He stood, drying himself with a large towel. He toweled his hair dry, then ran his fingers through it. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” he said.
She turned and looked at him, affecting surprise. “Sorry?”
“The weather, it’s lovely.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Yes, it is.”
“It usually is up here. It’s cooler than in Palm Springs, what with the elevation.”
“Have you been here long?”
“A month tomorrow,” he replied.
“That’s a long stay.”
“You must have just arrived; I haven’t seen you before.”
“Yes, just last night. I just felt like getting away for a few days.”
“Away from where?” he asked.
“I’ve been staying in Los Angeles with friends. I came out from New York last month.”
“Is New York your home?”
“I’ve just sold my apartment there,” Barbara said, “and I haven’t decided where I want to alight.”
“You sound free as a bird.”
“I suppose I am,” she said. “It’s not quite as much fun as I thought it would be. I lost my husband a few months ago, and I thought a change of scenery might help.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. “I know how you feel, because I lost my wife recently. I suppose I’m footloose, as well; I sold my business after her death, and I haven’t decided yet where I want to live.”
“Where were you living before?”
“In Palo Alto. I had an aircraft electronics business there.”
“A pleasant place?”
“Yes, it is, but I’d like to get away from the Silicon Valley crowd. I’ve been thinking about San Francisco.”
“Such a beautiful city.”
“Yes, it is. Oddly enough, I’ve spent very little time there, even though I’ve been living close by for more than fifteen years.”
“Where else are you considering?”
“Oh, I thought about Seattle, but there’s such a lot of rain there. The cool summers in San Francisco appeal to me.”
“I know what you mean; I’ve never liked the heat much.”
Keeler put down his towel. “May I join you?” he asked, indicating the empty chaise next to her.
“Please.”
He settled onto the chaise. “Lunch?”
“I’ve just eaten, thanks.”
“I hope you don’t mind watching me eat.”
“Not at all.”
He ordered a sandwich and a virgin Mary. “I haven’t gotten used to the no-alcohol rule, though I suppose it hasn’t hurt me. I’ve lost nine or ten pounds since I got here.”
“You look great,” she said, “but a man should have two drinks a day, according to the latest medical studies.”
“Doctor’s orders? I like that.”
She sipped her virgin Mary.
“A friend of mine used to call a virgin Mary a ‘bloody awful.’”
She laughed. “Well said.”
They chatted on into the afternoon, and Barbara invented her background on the fly.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Walter Keeler-Walt.”
“I’m Eleanor Wright,” she said. “Ellie.” And you and I, she thought, are going to get to know each other very well.
6
EAGLE AWOKE AT seven, as usual, and checked Susannah. She was still soundly asleep. He showered, shaved and dressed, then sat down on the bed next to her and stroked her cheek. “You ready for some breakfast?” he asked.
Her eyelids fluttered and she moved a bit. “Good morning.” “Breakfast?”
“Toast and coffee, please.”
“Don’t go back to sleep; we need to get an early start.”
“Why?” she asked sleepily.
“I’ve been out of the office for a week, and things have been piling up.”
She struggled into a sitting position. “Okay, I’m awake.”
Eagle made coffee and toast and poured juice. Susannah’s hair was still wet from the shower when she came to the table.
“How are you feeling?”
“Good,” she said. “I slept very soundly.”
“Did you dream?”
“Probably, but I don’t remember what.”
She seemed to have no thought of what had happened the day before. She had been asleep for a good fifteen hours. He wondered if she had, somehow, blocked the shooting from her mind. “I’ll get packed,” he said, “and you get dressed.”
AN HOUR LATER they took the elevator to the lobby, and Eagle held the door for her while she spoke to the man at the desk.
“Terry, please get the carpet cleaners in and have them do the apartment,” she said, “with special attention to the area by the front door.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the man replied, reaching for the phone.
Susannah returned to the elevator, and Eagle let it continue to the basement garage. Apparently, she hadn’t completely forgotten about yesterday.
THEY TOOK OFF from Santa Monica Airport in Eagle’s airplane less than an hour later, shepherded by air traffic control to the Palmdale VOR, then cleared direct Grand Canyon, direct Santa Fe. Sped along by a strong tailwind, they got a good look at the spectacular hole in the ground and were in Santa Fe in plenty of time for lunch.
“Your place or mine?” he asked her as they drove away from the airport.
“Mine,” she replied. “I’ve got some stuff to do around the house. I’ll pick up some things and come to you by dinnertime.”
“Out or in?”
“Make a reservation somewhere,” she said.
They drove the twenty minutes to her house, and he pulled into the driveway, got her bags out and took them into the house. Before he left, he sat her down in the study.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“I’m very well, Ed, I told you that.”
“Listen, you’ve been through a traumatic experience, and it’s going to catch up with you sooner or later.” He wrote a name and number on the back of his business card and gave it to her. “This guy is the best psychotherapist in Santa Fe. His name is Daniel Shea, and he lives and works two or three miles from here. I think you should have a talk with him.”
“Ed, please believe me, I’m fine.”
“You have the number. If you start to feel… depressed, please call him.”
“If I start to feel depressed,” she said. “I’ll see you later-six or six thirty, at your house.”
“Okay.” He kissed her and left the house, then drove to his office.
