92 Pacific Boulevard (Cedar Cove #9)

The waitress brought him a glass of his favorite New Zealand sauvignon blanc. He thanked her with a smile. She was pretty enough. Young, too; no more than thirty-five, with nice legs.

He savored the wine while he waited. He’d arrived early and was already on his second glass when Shirley entered the restaurant. Standing, he greeted her. Always a gentleman, he helped remove her coat, then lightly brushed his lips against her cheek.

He recognized his mistake immediately. He’d moved too quickly for her, presumed too much. He needed to remember that.

“Sorry I’m late,” Shirley said, a little breathless, as she slid into the booth opposite him.

Caught up in his thoughts, Will had lost track of the time. A quick check showed that she’d kept him waiting twelve minutes.

“I’m afraid Tanni and I had an argument,” Shirley said, fumbling with her linen napkin as she placed it on her lap. Her face was flushed and he wondered if it was due to the dissension with her daughter or the cold.

Never having had children, Will wasn’t sure he should comment. “The teen years can be difficult,” he ventured, although he had little or no experience with that age group.

“She’s seeing too much of Shaw,” Shirley said.

Will motioned to the waitress to take Shirley’s drink order. He was pleased when she accepted his suggestion to try the New Zealand wine. “Bring us a bottle,” he told the waitress.

Shirley hurried to stop him. “Oh, no, that’s far too much! I’m sure I won’t drink more than a glass.”

“This is one of my favorites. What you don’t want, I’ll have.”

Shirley glanced at the parking lot.

He grinned. “Don’t worry, I walked. It’s only a few blocks from the gallery.”

“Yes. Walking…that’s a good idea.”

The waitress returned with a bottle, which Will examined. “My ex-wife and I visited the Marlborough region of New Zealand a few years ago and discovered their exquisite wines.” He hoped to put Shirley at ease and distract her from the difficulties she’d experienced earlier with her daughter. As he recalled, Tanni was sixteen or seventeen. She’d probably be out of the house soon, attending college in Seattle or elsewhere.

Shirley took her first sip and he could see that she liked the wine. Settling back in the booth, he studied her.

“Tanni and I seem to be at odds more and more,” she murmured, her eyes darting around the room.

Obviously this situation was weighing on her and she seemed incapable of setting it aside.

“I wasn’t sure I should still meet you for dinner,” she said. “I would’ve canceled if I’d been able to get in touch with you.”

Thankfully he must’ve already left the gallery and she didn’t have his cell number.

“This argument with Tanni is about Shaw, you said.” If talking helped her, then he was willing to listen.

Shirley gripped the stem of her wineglass and stared into the distance. “They’re constantly together. It’s…dangerous. Tanni’s at a vulnerable point in her life—she was close to her father and she misses him desperately. She and Shaw are too serious, and now that they discovered those remains, it seems everyone wants to question them. I don’t know how the press got hold of their names—probably from other kids at school,” Shirley said. “The sheriff asked Shaw and Tanni not to say anything but Tanni’s been tricked into talking to reporters more than once.”

Will sent her a look of sympathy. He’d heard about those skeletal remains; it’d been in the news for weeks. Every time there was the tiniest bit of information, it was blown out of all proportion, and interest was revived. One of the Seattle television stations appeared to be leading the way.

“You’d think, with economic problems, political scandals and natural disasters, there’d be more important things for them to report on,” he said.

“But that’s exactly why this story is so interesting to people—it’s a distraction. An escape. And it’s local.”

“Yeah, I guess so. And everyone loves a mystery.”

“Those reporters have made life for Shaw just as difficult,” she went on, “catching him at Mocha Mama’s, hounding him for more details. The poor kid doesn’t know what to say or do. It’s a mess.”

Will was finished with this topic—he didn’t have anything else to add—but she seemed preoccupied and unsettled. The more she mentioned the incident, the more agitated she became. “The sheriff’s doing what he can, but for heaven’s sake, those bones have been there for years and years!”

Will nodded; that was true enough.

“All this negative attention has drawn Tanni and Shaw closer together. I think they both need breathing room. A break from each other.”

“It couldn’t hurt,” Will agreed. After a moment, he said, “Shaw’s a talented artist. Especially of portraits.”

“Tanni is, too,” she was quick to remind him.

“Definitely, although she doesn’t want her work displayed.”

“I don’t understand it. Ever since we lost…my husband, Tanni insists her work is for her alone. I’d hoped that once Shaw’s portraits were displayed in the gallery, she’d be willing to place a couple of her pieces there, too.”

Will had also hoped for that. Not because he felt her work would sell easily. It wouldn’t. Her paintings and drawings were dark, moody and didn’t really appeal to him. But he believed in presenting a range of work. And if he were to display Tanni’s art, he’d have more of an opportunity to talk to Shirley. Maybe not the most commendable of motives, but he couldn’t deny it.

“When I saw Tanni before Christmas,” he said, “I talked to her about putting her art in the gallery.”

“You did?” Shirley’s gaze shot to him.

“Yes. She’s as good as Shaw, and she’s more versatile.”

“She wasn’t interested, right?”

“Right.” He supposed that eventually she’d agree, but he hadn’t pressured her. The girl seemed to champion her boyfriend, wanting to give him the edge. She’d soon learn what a mistake that was, he thought cynically.

“I appreciate what you’ve already done for Shaw.”

He shrugged. Again, his motives had been far from pure. Yes, Shaw was talented, but Will knew very well that he might not have taken the kid’s work to Larry Knight if not for his connection to Shirley.

“I might be able to help you,” he said, reaching for his wine.

That immediately got Shirley’s interest. “How?”

“The friend I mentioned.”

“Yes?”

“It’s Larry Knight.”

Shirley pressed her hand to her heart. “The Larry Knight?”

“Yes. He’s from San Diego, but the two of us worked together on a charity function some time ago in Atlanta. We’ve kept in touch through the years.” Actually, Georgia, his ex, had done a lot of the work, heading up the volunteer committee. But she’d never been comfortable in the limelight, unlike Will, who enjoyed being the center of attention. So she’d asked him to handle the public functions.

“You mean to say Larry Knight—one of the best-known artists in the country—is the one who looked at Shaw’s work?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, my goodness…”

“I’m thinking I might ask another favor of Larry,” he said. Picking up his menu, he read through it, giving Shirley a chance to consider his words.

“What kind of favor?” Her voice was guarded.

Will glanced over the top of his menu. “As you know, Larry has a…certain amount of influence with art schools around the country.”

“Yes…I imagine he would,” she said breathlessly.

Will was determined not to offer; he wanted Shirley to ask, wanted her to understand that she was in his debt. He’d had plenty of experience at cajoling and persuading women. Interesting how those skills, for lack of a better word, kicked in so automatically.

“You…said he was impressed with Shaw’s work?” she began.

“Larry had quite a bit to say about Shaw.” Will set his menu aside. “I believe I’ll have the fried oysters. This says they’re from the Shelton area.”

She nodded absently.

“Have you decided?” he asked.

“Decided?” Her eyes met his; a moment later, she appeared to realize he was referring to her dinner order. “Oh, sorry, I haven’t looked.” She scanned the list. “Their crab Louie’s always been one of my favorites.”

“You should try something different.”

Her brow creased in a frown. “Why?”

“Be…cause,” he said, dragging out the word, “if you’re anything like me, you tend to order the same dishes from the same restaurants. Before you know it, you’re in a rut.”

The lines on her forehead gradually relaxed. “You’re right. That’s exactly what I do. I order chili rellenos when I’m eating Mexican and the chicken hot-sauce noodles when I order Chinese.”

“Consistency is comforting,” he said, “but every once in a while it’s good to venture out, try something new. Take a risk.” He hoped she understood that he was talking about more than food—that he was referring to their relationship, too.

He guessed she’d been with one man her entire adult life and the thought of being with another intimidated her. Will hoped his advice would expand her view of more than just meal choices.

Shirley picked up the menu again and studied it carefully.

“I recommend the fried oysters,” he told her. “I had them for the first time a few weeks ago. See?” he said with a grin. “I tried something new and I liked it.”

She shook her head. “I already know I don’t like oysters.”

Not easily discouraged, Will asked, “When’s the last time you ate them?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Then do it.”

She shook her head again. “I could order the seafood sampler—it includes oysters and shrimp and cod.”

“Excellent.”

“But all that fried food…” She frowned.

Will listened to her go through practically the entire menu, discussing each selection in detail and dismissing one after the other. The waitress returned three times before Shirley was finally ready to order.

She looked at Will and grinned sheepishly. “I’ll have the—”

“Oysters,” he said, cutting her off. “The lady will try the oysters.”

“Actually, I won’t,” Shirley said. “I’d like the crab Louie.” She threw Will an apologetic glance. “I’d rather stick to something familiar.”

He wondered if there was a message to him in these words—a response to his message. “I’ll give you one of my oysters and you can try it.” That seemed a fair compromise.