily, pausing in her struggle to get out of her clothes to tap her head. “Well, help me out here. I detest sleeping in my clothes, and I need to wear them again tomorrow. Did you find a toothbrush?”
She had no memory of Chris’ response to that, but here she was. She had known that they made beds that pulled down from walls, but had never experienced sleeping in one before, nor had she ever awakened to a view of a kitchen with an attractive man in it, using it. The whole situation was proving more disconcerting than she would have thought possible given her many years of experience, but she was willing to blame that on the beer.
She lay very still for a few moments, then raised her head to see Louie staring at her hopefully from the foot of the bed and to get a better view of Chris in the kitchen making breakfast with quiet efficiency. His couch was covered with a set of sheets as well. She felt a little guilty.
She decided she didn’t feel brave enough to face anyone, even Louie, until she brushed her teeth and hair so she wrapped herself in the sheet and toddled into the bathroom like an inept geisha. There she found the toothbrush she remembered, even more vaguely, from the night before, a clean towel, a brush, and her clothes, neatly hung up. Hanging over the clothes on the same hook was an armored vest of the type that was meant to fit under street clothing.
Fifteen minutes later, lavered, brushed, and combed she felt ready for breakfast. Louie met her just outside the bathroom door and escorted her to the table, then went back to the front door and stretched out on his side.
“Coffee?” Chris asked.
“Oh God yes, black. Please.”
She also saw scrambled eggs, toast, and orange juice.
“Still supplying some good fuel.” She cleared her throat.
“How’d you sleep?”
“Much better than you, I’ll bet. Thanks for… you know.”
“If you mean, Hutchins, ‘thank you for making me as comfortable as possible,’ I always hope I can say that even though I don’t get guests much, I haven’t forgotten how to treat them.” Chris arched his eyebrows and gave a small but wickedly attractive grin that totally dispelled any remaining constraint. “I’m old enough to be your grandfather, you know.”
Livvy choked and spit coffee all over the table. “Sorry. Laying it on way too thick,” she said, gasping and blotting it up with a napkin. “Chrono, McGregor, chrono only.”
When she had recovered enough, she said, “I’ve been thinking about everything you said last night, specifically about the records from the Greater Potomac Institute. I mean, so far, that’s all we have for evidence, isn’t it? If we put everything else together, it’s still only coincidence and conjecture, but if Bedford were to deny knowing Josephson… and then we came up with the records…” It took her a while to get it all out around mouthfuls of toast and scrambled eggs.
“At some point that may be useful as a challenge, but not much. I have copies of my copies, somewhere safe, but they’re still only copies, and it’s been a long time. Bedford can claim he forgot he ever met Josephson,” Chris said. “Right now, our priority is to figure out what he’s planning, which is how Paula might be able to help.”
Livvy finished her toast and carried her dirty dishes in to Chris’ tiny kitchen counter. “Are we going in to the office first?”
“Not this morning. We don’t have time, and the Chief might ask where we’re going.”
“And shouldn’t we… like, tell him?”
“Do you really feel like repeating everything that was said last night without first getting a better idea if I’ve misjudged the man? Because I don’t. I doubt if I’ve strung that many sentences together in the course of one evening in three decades.”
“You got me. Then this is it, isn’t it? The declaration of war.”
“I am still half convinced that our best play would be to have you out of town, where you can be a true back-up,” Chris said.
“In case you actually get killed, you mean? How reassuring. And I thought it was just concern for my safety that made you suggest it last night, when really you’re just being thorough.”
Chris rewarded her with one of his faint smiles. “The good news is, Paula Bedford lives in Manhattan, so we’re taking the High Speed up and back. While we’re on it, we should be safe.”
He looked at Louie. “Sorry Louie, no work for you today. You stay home.”
Later, when Chris had plenty of time to appreciate the ironies, he recognized one of life’s cruel little jokes. Once you said something, it was out there, and could never be taken back, no matter how wide of the mark it was.