When we got in the car, Peters asked, “Where to?”
“I guess we go pick up Carstogi.”
Peters started the motor. “You think Benjamin’s voice is the one we heard, not Carstogi’s?”
“I don’t know what to think,” I replied.
Carstogi wasn’t surprised to see us. I think he knew it was inevitable. When we came into the room he was sitting on the side of the bed, shoulders hunched, face buried in his hands.
“You’ll have to come with us,” I said.
Peters brought out the cuffs. Carstogi stood up and pulled away. It was reflex. I caught him by the shoulder and swung him around. “Don’t do anything stupid,” I warned him. “Things are bad enough for you already.”
Carstogi came with us quietly. Peters read him his rights. I didn’t have the stomach for it. The public wanted a fall guy, and it was Peters’ and my job to provide them with one. We herded him through the booking process. He reminded me of a steer being driven to slaughter, numb with fear and unable or unwilling to help himself. He didn’t ask for an attorney.
Once he was dressed in the bright orange jail coveralls, we began to question him. First Peters would grill him and then I would. He sat at the table in the tiny interview room, gazing at the floor while we asked him our questions. His story never varied, but it didn’t improve, either. He stuck to it like glue. The questioning process went on for hours. We finally sent him to his cell about nine o’clock. I left right after he did, without saying good night to anyone, including Peters. There was nothing good about it.
I walked my usual path down Fourth. I needed to think, to separate myself from the stifling closeness of the interview room. I didn’t like the feeling that I was part of a railroading gang. What we had on Carstogi was totally circumstantial, but I was afraid it might stick. After all, any port in a storm, and Carstogi didn’t have much of a cheering section in this part of the world.
What about Brother Benjamin? According to Jeremiah, he wasn’t the mysterious Uncle Charlie, but he was certainly a likely suspect with Brodie and Suzanne. The questions circled in my head, but I was too tired to draw any conclusions.
I opened the door to my apartment hoping Anne would be there. I more than half expected that she would be, but she wasn’t. I tried calling the Four Seasons and was told Mrs. Corley wasn’t taking any calls. That pissed me off. I poured myself a MacNaughton’s and settled down to wait. And sulk.
It must have been three drinks later before she called me back. By then I was pretty crabby. “I just now got your message,” she said. “Would you like me to come over?”
I felt like saying, Suit yourself. What actually came out of my mouth was, “Sure.”
She was there within minutes, greeting me with a quick kiss. I had drunk enough that I resented her lighthearted manner. “What are you so chipper about?” I groused.
“I got a lot done today, that’s all. How about you?”
“Same old grind.”
We were standing in the entryway. She took the glass from my hand, reached around the corner, and set it on the kitchen counter. Then she took both my hands in hers and placed them behind her back. “Kiss me,” she demanded.
I did, reluctantly at first, still trying to hang on to being mad at her. It didn’t work. My hunger for her reawakened. I crushed her to my chest as the touch of her lips sent me reeling.
“Marry me,” she whispered.
“What?” I asked, thinking I couldn’t possibly have heard her right. I pushed her away and held her at arm’s length.
“Marry me,” she repeated. “Now. We can get the license tomorrow and get married on Sunday.”
I examined her face, trying to tell if she was kidding. No hint of merriment twinkled in her gray eyes.
“You mean it, don’t you!”
She nodded.
“So soon? We hardly know each other.”
“I’ve just now gotten up my courage. If I give myself any time to think about it, I might back out. Besides, I know all I need to know.”
I made the transition from being half drunk to being totally sober in the space of a few seconds. She moved away from me and settled on the couch. I stood for a long time in the doorway, thunderstruck. It was one thing to ask if someone believed in love at first sight, but proposing marriage was something else again.
I come from the old school where men make the first move, do the asking. Not that the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. Eventually. After a suitable interval.
“I take it that means no?” she asked softly, misinterpreting my silence for refusal.
Hurrying to her, I sat down next to her and put my arm around her shoulders. “It’s just that…”
“Please, Beau.” She looked up at me, her eyes dark and pleading. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”
We had known each other for barely three days, yet I couldn’t conceive of life without her, couldn’t imagine denying giving her anything she wanted, including me. I leaned down and kissed her. “Why not? What have I got to lose?”
A smile of gratitude flashed across her face, followed by an impish grin. “Your tie, for starters,” she responded airily, kissing me back and fumbling with the knot on my tie. “Your tie and your virtue.”
Chapter 17
When I woke up, Anne’s fingers were tracing a pattern through the hair on my chest. It was morning, and rare Seattle sun streamed in the bedroom window, glinting off the auburn flecks in her dark hair. She was sitting on the bed, fully dressed and smiling.
“It’s about time you woke up. Coffee’s almost done.”
I pulled her to me. “Did I dream it?” I asked, burying my face in a mass of fragrant hair.
“Dream what?” she countered.
“That you asked me to marry you.”
“And that you accepted. No, you didn’t dream it.” She pushed me away. “And now you’d better get up because we’re about to have company.”
“Company?” I protested, glancing at the clock. “It’s only a quarter to seven.”
“I told him to be here at seven so we could go to breakfast.”
“Told who?”
“Ralph Ames, my attorney. You talked to him on the phone, remember?”
She went to the kitchen, and I ducked into the bathroom, ashamed that she knew I’d been checking on her.
I was shaving when Anne tapped on the bathroom door and brought me a steaming mug of strong coffee. She set it on the counter, then perched on the closed toilet seat to visit in the custom of long married couples. She watched me scrape the stubborn stubble from my chin. “No second thoughts?” I asked, peering at her reflection in the mirror.
She shook her head. “None,” she replied. “How about you?”
“I’m not scared if you’re not.”
A pensive smile touched the corners of her mouth. “I was just like your mother, you know.”
I paused, holding the razor next to my jaw. “What do you mean?”
“I thought once was enough.”
The phone rang just then. She hurried to answer it, and I heard her direct Ralph Ames into the building. She came back to the bathroom as I was drying my face. She put her arms around my waist, resting her cheek on the back of my shoulder. “I love you, J. P. Beaumont,” she said.
Turning to face her, I took her chin in my hands and kissed her. “I love you, too.” It was the first time since Karen that I had uttered those words or experienced the feelings that go with them. It amazed me that they came out so easily and felt so right. I kissed her again. A thrill of desire caught me as her lips clung to mine. There was a
