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Authors: Ellen Hart

BOOK: Night Vision
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J
ane Lawless stood in her tiny upstairs office/dressing room at the Xanadu Club, gazing at a full-length mirror on the wall, straightening her black bow tie.
Back in the days when the club had been a movie theater, her office had been the projection room. She'd asked the architect who'd redesigned the interior to enlarge the projection window so that she could view the dining room and the dance floor. He'd not only enlarged it but also turned the small square window into a four-foot-wide circle. Viewed from the floor, it looked like part of a large starburst design. From the office, Jane could look down on a glittering subterranean world. The only public area she couldn't see was the long bar at the front of the house.
Jane had been a restaurateur in the Twin Cities for almost eighteen years. Her second venture, the Xanadu Club, had been open for just seven months, but already it had become Uptown's premiere nightclub. For the six months prior to its opening, Jane had been putting in nine-thousand-hour workweeks. She'd spent only a few hours a week at the Lyme House, her other restaurant. With so much to do, she could easily have gone tilt without the occasional afternoon off. If she'd had a brain in her head, she probably would have gone home
and slept, but she'd been nursing two compelling new interests that could easily have captured all her attention if she hadn't kept a tight rein on herself.
Jane's father, who was a semiretired criminal defense attorney in St. Paul, had surprised the entire family last fall by going out and buying a Cessna Turbo Skylane. Years ago, he'd owned a Piper Archer, which he used mainly for business. But at the urging of his girlfriend, Marilyn, he'd sold it in 1989. Jane's dad had gone on to marry Marilyn, but when they'd divorced last summer, her father couldn't wait to get inside his own plane again. On Jane's forty-fourth birthday, he'd driven her out to Flying Cloud field, ushered her into one of the hangars, and showed her the plane. As she sat inside the cockpit with him, he'd presented her with the gift of flying lessons.
Jane was both stunned and thrilled. This was a windfall she'd never expected but one she saw the benefits of immediately. A year or so ago, she'd begun dating a woman who taught cultural anthropology at Chadwick State College in Chadwick, Nebraska. Long-distance romances sucked big-time. Jane and Kenzie lived too far apart to get together very often. But with the introduction of a small plane, the distance problem was no longer such a huge issue. Jane could fly down in a couple of hours, even come home the same day. That is, if she ever got enough time off. She was starting to see the light of day at the new club. The worst kinks had been worked out. She planned to take a much-needed vacation in the next couple of weeks, and part, if not all, of that time would be spent with Kenzie.
Jane had finished ground school last October and begun flight training in November. During the winter and early spring, she'd managed to log sixty-seven hours in the air and had earned her private license in June. Right now she was in the process of getting her instrument pilot rating. She had access to the plane whenever her father wasn't using it.
And then there was that second new interest that kept tugging at her.
About a year and a half ago, Jane had met a retired cop who'd become a friend. A. J. Nolan owned a private investigation company in the Twin Cities, which he ran out of his house. Nolan didn't do it entirely
for the money, which meant that, most of the time, he took only cases that interested him. He'd helped Jane out once during a very intense time in her life.
Nolan kept insisting that Jane was a natural at investigation. Every time they got together for dinner or coffee, which was fairly often, he'd press his point home. He told her that her restaurants were great, but if she didn't agree to work with him, train under him, her true calling in life would pass her by. If she'd been less busy she might have taken him up on it.
Jane stood for a moment longer in front of the mirror, checking the look of her chestnut hair pulled back into a French braid, her diamond stud earrings, the blush lipstick, the hint of eye shadow, and then she left her office and walked down the curving art deco stairs to the dining room. It was just after nine and the house was jumping. All around her she could feel the pulse of the restaurant—strong, deep, rhythmic. Her own heart beat to the same rhythm.
The live Xanadu orchestra played only one thing—twenties- and thirties-era jazz. To enter the club, patrons had to be dressed formally, either in clothes they owned themselves, or by renting inexpensive formal wear from a shop next door. Everything from top hats and canes to twenties- and thirties-era gowns and shoes was available. The crowd dancing the fox-trot on the dance floor looked astonishingly authentic. The dress code had been
the
major risk Jane and her partner, Judah Johanson, had taken. Minnesotans liked casual, virtually demanded it. But the risk had paid off. People seemed to relish dressing up for a night out on the town.
Drifting through the crowd in her white tux jacket, Jane felt like Humphrey Bogart at Rick's Café in the movie
Casablanca
. Both her white and black tuxes had been hand-fitted by a downtown shop specializing in handmade men's clothing. The jackets were specially contoured to highlight her slim figure. She was in the best shape of her life and didn't mind showing it off.
As she was about to run down to the kitchen, the head waiter caught her eye and motioned her over to one of the wait stations. “What's up?”
“There's a guy in the bar that's been asking about you. Last I looked, he was still there, sitting by himself nursing a beer. He seems kind of lost.”
“Did you get a name?”
“Sorry.”
“Okay. I'll take care of it.”
Jane greeted a couple of returning customers, then headed for the front of the house. Pausing at the entrance to the bar, she scanned the long, narrow room to see if she recognized anyone. A man was seated at the far end, his back to her. He was wearing jeans and a dirty-looking yellow T-shirt. An empty beer glass rested next to his hand. His hair was short, sandy-blond, and uncombed. Since the back of him didn't ring any bells, she decided to see if the front did.
Snaking her way through the crowd, Jane approached the bar. She stepped up next to him and said, “I understand you were asking about me.”
The man swiveled around. He glanced at the tux, then looked up at her face.
Jane's pulse quickened. “David?”
“Jane? God, you look fabulous!”
She wished she could say the same about him. “What are you doing here?”
“I—” He ran a hand over his mouth, then over the stubble on his cheeks. “I needed to get away from Atlanta for a while. Thought a road trip might be just what the doctor ordered.”
He stood up a bit awkwardly, rubbed the flat of his hands against his thighs. They stared at each other for a couple seconds, then, spontaneously, they both broke out in silly grins.
David threw his arms around her.
“I don't believe it,” she said, hugging him tight.
Lifting her off the floor, David spun her around. They were both laughing when he set her back down and looked her square in the eyes. “Janey, I don't know how's it's possible, but you're even more beautiful than you were in college.”
If there was a man on this earth whom Jane had ever truly loved, it was David Carlson. They'd become friends in high school, when they were both juniors. Years later, when Jane began developing the Lyme House, her first restaurant, she'd asked David to design the interior. It was a tricky look. The two-story log structure sat on the southern edge of Lake Harriet. Jane wanted the interior to be both rustic and elegant. David had done an amazing job, so good that it had led to other jobs in the Twin Cities. His business was starting to pick up when, on a trip out to L.A. to visit his sister in the early eighties, he met Diego Veras, the man who would become his life partner. The next year, David and Diego moved to Atlanta, where they'd been living ever since.
Back in high school, they both knew they were gay, but since they spent so much time together, people figured they were a couple. They didn't see any reason to disabuse their friends of that notion because it worked for them. Cordelia, Jane's best friend, was the only one who knew the truth. They'd been each other's dates to their junior and senior proms. David had been her “steady” at sorority events in college. The fact was, David was a flat-out great guy. He was smart and funny, and a fabulous dancer. Any chance Jane got to dance with him, she took. On a deeper level, it was the truth about their lives, their shared concern for what their futures might hold, that had brought them together and kept them close.
“Where are you staying?” asked Jane.
“Well,” he said, looking a little sheepish, “that's the thing. I was hoping I could bunk with you for a few days. You still have that great house in Linden Hills?”
“Sure.”
“Mind if I sleep on your couch?”
“David, there are four bedrooms in that place. I think I can offer you a bed, unless you prefer couches.”
“No. A bed would be good.”
She couldn't believe he was here. “We've got so much to talk about, to catch up on.”
“I know.” The silly grin returned.
“Let me run up to my office and change out of these clothes. Have another beer on the house. I'll be back in a flash.”
“I'll be here,” said David, his smile disappearing as he sat back down on the stool and turned away from her.
J
ane was getting some lemonade out of the refrigerator when David entered the kitchen. He'd stowed his duffel bag in one of the upstairs bedrooms and had returned downstairs after cleaning up in the bathroom. Mouse, Jane's chocolate Lab, sniffed his clothes thoroughly, ending with his nose pressed against the back of David's right hand.
“Boy, this dog loves the way I smell.”
“He likes men's cologne. What are you wearing?”
“Royal Copenhagen.”
“Well,” said Jane, getting down two glasses from the cupboard, “what can I say? He's got good taste.” As she poured the lemonade into one of the glasses, she glanced at David. He looked better, cleaner, but his eyes seemed glazed, off center. “How's Diego?”
He gave her a tight smile but didn't answer. “Hey, Janey, instead of that lemonade, I don't suppose you've got an extra beer around here.”
“Sure,” she said. She wondered if he really wanted the beer, or if he just wanted to change the subject. “Diego still thinking about building you guys that dream house in the country?” As she uncapped the bottle, she noticed David's jaw clench. She had a feeling that what he said next wouldn't be the full story.
“Yeah. He's still tinkering with the plans.” He sat down on one of the kitchen chairs.
“How's his blood pressure? I know he was having some problems with it.”
“It's good. Well, as good as possible under the circumstances. You know that old saying? Don't let your babies grow up to be architects.”
Jane half smiled, half laughed.
“We're both busy—too busy. But I suppose I shouldn't complain.” He tipped the bottle back and took several hefty swallows.
Jane sat down at the table across from him. She was tired but still so excited by his sudden appearance that she didn't want to let him go for fear he'd disappear on her. She had no idea why she felt that way, she just did.
David typically looked a good ten years younger than his actual age. He just had one of those faces. Dick Clark. Leonardo DiCaprio. Dorian Gray. He also played tennis regularly, which kept him fit, and he watched his diet. Tonight, however, he appeared much older than his forty-four years. His sandy blond hair was as gorgeous and thick as ever, but the stubble on his face didn't look trendy, just unkempt. Jane had never noticed any wrinkles around his eyes before, but tonight they were not only there, they were deep. He seemed physically exhausted and emotionally down. She hoped that he'd get around to telling her what was really going on sooner rather than later.
Holding the cold bottle to his cheek, David sighed. “I'm beat. I drove twelve hours today.”
“You can sleep in tomorrow morning. I have to spend a few hours at the Lyme House, so I'll be out of here by eight. Cordelia and I are driving to Flying Cloud airport to pick up Joanna around three.”
His head snapped up. “Joanna? My
sister,
Joanna? She's coming
here
?”
“Sure. You mean you didn't know?”
He shook his head slowly.
“Cordelia talked her into doing a play at the Allen Grimby. She'll be in town until the end of January.”
He groaned. “My timing, as usual, is impeccable.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Joanna and I haven't spoken in the past year. We seem to have a problem with snits. We're in the middle of one right now. She drives me crazy sometimes.” He took another swig of beer. “I'd explain it to you, but my brain's fried. Besides, it's all stupid, like it usually is.”
“How long do you plan to stay?”
“Haven't thought about it. But long enough so that we get a chance to talk. Where's Joanna staying?”
“At Linden Lofts, where Cordelia lives. Believe it or not, Cordelia is the current president of the tenants' association. One of the other tenants is in Europe right now. She's been looking to sublet her loft. Cordelia thought it would be great to have Joanna under the same roof, so she arranged everything.”
He scratched the stubble on his cheek. “Look, Janey, if Joanna's coming, there's a chance she may insist I bunk with her. It's not that she'd want me to, it's just that she'd feel obliged. I'd rather stay with you.”
“Not a problem. You can stay here as long as you like.”
He smiled, took hold of her hand. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”
“No. Do you?”
He shook his head. “But if it's true, maybe in an earlier life we were straight and you and me, we were married. Even after all these years, our connection's still there, strong as ever. Kind of amazing, don't you think?”
“I do,” she said, squeezing his hand.
“We'll talk more tomorrow. I'll tell you why I came.”
“Deal,” she said.
As they both stood, David pulled her into his arms. “Promise me that you'll listen—that you won't judge.”
“Of course.”
“It won't be easy, Jane. In some important ways, I'm not the man I used to be.”
She backed up and took his head in her hands. “I don't know what's wrong, David. But together, you and me, we'll figure a way through it.”
He scrutinized her face for a long moment, then smiled. “Okay. I knew coming here was the right thing to do.”
 
During the night, Jane heard David get up and pass her bedroom door on his way downstairs. The radio burst on in the kitchen. Mouse growled at the clamor of pots and pans mixed with rock music. Jane was a little surprised that David didn't try harder to keep it down, but she told Mouse that everything was fine. David was probably hungry. She should have thought to offer him some food with that beer. She fell back asleep to the smell of frying bacon.
 
The next morning, Jane showered and dressed while David slept. It was supposed to be a cool fall day, so she slipped into a pair of jeans, a red flannel shirt, and the cowboy boots Kenzie had bought for her the first time Jane had gone down to Nebraska for a visit. After rummaging through her jewelry case, she settled on a pair of gold hoop earrings. She wound her long hair into a bun.
Mouse was itching to get outside, so she trotted down the stairs with him, telling him what he was about to have for breakfast. Even before she reached the bottom step, she saw that something was wrong. The slate floor in the foyer was covered by a thin film of water.
“Lord,” she said, glancing to her right and seeing that the wood floor in the living room was also wet. Following the sound of a running faucet, she entered the kitchen. Not only was the sink overflowing, but it looked like a bomb had gone off. Most of the cupboards and drawers were open. The counter was covered with flour, eggshells, dirty bowls, and soiled towels. The stove was covered with dirty frying pans. It looked like David had made himself pancakes, eggs, and bacon, but in the process he'd trashed not only her kitchen but her entire house.
She turned off the faucet and stood looking at the mess, trying to absorb the shock. Mouse started to whine. “It's okay, boy,” she said, absently patting his head. Except, it wasn't okay. What the hell had David been thinking?
Walking back out to the dining room, she bent down to examine
the Oriental rug. It was soaked through. And the wood flooring was swelling at the edges. She didn't know the exact amount, but she guessed it would take thousands to repair the damage. As she stood up, trying to figure out what to do next, David trotted down the stairs, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
“Morning, Janey,” he said, stepping into the water in his stocking feet. “Eeewh,” he said, his face puckering. “What the hell happened?”
Jane's hands rose to her hips. “You left the faucet running.”
He stared at her. “I
what
?”
“When you came down in the middle of the night to fix yourself something to eat.”
His eyes opened wide. Pushing past her into the kitchen, he gasped when he saw the mess. “Oh, my God,” he said, sucking in his breath.
Jane felt instantly sorry for him. He'd been so tired last night. If she'd just asked him if he was hungry, none of this would have happened.
“It was an accident, David. It's partly my fault.”
“How do you figure that?” He looked at her with twitchy, embarrassed eyes. “I … I don't know what to say. God, Jane, I'm so sorry. I can't believe I did this. I'll pay to have it cleaned up. It won't cost you a penny. Don't worry about that for a second.” He looked around him. “I shouldn't have come. I should never—”
“David, stop it.” She put her hands on his shoulders, forced him to look at her. “It was an accident. It could have happened to anyone.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. He moved away from her, looking like a man trying to fight his way out of a thick fog. “Let me take care of it. I know what needs to be done. I'll handle it all, okay? Let me do that much.”
“David—”
“No arguments. This was my fault. You go to work and I'll stay here. Except—” He turned to face her. “The problem is, the flooring will need to be torn up, taken out before they can lay a new one. Maybe even the subfloor. That will take some time, and I doubt you'll want to stay here while it's happening.” He stepped past her into the dining room, then walked into the living room. “Your Orientals
should be fine, but I need to get someone in here right away to remove them. If any of the furniture is water damaged, I'll have it replaced.”
“I've got insurance, David.”
“No. I did this, I'll pay for it. And I'll oversee the whole thing. It may take a while, but I'll make sure your house comes out of this as good as new. Better than new.”
She still felt a little stunned, but mostly she felt awful for David.
“You'll have to move to a hotel, though. You can't stay here while the work is being done. I'll take care of that, too. Anywhere you want to go, it's on me.”
“I can stay at the Lyme House. You designed my office. You know it's a great home away from home.”
He sat down on the edge of the couch.
“Where will you stay?” she asked.
“Don't worry about that.”
“I've done nothing but worry about you since you walked into the bar last night.”
“I don't suppose we could agree that we'll probably laugh about this one day.”
They turned at the sound of licking. Mouse was in the corner lapping up the water.
David shook his head. “That's what we need. Another ten dogs like him. The water would be gone in no time.”
“You're crazy, you know that?”
His smile evaporated. “You know, Jane, you might be right.”

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