Through the rest of February and into March, Jeff had experienced a growing sense of disbelief. Could she really forget about him so easily? Was that how she regarded their friendship-if he called or was there in person, fine; otherwise, she didn't give him a thought? It was a shocking conclusion, one that he refused to accept. Hadn't she told him she felt bad about not staying in touch with Mrs. Brewer, her long-time neighbor in Millville? Perhaps it was just Georgianne's way, a fact of no particular significance. Besides, she had more than enough to keep her busy. Her life was in a state of uncertainty. She had to decide about her job, her house, her whole future, and all of this coming in the aftermath of her husband's death and her daughter's going away to college.
By April, Jeff was actively planning how to get himself back into Georgianne's life. A telephone call. A long letter. A surprise visit. He considered these ideas among others, but nothing appealed to him. Points of access were limited. He blamed himself for the failure in February and he knew that a rerun would be disastrous beyond words.
It was around the middle of April when he began to think about Bonnie. He had met her only a couple of times, almost a year ago now, but whenever she came to mind it was as a potential ally. The girl had seemed to like him well enough, but beyond that superficial impression was the fact that she wanted to be a scientist. Jeff was a computer scientist. Bonnie would understand him and respect him for what he was and what he did. Her way of looking at things, he reasoned, could not be so very different from his. There had to be a meeting point, a common ground between them, and that in turn might provide the key to Georgians.
Knobs, the fellow who had sold Jeff the coke and the phony driver's license, was taking a short but mandatory sabbatical at a state facility. His soul mate, a petite Brazilian transsexual known as Creamy, was looking after the family business and had provided Jeff with the Jonathan Tate identification. The fee was higher this time, adjusted apparently to take account of the inflation rate in Brazil. Jeff paid, but he shook his head all the way back to Santa Susana, wondering why he had bothered with this pointless charade. His meeting with Bonnie would be friendly. There was no hostility or rivalry involved, as there had been with Sean. There would be no unpleasant confrontationover what? Either Bonnie could help him or she couldn't, that's all there was to it. But if he didn't need to cover his tracks, the urge to do so proved irresistible. It was as if he had to take that one little step away from himself before he could act. And to act was everything.
He spotted her that first afternoon. It was nearly half past two when Jeff looked up and recognized Bonnie. How easy it proves to be, he thought, suppressing a grin and turning his head down to the book. She clicked past, a glimpse of boots, black jeans, and a high fanny. Jeff trailed casually after her. Bonnie's hair had become a full, flowing mane. She went into the Science Center and took a seat in Lecture Hall C. Jeff thought about sitting a few rows behind her, but decided it was a bad idea. It would be a poor setting if she happened to recognize him there. He bought coffee instead and waited at one of the Cinzano tables down the hall, next to the Cabot Science Library. If Bonnie left the building the same way she had come in, she'd pass him again.
He was reluctant to approach her and introduce himself on campus. He was afraid she wouldn't be able to give him more than a few minutes before she had to hurry off to another class, a meeting with her adviser, or some other scheduled appointment. He wanted time alone with her, and he thought his best chance would come if he caught up with her out on the street. He waited and read. Apparently a one-megaton warhead could wipe out greater Waterbury. Ah, but there were at least two contradictions in that theory.
Bonnie reappeared an hour later. Jeff followed her outside. She was strolling now, rather than walking purposefully. He adjusted his sunglasses, lit a cigarette, and trudged slowly a safe distance behind. She passed Memorial Church, the Widener, came out on Quincy Street, then turned up Massachusetts Avenue toward the Square. At the newsstand, she bought Interview and Elie. Jeff was ready to intercept her if it looked like she was heading back to campus, but she crossed to Au Bon Pain, where she bought iced tea and sat at a table by herself. Jeff smiled. If he had stayed there, she would have come to him. But he didn't mind, he was pleased. It was still the first day, after all, and he'd wasted very little time. He kept his sunglasses on and sat down across the table from her.
"Hello, Bonnie."
She looked up, a blank expression on her face.
"I said: Hello, Bonnie."
Now she sat back and smiled.
"Hi, Jeff. What took you so long?"
CHAPTER TWENTY
The sunglasses didn't help. They might even be what Bonnie was smirking at, so Jeff took them off. She must have spotted him earlier, at the Science Center. He found it hard to believe, but why else would she look so unsurprised and act as if she had been expecting him?
"So you do recognize me?"
"Sure. Who else could you be?"
Jeff was trying to figure out the expression on Bonnie's face. A smile, a residual smirk, a look of curiosity and interest. It had something of the arrogance of youth about it too, as if she were thinking, I know this guy, I know what's going on here. Jeff didn't fear this, but he didn't like it either.
"I thought I would surprise you," he said, trying to smile sheepishly. "But you've surprised me instead. Did you know I was here?"
`l had no idea you were within a thousand miles of Cambridge, but I always thought we'd meet again sooner or later. Funny, isn't it? You don't look like you did last year, but I knew it was you the minute you sat down."
"Very sharp," Jeff conceded gracefully.
"Well, Mom has mentioned you from time to time, and I did think about you when I drew up my list."
"List?"
"Yeah, it must have been last October," Bonnie said, "after I'd been here long enough to get settled and know my way around. One night I sat down and made out a list of every person I knew, from family right down to the slightest, most casual acquaintance. Did you ever try to do that? It's scary how many people you know. Anyhow, you were on it, of course."
"What was the purpose?" Jeff tried to sound amused, as if he were listening to some odd college anecdote.
"I wanted to see if I could think of anyone who might have a reason for killing my father, and I thought a list would help. Most murder victims die at the hands of someone they already know."
"I've heard that," Jeff said. "What did you decide?"
A distant sadness appeared in Bonnie's eyes, but she blinked it away instantly. "Oh, I threw the list away a few days later. It didn't help, and I couldn't come up with any ideas that made sense ... and I had too much to do here. It's not healthy to let yourself be obsessed with death."
"But you must have discussed it with your mother."
"Just, you know, right after it happened, and with the police," Bonnie said. "After that, no. She wouldn't mention it, and I never wanted to bring up the subject. It's hard to talk about on the phone, and whenever I see Mom I don't want to ruin the good mood, you know?"
"Sure. It was terrible, what happened to your dad, but, as you said, you can't let it become an obsession. He'd want both of you to get on with your lives."
Bonnie nodded. "It had to be a case of mistaken identity. My father was the wrong person in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"I agree completely." A tightness that had been gathering in Jeffs chest began to ease somewhat. "So, what made you think we'd meet again?"