It was a pretty town, he thought. Or small city. There were lots of old limestone buildings and a waterfront that had so far managed to escape major development. This was a place where tourists flocked during the summer months, and to accommodate them, outdoor restaurants and sport bars stood in abundance. Having grown up in Philadelphia, Joel couldn’t imagine a childhood in such a small place. That reflection led him to wonder what kind of childhood Allie had with a parent on the run, ever vigilant about the past catching up to him.
A burst of laughter from the other side of the deck caught his attention. Allie stood in the midst of the cyclists, regaling them with some story that had them in stitches. Joel watched her hands gesturing to elaborate her tale, throwing her head back to laugh with them. He envied that ability to hold a group in thrall. He’d once had a partner who could do that. Joel contented himself with observing, taking in the nuances of expression and body language of the group. That was what he did best. Watch and observe. Draw conclusions. Then act.
Feeling hadn’t been a part of the routine for years, it seemed. He sighed and looked away, back to the city skyline. Back to the job ahead.
ALLIE WHEELED her bike along the pedestrian path of the ferry dock, occasionally glancing around for Joel’s car. She’d noticed him standing alone at the front of the deck on the return trip. For a moment she’d considered calling him over, but dismissed the idea almost immediately. She doubted he’d have wanted to join them, and more, she was reluctant to have to make some explanation about who he was or how she knew him. Not that any of the gang would have asked; they were basically cycling pals. But her friend Linda might well have picked up on the vibes between her and the private investigator.
And what vibes there were! Allie was shocked at the way she’d behaved around the man, why she let him get to her as he so obviously did. Perhaps it was simply a matter of that old cliché—about killing the messenger. She certainly had good reason to wish Joel Kennedy’s message had never been delivered. As for the messenger, well, he’d be gone from her life as soon as they arrived in Grosse Pointe. Which suited Allie just fine.
The cycle group split up at the end of the dock, after agreeing to meet the following week. Linda raised a brow at Allie’s comment that she’d be out of town but said nothing. Allie figured her friend would be calling her later that day, and what would she tell her? She’d have to come up with some explanation for Beth and the staff at the store, as well. She was about to strap on her helmet when a car horn beeped lightly behind her.
Joel Kennedy smiled at her from the open driver’s window. “Want a lift?”
Allie reminded herself to relax and take the offer at face value. “Thanks, anyway, but by the time we get this into the trunk, I could already be home.”
The smile froze on his face. Allie saw that he was regretting the invite. Plus, she suddenly felt her words had sounded ungracious. “Look,” she said, “I didn’t mean that to sound as bad as it did. I just don’t want to inconvenience you.”
He waved a hand. “No problem. So shall I call you later to work out exactly when we could leave for Grosse Pointe?”
Impulsively she changed her mind. “Maybe I will take that lift, and we can figure something out on the way.”
The car pulled over and Joel got out to help Allie with the bike. The second she was sitting next to him and on the way up Brock Street to Wellington, she thought she ought to have cycled, after all. The spandex suit was hot and itchy. Worse, she feared her trusty deodorant might not have been up to the task of dealing with the twenty-mile route around Wolfe Island.
He didn’t speak for a long while, adding to her discomfort. But when they were almost at her corner, he said, “If you’re free tonight, I’d appreciate having company for dinner. We could make our plans then. Interested?”
And surprisingly, she was.
“THAT’S THE OWNER—Zal.” Allie nodded to a heavyset bearded man walking toward the center doors of the restaurant. “He used to be a member of a 1960s rock group called the Lovin’ Spoonful. Ever hear of it?”
Joel frowned. “Vaguely. So he retired from that to go into the restaurant business? I bet this is harder work.” He glanced around the patio courtyard where they were sitting beneath a lattice of wisteria and vines. “Very pretty, though.”
“And the food’s great,” Allie added.
“The name’s a bit odd.”
“I suppose, to an outsider. But here in Kingston, Chez Piggy is so famous no one questions the name.”
Joel flipped open the menu. “Okay, so let’s get into it. Prove the name right. I’m starving.”
“Me, too.” Allie picked up her glass of wine and sipped leisurely. It was a lovely balmy evening and she wanted to savor every second of it. Her dining experience was enhanced, she had to admit, by the man sitting across from her. Allie hadn’t missed the discreet looks he’d been receiving from some of the other female patrons.
She’d met Joel outside the nineteenth-century tunnel-style walkway that led into the restaurant and had been surprised at her thrill of pleasure when he approached. His beaming smile reassured her that the afternoon’s edginess had disappeared. He didn’t look like a private investigator, in his pressed tan trousers and crisp, pale-yellow short-sleeved shirt, at least not like Allie’s television-inspired notion of one.
His perusal of the menu gave her a chance to study him closer. He was an introvert, she decided. His dark-brown eyes, set deeply in his face, gave little away in terms of what he was feeling or thinking. Except when he raised his head and caught her in the act. Then he let her know right away that he figured she was sizing him up, and the idea obviously amused him. Allie feigned sudden interest in the antics of some children at an adjacent table.
“You don’t seem like the maternal type,” he remarked.
The comment took her aback. “Well, maybe not yet, but I hope to be someday.”
“It’s a serious job, parenting.”
“You sound like you speak from experience.”
He seemed to regret the opener, giving a slight shrug that she couldn’t interpret. Finally he said, “Actually, I have a six-year-old son, Ben. He lives with his mother most of the time, but I see him one weekend a month and a couple weeks every summer.” He paused, adding in a more somber voice, “If my schedule can work the visit in.”
Allie didn’t know what to say. For some reason she’d never considered that Joel Kennedy might be married with a child. Or rather, divorced with a child.
“You must miss him.”
The observation hit home. He gave a brusque, “Yeah,” before turning his head to signal the waitress.
After they ordered, the subject was dropped and Allie devoted her attention to the bread basket. She sighed, thinking about the long trip she’d soon be making with him.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“No…no,” she stammered, raising her eyes to his. “Just tired, I guess.”
“Shall we decide when to leave? I was thinking about the day after tomorrow, if you need the time. Or,” he paused, “even tomorrow, if you’re finished what you had to do.”
Better to get the whole thing over with. “I’ve actually finished what I need to do. We can leave tomorrow if you like. But after my run, which I usually do about six or six-thirty.”
He gave a mock shudder. “Okay. How about I pick you up at eight? We’ll stop for coffee on the way to the highway.”
“Fine.” Allie returned a smile, but wasn’t feeling as optimistic