This Shared Dream (46 page)

“Is it?”

Jill wondered whether or not to tell Kandell about what Megan overheard at the party, and then wondered why she was even thinking about it at all, considering what a can of worms it would open.

The screen door slammed behind Brian. His T-shirt was soaked with sweat. “Ah, summer in Washington. Cold beer?” Without waiting for an answer, he brought three bottles, three pilsner glasses, and a church key from the kitchen and set them up. “Man, it’s hot.” He glanced at the paper. “Any leads?”

Detective Kandell shrugged. “Maybe. Seems to me that the people who came to the party—”

“Yeah,” said Brian. “That Bill Anderson guy, from the Bank, he was pretty nosy.”

“The Germany guy?” asked Daniel.

“Right. He sometimes is,” said Jill. “I think he likes me. I didn’t know he was asking about me, though.”

Brian handed Kandell a beer. “He more than likes you, Jill. He asked a lot of questions about Mom and Dad. Who they worked for. What they did. Maybe he’s going to ask me for your hand in marriage.”

“If he does, say no.”

Kandell sipped his beer. “Why do you suppose he was asking these questions?”

Brian and Jill looked at each other for a long moment.

“Daniel claims Mom was in the OSS and the CIA.”

“Dad was in fire protection,” said Brian. “He worked for GSA. Mom was kind of eclectic. She was going to school, and had the Montessori school, of course. She never actually went to any job, though, at least not when we were kids.”

Jill could feel a flush rising on her face. She took another gulp of beer, got up, and turned on an old GE floor fan from the forties. It rotated back and forth like an implacable eye.

“What?” Daniel was looking at her.

“Nothing. It’s awful hot.” She picked up the party list and fanned herself. “Why don’t you come to dinner tomorrow afternoon? The whole family will be here. You can ask them questions if you think it’s relevant.”

Brian shot her a look. “Jill—”

“We’ll be done by that time, Brian.”

Brian just raised his eyebrows.

“Thanks,” said Daniel. “Since your father’s books were stolen, I think that would be helpful, but we’re having a family dinner ourselves, Dad, Grandma Arabelle, and my son.”

“Bring all of them. It will be fun.” And maybe muddy the waters, she hoped, not so happy about the direction this investigation was taking. Especially considering that Daniel remembered Bette, remembered the school. That seemed way too personal. But then, she thought,
Aren’t you trying to open up? Isn’t that what the therapist says? Isn’t that what your brother and sister want? Sure, let’s just tell the whole world that maybe Mom was a spy, and Dad was in charge of the most dangerous weapon since the atom bomb. Let’s just—

Daniel said, “You say that your sister—”

“Megan,” she said, returning suddenly to the room, Daniel, and Brian.

“Might know something about them.”

“Megan might have a stalker too,” said Brian.

“What? She didn’t tell me,” said Jill.

“Oh. I thought she had. Don’t you two ever talk? Right. None of us do. Anyway—this was before the party—Megan mentioned a guy who constantly walks around her neighborhood.”

“What makes him noticeable?” asked Daniel.

“The fact that he wears plaid shorts and a fedora,” said Brian. “According to Megan. But her husband, Jim, thought he was strange too.”

“She live downtown?”

“No. Springfield.”

Daniel rested his elbows on his knees, clasped his hands, and leaned forward. He stared at the laden bookshelf. Finally he said, “Do either of you have any idea what this is all about?”

Brian opened his mouth. Jill made him shut it with a sharp glare. “No,” he finally said.

“I can’t help if you don’t tell me,” said Daniel.

“I’ve got to go to the market,” said Jill.

“Eastern Market? Can I drive you?”

Jill was slightly taken aback, and she was sure that he noticed. Being a detective, and all. But after an instant’s hesitation, she said, “Okay.”

*   *   *

Daniel’s ’64 Pontiac was a faded gold. It took corners wide. The right dashboard was heat-cracked with a small crazed line running from the corner of the glove compartment to the window.

“Was this new when you got it?” asked Jill.

“It was my dad’s.”

“Is he still alive?”

“Retired.”

“Policeman?”

Daniel looked at her with amusement. “Contrary to your belief, not all black professional men in Washington work for the police department.”

“It’s just that—”

“He’s an architect. Actually, he still takes jobs. Just no museums or anything. He’d love to see your house.”

“Aha. An ulterior motive. Bring him tomorrow. I’d love to know more about the house. Your mom?”

“She died about five years ago.”

“I’m sorry. And your wife? I mean, ex-wife?”

“She moved back to Boston.”

“But your boy is here.”

“Just for a few weeks in the summer. He’s with his cousins today.”

“Bring him too.”

“I, um, gathered that your brother wasn’t too keen about the idea. If you want to change your mind, I won’t feel in the least insulted.”

“Oh, no.” There’d be no talking during dinner, what with all the kids running around. And the Kandells would be gone if they needed to get back down to business later. Jill realized that she rather liked Daniel. He was easygoing, comfortable to be around.

“Okay.” They were silent as he pursued a slow, side-street route to the market. Jill got the feeling that he simply enjoyed driving through different neighborhoods, through the cathedral-like avenues of old trees. She relaxed into the cadence.

“We’re being followed, by the way.”

She unrelaxed immediately.

“Don’t turn around. He’s in a blue recent-model Volkswagen. He’s not there right now; he’s dropped back.”

“Can you see what he looks like?”

“I can only see that he’s wearing a hat. Like he’s on his way to the office forty years ago.”

Jill got her phone out of her pocket and called Brian. “What kind of hat did the man wear?”

“A black homburg.”

“Tell him to keep an eye on things,” said Daniel.

“I heard him,” said Brian. “That’s what I’m here for.” He hung up.

“He said a black homburg.”

“Odd bird, eh?”

Daniel pulled into the market’s wandering old parking lot.

The market had been ongoing for over a hundred years, long enough for the stalls to relax into friendly dilapidation, long enough to become large and complex.

“Is he still—”

“No,” said Daniel. “I lost him with all that fancy high-speed maneuvering.”

“I thought so.”

“He’ll be here. Don’t worry. So what are we looking for?”

“Whatever’s fresh. I’m going to make some pizzas to bake in the wood oven outdoors.” Jill got four canvas bags from the backseat and handed him two.

The instant they got inside she said, “Wow. Look at that flounder!” Fish, shrimp, clams, and oysters lay in attractive rows on ice.

“Flounder pizza?”

“Hey, Dave.”

“Hey, Jill. Flounder, right?” Without her asking, the fishmonger put a fillet on his hand and held it out. She sniffed. “Five pounds on ice. I’ll pick it up on the way out.”

She said to Daniel, “Cornmeal, cast-iron frying pans. There’s plenty of room on the grill. Not everybody likes pizza.”

“That’s news to me.”

Jill headed for the cheese. “Hi, Fred. Can you give me a sample of the Parmesan?”

“She only gets the expensive stuff,” Fred said to Daniel. To Jill he said, “You know what it tastes like.”

“I always like to check. Make sure you’re not slacking on quality. What’s that German cheese?”

“Just got it. Actually, it’s probably more French than German. Right on the border.”

Soon their bags were overflowing with fresh and dried tomatoes, basil, beautiful purple and white striped eggplants that she actually wanted to paint, five red peppers, several cheeses, onions, exotic mushrooms, and assorted cold cuts.

Daniel remarked, “This is going to be quite a party.”

“It’s always bigger than I think it’s going to be.”

“Where’s your pizza sauce?”

Jill pointed to the tomatoes and basil.

“You’re a glutton for punishment.”

“Just a glutton, thank you.” She froze.

“Don’t worry, I’ve been keeping an eye on him. Over there behind the butcher’s stall, right? Can’t be any taller than five five. He’s packing.”

“Why in the world would he follow me here?”

“Jill, you’re going to have to tell me.”

“I haven’t told my brother and sister. Why would I tell you?”

“Haven’t told them what?” He faced her. “Jill. Told them what?”

She looked directly into his eyes. She did not tell him to remove his hand from her shoulder, as she had thought she was going to.

“Look,” she said. “I was committed just a few months ago.”

“I know,” he said gently.

“Damn.” She was silent a moment. “That’s not fair. How do you know?”

“Brian told me.”

Jill glared at the market in general. She did not look at Daniel.

Finally she said, “What other personal information did he volunteer?”

“Oh, he just said that you’re a brilliant workaholic who is also an exceedingly talented artist.”

“Bullshit.”

“He said that you work too much, you paint to relax, you read a lot, you’re getting a divorce, and that he doesn’t like you living in that big house alone. So why do you live in that big house alone?”

“That’s none of your business. Well, I think I’m finished here.”

“Are you sure you have enough food? We may have skipped a booth.”

“Oh, be quiet.”

“We’ll bring dessert. I bake a mean apple pie.”

Jill simmered as they walked through the parking lot. “Can’t you at least arrest that guy?”

“What for?”

“Carrying a concealed weapon. You could interrogate him.”

Daniel unlocked the car and put the flounder in the ice chest.

“He’s stalking me. Maybe he’s the one who broke into the house.”

“I doubt it. He’s too short. I could go over and give him a talking-to, but I prefer to let him play his hand.”

“So you’re not going to do anything, even though he terrifies me?”

“You know, Jill,” Daniel said, as they got into the car and rolled down the windows, “you seem singularly non-terrifiable. Most other women—I mean, people—would be hysterical right about now.”

She sighed. “I guess you’re right. I’m not sure where I get that from. I’m more annoyed than terrified. I don’t feel at all that my life is in danger, I guess. I don’t feel … menaced.”

“You should. I think this is a serious matter.”

“I want to get to the bottom of this. Get it over with. But maybe if you arrested him, another one would just take his place.”

“A vast conspiracy.”

“You think I’m nuts.”

“I happen to think you’re correct.”

“Based on what? You just met me yesterday, right?”

“Yes and no.” He swung out of the parking lot and checked the mirror. “Here he comes. By the book.”

“Yes and no? What do you mean by that? Have you been stalking me?”

“No. I met you when my little brother was in your mother’s school. You were fiery as hell, worked down at the Poor People’s Campaign headquarters, which I frequented, and I was quite astonished to see you, the Jill Who Would March into the Gates of Hell, sitting on the floor and playing with my little brother when I came to pick him up one day. You were wearing blue bell bottoms with big silvery buttons on the bells and a white shirt with Mexican embroidery on the yoke.”

“Do you remember what the embroidery was?”

“Is this a test?”

“Maybe.” Jill cleared her throat, tried to make her voice less shaky, tried to keep her eyes from filling with tears.

“What if I don’t recall such a seemingly trivial detail?”

She said, “Do you?”

“Something to do with bluebirds, I think, and big red flowers.”

And then she was crying, sobbing straight out, her fists clenched on her knees, and he pulled over and put an arm around her while she leaned on his shoulder and cried until she couldn’t cry anymore.

After that, he was the first person she had ever told about everything that had happened. They didn’t get back to the house until much later, when they hurried to stuff everything in the refrigerator.

Daniel said, “Jill, we have more to talk about, but I have to go pick up my son.”

“Thanks,” she said, and gave him a quick hug.

Brian came in from the living room. “Cindy and Bitsy are upstairs napping. Zoe’s in the ballroom. I’m off to pick up more things from the apartment. What was that all about?”

“None of your business.”

*   *   *

Megan caught the Magline back to Washington and her ride was uneventful, for which she was thankful. At about five thirty, she stood in front of Union Station, her suit jacket over her arm, her shirt pasted to her back by sweat. This summer’s heat was astounding—but each summer’s heat was declared the worst ever by those experiencing it. She looked at her watch. Jim wasn’t expecting her until later that night, but she longed to see Abbie, to pick her up and hug her very, very tightly. But the damned Game Board hung on her shoulder. She’d decided to stash the board at Jill’s and then go home, when a woman rushed toward her.

She was blond and wore a WWII uniform. Before Megan could think, or move out of her way, the woman hugged her, crushed her almost. Then she held Megan’s shoulders, and looked her up and down. She nodded, then stepped back and said, “I’m sorry. This war is going on for much longer than we thought it would.” Then she turned sharply and walked into the vast doors of Union Station.

Megan ran after her, into an older Union Station, filled with soldiers. She stood stock-still for a moment, absolutely astounded. Then she looked for the woman. She’d lost her!—no, there she was, her blond hair pushed up under her hat, walking toward one of the gates.

“Wait!” Megan yelled. Her plea faded into an acoustical painting, echo upon echo. Above her, the sign changed, clicking in rapid
snaps,
and then cool air hit her.