The Paper Detective. E. Joan Sims

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      “No she’s not. Danny told her you might not get back for two or maybe three days.”

      “Watson! I can’t abandon Watson.”

      “Your jeep is fine. I walked down this morning early to check on things. I locked the door and turned off the engine…”

      I was horrified at my stupidity.

      “I…I left the engine on?”

      I sank back on the old sofa wishing the soft cushions would swallow me up.

      “Paisley, you have a slight concussion. You did nothing to be ashamed of.”

      He came over and sat down beside me.

      “As a matter of fact, few men I know would have been tough enough to do what you did.”

      “I was stupid,” I answered in a voice that was smaller than I wished. “I left the warmth and safety of the car and started walking in the freezing cold like a dummy.”

      “And a good thing that you did. The exhaust pipe was embedded in the snow bank. If you hadn’t gotten out, you might have died of carbon monoxide poisoning.”

      My new-found strength vanished as I realized how close I had come to never seeing my beautiful Cassie again, and I started crying. Bert put his arms around me as the gentle tears turned into great hiccoughing sobs. When I was spent, he tucked the blankets back around me and urged me to sleep again. This time I didn’t fight it.

      I finally got dressed late that afternoon right before Bert fixed dinner. He let me sit on a stool by the dry sink and peel potatoes while he gave a hilarious account of his running battle with a family of thieving raccoons who lived in a hollow tree nearby.

      I cried again, but this time they were tears of laughter. After dinner we played gin rummy while listening to a soft jazz station out of New Orleans. It had been a long time since I had so much fun and I told him so.

      “Me, too, Paisley,” he said softly.

      “You’re very different from the way I imagined. You’re obviously not that uncomfortable with your hearing loss. Why did you come out here by yourself? Why leave Danny alone?”

      He smiled. “Wow, just like a woman. So many questions.”

      “Forget that ‘just like a woman’ crap. This is a question from me to you, as friends.”

      “Are we friends, Paisley?”

      “Well, sure, of course,” I answered brightly, avoiding the intent look in those deep blue eyes.

      “I have to confess I’ve thought a lot about you since we first met,” he said. “I’ve wanted to call you a half a dozen times.”

      “Well, for heaven’s sake,” I sputtered, trying to defuse the situation. “Why didn’t you come to dinner when Mother and I invited you? We thought you were angry about something. I know Danny and Cassie have an on-again off-again relationship, but that shouldn’t keep the rest of us from being friends.”

      Bert’s seemed suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation, yet determined to have his say.

      “I like your mother, Paisley. She’s a very admirable woman, but I’m not talking about a relationship with her. It’s you who’s been on my mind for the last few months. I know this must seem very sudden to you, but I’ve wanted to be close enough to say these things to you for a long time, and I can’t waste this opportunity.”

      Bert reached across the table and took the cards out of my hand. He covered my smaller palm with his big one. My backbone melted like sweet, warm beeswax. I had never felt so delicate in my life. And I was terrified. I wasn’t ready for this.

      “Is there a chance that we could be more than friends?” he asked with a crooked smile.

      I jumped up and practically ran to the window. The night outside was clear, with a bright, ice-cold moon shining on the snow. I could see his dog’s tracks around the cabin and his own big footprints leading out to the woodpile.

      I turned around and faced him.

      “This is not why I came out here. I…I don’t need this kind of complication in my life right now.”

      I was close to tears again. I hated crying. I hadn’t cried this much in the last twenty years. Damn concussion, I thought.

      I watched Bert’s face close off. His lips narrowed and the light left his eyes. His irises turned from sky blue to the color of steel as he turned in on himself. I wanted to crawl in a hole and hide.

      “Look, Bert, I’m sorry.”

      “Don’t be. My mistake,” he said abruptly.

      He stood up and put on his jacket. He called the dog, and they went out into the winter night.

      I sat in front of the fire for what seemed like hours until the man and his dog came back home. I heard him stomping his feet to shake off the snow and ran to open the door. At that moment I think I would have done almost anything to return to our previous state of growing intimacy, but one look at Bert’s face told me that opportunity had gone for good. I sank back down on the sofa feeling like I had killed something young and innocent and infinitely promising.

      He hung his coat up and fed the dog before he joined me in front of the fire.

      “So,” he said, “why did you come all the way out here looking for me?”

      His voice was steady and very calm, almost without inflection or feeling, just tinged with a mild curiosity.

      “Leonard, I needed a Leonard,” I answered miserably. “But that was a stupid idea. Forget about it.”

      “Leonard. He’s the one who’s supposed to be writing your books, isn’t that so?”

      “Yeah, he’s the one, all right.”

      “Well, go on.”

      I was getting questioned now, by the police. My new best friend had gone outside and the ex-cop had come back in his place.

      “My agent called,” I sighed. “There’s a very important magazine in New York, and they want to do a feature story on Leonard Paisley. Pam wanted me to find him, and you came to mind.”

      “Why?”

      “Why not? You look just like him, or almost. And you’re familiar with murders and criminals, and…well, Leonard’s kind of thing,” I explained. “I thought you would be perfect. I didn’t know you had turned into jolly ole Paul Bunyan.”

      Bert laughed for the first time since dinner, but it had a different sound. There was an edge to his humor now. The softness was gone

      “So Raggedy Ann is calling me Paul Bunyan!”

      “Raggedy…why, that?”

      “That mop of funny looking hair, that’s why. That’s how I knew it was you in the СКАЧАТЬ