"Thank you."
"My pleasure," he said. "I imagine the district attorney has his eyes on this. He's a good man."
"Yes, he is," she said.
She followed him to the front door and locked up after him. A moment or so later, the phone rang. It was Will Dennis.
"Everything is quiet. I'm sure I just imagined that man behind me," she told him.
"Still, he had the nerve to come looking for you at the hospital. He's arrogant in his madness. You have your regular office hours tomorrow?"
"Yes, an easy day, just a nine to five. About what you proposed at the hospital earlier," she started to say.
"Let's not talk about that. I think it's a little more complicated now than I had anticipated."
"You mean that he came after me again?"
"Something like that. Just be a doctor," he told her.
"Why is it that suddenly sounds easy?" she quipped and he laughed. She put away the teacup and then went up to her bedroom. First, she decided to take a warm bath. Then, she would try to sleep. If a dozen or so medical files didn't parade through her brain, and if the events of the last few days didn't return in vivid replay, and if she didn't think about the spat she and Curt had in the hospital parking lot, she might actually get some.
A warm soak never felt as good as it does this moment, she thought after she lowered herself through the bubbles generated by her bath oils. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was almost asleep in the tub when she heard it, a distinct rap on her front door downstairs. She listened and then she heard it again and sat up quickly.
Should I ignore it or get out, put on a robe, and see who it was? Or, maybe I should just call for the sheriff's patrol. She was expecting no one. That was for sure.
She heard the door knocker again. There was no doubt about it. The sound reverberated through the house as if it could travel through the very foundation and frame. She made a quick decision to ignore it and to make that phone call to the sheriff's patrol.
Still dripping wet, she was at the phone in her bedroom. The dispatcher knew who she was immediately and assured her a car would be in her driveway in less than ten minutes. All the lights were off downstairs, but anyone could see her bedroom light was still on, she thought. She turned it off and, still wrapped in only a large bath towel, went to the front window and parted the curtain. She saw an automobile in the driveway. Unfortunately, out here, there were no street lights and she didn't have a light on the outside of the house. Still, as her eyes grew more accustomed to the shadows and the clouds parted a bit to permit more starlight, she realized it was Curt's car.
"Oh no," she muttered, realizing she had just contacted the police to investigate her own fiance. This was going to be hard to explain to him. Maybe it was time to tell him everything, she thought. He was right, after all. They should be sharing this problem.
She wiped herself as dry as she could as quickly as she could and put on her robe and soft leather slippers. Then she flipped on the lights in the hallway and hurried down the stairs, wondering why Curt hadn't continued to knock. His car was still there. She turned on lights as she moved toward the front door. As fast as she could, she unlatched it and opened it, realizing it was practically pushing itself open.
It was easy to understand why.
Curt's limp body was against it, falling in as she opened the door.
Paula Gilbert lingered in the parking lot. They had played the night's final set, and although the Inn would remain open another hour or so, they had all decided to leave. Jack and Tag got into their cars, complaining to her about the lousy money they were both making and wondering aloud if they shouldn't just chuck it all. It wasn't the first time, and like all the other times, she didn't put up any vigorous arguments. She wasn't going to stop singing and if they wanted to end the group, fine. She would easily find two other men, or maybe she would hook up with the Boggs Trio. They were always suggesting she should. What else would she do? She had no intention of ever becoming someone's secretary or take any of those boring nine-to-five jobs her friends had, even working for the post office.
All they talked about was their benefits, benefits. As far as Paula was concerned, they had traded their freedom and their chance to enjoy life for the security of medical insurance. Just don't get sick, she told them with a laugh. What are you going to do, work for retirement and hope that by the time you collect your pension, you'll still be healthy and young enough to enjoy life? Not me. I'm still having fun, like always.
They nodded and smirked, but in her heart she knew they were envious. They wished they could be as carefree and as independent as she was. No worries. Jack and Tag quit? So what?
"Don't let worrying about it all keep you up boys," she told them. They, too, shook their heads at her and left her. Good riddance, she thought. She looked around. She was disappointed. That handsome guy disappointed her. He was supposed to be out here, and they were supposed to go for a late-night drink in a place where people didn't have fertilizer on their shoes. So much for that, she thought, tossing off the expectation like a piece of gum that had lost its flavor.
She walked toward her own vehicle, a present from her brother, one of his leftovers. It was a beat-up Chevy Impala, but it still ran and he did take care of its maintenance for her. Just as she reached it, the handsome stranger came around from the rear of the car.
"Where the hell did you come from?" she asked, after gasping and stepping back. "I just about gave up on you."
"I was standing here in the shadows watching you say good night to your partners. I didn't want to intrude, and I wanted to be sure you didn't have other plans that included one or even both of them," he replied. She laughed.
"Hardly. It's enough I work with those stump jumpers."
"Stump jumpers?" he said laughing.
"Hillbillies, rednecks. Their idea of a good time is a game of darts over at the Old Mill."
"I see. Well, if you're not too tired," he continued.
"Tired? The night's just beginning for me," she said smiling.
"I'm happy to hear that. Can you leave your car here?" he followed.
"Sure," she said shrugging. "Who'd steal it?" He laughed and they started walking toward the front where the customers parked.
"I'm right over here," he said indicating they go to their right. She saw the black Lincoln Town Car, a late model, and smiled. It glittered in the illumination of the Inn's neon lights.
"Nice wheels," she said.
"I like a lot of steel around me," he said. "And soft leather seats."
"I won't turn that down either," she replied when he opened the door for her. When was the last time any man ever did that for her? she wondered and got in. He walked around and did the same.
"Here we go," he said starting the engine. "Hold on to your seat." She laughed.
"Where are we going?" she asked when he turned left instead of right, which would have taken them into Woodbourne and then onto Route 52, which she had described to him earlier in the Inn.
"I was told I shouldn't leave this area until I've seen that dam and lake where they store water for New York City. It's just a little ways," he said smiling at her, "and with the clouds parting and those stars tonight, it could be quite a beautiful site, don't you think?"
She smiled to herself. It wouldn't be the first time she had parked with a man up there, but she hadn't done it since she was in high school. That titillated her. Neck in a car? With the music playing? Maybe it wasn't as sophisticated an experience as she was anticipating, but this guy was like someone who had walked out of a soap opera and it all did make her feel like a teenager again. Afterward, they could go for that cocktail somewhere.