One Was a Soldier

She nodded, but of course, he couldn’t see her. She watched him force his way into the crowd gathering around the spectacle, then lost sight of him. She stood on tiptoe. Cursed under her breath. The lawn in front of the tent would give her a better vantage point. Admittedly, it was closer to the fight-a lot closer-but she could argue that it still qualified as “staying back.”

She clutched her wrap more firmly around her shoulders and strode toward the tent. Over the eager sounds of the crowd, she thought she could hear Russ’s deep voice, trying to calm things down.

Call 911. The thought was immediately followed by the realization that she’d deliberately left her cell phone in Russ’s truck. No calls from parishioners on her big date, nosirree. She could have whacked herself in the head. Then she spotted a woman with a phone. She was talking into it, rapidly, quietly, her shoulders set in an angry line. “Fine,” she said. “Fine. If that’s the way you want it.” She snapped the phone shut.

“Excuse me.” Clare hated to break up someone’s special moment, but Russ needed backup. “Could you please call nine-one-one?” The woman turned to her. It was Tally McNabb.

“What? Why?” Tally frowned.

“The fight?” Clare gestured to the melee. Above the shrieking woman and the jeering guys, she could hear Russ’s voice, hard and authoritative.

“A fight?” Tally shook her head. “Christ. Sorry. I didn’t notice. I was…” She made a vague gesture in the direction of her phone. She teetered on the balls of her feet to peer over the heads of the crowd. “I think somebody’s already busting it up.”

“That’s Chief Van Alstyne, yeah, but he’s alone and-” Clare didn’t want to say “unarmed.” She compromised with “And the Lake George police ought to know.”

Tally looked at Clare more closely. “Hey. I know you.” Her mouth opened, and even in the dim light, Clare could see red rising in the younger woman’s cheeks. “It’s you.”

Clare took a breath. Attempted a smile. “Please? Call nine-one-one?”

Behind them, a smooth voice said, “No need. The hotel has already been notified.” Clare and Tally both turned.

The CEO of BWI Opperman stood behind them. His suit and shoes were hand-sewn perfection, an expensive difference that set him apart from every other man on the terrace. He held a half-empty wineglass and was looking at the knot of cheering spectators with a pained expression.

“Mr. Opperman. Hi.” Tally sounded like a high schooler dismayed to see her principal at a picnic.

“Tally McNabb. Are you enjoying yourself?” Opperman turned to Clare. “You don’t work for me.” He tilted his head to one side, as if trying to slide her image into place. She twisted her wrap, tightening it across her exposed shoulders. She could see the moment when he recognized her. “Ah. The Reverend Clare Fergusson. What a surprise. I haven’t seen you since that little hearing we had before my insurance company’s adjustment board.”

“Mr. Opperman.”

“Insurance company?” Tally said.

Opperman answered her without turning his gaze from Clare. “Reverend Fergusson went joyriding over the Adirondacks in the BWI company helicopter a few summers back and crashed the thing. It was a total loss.”

“I was trying to save the life of a man who was trapped in the mountains. He was badly injured. I didn’t have time to ask for permission to use the ship.”

“As you said, yes.” The corners of his mouth tilted upward, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It was fortunate for you the insurers accepted your version of the event. Pilot error would have been an ugly thing to have on your record.”

“As opposed to sabotage?”

“I believe you mean mechanical failure. That was, after all, the official verdict.”

Clare found herself wringing the ends of her shawl. Opperman had never been linked to the mysterious collapse of the fuel pump that had nearly killed her and Russ, and he never would be. Let it go. She forced her hands to relax.

He went on. “I was under the impression you had gone back to being a captain in the army. I certainly hope you haven’t wrecked any of their helicopters as well.”

She jerked her chin up. “I’m a major. In the Guard. And no, I haven’t broken any Black Hawks yet.”

“She was in Iraq, too.” Tally spoke brightly, like a woman who wanted to change the subject away from who did what to whom.

Opperman turned to her. “Did you know each other over there?”

“No. Oh, no. No reason our paths would have crossed.” Tally looked at Clare. “We’ve really only ever met once before this. Accidentally. Right?”

Clare nodded. Tally clearly didn’t want her employer to know she’d been living off the streets and using the soup kitchen. “Right.”

He smiled. “Then may I ask what you’re doing at my party? I don’t recall seeing your name on the guest list.”

Clare flushed. “Excuse me. I walked up from the landing to see if anyone had called the police. Now I know you have, I’ll go back and wait for my date.” Involuntarily, she looked over her shoulder to the place where Russ had disappeared.

Opperman stretched up to get a better view. “Is he fighting?” His face creased, as if a row of figures didn’t add up. “No. Of course not. Van Alstyne.” His voice changed, so that when his gaze snapped back to Clare she had to keep herself from flinching. “Yes. I had heard rumors about you two…” He looked her up and down, as thoroughly and impersonally as if he were doing the last-minute flight check of a helicopter. “I’m surprised. I didn’t think Van Alstyne’s interest in you would survive his wife’s death. He adored her, you know. Still… a man in mourning needs some distraction, and you are reasonably attractive.” He zeroed in on her hands. He stared for a long moment. Finally, he said, “What an exquisite ring. I take it best wishes are in order?”

She resisted the urge to hide it from view. Grandmother Fergusson pried open her mouth and made her say, “Yes. Thank you.”

He leaned in toward Clare, close, where no one else could hear. She forced herself not to back away. “Do you really think you can compete with his wife?” His breath was hot on her face, his voice a slither in her ear. “Linda Van Alstyne was beautiful, creative, sharp-witted, loving-everything except faithful.” He blinked in slow motion. “She was certainly the best fuck I ever had.”

Clare’s jaw unhinged. “That’s a lie!”

Opperman shrugged. “Take it as a friendly warning, before you get in too deep. A man doesn’t forget a woman like that. He compares every other woman to that perfection and finds her lacking. Is that really as high as you can aim for yourself? To be the consolation prize for someone who can’t have what he really wants?”

Clare couldn’t speak. Couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. She stood, trembling, like a battered boxer one punch away from going down. Opperman stepped toward her and she twisted away, but he walked past her as if she were already a ghost.

“Tally.” His voice was cool and even. “Enjoy the rest of the party.”

“Thanks, Mr. Opperman.”

Clare wanted to grab hold of Tally and drag her away from Opperman. She wanted to find the nearest shower and scrub down until she felt clean again. She wanted to look Russ in the eye and ask him, Are you really over her? Is it truly me you want?

No. That was crazy. She knew Russ, knew him like she knew the Book of Common Prayer, carried him as a lamp beneath her breastbone. Opperman was playing her.

He stepped back into her line of sight and smiled. “Excuse me, please. I’d better go see how the rest of the party is getting along.” His smile faded into a concerned expression. “Think about what I said, Major Fergusson.” He walked away into the crowd.

Clare was shaking. Tally looked at her. “What was that all about? What did he say?”

Clare shook her head.

“Hey. I owe you big-time. I was a total asshole that day at the soup kitchen. Let me make it up to you. You