Chasing Their Losses Page 4

  After that, the shell hardened.

  John Drakos hadn’t asked for a commitment, and even if he had, it wouldn’t have made any difference. She had to be careful. Love was a risky business, and so far, she’d ended up being the loser. A wave of melancholy threatened to swallow her up as she thought of her failed marriage.

  But as Cara left the city, the beauty of the countryside worked its magic. In broad pastures, cattle and horses moseyed about, blissfully munching clover and green grass. John was right to live in his grandparents’ old house, although most doctors in Lewiston medical circles chose to live in glitzy suburbs with hot tubs and swimming pools and tennis courts.

  A surge of hope rushed through her veins when she approached the hill leading to John’s farm. Cara drove up to the circular drove, climbed the old stone steps and pushed open the heavy carved mahogany door, breathing in the smell of charred firewood, spices, and dried rose petals. She had stopped knocking to announce her arrival long ago. The parlor, with its horsehair chairs, crocheted curtains, and massive stone fireplace, was empty. John sat in the kitchen at the round oak table, reading a newspaper.

  “So, you’re finally here.” He didn’t rise to embrace her.

  “Sorry, I’ve had a bad morning,” she said. “Something came up at the hospital. I had to straighten things out.”

  “Coffee?”

  Was she imaging it, or was their tension in his voice? “Sure, I’d love some.”

  His eyes went from her feet to her head. “You don’t look like you’re going riding.”

  “Oh,” Cara’s hand flew to her chest. She was wearing a creamy silk blouse, short black skirt, black zip up boots. “I’ll have to change. My clothes are in the car.”

  “That’s what you wore out to Tony Cabella’s today, right?”

  “Something wrong with that?”

  John stood up and moved so close she felt the warmth radiating from his chest. He was dressed for riding: jeans, boots, and a red checked shirt open at the neck. “No, you just look pretty sexy, that’s all.”

  “This isn’t sexy, John. It’s a simple, business like, skirt and blouse.” Good Lord, he was jealous. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She’d never seen him this way.

  He closed the distance between them and reached for her top button, his hand circling her waist. She was melting fast as he tilted her chin and softly kissed her on the lips, tender and demanding at the same time.

  “Whoa.” she said. “Aren’t the horses saddled up?”

  “So.”

  “So, this can wait. I want to save my strength.” But she was pressing against him, already damp and aroused as he ran his hand up her thigh and slipped his fingers between her legs. She leaned back against the table, ready to make love right then and there.

  “Not here.” John said. “It’s too dark. I want you in my bedroom with the sun shining, so I can see your beautiful body.”

  They hurried upstairs where he undressed her and shed his own clothes. At five foot ten, John had the kind of muscles that came from working out on a farm, not in a gym. He was broad shouldered with powerful, oversized upper arms. The sunlight glinted on the curly dark hair on his chest and taut abdomen.

  He explored her body with his hands and mouth and pulled her on top. She widened her thighs and placed him deep inside of her, then lowered herself until her breasts touched his face, their bodies moving together in a slow steady rhythm until they came together. Then he turned her over, kissed her breasts, and began all over, bringing her to that glorious, altered state of consciousness again and again.

  “Sorry if I wore you out,” he teased after she’d showered and changed her clothes. “Sure you aren’t too tired to go for a ride?”

  Actually, she felt energized.

  * * *

  Cara and John had just finished up Sunday dinner on the deck when the sky darkened in the North. They’d had charcoal broiled steaks, fresh corn on the cob, and John’s favorite: tomato and cucumber salad with sour cream dressing. They hurried to cover the grill and bring in the utensils just as a torrential rainstorm moved in along with a sweep of cold air.

  Cara held a dish towel to her head, attempting to dry out her dripping hair. “Oh Lord,” she said. “I left my windows open at home, and there’s no bucket in the bedroom.”

  John drained the last of a bottle of Coors. “You mean your landlady still hasn’t fixed the roof?”

  “She’s promised to get it done next month.”

  “Why not this month?”

  “Because. She had to pay the property taxes, and she can barely afford the monthly fee out at Windermere Manor.”

  John went upstairs and came back with a large towel and clean T-shirt for Cara to pull over her jeans. “She really ought to sell that house. It doesn’t make sense for someone living in a retirement village.”

  “But that’s what enables her to stay. Since she can’t sell the house for what it’s worth, she gets more income by renting it out.”

  “That will only last as long as she has an understanding tenant like you.”

  “I know. But right now, I’m going to have to go back and put that bucket in the bedroom.”

  “You’re going to drive home in this rain?”

  Cara shrugged. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have a choice.”

  John pressed a stubby cheek against hers and nibbled her ear. She knew he had a soft spot for eighty year old ladies who reminded him of his grandmother. “All right, I understand,” he said. “It’s been a good weekend.”

  His skin was moist and smelled of the outdoors. Cara clung to his sturdy, familiar body for a few seconds, her hand at the place on the back of his neck where his thick hair started to curl. It was always like this when she left: torn between needing her own space and yet, not wanting to leave this warm, sensual man. She hoped he would miss her all week, making their time together more precious. “I’ll be out next Friday, all right?”

  He gave her a playful pat on the behind and stood at the door, watching as she drove away

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A CALL FROM TONY

  SO HERE SHE was on Sunday night, back in Lewiston’s historic district where she lived in a towering, white frame Victorian house with tall windows and a wraparound porch. Cara hadn’t planned to stay in Lewiston after Mom died, but by then she had a good job, and had met John.

  The house was way too large for a single person, and not in the least bit energy efficient with its drafty windows and doors. Cara had brightened it up by painting the walls yellow, the high molded ceilings and woodwork white, and hanging sheer curtains that filtered the light. Below the window seats she’d grouped pots of ferns, philodendron, and other large plants. It felt like home.

  Cara parked in the old coach house--now a garage--and let herself in the back entrance. Finding a bucket in the cabinet under the kitchen sink, she raced upstairs, relieved to find only a small circle of moisture on the white wool rug next to her bed. This leak was very predictable, and could be managed if caught in time. She stood for a moment, listening to the usual creaks as the old house groaned in response to the storm.

  She glanced at the landline beside her bed, and saw three messages on her answering machine.

  The first two calls were from telemarketers. Message #3 had come in at 6:30 p.m: “Hi Cara, it’s Tony Cabella.” His voice sounded husky, with an undertone of urgency. “I’m worried about what happened to my daughter yesterday. I need to talk to you. Could we have lunch tomorrow? Give me a call back as soon as possible. Or, I’ll call you at your office in case you didn’t get this message.”

  Cara jotted Tony’s number on a pad, thinking about the conversation she’d had with John this afternoon about Angie’s accident on Saturday morning. He thought something should be done about Doug, but in spite of his concern, he hadn’t suggested she talk to Tony.

  She shivered. There was a chill in the house, but it seemed too soon to turn on the furnace. She went downstairs, opened the refrig
erator and poured a glass of cold Chardonnay from a half open bottle that had been there for weeks. It was a little skunked, but the alcohol warmed her. She sat at the kitchen table and tried to decide what to do. If she were seen having lunch with Tony, it might give the wrong impression, and she had the feeling John wouldn’t like it.

  Her feelings for John were growing deeper. It would be unbearable if they broke up and she had to see him at the hospital every day. If that happened--and she knew from past experience that it could--she would need some good strong job references if she wanted to get out of town and find another job. Tony could help her with that. And then there was Angie, a little child who was going through a rough time. Someone had to convince Tony the situation with Doug needed monitoring.

  By the time she’d finished the glass, Cara had made her decision. She was going to meet Tony for lunch.

  * * *

  Monday morning didn’t start out well. At 10 a.m., Cara got a call from her boss, Jim Mason.

  “What’s going on with you and Dr. Rozgonyi?” Cara held the receiver away from her ear. When Jim got excited, he talked too loud. She could almost see a spray of saliva coming from his mouth.

  “I’m not sure,” she said smoothly. “What did she say?”

  “That she’d sent her grad assistant down to work in your department, and you kicked him out. She’s very peeved.”

  Peeved? Pissed would probably be more like it. “I think it was just a misunderstanding,” Cara said. “Rozgonyi’s new and doesn’t understand hospital policies. Much less Department of Health. She can’t let a guy barge in here, unannounced, on a Saturday afternoon. It’s as simple as that. If she’d just called and talked with me, this wouldn’t have happened. I could have made arrangements for one of my supervisors or dietitians to talk with him.”

  “Well, now she’s upset. This isn’t good, Cara. We can’t afford that.”

  It was on the tip of Cara’s tongue to say “Why not?” But she knew the answer, even though Jim Mason would never say it. Doctors were more important than lowly dietitians. Cara was out ranked, big time. They could squash her like a lightening bug in the fist of some mean little kid. “All right,” she said. “What would you like me to do?”

  “I think we should all meet in my office and talk this over.”

  “Sounds like a good idea.” Cara gritted her teeth. Actually, it sounded awful.

  “Fine. I’ll let you know what time.”

  Cara looked at her watch. By now, she had begun to regret the fact that she’d agreed to meet Tony for lunch. Maybe if she hadn’t had that wine. But there was something wrong in that house, and she was concerned for Angie’s well being. She had thought of telling Tony’s sister on Saturday that Angie suspected Doug had pushed her down, but it was obvious Janie despised Gail, so anything Cara said would only make matters worse.

  Cara had chosen a small restaurant on the east side of town for their meeting: a place called Peg’s, featuring country fried steak, fried chicken, and beef manhattans. The beige walls were decorated with artificial flower sprays. Gray Formica tables sat atop a dark green tile floor. The orange plastic chairs were cracked and chipped. Peg’s was not a spot where doctors, lawyers, or other professionals hung out. Cara was pretty sure they wouldn’t run into a soul they knew.

  Tony wasn’t fooled. “You didn’t want to be seen with me, right?” He picked up a water glass and held it to the light before wiping the rim.

  “Isn’t it better for both of us?” Cara looked at the smudged menus and decided on something hot, where she could be fairly certain of a low bacterial count. She couldn’t help but wonder how this place passed the local Department of Health inspections. “Tomato soup and grilled cheese,” she said to the waitress.

  Tony surprised her by ordering country fried steak, mashed potatoes and gravy. But when his food came, he took a few nervous bites and pushed the plate away. Beads of perspiration glistened on his forehead. “Mind if I smoke?” he asked.

  Cara did mind. She couldn’t believe Tony hadn’t given it up long ago. But he seemed tense. “If you must,” she said, wondering how Peg got around the city’s non smoking ordinance.

  Tony lit up a Camel and inhaled deeply, smoke drifting from his nostrils as he spoke.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do about my stepson,” he said. “He seemed like such a nice kid when we met. And Gail said he needed a strong father.”

  “Where is his father?”

  “He’s a wanna-be musician. Plays bass with some bands in Austin.”

  “Angie says Doug pushed her. Do they fight often?”

  “All kids squabble. It’s just that both of them were only children before. I hope they’ll adjust, eventually.”

  Cara felt a tug on her heart. “I was an only child, too, remember? And I always wanted a brother. Maybe you should see a family therapist to get things worked out.”

  Tony made a face. “No. I don’t believe in psychiatry. All shrinks want to do is to put people on drugs.”

  “What are you now? A scientologist?”

  “Not at all, I just don’t want my family’s problems aired in public.”

  “Tony, surely you trust that any counselor would respect your privacy. It’s the law.”

  “In a gossipy town like this? You know as well as I do how the office help spreads the word. Anyway I’m thinking of taking Angie over to Indianapolis, to a specialist. Not everyone thinks your Drakos is so great.”

  “My Drakos?”

  “I know you two are getting it on.”

  Cara’s face burned. “Getting kind of personal, aren’t you?”

  “Not really. I just think you’re biased.”

  “John wouldn’t object to your seeking a second opinion. In fact, he’d encourage it, if you have the time and the inclination.” Cara dropped her grilled cheese sandwich. This meeting was supposed to be about Angie, not her and John. She decided to refocus. “What happened with Angie’s mother? Did she have diabetes, too?”

  “Yes, she did. But she had it under control, she was fine with it.”

  Cara wiped her fingers with a paper napkin and held it to her lips to wipe away the grease. “You said something about a hit and run accident.”

  Tony nodded. “Roseanne used to get up every morning and run before the rest of us were out of bed. That was one way she controlled her diabetes. One morning, she didn’t come back. The police came to the door; they’d found her in the street.” Tony paused to thrust the burning tip of his cigarette into a mound of potatoes.

  “I’m so sorry, Tony. I had no idea.” Cara’s stomach churned at the thought of Angie’s mother having been murdered. No wonder the child seemed so unhappy.

  At that moment, a group of boisterous construction workers entered the restaurant, joking amongst themselves as they sat down at the next table. Cara had to raise her voice to be heard. “You mean the case is unsolved? No one has any idea of who might have done such a terrible thing?”

  Tony fingered his napkin, avoiding her eyes. “Not a clue. It was dark, and the neighborhood was asleep. Roseanne ran in the street, but she wore a florescent jacket, so it may have been a drunk driver.”

  Cara felt a surge of outrage. “It doesn’t seem possible that someone could get away with such a thing. Surely there was another car on the road? Someone peeking out a window? Where you living where you are now?”

  “Yes, we’d just had the house built, our dream house.”

  “How hard did they try to solve the crime? Did the police go door to door, looking at cars for signs of damage, and talking to the neighbors?”

  “They did everything possible. For awhile, they even suspected I might have done it.”

  A curdle of dread soured Cara’s stomach. “Good heavens, why?”

  “Because we weren’t getting along so well. It turned out she had an appointment with a lawyer that day.”

  “So you were going to divorce?”

  “Of course not. She was just upset with me abo
ut some things. I would never have done that to my daughter.”

  Suspicious thoughts circled in Cara’s head like dragonflies. What things had Tony’s first wife been so upset about that she planned to file for divorce? Cara didn’t press for answers because she knew that Tony had a habit of making things up as he went along. They sat in silence for several minutes while Tony signaled for a handwritten check. In a way, Cara was relieved he was taking Angie to a new doctor in Indy. If anything went wrong, John would be off the hook, and so would she.

  Cara’s teeth were chattering when they walked outside.

  Tony wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Are you that cold? It’s about sixty degrees.”

  Cara didn’t want to tell Tony that hearing he had been a suspect in his first wife’s murder had unnerved her. “I know, but there’s a strong wind,” she said. “I’ll be fine in a minute.”

  When they reached the car, he leaned against the door and pressed the tips of his fingers against his forehead as if to push away unpleasant thoughts. Threads of gray in his dark hair glinted in the noonday sun. Tony was beginning to look more like his father, she thought. New lines fanned out from his dark eyes, and his gaunt cheekbones indicated he’d recently lost weight,

  Cara opened her car door, slipped into the driver’s seat, and turned the key in her ignition. “Thanks for lunch,” she said. “Let me know how things come out in Indy.”

  “Sure….” His voice trailed off as he gently closed her car door, waving forlornly as she drove away.

  Then she heard it. A blast like a firecracker, shattering the glass on her side window. She slammed on the brakes as the car skidded and came to a screeching halt. Tony crouched on the ground, head down. Heart hammering, Cara ducked. She gripped the steering wheel and pressed on the accelerator without checking her side mirror for oncoming cars. At the corner, she went flying through a stop sign, and pulled over to the curb, hands shaking so hard she could barely keep them on the steering wheel. Where were all the police who appeared from nowhere whenever she was ten miles over the speed limit? Not a squad car in sight. For a few seconds, she sat there, her breathing high and shallow in her chest. Had she imagined hearing a gunshot? Maybe it was just some kid playing around, throwing rocks. In a neighborhood like this, it was possible.