“No place, really. I was an army brat. We moved from town to town. I’ve been living in Arizona, but it’s too dry. I like the woods, the ocean.”
“There’s not much of that in Arizona.”
“No, there’s not. Anyway, I heard about the fair and thought I’d see if I could get a few orders.”
“How’s it going?”
“Good. One fellow who stopped by just opened an accounting office and he wants a desk, bookshelves, and some other stuff. That should keep me busy for a while. Now I just have to find somewhere to stay and a place to work.”
Ami hesitated. She didn’t know a thing about Morelli, but he seemed nice. She made a snap decision.
“You might be in luck. I have an apartment over my garage that I rent out, and my studio is in a barn behind the house. It has plenty of room for carpentry. There’s even a workshop and power tools. A student was renting but he had to leave school early because of an illness in the family, so the apartment is empty.”
“I have my own tools, but that does sound just right. Can I drive out after the fair shuts down and have a look?”
“Sure.”
“What’s the rent?”
She told him and Morelli smiled shyly. “I can make that.” He stepped out of Ami’s booth and looked over at his own. “Got to go. Looks like I have customers. I’d better sell something now that I have to pay rent.”
Ami laughed and waved. “See you around five.”
Morelli ducked out, and Ami wrapped her arms around herself. Finances had been tight since her tenant left. She could use the extra money. And it would be fun to have another artist around the place. Morelli seemed nice. She hoped it would work out.
Ami Vergano closed the screen door as quietly as she could and stood on the front porch watching Daniel Morelli teach her ten-year-old son how to throw a curveball. They were in the front yard under the aged oak tree that Ami called Methuselah. Morelli was squatting beside Ryan and gently adjusting his fingers on the seams of a badly scuffed hardball that, along with his mitt, was her son’s prize possession. Ryan’s brow wrinkled as he concentrated on getting the grip right, oblivious of the darkness that was descending at the end of a perfect spring day.
Morelli was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt advertising a local microbrew. When he stretched out his arm, his biceps, triceps, and forearm looked like coiled rope. For someone approaching fifty, Morelli was in good shape. Ami knew that he ran for miles in the morning because she’d seen him returning to his apartment lathered in sweat when she was leaving for work. Once she’d seen him with his shirt off and had been impressed by the etched perfection of his physique. She had also been surprised to see more than one long scar cutting across his back and stomach.
“That’s right,” Morelli said, and Ryan grinned with pride. Her son was an energetic, gawky towhead who played Little League with a passion and loved anything to do with baseball. Since moving into the apartment over her garage three weeks ago, Morelli had kept pretty much to himself, but he and Ryan had struck up a friendship when her son learned that her lodger had played shortstop in middle school. There was no man in Ami’s life, and Ryan gravitated toward any adult male who showed an interest in him. Ryan followed her tenant around like a puppy. Morelli didn’t seem to mind. He appeared to enjoy explaining woodcraft to Ryan as well as the proper way to turn a double play.
Ryan looked so serious that Ami couldn’t help smiling. She wished that she could freeze this tableau, but her duties as a mother forced her into the role of the Grinch.
“Time for bed,” Ami said as the sun edged below the horizon.
“Can’t I stay up a little longer?” Ryan begged.
Morelli stood up and tousled Ryan’s hair. “We’ll work on the curve tomorrow, little buddy. I promise.”
“But I’ve almost got it.”
“You do, but it’s too dark now and this old man is getting tired. So listen to your mother.”
“Okay,” Ryan said reluctantly as he trudged up the porch steps and into the house.
“Thanks for playing with Ryan,” Ami said. “If he gets to be too much for you, let me know.”
“He’s no trouble. He listens and tries real hard.”
“But he can be exhausting. I’m serious. I appreciate the time you spend with him but don’t feel bad about turning him down once in a while.”
“Don’t worry. He’s a good kid. I enjoy working with him.”
“Do you want a cup of coffee?” Ami asked. “I’m going to fix one as soon as I get Ryan tucked away.”
“That sounds good.”
“I’ve got some cake if you’re interested.”
“Coffee will be fine.”
“Take a seat, then, and I’ll be out as soon as I get Ryan settled.”
There were several wicker chairs on the porch. Morelli plopped into one and stretched his legs. The spring evening was balmy, and he closed his eyes. He was just shy of falling asleep when the screen door snapped open and Ami handed him a mug.
“Did I wake you?” she joked.
“I did almost nod off. It’s so nice tonight.”
“How’s the work coming?”
“I brought over the desk two days ago and Mr. DeWitt was real happy.”
“Good. Maybe he’ll get you some more orders.”
“He already has. The real estate agent in the office next door to his wants me to build a desk for his home office.”
“That’s great.”
They sat in silence for a while and sipped their coffee.
“This weather is perfect,” Ami said after a while.
“You can’t beat spring and summer in Oregon,” Morelli answered.
“It’s the winters that get me down, but once you get through December, January, and February the weather is fine.”
Ami had turned toward Morelli when she spoke and she saw his eyes start to close again. She laughed.
“Looks like Ryan did you in.”
Morelli grinned. “I am wiped. I put in a real full day.”
“Don’t stand on ceremony if you want to get to sleep.”
“No, I think I’ll sit a while more. I’m usually on my own and I’m enjoying the company.”
“Have you ever thought of staying in one place and opening a store? Your stuff is good. I bet you could build up a clientele pretty fast.”
“I’m a drifter, Ami. I get too restless.”
Ami thought Morelli sounded a little sad when he confessed his wanderlust. She imagined that it must be lonely always moving from place to place. Then she remembered that solitary men who liked its vast and empty expanses had built the west. Morelli was just a modern-day version of mountain men like Jim Bridger and Joe Meek. He even looked as she imagined they would have looked with his long hair and hard, lined face.
They talked for a while more before Ami told Morelli that she had to finish up some chores. Morelli thanked her for the coffee and walked across the lawn to his apartment. As Ami watched him she remembered something he’d said earlier when they were discussing the weather. He’d just told her that you couldn’t beat spring and summer in Oregon, but she was almost certain that the day they’d met, at the art fair, Morelli had told her that he’d never been in the state before.
CHAPTER TWO
WASHINGTON, D.C.-TWO MONTHS LATER
Vanessa Kohler hadn’t chosen to conduct the interview with Terri Warmouth at the Cruise On Inn because the thirty-six-year-old shipping clerk had claimed she’d been abducted from its parking lot. Vanessa had chosen the tavern because it had cheap scotch and she could smoke there without getting dirty looks from her politically correct colleagues.
Vanessa was a hard-drinking, rail-thin chain-smoker with snarled blond hair and pale blue eyes. The forty-nine-year-old reporter paid no attention to her looks and favored baggy jeans and bulky sweaters, unless she was on assignment. Tonight, she’d cleaned up a little and was wearing a black leather jacket over a T-shirt and tight jeans.
Vanessa looked at her watch. It was almost nine, and Warmouth had said she’d be at the tavern at eight-thirty. Vanessa decided to give her another scotch’s worth of time before heading home. Sam Cutler, her boyfriend, was out on an assignment at some rock concert anyway, and there was nothing on the tube. She could think of worse ways to spend her time than drinking in the ambience created by smoke, loud country music, and raucous pool players.