“Just dinner.” Russ handed him the keys.
“Darn,” Clare said, under her breath.
“Be good.” Russ ushered her up the porticoed steps. “We may be out of town, but this place gets a lot of local business. I figure we still have a twenty-five percent chance of running into someone we know.”
“So, no footsie during dinner?”
He gave her a sideways look. “Let’s see how long the tablecloth is.”
It was very long, and very white, in a dining room with the understated elegance that came with years of service to old money. Clare could see other diners, silver gleaming, glasses raised, but the heavy carpets and the plush chairs seemed to absorb the sound of clinking and conversation before it could reach them.
She blanched when she saw the prices on the menu, then thought of her grandmother’s dictum, A lady never notices the cost of her dinner, and kept her eyes left. In deference to Russ’s budget and his nondrinking status, she skipped the wine list and had the waiter bring her a whisky neat before the meal, and a single glass of merlot to accompany her beef Wellington. Oh, and all right, a nice little aperitif after, but she didn’t order dessert, and only took two bites of Russ’s key lime pie.
They talked nonstop through dinner, about the volunteer fair at the church and firearms training at the department; about gun surrender programs and going green at work. She admitted she was still trying to find a way to talk Will Ellis into therapy, and he told her he was worried about Eric McCrea’s two unexplained absences the last two weeks.
The coffees came and went, and she started to think she must have been wrong, that he wasn’t going to pop the question that night, when the waiter returned with the bill tucked inside a leather folder and Russ asked, “What’s going on outside? I keep hearing music.”
“Private party. The two weekends around Labor Day are our busiest of the year.”
Russ looked up from where he was signing the charge slip. “Oh. Can we still get down to the landing?”
This is it, she thought. Is this it?
“You certainly can, sir. The terrace isn’t closed to the public.”
Russ looked at Clare. “Feel like a little walk? There’s a great view of the lake from the boat landing.”
“Absolutely.” She pushed her chair back, and the waiter nipped in to pull it out of her way. Russ stood at the same time, snagging her wrap and draping it over her shoulders. She hid a smile, thinking how much her grandmother would have loved his manners. Her highest praise for a man had been “His mother raised him right.”
The back of the resort-or front, she supposed, if one arrived by boat-consisted of wide wings with deep porches leading down to a terrace thronged with people drinking, dancing, and talking too loudly. A white tent had been set up on the side lawn, sheltering tables, and a four-piece band tucked between the porch steps and the flower beds played Motown classics. Russ took her hand, and they walked down to the flagstones, skirting the party.
“What’s going on?” Clare craned her neck, looking for a bride and groom. Someone shrieked, there was a flurry of movement, and a heavyset young man stumbled into their path. Russ caught him by his coat sleeves before he could fall on his face.
“Easy there, buddy.” Russ righted the man, who swayed for a moment like a potted plant teetering back to level.
“Whoa. Thanks. Guess I’m a li’l juiced.”
“Is this a wedding?” Clare asked, amused.
The young man shook his head, which set him to swaying again. “’Sa company party. BWI Opperman.” He smiled proudly. “Great year, with alla construction.”
She wasn’t looking at Russ, but she could feel him stiffen. Talk about spoiling the mood. She wasn’t any fan of the owner of the Algonquin Waters Resort, but Russ held a personal grudge against the man he felt had driven a wedge between himself and Linda. She hooked her arm in his. “Have a great time,” she told the genial drunk, steering Russ toward the lawn.
She dragged him the first few steps, and then he gave himself a shake. “God. Opperman.”
“Forget about him. He’s here, he’s a part of the landscape, there’s nothing you or I can do about it.” She looked up into his frowning face. “Weren’t you going to show me the boat landing?”
He made a noise. Pointed away from the terrace. They walked across the lawn, sloping gently toward the black waters of Lake George. “Why the hell did he relocate up here? What was wrong with Baltimore? Isn’t that where the business originated?”
“Easier to hide the bodies up here in the mountains.”
He stopped. “Not funny.”
She sighed. “I’m sorry.” She turned to face him again. “I’m guessing he’s relocated because there’s a large pool of affordable workers up here. The resorts are only the tail end of the business, remember. It’s primarily development and construction.”
“I know that. What I don’t know is why the hell he can’t go to Alabama for his cheap labor, like everyone else.”
She paused again. They were nearer to the water than to the terrace now. She could hear the lapping of the waves and the wind sighing through the leaves of the trees shading the paths leading down to the landing. Mellow lights picked out the texture of crushed rock and velvety lawn. The sweet and peppery scent of unseen carnations drifted up from stone planters. “Russ.”
“Yeah?”
“I think this is very romantic, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I suppose so.” He led her onto the landing, their shoes thunking and clacking on the wood. He stopped. Looked at her. “You do?”
“Yes, I do.” She smiled at him in an encouraging fashion. “I think this is just about the most romantic place I’ve seen in the entire North Country.”
He grinned at her. “This is your way of telling me I should keep my mind on the business at hand, isn’t it?”
“That’s not precisely how I would have stated it, but…”
“This isn’t a surprise to you, is it?”
She started to laugh. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”
“God.” He wiped his hand over his face. “Okay, let’s see if I can get this done without making a complete idiot of myself.”
“Please feel free. I don’t mind.”
“That’s good. Because half the time, just being with you reduces me to a state of idiocy.”
She couldn’t stop smiling. “What about the other half?”
He took her hands. “The other half of the time, it’s like being at the summit of one of the high peaks with a stiff wind blowing. Terrifying and exhilarating and everything in the world in a completely new perspective.”
Her smile fell away.
“You make me… not better than I am, but more of who I am. Which is better. Do you know what I mean?”
She nodded. She didn’t think she could speak if her life depended on it. He glanced down at the wooden deck with a dubious expression. One side of his mouth quirked up. “I hope you didn’t have your heart set on me getting down on one knee.”
She shook her head. He reached inside his coat pocket. Took out a small box. Pried the lid open. Even in the dim light from the lanterns, the ring sparked like white fire. “Marry me. Please.”
She tried to answer him, but all that came out was a whispery rattle as her lungs emptied. She took a deep breath. Tried again. “Yes.”
“You don’t need to tell me right away,” he said. “I mean, maybe you ought to think about it.”
“Yes,” she said more firmly.
“I am fifty-two. And I’m planning to stay in Millers Kill. I mean, I suppose I could move after I retire, but I’m committed to heading up the force as long as-”