“I had almost forgotten about Christmas. It’s easy to do in this weather,” Marisa said. “What date is it?”
“December twenty-fifth.”
She shot him an exasperated glance.
“Three weeks away, Ebenezer,” he added.
“That explains the large decorated tree in the lobby of the hotel,” she said dryly.
“Don’t you spend Christmas with your family?” he asked. “I had pictured a greeting card scene, traditional New England holiday, snow falling and chestnuts roasting on the open fire, kiddies gathered ‘round the hearth...”
“Actually, there isn’t any family, not anymore. My grandfather raised me after my parents died and he passed away three years ago. He left his house to me.”
“So what do you do on holidays?”
“Oh, I have friends,” she said vaguely.
Once they were inside, the captain seated them immediately at a table overlooking the water. The tablecloths were pink linen, the glasses were crystal, and the silverware was heavy and plentiful.
“Have you been here before?” Marisa asked.
“A couple of times with Ben Brady.”
“This looks like Ben’s type of place. Did you dissect me along with the Salade Nicoise?” Marisa said archly.
Jack favored her with a secretive smile. “Actually Ben admires your ability very much.”
“I’m sure that’s not what he said.”
“He said that your legs give you an unfair advantage with male jurors,” Jack replied, grinning wickedly.
Marisa rolled her eyes. “That sounds like Ben.”
“Oh, Ben’s all right. He just resents his male preserve being invaded, especially by a woman who’s as good at his job as he is.”
“Better.”
Jack laughed.
Marisa stared down at her menu, frowning. “What do you recommend?” she asked.
“Coq au vin, coquilles Saint Jacques, trout almandine, flounder Provencale…” he recited.
“No chicken nuggets?” she asked.
“Afraid not.”
“That’s all I usually have time for when I’m working.”
“You’re not working now,” Jack said, holding her gaze across the table.
She nodded. “I’ll have the trout, with a salad.”
When the waiter arrived, Jack gave their order and the waiter asked if they wanted to see the wine list.
“Still not drinking?” Jack asked Marisa, with a sidelong glance.
“Don’t start.”
“Never mind,’‘ Jack said to the waiter. “Bring the lady a club soda with lime and me a beer.”
“Do they have beer in this place?” Marisa whispered after the man was gone.
“Imported beer.”
“Of course.”
“French beer.”
“Ça va.”
“Deux Magots, by name.”
“D’accord.”
They were both laughing when the waiter brought a “relish tray.” It was a highly polished silver salver with a pile of thin, almost transparent biscuits on one end. There were several depressions lined with cut glass dishes containing various unidentified substances on the other.
“Mademoiselle?” the waiter said, offering it.
Marisa pointed.
“Påté,” the waiter said.
Marisa looked at Jack. He shrugged. “Goose liver.”
Marisa pointed again.
“Escargot,” the waiter said.
“Snails,” Marisa said.
“Snails,” Jack agreed.
“And is this caviar?” Marisa asked, indicating another dish.
“Beluga,” the waiter said proudly.
Marisa waved the tray away. “That assortment was relish?” she said, when the waiter was gone. “You wouldn’t put it on hot dogs.”
“I thought you said your mother was French,” Jack said, chuckling, as he helped himself to a bread stick.
“French from Canada, the come-down-from- Quebec-to-work-in-the- Maine-woollen-mill type of French,” Marisa said. “Not this kind.”
“I see.”
“You hang out in places like this?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not really. I’ve been to them in New York, with book people sometimes, but not often. I was trying to make you feel comfortable.”
They stared at each other.
“Want to head out of here and grab a burger someplace?” he said, smiling.
“Good idea.”
He signaled the waiter, told the astonished man that they were going, and left a ten dollar bill for their drinks. When they were back outside in the neon moonlight, their eyes met and they chuckled conspiratorially.
“There’s a sandwich place down the street with sawdust on the floor,” Jack said.
“That sounds about right.”
“Do you want to walk?”
“Sure. But can the boat stay where it is?”
“It’s a shared marina, the dock serves all these businesses. Unless the maitre d’ runs out and sinks it for spite, it will be okay.”
“We’re a tad overdressed for sandwiches.”
“Let ‘em stare.” Jack offered his hand and Marisa took it. They walked out into the street.
“You’ve managed to get around since you’ve been in Florida,” Marisa commented.
“I always get around,” he replied.
“I guess your work takes you everywhere.”
“Pretty much.”
“Do you like that, traveling all the time?”
He looked over at her. “It has its advantages.”
“Meeting lots of people?”
“Meeting people like you.”
“Women, you mean?”
His gaze narrowed. “Is this a trap, counselor?”
“I just wanted to know, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“Something tells me that the experience you’re having with me is not uncommon for you.”
He stopped walking. “The experience I’m having with you?” he said coolly.
“Well, you know...” Marisa began, backpedaling.
“I haven’t had this ‘experience’ before, Marisa,” he said flatly.
“I put it badly.”
“I would say so.”
“I’m not very good at this,” she admitted.
“What?”
“Talking to men.”
“Tell that to Ben Brady. He still bears the scars.”
“You know what I mean. Talking to men in a social situation.”
“You’re all business, eh?” he said.
“Usually.”
“Well, Ms. Hancock, that is about to change.” They arrived at the luncheonette and he put his arm above her head to push the door open for them.
The room was filled with locals, who turned and stared at them blankly. Everyone was dressed casually and a haze of cigarette smoke hung in the air, which was heavily permeated with the yeasty smell of beer. Dead silence prevailed as they became the focus of all eyes. Marisa felt as if she were wearing a bridal gown at a funeral.
“So, I guess everybody knows we’re here,” Jack said in a low tone in Marisa’s ear.
“That’s my guess, too.”
A waitress approached, removing a pencil from behind her ear and examining them with interest. “Y’all comin’ from a party?” she asked.
“You might say that,” Jack replied.
“Dint they feed you theyah?”
“Not much.”
“Then ya come to the raght place. Fallah me.” They trailed in her wake to a back table which looked out over the water. A dilapidated dock sported a raft of fishing poles propped in place and a much abused rubber dinghy bobbing at anchor.
“Wonderful ambience,” Jack said to Marisa.
“Whut’s thayat?” the waitress inquired.
“Good food here,” Jack said.
“Ya got that raght,” she said. “Somethin’ ta drink?”
“Iced tea,” Marisa replied.
“Make that two,” Jack said.
“Gotcha,” the waitress said and ambled away.
“Menus?” Jack called after her.
“On the board,” she sang and jerked her thumb in the direction of a chalkboard to their left.