Out of the Shadow (6 page)

He took a sip of wine. "What else do you want to know?"

"Since I don’t know a thing, it’s an open-ended question. Are you sure you want to go there?"

He smiled. "Can we limit the scope just a little tonight? I do have to catch a few hours' sleep."

She smiled. "Okay. But I’m dying to know how you became involved in all this."

"Hum..." He stared thoughtfully away, which gave her a chance to study his strong profile and cleft chin. "Let’s see...I’ve been interested in metaphysics for many years. Started reading writers like Marianne Williamson and Eckhart Tolle when I was an undergrad, and immediately felt the calling. Are you familiar with them?"

She shook her head.

"Sorry."

"No reason to apologize. You’re not alone. They opened up a whole new world for me. I’d never considered myself a spiritual person, and actually thought of myself as an empiricist. I figured if something couldn’t be weighed or measured, it most likely didn’t exist. But metaphysics makes sense. It gives me a whole new perspective."

She leaned forward. "Explain it to me."

"Tell you what," he said. "If I help you with the dishes and brew a pot of Evan’s extraordinary coffee, we can talk over dessert."

He came around the table to help her to her feet. When his fingers touched her arm, a tingle of fear shot up her spine. She involuntarily pulled away, but his hurt expression made her wish she could undo her reaction. What was it about a sexy man touching her, even in such a non-threatening way, that frightened her so much? Was this another symptom of her rape?

"Sorry."

He studied her face. "No problem. I should be more careful with you, after all you’ve been through. It’s no big deal," he said, but his expression told her otherwise. "I need you to come by my place to pick up the fixings."

Relieved to be distracted by the chore, she followed him to his condo in the next building over. Once there, he remembered he had left his key at her apartment and fished around for a hidden one above the door jamb. He let her into a room that looked much as she had expected: with dark wood shelves along one wall full of books in every size and shape, a large Buddha statue on the floor alongside the bookcase, and an intricately patterned charcoal-gray oriental rug underfoot. Black and white yin/yang posters hung from adjacent walls. He immediately strode off to the kitchen, which gave her a chance to peruse his unusual book collection. She glanced over every now and then to watch him fill a bag with whipped cream and tart shells, gather up a container of chopped fruit, and add a jar of honey.

Back at her apartment, she scraped dishes and placed them in the dishwasher while he ground coffee. Soon the aroma of fresh brewed java filled the room. With two heaping plates of rainbow-colored fruit tart topped with a frothy cloud of whipped cream in hand, he led the way back to the table.

With only one sip of the coffee, she knew she was hooked. A man who could brew a perfect cup of coffee, while extrapolating easily on the use of acupuncture needles to anesthetize arthritis pain, was a man worth getting to know. But what impressed her most was his gracious nature and generosity of spirit. It had made quite an impression on her. She took a taste of the fresh fruit and whipped cream over white cake. "Um. This is heavenly."

He smiled. "Almost as heavenly as being with you."

Self-conscious, she glanced away, even though she secretly enjoyed the attention. "Go on now. Tell your story."

He sipped his coffee. "Where were we? Metaphysics, right?"

"Uh huh."

"Metaphysics is the study of why things exist. What their purpose is. The way it explains our existence makes sense to me, much more than my religious training. I was raised as a Protestant. Even though my father was nominally Jewish, he was agnostic, so my Episcopalian mother took over my religious upbringing. I never fully accepted what the Bishops preached. To me, metaphysics is more real."

"Do you believe in God? I’ve always had a problem accepting the concept someone’s looking out for us, but more so since David’s death."

He looked pensive. "I know what you’re going through, I’ve been there myself, but recently I’ve come to believe in a higher consciousness, which you can call God or Higher Power or Spirit. I like to think of it as Spirit, because it takes away all the old connotations. My concept of Spirit is nothing like the Judeo-Christian one of a bearded man on a throne. To me, Spirit isn’t separate from us. It’s more like a unifying force existing in all of us, on something similar to a subatomic level."

The fire that filled his eyes ignited a flame in her. Here sat a thoughtful man of conviction. A far cry from where she was at, and she had to admire him for it. "How did you go from atomic man to alternative medicine?"

He chuckled. "One thing led to another. I was pre-law at Temple University when I decided to follow my heart and switch to alternative medicine. Since much of modern metaphysics is based on Buddhism and other eastern traditions more than western religious practices, it was a natural transition from metaphysics to oriental medicine."

She took a bite of the tart, grateful to be getting to know him.

"But enough of me. You said you had something to talk about."

"Nothing as inspiring as yours, I’m afraid." She looked up and met his patient gaze. "My mother’s throwing a party next weekend for my uncle, who recently returned from California after seventeen years. She’s insistent I attend, but I’m not sure I’m ready to be social just yet. I thought about skipping it, but she’d throw a fit. I thought I might go if I don’t have to do it alone." She held her breath, not sure she was prepared for a "no."

"I wish I could help you out, but I have a major project due the following week. I’ll have to stay close to home and library all weekend."

Too bad. Or maybe it wasn’t. She couldn’t predict what would happen if she introduced him to Julie.
"Any other ideas?"

"Why don’t you be honest? That’s usually best."

"Not with my mom it isn’t. She’d never understand. I need an excuse."

"I’m not good at making excuses," he said, but she wasn’t convinced of that yet. He took their cups and returned with fresh coffee. "Since I can’t go with you, I’d love to make it up with a dinner date the following weekend."

How could she say no, when she wanted so much to say yes? Besides, he’d been more than generous with his companionship. She owed him one. Where else could she have turned with Angela in love and unavailable? And even if she had the chance, would she want to go anywhere else? "I’d like that, but..."

"What?"

"There’s one thing bugging me, and I’d like to clear it up before we go anywhere. You never told me where you went the other night."

He shrugged. "I had a lecture. You knew about it."

"And it didn’t end until the middle of the morning? Must have been a good one. Metaphysics for the insomniac."

He furrowed his brow. "Are you checking up on me?"

"Of course not. I couldn’t sleep. I wanted company. So I looked for you."

"I know you’re in a vulnerable place, but I have no reason to report in to you." He rose and carried their plates to the sink, rinsed them off and stacked them in the dishwasher. After drying hands on a towel, he approached the table. "Okay, I’ll tell you where I went, but not because I have to. I was out drinking with a friend after the lecture. I spotted your note when I came home, but it was too late to disturb you. And that’s that."

"Sure," she said and offered him a weak smile, kicking herself mentally for being suspicious of such a kind man. Just one more piece of evidence she had a long way to go before she recovered from her trauma.

At the police station, Becca watched Sally Mills make a note in a chart, her long, blond hair obscuring her face. "So you’re saying I might be a suspect in David’s death?"

Mills brushed her hair back, exposing a slight scar by her right ear. "I didn’t say suspect. I said a person of interest. Right now we’re looking at everyone, including you. You don’t have any corroborating witness to what happened, and you have a motive."

Stunned, Becca scrunched up her face. "Motive? What type of motive do I have?"

Mills shrugged. "Someone at work overheard you griping about your husband the day of the murder. Seems like you were unhappy with him. What can you tell me about it?"

Damn, Sylvia must have overheard her conversation with Angela after all. Unnerved, the walls of the interview room seemed to be closing in around her. "We had a few marital problems, but nothing that would drive me to murder him. You’re way off base."

"Perhaps, but we have to follow every lead."

Even if they always led back to her.
"Do you have any real leads? Because you’re barking up the wrong tree with me."

"None yet, but we’re working on it," Mills said.

"I’d like to see you work harder. Some lunatic is out there telling me he’ll be back, and all you ever do is question me and my motives. I’m at risk and I need your protection." She swallowed the frustration that rose like bile into her throat. "I’d like to know if you’ve been able to trace those strange phone calls I mentioned."

"It seems someone has called your number a few times from different phone booths on Market Street. Do you have any idea who the someone could be?"

She shook her head.

"We’ll put a tag on one of the phones; see if we can find out anything." Sally stood. "Okay, that’s it for today. Stay where we can get hold of you if we need to. It might be a good idea to get yourself a lawyer. Your call, but it can’t hurt."

Becca cringed. Every shred of evidence the police uncovered seemed to point in her direction. Eerie. As though fate, like the manipulative chess-playing personification of death in an Ingmar Bergman film, had stepped in to rearrange the crime scene.

She returned to her car, wondering again whether she’d be the one to take the rap. The police had her in their sights and didn’t seem to be actively seeking out another suspect. At this thought, her head throbbed with a ringing in her ears that sounded more and more like an emergency alarm.

Becca smoothed down the skirt of her sapphire-blue dress with painted nails, and adjusted the faux fur wrap that had shifted down her upper arm. Already reluctant to join the party on the other side of the stately carved, oak double-doors leading into her parents' house, an uproarious guffaw, followed by giddy voices, only magnified her resistance. She had failed to come up with a plausible excuse for not attending her parents' soirée, which obligated her to make an appearance, but was considering bowing out anyway when a couple started up the steps behind her. Concerned they might recognize her and report her defection to Julie - which she would never hear the end of - she opened the door as inconspicuously as possible and slipped into the foyer.

No matter how invisible she tried to make herself, Julie still spotted her in the entranceway, and rushed over to wrap her in an unexpectedly warm hug after the recent tension between them.

"You’re here at last! I’ve been waiting for you."

Breaking free of the embrace, she placed her cape on an ornately carved bench.

Julie appraised her. "You look lovely! Come. I’d like to show you off to my guests." With a hand under Becca’s elbow, Julie guided her through the family room, stopping every few feet to make small talk with a relative or an old friend.

The reactions Becca encountered failed to surprise her, but still made her feel uncomfortable. Neither Bea nor Jay Schecter would make eye contact with her when inquiring about how she was doing. Jay shuffled from one foot to the other, while Bea mumbled a couple of questions. Equally awkward was Barney Samuels’ attempt to put her at ease, giving her a half-hug at arm’s length. He must have figured she was too fragile for the real thing.

After another one of these bungling exchanges with her elderly Aunt Sadie, Becca was beside herself with a desire to flee. With Julie engrossed in a conversation nearby, she prepared herself to make an excuse and head for the exit, only to spot her favorite cousin approaching.

Janet flung her arms around Becca and whispered in her ear, "I’m glad you’re here. Save me from this maddening crowd."

Finally, someone who treated her like a real person and not like one of her mother’s expensive and irreplaceable china plates! "You’re the one who better rescue me. I can’t stand another moment of this."

Janet glanced over at Julie, still chatting up Gail Samuels. "Think you can break free from your Siamese twin?"

Becca shook her head. "Not for long. But while I have a moment, tell me how you’re doing."

"You’re the one who’s been through it lately. You go first. I’m all ears," Janet said.

"And more hugs, I hope."

As though to prove her availability, Janet embraced her again. "I’m here for you, kiddo, and don’t you ever forget it."

Thank goodness for Janet. She single-handedly made it possible to remain a little longer. Becca gladly shared her recent experiences with Janet, with only minor editing to minimize the gore and unpleasantness. She didn’t want to put a damper on the festive mood. She then encouraged Janet to do the same. They were in the midst of catching up when Julie broke away from Gail and joined them.