Together Alone Page 8

  The man backed off. “No need to make threats.”

  “That isn’t a threat. It’s a promise. Now if you’ll excuse me, my daughter and I have places to go.” He shut the door in the man’s face, turned, and leaned against it for an angry minute. It was another minute before he realized that Julia was staring at him.

  He grinned. “How was that, toots? Impressed?” He pushed away from the door and scooped her off the floor. “Your old man knows the words, all right. He knows the tone of voice. He knows the look.” His voice fell. “’Course, it doesn’t work much on you, does it?”

  Julia continued to stare.

  “How about a smile?” He pushed at the corners of her mouth. “Just a little one? I mean, hell, we’re in this together, aren’t we?” He gave her a pleading look, then sighed. “Okay.” He looked around the room. “What’ll it be? The pink overalls? The red dress? We are going to impress Emily Arkin today. Right?”

  Emily was taking a mid-morning break, sitting in the middle of the floor drinking the last of her cold coffee, when Brian’s voice rose from the bottom of the stairs.

  “Hello?”

  “Up here!” She had been wondering when he would come by, or even if. It had occurred to her more than once during the long night just past, that he might have seen another place or changed his mind. She wondered now if he was coming to tell her that.

  She hoped he wasn’t. After the to-do with Doug and her own taking-the-bull-by-the-horns, she felt committed. Besides, she liked Brian. She liked the thought of his being close.

  His footfall told of his climb, moments before he filled the doorway with Julia in one arm and a bag in the other. “Morning,” he said.

  The first thing she noticed was that he had shaved. The second was that his eyes were as striking as she remembered them to be. The third was that Julia looked precious.

  Emily crossed the floor. “Hello, Julia. You look so pretty.” She took her from Brian and, in a private little voice, said, “I love your jeans. Did you pick them out yourself? And your sneakers. And the bow in your hair.” It was red and lopsided, but it matched her jersey. “Who put that bow there?”

  Julia regarded her with solemn eyes.

  “This is the second time you’ve done it,” Brian said. “She won’t let anyone else hold her. Screams every time I try.”

  Emily shrugged. “I love little ones. She must sense that.”

  “But she screams for me sometimes, too. Can’t she feel my love?”

  “Sure, but if you’re tired or tense or uncertain, she feels that, too.” She fingered Julia’s curls. “She may feel my experience. Or my desperation. It’s been too long since I’ve held a little one this size. It’s delicious. In another year or two, she’ll refuse to be held, so this time is really special.”

  Brian cleared his throat. “Not exactly the adjective I’d have chosen. I could use a little more self-sufficiency. I could use a little speech to tell me what she wants.”

  “Julia doesn’t talk yet?” Emily asked Julia. “I’ll bet she thinks all kinds of things, but just isn’t ready to share them. Is that right, Julia?” Julia rubbed an eye. “My daughter didn’t say much until she turned three.”

  “How did you survive?”

  “I knew what she wanted.”

  “How?”

  “I knew her. I knew what pleased her.”

  Brian sighed. “Maybe it’ll come, then. After I’ve been with her more. Want some coffee? I stopped at a great place.”

  “Nell’s. I recognize the bag. Half the town hits Nell’s at some point during the day.”

  “You, too?”

  “Very early this morning. But I’d love a refill.”

  Brian hunkered down by Emily’s empty cup and began unloading the contents of the bag.

  “Oooh,” Emily cooed to Julia. “I see something good. Is Julia hungry?”

  Julia had spotted what Emily had, and made a wanting sound. Emily set her down and watched her run to Brian, who put a donut hole in her hand.

  “Little ones for little people, big ones for big people.” He took several full-sized donuts from inside the bag.

  Emily sat cross-legged on the floor. “Buttercrunch. My favorite.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded. “This is a treat.”

  “It’s actually a bribe,” Brian said, sitting nearby. “I want this apartment.”

  She grinned. “It’s yours.”

  “How much?”

  “Five a month, utilities not included.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  She took a bite of the donut, feeling inordinately pleased. In addition to being a detective, he was a nice guy. “Are you still willing to help get it ready?”

  “You bet. It’s right down my alley. My dad was a carpenter. I spent summers working with him, before I joined the force.”

  “Your parents live in New York, then?”

  He shook his head. “Chicago, and it’s just my mom, now. My dad died a few years ago.” He uncapped a coffee and handed it over. “I went to school in New York and loved it, so I stayed on to work. After a while, I met Gayle. She was an architect with a career in the city. There was no way we were going to leave.” He rubbed an eyebrow. “Funny, how things work out.”

  “How long were you married?”

  He uncapped the second coffee and took a drink. “Ten years. We worked hard at it. We each had time-consuming careers. Could go for a week at a stretch doing nothing more than sharing a bed for a few hours a night.” He drew in a breath. “But I miss her. We had an interesting life. A grown-up life, compared to the one I lead now. My days have been consumed with interviewing babysitters, finding ‘Sesame Street’ on the tube, slicing bananas, and changing diapers.”

  “It gets better,” Emily said with a smile.

  “When?”

  “Soon. She’ll eat the banana whole.”

  “Swell.”

  “Any luck with babysitters?”

  “Hard to tell. I wasn’t kidding when I said you’re the only one who can hold her. Anyone else comes near, and she loses it. One woman in the center of town has potential.”

  “Janice Stolski.”

  His eyes lit. “Do you know her?”

  “She’s lovely. She limits the number of children she takes so that she can give personal care. Will she take Julia?”

  “She says so. But will Julia take her? That’s the question. I’ll give it a try tomorrow while I’m working here. It’d be dangerous to have Julia underfoot, and besides, I’d better give it a test run. I have to find the right person before I start work.”

  “What will you be doing with the department?”

  “Whatever needs to be done.”

  “What did you do in New York?”

  “Homicide. Not at first, though. I started in uniform. But I was good with people. I could get them to trust me, and when they trust you, they give you information you need. So I moved up.”

  “It’s your eyes,” she said. “They have a trust-me quality.” Other qualities, too, but she wasn’t elaborating. If she said they were compelling, or intriguing or sensual, he might take it the wrong way. “They’re hard to miss.”

  “That has a down side. I wore tinted contacts when I went undercover.” He was studying Julia. “It’s probably just as well I left. Contacts or no, someone on the street catches on after a while, and the next thing you know…” He pulled an imaginary trigger.

  Emily flinched.

  “Anyway,” he went on, “Grannick will be tamer.”

  “We have crime.”

  “But not like New York. Nothing’s like New York.” He helped himself to a donut.

  “There was a kidnapping in town several years back,” Emily offered. “A coed from the college. She was from a wealthy family in the Midwest.”

  “Was she ever found?”

  “Uh-huh. By two of our own doing fancy footwork, but not before one baby finger and two million dollars were exchanged.”

 
Brian grunted. “Motive?”

  “Revenge. An employee let go. Have you ever worked on a kidnapping?”

  “Yes. They’re tough. In most murders, the victim and the perpetrator know each other. That’s less true in kidnappings. The victims are often innocents.”

  “Children.”

  “Not always. But often. And then there’s the heartache of the parents.”

  Emily nodded. She turned to Julia, who was squatting between them. “Is that good, sweetheart? Oooops. That half got away. Here it is.” She secured the crumbly piece of donut in Julia’s little hand, and looked up to find Brian focused on the back wall. “Having second thoughts?”

  “Not on your life. This is the place. It’s homey even now.”

  “Needs lots of work.”

  “The work will be therapeutic—for me, at least. I apologize for rushing you into this. You may have had other things to do.”

  “No, the timing is actually fine. My daughter just left for college, and my husband travels a lot. I like keeping busy.”

  He smiled and popped his brows, hinting that this would keep her busy enough, then he raised his eyes to the vaulted ceiling. “Any chance of getting a paddle fan up there?”

  “It’s already on my list.”

  His eyes returned to the back wall. “How about a window there? A tall arched one, covering the space where those two small ones are and then some. It would make the room huge, open it up to the woods.”

  Emily pictured it instantly. But she hadn’t anticipated doing anything quite so grand. “Wouldn’t that involve structural work?”

  “Not really. I’ve done this kind of thing before. It isn’t hard. If you spring for the window, I’ll provide the labor for free.”

  She couldn’t argue with the offer. The window would remain long after Brian was gone. Labor was the expensive part.

  She remembered what Doug had said. “That sounds fair enough, but the rest isn’t. You’re giving two weeks of your time.”

  He looked puzzled.

  “What would you like in return?”

  “I’m getting the apartment in return.”

  Hah! Doug was wrong! “I’ll waive the first month’s rent,” she offered.

  “I’m not asking for that.”

  “I know, but it seems only right.”

  “Why? I volunteered to do this work. I’m looking forward to it.”

  The more noble he was, the more so she wanted to be, herself. “But you ought to get something for it.” She had an idea. “I could babysit.”

  “No,” he said quickly and, sheepish now, scratched the back of his head. “When I stopped at the station before, John warned me about that. He said his wife would divorce him if I used you that way.”

  “You’re not using me. I’m offering.”

  But his eyes said he wouldn’t be moved, and those eyes weren’t to be doubted.

  “Well,” she said, “I feel awkward about this. I’m getting something for nothing. It isn’t right.”

  “There is something.”

  “What?”

  “You could let me use your washer and dryer. I’ve had one hell of a hassle doing Julia’s wash at the motel. If I could just sneak into your basement once in a while.”

  Emily smiled. “I have a better idea.” She looked at the wall where the kitchen would be. “I’ll put a vertical set in that corner and close it in with louvered doors.”

  “Not necessary.”

  “But it’s right,” Emily said, pleased. “Doug wanted this to be an apartment, so it should be an apartment, and apartments nowadays have washers and dryers. At least, most do.” She paused. “Don’t they?” But her mind was made up. “I want it done.”

  “Yoo-hoo. Emily?”

  “I’m here, Myra,” she called. To Brian, she said, “Myra makes her rounds of the neighborhood every morning. No doubt she sees your car and wants to know who’s here.” She had a thought. “You’re not driving a cruiser are you? She panics when she sees cruisers.”

  “No cruiser. Just the Jeep.”

  “Well, hello again,” Myra sang in a way that suggested she knew very well who was there.

  Emily figured she had been sitting at her window when they arrived.

  Myra bent over. “It is Julia, isn’t it? Hello, Julia.” She straightened. “And her policeman father. But you’re out of uniform, officer.”

  Brian smiled. “I haven’t started working yet.”

  “He’s a detective,” Emily said. “He won’t be wearing a uniform.”

  “No uniform? Oh. But that is good. Less upsetting.” To Emily, in a confidential undertone, she murmured, “I haven’t said anything to Frank yet. If there isn’t any uniform, he may never have to find out.” Her eyes flew to Brian. “Unless you put those bright lights on the top of your car.”

  “No bright lights,” Brian assured her. “Not coming down this street.”

  “Then why are you here, if not to come down this street?”

  “He’s here,” Emily said softly, “because there was an opening in our department just when he needed to get away from New York. His wife died recently. He wants a quiet place to raise Julia.”

  Myra clucked her tongue. “What a sad story. But don’t be fooled,” she told Brian. “Grannick isn’t so quiet. Things happen here, too.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  “Now, I knew that. See, Emily, I knew he was here to solve things. But who’s taking care of Julia while he does that?”

  “He’s arranging for day care in town.”

  “Well, that’s a silly thing to do.” To Brian, brightly, she said, “I can take care of Julia. I make the most lovely tea parties under my willow. Don’t I, Emily?”

  Emily touched her arm. “Julia needs to be with other children.”

  “Not if she’s sick. She can’t go out then. I don’t like the idea of day care. Frank doesn’t either. He says children should be at home.” Myra turned a stern look on Brian. “If Julia is sick, you come get me and I’ll stay with her. Do you promise you’ll do that? It’s the least I can do for you, after you’ve come all this way. I make wonderful lace cookies. And mittens. I’ve taken good care of Emily—haven’t I, Emily?”

  Emily put an arm around her shoulder and guided her toward the door. “Very good care. Did I tell you that we put the afghan you crocheted for Jill right on her bed at school?”

  “Did you really? How nice! I miss Jill. If I make her some cookies, can we send them to her?”

  “You make them, I’ll send them. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  Emily waited until she was down the stairs before turning apologetically to Brian. “She is a very sweet, very harmless lady, and she does make wonderful cookies.”

  Brian completed her thought. “But I shouldn’t let her babysit Julia.”

  Emily felt disloyal. Still, she shook her head. “She isn’t batty, exactly. She’s perfectly lucid when it comes to most things. Her family wants to put her into a nursing home, but that would kill her—and there isn’t any need. She is entirely capable of taking care of herself. Unfortunately, she lives with Frank.”

  “Is he a problem?”

  “Depends on how you see it. He’s been dead for six years.”

  “Oh.”

  “For whatever reasons, she can’t accept it. She cooks for him, sets a place for him at the table, refers to him in conversation.”

  “Were they married a very long time?”

  “Yes.”

  “And very close?”

  “I suppose.” Emily had never quite understood the appeal. “Frank was a difficult man. Not terribly social. He drank. I don’t know if he ever hit Myra, but he was verbally abusive. I heard it more than once. He held a power over her. She was terrified of him. Quite honestly, I thought that when he died she would be freed, but it’s like she can’t let go.”

  “Sad.”

  “Very.” She met his gaze. “But don’t let Myra scare you away. She’s a wonderful neigh
bor. She’s always looked out for Jill and me, brings us food, little gifts, in exchange for our sitting with her under the willow. That’s all she wants. She isn’t dangerous.”

  “I never thought she was. She won’t scare me away. I’m sold on this place, especially”—his mouth quirked endearingly—“if you let me put that window in.”

  The window was as done a deal as the lease itself. All that remained was to sign the papers.

  The paperwork was done by the end of the week, both for the lease and for the materials placed on rush order, and in the meantime Emily and Brian lent elbow grease to the apartment in anticipation of those soon-to-arrive goods. By Saturday afternoon, years of dirt had been wiped away, and every wall in the place stripped of paper, spackled, and sanded in preparation for the simple coat of white paint that Brian wanted. The electrician had installed the overhead fan, which immediately improved their working conditions, and had wired for increased lighting and for the washer/dryer that hadn’t originally been planned. The plumber had rendered the bathroom fully functional with the ease John had predicted. The telephone company had installed a line.

  Aside from the time she spent with Celeste, who emerged from surgery bandaged and bruised, and in dire need of encouragement, Emily spent her waking hours working in the apartment.

  Doug called from Philadelphia on Thursday night and didn’t spend long on the phone, but she was busy enough not to mind. She was also uneasy enough not to mind. I don’t know who you are sometimes, Doug. The words kept echoing, refusing to fade. On the telephone, he was a stranger, wrapped in his other world. When he got home, she told herself, he would be her husband again. They would talk then.

  Saturday morning, she took the chicken from the freezer in anticipation of an evening picnic by the pond. She took the pie from the refrigerator and set it on the counter to reach room temperature. She bought fresh corn from a farmstand on the edge of town, and Boston lettuce, radicchio, sliced black olives, pine nuts, and sprouts. She stopped at the record store for the new Streisand tape that Doug had been wanting. She chilled the bottle of champagne that her editor in New York had sent upon publication of her book and that she had squirreled away at the time. Champagne was festive. Doug didn’t have to know its source.