He looked away. "Just that… it's hard to believe that all this has been going on in this calm, peaceful place. You think somebody actually murdered those two nuns?"
What did I think? To tell the truth, sitting here with Tom in the bright light of late afternoon, with a postcard-pretty view of St. T across the river, the idea seemed pretty farfetched. "The JP-Royce Townsend-ruled that Mother Hilaria died of a heart attack," I said. "And there won't be an autopsy report on Sister Perpetua until later in the week. As to murder-there's certainly no evidence."
"Well, I can't buy it," Tom said. "Nuns don't do those kinds of things."
"That just shows how much you know," I snapped. ' "You only have to be here a couple of hours to realize that there are all kinds of emotional currents and cross-currents eddying around this place, some of them pretty turbulent."
Tom pulled the nylon bag onto the ledge between us and unzipped it. "Well, there's certainly been plenty of turbulence since the merger," he said in a conciliatory tone. "The two groups don't have much in common."
"About as much as Austin and Dallas," I said. "Or San Francisco and L.A." I peered into the bag. "What's all this stuff?"
"Happy hour." He handed me two long-stemmed plastic wineglasses and went back to the bag. "I suppose you've heard that the Mother General wants to build a retreat center here. She thinks it would make money for the order."
"She's probably right." I set the glasses on a rocky outcropping and took the paper napkins he handed me. "I never knew that the Church was obliged to show a profit
to its principle stockholder, though. By the way, I met Sadie Marsh this morning."
"Sadie's something else." He pulled out a cold bottle of zinfandel and a corkscrew. With a deft motion, he extracted the cork and handed me the bottle. "You pour," he said, diving into the bag again. "There's cheese and crackers here somewhere, and some other stuff."
There was indeed cheese, a creamy Brie and a tangy blue, along with smoked salmon, chunks of raw celery. broccoli, crab-stuffed mushrooms, and buttery crackers- none of which came from the Carr corner grocery. I poured the wine and we touched rim to rim, our glances meeting and sliding away again.
"To old times," I said.
"To good friends," he amended. We ate and drank in companionable silence as the sun slipped lower behind us. I was feeling relaxed now, warmer, looser, happier. It could have been the wine, or the sun on my shoulders, or Tom's company. Whatever it was, it felt good.
Tom put what was left of our happy hour-a few crackers, some leftover dip, the empty zinfandel bottle-into the bag. "I'm curious," he said. "How did you and Sadie Marsh happen to get together?''
I chuckled. "She came over to size up Mother Winifred's hired gun."
' T wonder what she thought of you. More to the point, what did you think of her?"
"As you said: She's something else. If she gets her way, St. T's will grow garlic till kingdom come."
Tom shrugged. "That's what she wants, all right, but she doesn't have any leverage."
"Maybe more than you give her credit for," I said unguardedly, thinking about the deed restrictions.
"Oh, yeah?" Tom's look sharpened. "What kind of leverage could she have?"
I shouldn't have opened my big mouth. The old deed was Sadie's trump card, not mine, and she ought to decide
when to play it. Also, I was beginning to wonder about Tom's curiosity. But of course, where property and money are concerned, banks are always curious. And never neutral, I reminded myself. Tom would side with the player who controlled the dollars. He wouldn't have any choice.
I changed the subject. "Tell me about the Townsends," I said.
"Carl and Rena?"
"And the boys."
He shrugged. "You probably know the type-high rollers in a closed game. Carl's a loan shark who trades in favors. He'll do one for you and charge you three. Rena is a political power broker in county politics. The oldest boy, Royce, is a doctor-not the best in the world, actually. There have been several complaints at the local hospital, and I hear another doctor is opening a new practice next month. But Royce has also gotten himself elected justice of the peace, so he's in on almost everything that happens in his precinct, which includes the town of Carr. There's another son, Byron. He used to practice law. Now he's a county judge."
"That's a lot of power to be tied up in one family."
"It's not unusual in a rural area. It would probably be a good idea for you to stay clear of them." Before I could respond, his tone lightened and he circled my shoulders with his arm, pulling me against him. I knew I should pull away, but it felt familiar, comfortable. "So, old friend. What's your personal life like?"
"The shop keeps me pretty busy."
"Any boyfriends?"
Boyfriend? Not the word I'd used to describe my relationship with McQuaid. "One."
"Just one?" He looked down at me, his face inches away. "It's serious, then?"
"We've been dating for several years." Why was I so reluctant to talk about McQuaid? Maybe it was because he was part of my life back there, and I was here-here to get
away from there. "We've been living together since last May."
"Why aren't you married?" he asked bluntly.
Why? It's a question McQuaid asks from time to time, more often now that we're living together. Maybe it's because personal independence is a high priority with me, higher than family values. Maybe it's because I'm still learning who I am and what I want out of life. How many reasons do you need for not being married?
Tom dropped his arm and got to his feet. "Maybe you haven't found the right guy," he said. He grinned and held out a hand to help me up. "Or maybe you found him and let him get away, say, eight or nine years ago."
I couldn't help laughing. "Modest, aren't we? You haven't changed, either, you know. Still the same arrogant SOB."
He slung the bag over his left shoulder and hooked his right arm through mine. He glanced down at me, his eyes reminding me of past intimacies. "Are you happy, China?"
I thought of the long hours at the shop and the pressures of living with McQuaid and Brian. And of the quiet pleasure of being alone in Jeremiah with no demands to meet, no obligations to fulfill-once I had settled the business of the letters. "I don't know," I said. "That's part of why I'm here, I guess. To figure it out." We were walking slowly in the direction of the path and the downhill climb. "What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Are you happy?"
He laughed shortly. "Happy? Hell, no. There's too much up in the air. Dad's cancer, personal finances, things at the bank that need to be changed but can't as long as he's in the picture. My life has been on hold for the last couple of years."
Personal finances. I wondered what that was about. "Any girlfriends?"
"Since you?" He chuckled. "Come on, China. Who could possibly replace you?"
"Be serious," I said. "You haven't been twiddling your thumbs and hoping you and I would stumble across one another and fall wildly in love again."
He dropped my arm and took my hand instead. "I was married for a couple of years. A woman named Janie."
"Past tense?"
He nodded.
"What happened?"
"It didn't work."
"Why not?"
"Like us, sort of." He shrugged. "There was a lot of competition from our careers. Janie was-still is-a TV anchor woman for Channel 6, very sexy, very beautiful, very busy. After the flame died down, we didn't have a lot in common. Unfortunately, the divorce was messy."