Stitches in Time (13 page)

Rachel retrieved the coat and helped Kara into it. It was almost ankle-length and very full, with a deep shawl collar that could open up into a hood. “You got this at an auction?”

“Three hundred bucks,” Kara said. “The lining was shot; I made a new one. And don't give me any grief about animal rights, I get enough of that from Joe.” A fond, reminiscent smile transformed her face. “He's a slick debater, that kid. He's got me so brainwashed I'd never buy a new fur coat even if I wanted to spend the money. But these unfortunate minks passed on thirty years ago. I told Joe I was honoring their memory by wearing the coat.”

“What did he say?” Rachel asked.

Kara laughed. “That my arguments were specious and my attitude hypocritical. In those precise words! I've been arguing with Little Joe—I used to call him that before he informed me he was too old for pet names—since he was four. I keep telling him vintage is very P.C. We're the ultimate recyclers. I haven't bought a new dress for ten years; everything I own is second-hand.”

“Including that blouse?” Rachel asked. “It looks brand-new.”

“Estate sale,” Kara said. “The woman was a compulsive clothes buyer; she had closets full of things she'd never worn. Want to make the rounds with me sometime? I can show you some of the tricks of the trade.”

Rachel realized Kara was making an effort to be friendly, to compensate for her scolding. “Thanks. That would be fun.”

“It's hard work. But the triumph of the occasional bargain makes it all worthwhile.” She drew on her gloves. “Call Cheryl, will you please? You know what a worrier she is.”

“I will.”

“Good. Well, I'd better be going. We're having our usual Christmas Eve open house tomorrow night and I haven't even finished decorating the tree. If either of you is free, join the crowd. Six to whenever.”

“We're busy,” Adam said quickly.

“Never mind inventing appointments, I knew you wouldn't come. I don't blame you for refusing to mingle with a bunch of politicians. I'd get out of it myself if I could. Rachel…” Her face became serious. “You're more than welcome if you want to bring a guest. But don't come alone.”

“I wouldn't want—”

“You know what I mean.” Kara lingered at the door, smoothing her gloves. “Tom thinks the danger to you is over, but I'm not entirely convinced. This guy has done some peculiar things, even for a dim-witted criminal. Need I point out what they could imply?”

“No,” Rachel said shortly.

“So be careful. Continue to take precautions. And Adam—”

“Fear not, kind lady, I will watch over all the helpless
females that wander onto my turf. Wait till I get my coat and I'll walk you to your car.”

“I was about to ask you to. I picked up your mail, Rachel; there are a couple of big boxes.” She waved Rachel's thanks aside. “It was one of Mark's aides who played mailman, actually, he lives in Hyattsville. I'll see you Christmas Day.”

Adam went out with her. The early twilight had closed in, and their forms were hidden by darkness before they had gone ten feet. Rachel wondered how Kara liked being included in a list of helpless females. The words had been meant as a joke, but the offer had been genuine, and serious. Rachel had no objection to being protected, by anyone or anything—the more the merrier, in fact—-but she could have wished her protector were someone other than Adam. He was big enough and willing enough, but he was so damned absentminded!

He hadn't even thought to turn on the outside lights. Typical of Adam, gallantly insisting on escorting a lady to her car and letting her stumble through the dark. Rachel pressed the switch and watched the lights spring up, illuminating bare branches and yellowed grass. They had been strategically placed to bathe the entire perimeter of the house in their glow—an effective deterrent to potential thieves. Rachel had asked why there was no security system, particularly for the shop, and Cheryl, laughing at her own inadequacies as she usually did, had admitted Tony made her shut it down after she had turned in three false alarms in a week. The lights and the dogs worked as well or better, he claimed, and he was certainly in a position to know.

Rachel waited to open the door for Adam, whose arms were loaded with two good-sized cartons and a shopping bag full of mail—mostly catalogues, Rachel observed. Stowing them in a corner, he murmured pathetically, “I
was going to the grocery store, but I have to thaw out first.”

“You were only out there for five minutes.”

“That was four and a half minutes too long. Brrrr.”

“There's no need for you to go to the store. The freezer is stuffed with leftovers from the party. Including cookies. Cheryl took most of the ones she made, but she left a few boxes for us.”

“Why didn't you tell me that when I was trying to be hospitable?”

“Why should we waste Cheryl's cookies on people like Mrs. Wilson? We'll go shopping tomorrow,” she added, remembering the roll of film. Even on Christmas Eve she could probably find a place that would develop it in an hour. “Sit down. I want to talk to you.”

“What about?” Adam fumbled nervously with his beard.

“That damned beard, for one thing,” Rachel said, to her surprise. Adam's beard certainly hadn't been the most important thing on her mind.

“What's wrong with it?”

“You look like a Neanderthal.”

“It keeps my face warm.”

“You could at least trim it. Oh, hell, why am I talking about your beard? What plans have you made for tomorrow night?”

“I don't have any plans for tomorrow night. I just didn't want to go to that party.” His eyes widened ingenuously. “Did you?”

“No. Though it might have occurred to you to ask me before you turned down the invitation. You said ‘we,' and Kara assumed you were speaking for both of us.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“I don't want to go anyplace! I just want to know what you're going to do.”

“Whatever you're doing,” Adam said simply.

“Oh.”

“That's what Tony told me. Stick with her.” Adam admitted, “I didn't take the situation seriously at first, and I had promised Pat I'd check out the Esbat, and I figured you'd be okay here for a few hours, with the dogs and the house locked up. I'm sorry about that. It won't happen again.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“The knife. I don't like the way this guy is behaving. Kara thinks he's not after the quite anymore, he's after you. I'm beginning to agree with her.”

“Thanks for cheering me up.”

“Would you rather we patted you on the head and told you not to worry? You can't even tell that comforting lie to a child these days, it's too dangerous to allow him to feel safe. God,” Adam said, with sudden bitterness. “What a world it is.”

“Yeah.”

“So from now on you're stuck with me. Whither thou goest I will go. With strict observance of the proprieties, of course,” he added. “I won't insist on sleeping with you.”

“Oh,” Rachel said blankly. “Thanks.”

“You should thank me. I snore. Not all the time, just when I'm tired.”

It was hard to tell what was going on under the beard; the vibrations could indicate a smile or a leer or a sneer. Rachel decided it was safe to laugh. “I meant, thanks for playing bodyguard. I'm not going to be heroic.”

“Good. I respect courage and the principles of modern feminism, but this situation has nothing to do with either. If I were in your shoes I'd demand protection too. So let's consider our schedule and enjoy the festal season, undeterred by grinches of any variety. Christmas Day we're spending with Pat and Ruth. We better go
shopping tomorrow, I haven't got anything for them yet.”

“I haven't either,” Rachel said guiltily. “I'm glad you reminded me.”

“You've had other things on your mind.”

“That's no excuse.”

“Well, we'll do it tomorrow. Maybe you can give me some ideas. I never know what to get for women, they have such peculiar tastes.”

Rachel laughed. “What did you—”

The telephone interrupted her and reminded her of a broken promise. As she might have known, the caller was Cheryl, spouting questions. When she could get a word in, she said, “I was about to call you. Kara just left, and Adam and I got to talking…Yes. Yes, he's here. Everything is fine. Mrs. Wilson identified the things and Tom—”

Cheryl knew what had happened; she had already had a long talk with Kara. Cheryl didn't scold her for failing to report, but Rachel would have preferred a lecture to the outpouring of warm sympathy and concern.

“Really,” she said, as soon as she could get a word in, “there's nothing to worry about and absolutely no need for you to cut your holiday short. Adam is here and he's been…” She glanced at Adam, who was mouthing silent comments. “He's been…Do you want to talk to him?”

Adam handed her a bottle of wine and a corkscrew and took the phone. “We're about to get drunk,” he announced. “So talk fast. She'll have the cork out in a second and if I let her get a few drinks ahead…What? No. Yes. I said so, didn't I? All right.” He handed the phone back to Rachel and retrieved the bottle.

“What did you do to him?” Cheryl demanded.

“I don't understand.”

“He's talking! And making insulting remarks. It usually takes him at least six months to get to that point with
another man, much less a female. What did you do, put a spell on him?”

“I'll tell you about it some time,” Rachel said.

She had to endure more friendly teasing from Cheryl, and an even more uncomfortable, if brief, discussion with Tony. It was only her guilty conscience, she told herself, that lent double meanings to some of his statements. He was glad she and Adam were getting on so well.

Rachel was on her second glass of wine and Adam was investigating the leftovers in the refrigerator when the telephone rang again. She recognized Tom's voice before he identified himself.

“Are you watching the news?” he asked.

The question jolted Rachel out of her mellow mood. “I forgot. Is it…Will there be something on about…”

The words and the tone of her voice alerted Adam; muttering under his breath, he went to the television set and switched it on.

“Channel four.” Rachel repeated what Tom had said, and Adam settled down in front of the set to watch. The announcer was talking about a local resident whose neighbors had complained about his Christmas decorations. The ten thousand bulbs shining all night long kept them awake, and they were tired of listening to endless repetitions of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”

“They'll repeat the story at six,” Tom said, when Rachel had reported this. “I—uh—I didn't get a chance to talk to you today. Alone, I mean.”

“No,” Rachel agreed. She was watching Adam, who appeared to be absorbed by the story about the Christmas decorations. She had no doubt as to whose side he was on.

“I thought maybe we could have a drink tomorrow night, or maybe an early dinner. I'm going to my sister's later, to help them put the toys together—you know, the ones that say, ‘Some assembly required.' My brother-in-
law is a good guy, but he doesn't know a screwdriver from a wrench. But I'm not supposed to show up till the kids are in bed, so I thought maybe…”

“I'd love to,” Rachel said.

“Great. Suppose I pick you up at five.”

Adam turned toward her and began waving his arms urgently.

“It's on,” Rachel said. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

The police officer who was being interviewed wasn't Tom; she realized she shouldn't have expected to see him, he was probably in the wrong department or not important enough to rate public exposure. The grizzled veteran who was probably a captain or deputy sheriff made the most of the pathos of the story and asked for the cooperation of the viewing audience. He didn't mention Rachel's name or the name of the shop, but he emphasized that “several” people had seen the presumed thief.

Adam switched off the set. “What is it you'd love to do?” he asked.

“None of your business.”

“As your bodyguard, I am entitled to know your future plans,” Adam said with great dignity. “When is he picking you up? Are you going shopping with me tomorrow?”

 

Adam insisted on shopping at the biggest and gaudiest mall in the area, which involved a twenty-mile drive that took twice as long as usual because too many other people had left their shopping until the day before Christmas. He also insisted on driving. They hadn't gone a block before Rachel realized she had made a serious error in letting him get behind the wheel. He handled the car as if it were a Jeep or Land Rover, hitting bumps and potholes at full speed, and never yielding the right of way. She managed
to talk him into removing his mittens so he could get a firm grip on the wheel, but her other remonstrations had little effect.

“Haven't driven in the States for a long time,” Adam explained. “Takes a while to change old habits. Don't worry, I'm an excellent driver. Never had an accident.”

That seemed improbable. Rachel closed her eyes and abandoned the subject. “How do you feel about malls?” she asked. “Most of the men I know avoid them like the plague.”

“They're fascinating studies in sociological development.” Adam fumbled in his pocket and withdrew a crumpled piece of paper. “I start screaming with claustrophobia after about an hour, though. Let's get organized. I made a list.”

Rachel opened her eyes, but she got only a glimpse before he covered the paper with his hand. “You're not supposed to see what I'm getting for you,” he explained indignantly.

“I didn't. Manure for Ruth?”

“She's a dedicated gardener,” Adam explained.