Cold Comfort (13 page)

Keith squinted up at the sky. "The front's moving in fast. What time's your flight?"

"A friend's plane—he's waiting for me. We'll leave right away."

"Better get moving. Nice to meet you, Riley. I hope Claire is all right. Nice little kid, good manners, pretty with those blue eyes. Tell her we said hello, wish her the best." He started to walk away, then stopped. "Hey, you got a card or anything? In case that other fella comes back?"

"Yeah. I have a card." Riley smiled and extracted a plain white card from his wallet. It read simply
Ben Riley, Security Consultant,
with a phone number in one corner.

Spencer took it and raised an eyebrow at Riley, but he didn't ask.

Chapter 9

The sky grew grayer by the minute. At four thirty, Claire slipped into the office and turned on the radio, hoping to catch a weather report, and heard the last couple of minutes of news. In the same tone of voice, the announcer informed his listeners that Senator Jennings remained in the hospital with complications from his surgery, Alabama was going to the Sugar Bowl, and the storm was approaching more quickly than predicted. The leading edge reached the outskirts of Richmond.

The chipmunk song came on. She hit the radio off button and walked through the shop to the front window. Low, leaden clouds blanketed the sky. Every time the shop door opened, Claire turned, hoping to see Riley come through.

All afternoon people crowded into Mistletoe, trying to get their shopping done before the storm hit. With every new customer, a blast of cold, damp air whipped through the shop, carrying the scent of the evergreens and rustling the trees, tinkling the ornaments. Claire noticed Damien, who'd come after school to stock and straighten up, still wore his jacket. She left the door into the unheated stockroom open, hoping to warm it a little.

She couldn't decide how she felt about staying at Riley's place, and she had things to do tonight. In this temperature, rain meant ice, and ice meant power outages. She didn't know where he lived, but her impression was some sort of cabin. He'd mentioned using firewood for heat. She should have brought other clothes with her, but she'd overslept, and in the rush to get Riley back to his car this morning, she'd forgotten. Still, the shop didn't close for three more hours, and he might be back by then.

By five she'd run out of cookies, and the cider barely covered the bottom of the carafe. Earlier Mary told her Damien was having friends in and they needed get to their own home, so Claire wouldn't be baking tonight unless Riley got back.

At five thirty, Claire considered asking Damien to run over to Louie's café and get something to eat, but when she looked out, the rain had begun. There would be few customers now. She might as well wait until the shop closed.

Ray came in on an arctic blast, shaking the rain from his hair and coat. "Man, it's cold. Miserable out there. You hear from Riley?"

"No, nothing. They can't fly in this, can they?" Claire handed him the last cup of cider. She shook the empty carafe. If he wanted anything else, he'd have to switch to tea. She called to Mary, who was shutting down the train village. "You and Damien go on home. Ray's here and we won't have many more customers tonight."

"Hi, Ray." Mary gave her brother a quick kiss. "Thanks, Claire. I will. It's getting bad fast. The roads will be iced over before long. You ought to leave, too. No one will come in now."

"What if Riley comes here?"

"Jocko won't be flying in this, but they could have come in ahead of it." Ray thought for a minute. "No, Riley would have called. Wouldn't want you to wait for him. He'll find you when he gets here."

The clock said six. The extra hour wouldn't matter, and surely no one would have made a special trip to get here in this weather. She agreed and quickly closed up, changed into her boots, and put on her coat. Ray was waiting in the shadows by the door, very still. She halted, instinctively ducking behind a tree. "What are you doing? Is someone out there?"

"Stay there a minute. I just want to be sure. Thought I saw someone across the street." Ray reached out and turned off the remaining lights.

They waited in silence for a few minutes. The shop felt empty, haunted. She missed Riley. From behind the tree, she peered through the window. A dark figure scooted out of the doorway across from them and hurried down the sidewalk. "It's probably just someone who works there."

"Maybe." Ray continued to watch. "Get ready to move. Go straight to my truck. It's parked on the street, right down there." He pointed and handed her his keys, took hers. "Get in and get down."

As soon as the man disappeared around the corner, Ray pulled her into the street. "Now," he said, locking the shop door.

Claire, her heart pounding, ran through the thick rain to the truck. She'd hardly gotten inside the cab when Ray appeared at the other side. She leaned across and unlocked his door. "Was it them?"

"Not sure, it could have been someone late leaving over there, running for his car."

She didn't think he believed it, just said it to reassure her. "Can we get my car? I hate to leave it here if I don't have to."

"We'll ride around for a few minutes and come back to it."

The streets were almost empty, with everyone trying to get indoors before the rain turned to ice. Ray drove a few blocks and hung a right, then turned again on the next street, heading back toward the parking lot. "You get your head down and out of sight, okay? I'm going to drive by, just to be certain."

Claire slid to the floor. "I'm down."

Ray drove slowly past the parking lot where her car sat under the street lamp. "Nothing out of the ordinary, but I want to look around a little before we stop."

Halfway down the block, she saw his posture change, tighten. "Do you see them?"

"I see the glow of a cigarette in a car parked in the shadows. Might be them, might not. All I can be sure of is somebody's sitting in a cold car, smoking." He continued to drive slowly down the street past the suspicious vehicle. "It's impossible to see who's in it. Sorry. We're going to have to leave your car—can't chance it."

After a few blocks, he let Claire get up again. They wound through streets and crisscrossed their path more than once under the curtain of sleet, constantly checking for a tail. Once or twice she felt the truck slip on the freezing road surface. When Ray finally pulled off the road, his headlights revealed a chain-link fence with icicles forming as they watched. She felt like an over-tightened spring.

"Can you drive it inside the gate while I unlock it?"

"I think so." He got out and Claire swung her legs over the gearbox and climbed into the driver's seat. She moved the seat forward to reach the pedals.

Ray unlocked a gate, signaling her to bring the truck inside. She inched the truck forward until she cleared the gate, relieved to stop. She couldn't see a thing, could have been driving into an abyss for all she knew. He locked the gate behind them and climbed in. No one passed on the road behind them.

At the end of a winding gravel drive, Ray slowed to a stop in front of a low house. She thought it must be white or light gray but couldn't see much through the sleet. She had no idea where they were. During Ray's long and circuitous route, she'd lost all sense of direction.

He opened the door and turned on a light. "Sit down. I'll get the fire going."

She nodded, pulling her coat close. The chill air made her wish she'd worn slacks, but compared to the raw night, the house seemed cozy.

Ray quickly lit the fire already laid in the stone fireplace. Bright flames leapt up, and Claire stepped closer to hold out her hands toward the illusory warmth. The draft from the fireplace pulled the air to the chimney. A piquant scent wafted by, and she sniffed. Linseed oil and turpentine. Curious, she turned to look around the large room and stopped, spellbound. Splashes of dark color filled every space, spilling across canvases in the wake of a boat, the wing of a gull, a billowing sail.

"My god, he's that Riley." Stunned, she sank into the nearest chair. She'd seen the bold "Riley" scrawled across the corners of his seascapes in galleries, a home, the museum. Here they stood two and three deep against the wall.

Ray, with a knowing grin, rested against the desk in the corner, one ankle over the other, his arms folded across his chest. "Yep. He's the one. Quite a surprise, isn't it?" Wind rattled the windows. He righted himself and crossed the room, closed the wine-red curtains against the bleak night.

A gray shadow distracted her, and a bedraggled cat wound itself around her ankles.

"Oh, who are you?" Claire dropped to her knees beside the cat, who leaned into her hand.

"That's Spike
—
be careful," Ray said, keeping an eye on the cat. "Man. He never goes near strangers." He chuckled. "Seems to me Spike's gonna ruin his reputation."

Claire continued to stroke the big cat, who rolled over and purred. "He's nice, just a little rough around the edges."

"He's a lot like Riley." Ray laughed out loud. "Wait till he sees his big, bad cat."

"What happened to him? He looks as if he's led a hard life." She sat back in the chair, really wanting to ask about Riley.

"He just showed up one day, hurt and half-starved. Riley had the vet patch him up, and he's been here ever since. Two of a kind." Ray moved off the desk. "See the towel? Spike stays there when Riley's working."

A folded towel lay on the corner of the desk by the window. Next to it sat a large monitor. The computer itself stood on the floor beneath the desk. "Does he really analyze information? And paint?"

"Yep. He can do about anything but cook. Spike eats better than he does."

"I believe it
—
he's always hungry." She smiled. He'd cleaned up every leftover in her refrigerator. "Speaking of hungry, I wonder if there's anything here to eat." She wandered toward the kitchen area, stopping to admire some of the canvases. A winter storm scene caught her attention. "This is magnificent! You can almost see the ice on the shrouds. It sends chills through me—it could be tonight." His work reminded her a bit of Turner, the English romanticist whose work she loved, but Riley's bolder style displayed a raw, restless power that made it unique.

After a time, she made her way to the refrigerator and opened it. She looked inside, then back at Ray. "A six-pack of Killian's Red, two pounds of coffee, a little butter, and a hunk of cheese with green edges." She closed the door and surveyed the small area. The kitchen was clean, just empty. "I thought he'd at least have eggs. Do you know where he keeps his bread?"

"If he's got any, it's in here." Ray opened a cabinet. "Nope, but here's a can of beef stew." He handed it to Claire. "Help yourself. He lives on this stuff. He won't mind. If he let you in here at all, you can feel free to use what you want."

"What do you mean, 'if he let me in here at all'? Doesn't he ever have company?" She found a manual can opener and started it around the edge of the Dinty Moore can.

"No. He's very private. I only know of three other people he's ever brought here."

She wondered who, then reminded herself it wasn't her place to pry.

A lone can of peas sat next to a stack of cat food tins in the corner of the cupboard. She emptied the peas and the stew into a battered pan, turned on the burner, and then opened a can of fish for the cat. "You're right about Spike's eating better. Maybe there's something frozen. Try the freezer, Ray."

"Cornbread mix and ice cubes," he said, handing her the bag of meal. "For a smart man, he sure has a big blind spot. Man, I'm no cook, but I do a lot better than this."

"Let's hope we're not stuck here for any length of time." She set the oven temperature, melted some of the butter in a black iron skillet, and made the cornbread with water. When the skillet heated the butter to bubbling, she poured the cornmeal batter into it. "Here goes," she said, sliding the skillet into the oven.

"It already smells better than anything I've known Riley to cook." He opened the refrigerator again. "Coffee or beer?"

"Coffee, please." She thought she heard something and ran to the window, pushed the curtains back, hoping to see Riley. No lights, nothing
—
just another branch cracking. She wished he'd get back. His house comforted her, but she wanted him.

"Claire," Ray started hesitantly, "it's none of my business, but you know, Riley's a real loner. He's a good man
—
the best
—
but he's not.... He doesn't let anyone get close to him."

She didn't pretend to miss his point. "I can see that. Don't worry, Ray. I have more sense than to fall for Ben Riley. I'm not his type either
—
a bit too conventional." At least, she hoped she had enough sense, but this strange bereft feeling lingered, and she turned back to the window, hoping for his return. She smiled. "Another thing. I don't take orders well."

In the window, Ray's reflection appeared behind her, shaking his head.

"He just wants to make sure nothing happens to you. Riley's been involved in some bad stuff. He worries, especially about women."

"I'm sure. I know he means well." She wondered about the "bad stuff."