In her prior will, written years ago, the childless woman had left all of her assets to nieces and nephews. The diary indicated a recent change of heart; the majority of the estate was to be distributed to charities. The nieces and nephews insisted the entry was fraudulent, written, perhaps, by their aunt’s attorney, who held a grudge against them. They were wrong; not about the grudge, but about the authenticity of the new will. They were not going to be happy about the small stipend they would each receive as a result.
Christie dictated her findings into a tape recorder to review them the following day, when she would finalize the report. Next she transcribed the shorthand notes from the Moreno interview.
It was close to five o’clock by the time she arrived at Cash’s office. She thought Paige, Cash’s receptionist, treated her rather coolly. Her heart lurched at a thought: Did the woman suspect that Christie and Cash were seeing each other? And before Christie had arrived on the scene, had Cash dated other women in the office? At the conclusion of the weekend, was it also the conclusion of the relationship? Monday: business as usual?
She glanced at the receptionist again. Head bent over the computer keyboard, the woman’s fingers flew across the keys. If asked, would she warn Christie not to take the boss seriously; that he simply enjoyed weekend interludes with good-looking women, present company included? Cash had told her that his staff left early on Fridays. Was he the reason they fled? Not fear of work interfering with the weekend, but to avoid being cornered into an affair that promised nothing more than a dead end?
She mentally shook herself: she was imagining innuendoes that did not exist.
Cash buzzed the receptionist and told her to send Christie in. She entered his office and it was obvious that he was coiled as tightly as a spring. She had the impression that something had gone awry between the time he had dropped her off at her apartment and this moment. She hoped it wasn’t personal discord, since she might be the target. On the other hand, she wouldn’t want Bobby Moreno on the receiving end of bad news, either.
“I know you hoped to have this earlier, but I had a project that couldn’t be delayed.” She placed the folder on his desk.
With a wave of his hand, he brushed away her apology. “I appreciate your coming at all. Especially since those notes weren’t your responsibility. I want to look them over before discussing the case with the detectives. Bobby’s mother arranged bail and he should be out of jail by now.” He picked up the folder and tapped it on his desk.
“I’m sorry I was abrupt on the phone, but I’ve been on the run since five a.m. My paralegals must have had a heavy weekend, judging by the quality of their work this morning. And a new client walked in off the street, messed up my appointment schedule. Typical Monday. Amazing how much trouble otherwise law-abiding people can get into over the weekend. Sometimes I wish I had gone into some other field.”
“I don’t believe that. Rumor is that Cash McCullough teethed on the scales of justice.”
“I need sympathy, not wisecracks.” He stood up and moved to her side. He touched her cheek and tipped her chin toward his face. It wasn’t business as usual, she thought fleetingly.
“You smell sweet,” he whispered. “You’re just the tonic for Monday-afternoon blues.”
He grabbed her in a bear hug that whooshed the air from her. She burrowed her face against his chest and shut her eyes. She welcomed the wave of sensation that rolled through her body. Just beyond the door a receptionist, paralegals, and an investigator were enmeshed in workaday roles. Yet here, in Cash’s arms, the rest of the world kept its distance.
He released her, and ran his fingertips along her cheek, pushing a slip of hair behind her ear. “I’d better let you go. If I hold you a minute longer, I might not be able to turn away, and I expect a client any minute.”
“I…have work, too…”
“Perhaps we can meet in Sausalito for dinner and a sail later on.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” He sounded wounded.
“Because I know that you are going to be tied up way past dinnertime.”
“You’re probably right. That was wishful thinking on my part.”
Later, in her apartment, Christie sat with Tosha on her lap and a cup of peppermint tea in her hand. She aimed the remote at the television and turned on the news.
She stroked Tosha’s soft fur absentmindedly while her thoughts turned to Cash. It had been heavenly to feel the strength of his arms around her. What could she expect from the relationship? A short-term romance? Or something deeper? There was chemistry between them, but that didn’t surprise her. She wanted more than raging hormones, however, she wanted stability. She wanted love.
No matter what she wanted, right now she needed to divert her thoughts away from Cash. She couldn’t sit there mooning over him like a besotted teenager.
Remembering the painting she’d bought in Sedona, she nudged Tosha from her lap. She eyed the protective wrappings. Although bolt cutters would have been handier, she ground through the thick cord with scissors, then tore the paper from the picture. She admired it for a few minutes before deciding where to hang it.
She removed an inexpensive framed poster from the dining-room wall and replaced it with the painting. Christie liked the artist’s style, the dramatic splashes of color. She could almost feel the energy of the red-tailed hawk soaring above the desert. It must be exciting to be able to paint with such fire, she thought. In high school, Christie’s art teacher had told her that she had talent, perhaps not enough talent to become a successful artist, but enough to succeed as an art teacher or gallery curator. Christie’s last bout with art had been during her sophomore year in college; she’d never touched a paintbrush after that. There had never been time.
Margo was right, a couple of weekend classes would probably put her back on track. It wouldn’t be difficult to enroll in a class through the San Francisco Recreation and Park department.
Later, at the conclusion of the ten o’clock news, Christie climbed into bed. She tucked the blanket around her shoulders and curled into a fetal position. Tosha bunched up into the backs of Christie’s knees. Closing her eyes did not stop her from thinking of Cash. Her thoughts were like a video set on fast-forward, racing through her mind.
The telephone rang and she lunged for it. Tosha let out a yowl and jumped off the bed. The telephone fell to the floor and bounced once. In the darkness, Christie did a long-arm reach, groping along the carpet until she located the phone. “Hello!”
“Christie? What happened? My ear is ringing.”
“I dropped the phone. Why are you calling so late?”
“I miss you.”
She wished that she could still the tremors that bristled along her body.
“I had looked forward to a sail together.”
“As I told you, I have a busy schedule tomorrow. I’ll have to be up earlier than usual, so I couldn’t stay out late tonight.”
“Couldn’t you have spared the time for just a little sail? I was all alone out there.”
“Oh, Cash.” She was becoming exasperated. “It would not have been a little sail, and it would have been a very late dinner.”