The Hammett Hex (4 page)

Smiley knocked on the door that connected our two rooms. Have I mentioned that part of the deal was separate hotel rooms? If our trip didn't work out and for sure everyone was warning me, I still wanted to have a room I could sulk in. Maybe it meant I still wanted my freedom. Whatever, it wasn't like we were in any kind of a race.

My phone buzzed. Tiff texting.
All good?

Trip was a bit of a nightmare, but we made it. LOL.

Have fun. Send pix.
Winky face.

I will.

*   *   *

LA PERLA, A
charming independent hotel, was on the small side, only nine floors, with well-appointed rooms most
with a balcony that ran the width of the room. I have a thing for balconies. Call it my Juliet side. And of course, Uncle Seamus once made a daring getaway with a bed sheet from a balcony without dropping his bag of loot. Although I'd never told him anything about the legendary Uncle Seamus, Smiley knew I loved balconies. He'd made sure our rooms had perfect examples.

The reception staff seemed friendly and the other guests pleasant enough. A pair of silver-haired ladies wearing Birkenstocks and Tilley hats were in the line to check in after us.

“Your first visit?” the taller one asked.

“Yes, we've only been here in movies,” Smiley said.

They both grinned. The shorter one said with a wink, “I'm sure you'll find real life in this city very exciting.”

Smiley and I exchanged glances. I wondered if whatever Smiley had in mind would be exciting. Or romantic. Whatever San Francisco had to offer would be perfect. A vacation, after all, didn't just happen every day or, in my case, every year.

Our side-by-side rooms when we got to them were clean and attractive, renovated within recent memory and stocked with artisanal soap and hair products and wonderful hand lotion that smelled like roses. My bed was perfect with a crisp white duvet and masses of pillows. I pulled back the drapes and the sheers, to let some light into the room, then unpacked and took a deep breath. After a rest, a shower and a change of clothes, I stepped out onto the balcony. Smiley had stepped out onto his. He was looking even more relaxed than usual. Of course, with Smiley, looks can be deceiving.

From either of the balconies, we could experience the fog and hear the gulls. A row of potted trees provided privacy on each one, and probably meant that the small white table and lounge chairs would be well used by guests. You could even catch a bit of sun if there had been any.

We couldn't actually see the bay through the thick mist but we felt it.

“Come on over,” I said. “The party's started.”

“I'll get some wine and put on some fog screen,” he said.

I'd been told that one of the nice things about San Francisco is the mild weather no matter when you go. Never too hot to walk for hours and miles up and down hills, and I do mean hills. Even on the road in from the airport to the center of the city, I'd seen streets that seemed to be on forty-five-degree angles.

Despite the fog, it wasn't cold. I'd read enough to know that it was rarely too chilly to sit outside on a balcony. Our June weather was perfect. I had a long loose cable knit sweater scarf draped over my shoulders, mostly just because I liked the look.

He arrived with a bottle of crisp Pinot Grigio and two glasses.

On our small table between us I'd laid out the
Eyewitness Guide to San Francisco
. From that we'd be making plans for our days around town. Smiley's goal was to revisit Dashiell Hammett's haunts. I am a book person. He isn't. I am a vintage person. He isn't. I come from a family of beguiling fraudsters. His lifelong ambition was to be a cop. But we could agree on a few things: the crisp white Napa Valley wine, good food, especially when we hadn't prepared it, and the fun of exploring a city we'd only seen on the screen until this point.

He gazed out over the courtyard below us. Tourists were sauntering and locals moving purposefully to their destinations. After a day traveling by air, I was thrilled to be at my own destination. I'd had a chance to unkink from the flight. We'd planned to stroll out to dinner at tourist speed, say one mile an hour, and then amble along near the water after dinner. Things could not have been better.

I don't know quite when I first noticed that Smiley was
not entirely himself. I had made a commitment not to try to pry. Travel can be tiring, I decided, and he'd been very tied up in selling his small, immaculate brick house so that he could move to the next town over the county line for his new job. I couldn't help feeling a bit guilty about that, though I hadn't asked him to make this sacrifice. Having the Kelly family as connections would have meant career suicide in Harrison Falls, even though my uncles had never actually been convicted of anything, if you didn't count that unfortunate business with Uncle Kev in his youth.

I squeezed his hand. “I'm sorry.”

He looked startled. “Sorry for what?”

“Putting you in the position where you had to move.”

“You didn't do that. I made that decision.”

I took a sip. “Right, but it was awkward for you.”

“Life's full of awkwardness.” He grinned. “It's nothing.”

“I don't know. Giving up your house and your job with the Harrison Falls force, that was something, if you ask me.”

“You know that there wasn't any future for me there, even leaving aside—”

“My relatives.”

He shrugged and gazed off into the distance. “You know what they say. You can pick your friends, but you can't pick your relatives. I picked you.”

There was no choice but to give him a hug over that. He had picked me. And I chose not to say that even though my uncles were as crooked as a bag of snakes, they had raised me and they were kind and loving, and if I'd had the choice, I would definitely have picked them. The problem was, I had also picked Officer Tyler Dekker.

“Don't forget,” he said, “I'll be a detective when I start the job in Cabot. That's a step up. I call it a win.”

That was worth a clink. “Congratulations. My hero.”

“All I have to do is show up on time. If I'd stayed in Harrison Falls, I'd probably have had to wait for years for
Detective Castellano to move up to chief and Stoddard to die of boredom.”

True. His superior officer and her sidekick hadn't been going anywhere.

I had no choice but to ask, “So why are you looking so down?”

He gave a little start. “What? Me? I'm not glum. I've been waiting for this chance to get—”

“Never kid a kidder, Tyler.” I raised one eyebrow so he'd see I meant business.

He flushed to the roots of his blond hair. “Maybe it's better if I tell you the whole story over dinner.”

I decided it could wait. I sipped my delicious wine and basked in the fog. My heart was beating just a wee bit faster than normal, though.

*   *   *

CALL ME OLD-FASHIONED
although I prefer vintage, but I like to up my game for dinner. I kept my mind off whatever “the whole story” was by concentrating on what to wear. My charcoal cashmere sweater dress would keep me from catching a chill off the bay. I paired it with matching tights and scarlet ankle boots with little gold zippers. Even though the dress was years old, someone had loved it and cared for it and then I'd been lucky enough to snatch it up for a song at a vintage shop.

Smiley had found a large, beautiful seafood restaurant with a spectacular view of the water. It seemed extravagant to me. I knew he was juggling a move, selling his house at a time when the market in Harrison Falls favored buyers and yet the market in Cabot, a mere half hour away, seemed to favor the seller. If the Town of Cabot Police Department hadn't had a rule that officers had to live within the town limits, he wouldn't have had a problem.

“I don't care,” he said. “This is our first night here. It's
our first vacation after several brushes with death and I'm willing to use my savings to have a great time. Try to cope.”

“Well, I'll contribute my share.” Of course, I hated to pay the big bucks for upscale restaurants because I had a very specific goal for my savings, but it was the right thing to do. And I was spoiled rotten with the signora's cooking all year long.

“This one's on me,” he said with a grin. “Humor me, Jordan.”

Pick your battles, as they say.

*   *   *

EVEN THOUGH THE
sun had finally peeked out, it was still cool. I was glad I'd worn the timeless cashmere dress as there were plenty of chic women there. Lots of people were wearing comfy touristy garb, but it was a place you could be happy if you dressed up.

There were candles glowing on each table and soft lighting and a haunting view of the water. Perfect. Smiley had managed to arrange for a table for two with what had to be the best view in the house.

Our waiter had recommended a jewel-like Napa Valley cabernet. It was almost hypnotic as it glowed in our oversized red wine goblets. I felt very grown up.

Next to us, two young couples flirted; the women tossed their long hair (almost certainly extensions) and jingled their gold bangles. They both spoke with their heads at an angle. The blonde played with a few strands of hair. The redhead traced little patterns on her date's forearm.

I figured both women had wasted quite a bit of time in tanning beds.

Tyler still seemed subdued. He gazed off in the distance, but not at the stunning view. All of sudden, it hit me. Was he really planning to propose? Was that the reason for his unusual mood? He is not known as Smiley for nothing. I
have my ups and downs and my ginger-haired relatives are always flying off the handle about nothing important, but Tyler is resilient and usually pretty cheerful. As a rule, he's almost too good to be true. I couldn't figure out the reason for his mood. Maybe it was reading Hammett? The whole mean streets noir thing. For sure, Hammett's life hadn't been all roses and it was reflected in his writing. It was kind of the opposite of Tyler, who—despite the emotional limitations of his family—was optimistic, cheerful and expected a good outcome. He seemed immune to the evils of the world.

“A bit gloomy, I gotta admit, but fun to read.”

He blinked.

“Hammett,” I said by way of explanation.

“Oh yeah, he's great. I love the whole vibe.”

“Right, me too.”

So not Hammett, then.

He turned toward me and met my eyes, a searching enquiry I wasn't used to.

On the other hand, maybe it wasn't what he'd been reading. I had a sinking feeling this was more serious. He felt around his pocket. My heart constricted. What if this entire trip was the setup for a proposal? That was the last thing I wanted. I was still finding my way in this world. I'd just managed to get out from under my uncles' constant surveillance and “helpful” advice. I was still a way from achieving my dream of returning to work on my graduate degree in Victorian literature. I was barely healed after the worst romantic relationship in my life: broken heart, plundered bank account, maxed-out credit cards. Even though the breaker of my heart had gotten what was coming to him, I still had flashbacks. Still, Tyler Dekker was pretty terrific. I loved the way his skin could go from pale as snow to sunset red with just one kiss.

He was smart, kind, flexible and affectionate.

He loved dogs.

He loved chocolate.

It wasn't him. It was me.

It was too early.

I smiled tightly and raised my glass of cabernet.

“Jordan?”

“Mmm?”

“Would you—”

I took a deep breath.
Be brave
, I told myself.
You can do this.

The waiter materialized, seemingly out of thin air. “Do you need a bit more time with the menu?”

We hadn't even looked at it.

Smiley looked bemused and nodded toward me.

I said. “Just a few minutes. Sorry.”

“No worries. I'll be back.”

“I suppose I should make a decision. It's actually getting late.”

The sun was beginning to set, leaving a rosy glow over the water. We watched as the glow spread along the horizon. It seemed a waste to turn our eyes away to the menu, but as the brilliant light faded, we did.

I went for seafood chowder and the spicy crab cakes. He decided on pistachio-crusted halibut with no appetizer. “Not that hungry. Maybe it's the time difference. I don't usually eat dinner at midnight our time.”

Of course, he didn't spend all his time at Van Alst House, where the signora was likely to spring a pile of food on you at any time, including midnight. I'd been in training for nearly two years.

“So there's something I've been meaning to ask you,” he said.

I couldn't help shifting my gaze to the next table, where a fiftyish couple had been sitting almost as long as we had. He had taken out his smart phone and she stared out over
the glittering water. So far they hadn't spoken to each other or given each other a glance. Each of them pointed to their choices when the server came by and then returned to their solitary activities.

I leaned forward. “Married too long,” I whispered, giving a sideways nod in their direction.

Smiley blinked.

I mouthed,
Bored to tears.

He shrugged. “Maybe they're business colleagues and they just can't stand each other.”

“No,” I insisted. “They're married.”

“Sure. Not every ending is happily ever after.” He clinked my glass. We were very clinky on this trip.

“Or at all.” Geez, why did I say that? Leave it to me to find a tiny gap in which to insert my foot.

He put down the glass and frowned a bit. “Is something wrong, Jordan?”

“Of course not. I was just observing things.”

“But are you having a good time?”