God, what a night that had been.
Sipping warm whiskey from a highball glass, Blake sat alone in his living room on a chair of the softest fabric, looking out over the shadows to the dim lights of ships on the ocean. Waiting for Paul Schuster’s call. He’d told Schuster he’d be available to testify on Friday morning.
And he was going to be in New York.
Shaking his head, Blake took another sip. And stared. A light had been bobbing out in the distance for half an hour. The boat was headed in the direction of Alaska. A chilly place.
This was a night for chilled hearts.
He’d been prepared to receive an invitation to Amunet’s third wedding. He’d missed the second, a Las Vegas quickie that had ended almost as soon as it had begun. And he’d already decided to attend the third, whenever it came along. He was over her—or he understood, at least, that they were never meant to be forever. They were from very different worlds, finding happiness in completely opposite things. He wished her well. Wanted her happy.
He’d never expected to be attending her funeral.
“I APPRECIATE the phone call,” Paul Schuster said when he and Blake finally connected. He was as agreeable and friendly as he’d been the two other times Blake had spoken with him in the past weeks.
“Obviously I’ve been following the trial,” Blake told the other man, still sitting in the dark, sipping whiskey—his third—and watching the ships. Sliding down, head against the back of the chair, he lifted an ankle to the opposite knee. “You’re doing a great job. I’m sorry to be putting a damper on things.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Paul said, with as much energy at ten o’clock at night as he’d probably had at ten in the morning. “Actually, I haven’t even declared you as a witness yet.”
“Juliet McNeil doesn’t know I’m testifying?” He’d been wondering what she would think about seeing him again.
They’d had one incredible night together once.
A long time ago.
“No one knows you’re testifying, including my staff,” Schuster said, surprising him.
Blake sipped and nodded, his eyes half closed as he watched another ship approach. “I thought you had to declare as soon as you turned up new evidence. Give the defense a chance to review the information.”
“I haven’t seen the evidence yet, so technically I don’t have any. I’d been hoping to get the paperwork today, which is why I had you on hold for Friday. The way it’s looking now, it’s probably going to be Monday.”
“What are the chances of the records not turning up?”
“Slim to none.”
“But there’s a chance.”
“Not one I’m willing to acknowledge.”
If Blake had been a little more clearheaded, he might have continued to push for percentages. He liked things on the table, in black and white or not at all.
“I’m glad I don’t have your job,” he said instead.
Schuster laughed. “Just call when you’re back in town.”
Blake said he would.
He dropped the phone. Took another sip—a small one. It was going to be a long night and he needed to be up at the crack of dawn to get his business affairs in order before he left for New York.
But for now, there was nothing to do but sit. And wait. And think.
“JULES?”
Instantly awake as she recognized the voice on the other end of the line, Juliet sat up. It was late Thursday night, the first of April.
“Marce? What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
“It doesn’t sound like nothing. You’ve been crying.” It wasn’t something Juliet could ignore in the nonidentical twin sister she’d been watching out for all their lives.
Marcie laughed, sniffed, laughed again. “It really is nothing, Jules, I promise. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m just lying here having a hard time falling asleep and suddenly I start thinking about you, missing you and before I know it, I’m blubbering like an idiot.”
“You need to get out of that town.” Unlike Juliet, who’d left Maple Valley behind the second she’d graduated from high school, Marcie at thirty-four was still living in the small, mostly trailer-populated northern California town.
That fact scared Juliet every time she thought about it. She’d seen what being cooped up in Maple Valley had done to their mother.
Marcie, in contrast to their destitute mother, was one of the more well-to-do inhabitants in town, having made a success of the local beauty shop. But still…
“I know,” her sister said. “I do need to get away.”
Where Marcie lived was Marcie’s decision. They both knew that and had acknowledged it many times. But that didn’t stop Juliet from caring, or worrying, or helping where she could help.
It would be different if Marcie was happy in Maple Valley. But with her proclamations of dissatisfaction, she constantly reaffirmed Juliet’s fears. If she didn’t get out of that town with its limited possibilities, she would wither and prematurely age as their mother had.
“So come to San Diego for the weekend.”
While Marcie didn’t visit as often as Juliet and Mary Jane would like, she was a fairly frequent occupant of their Mission Beach cottage.
“I don’t know. Hank has a big sale going at the hardware.”
Juliet started counting. She had to at least get to ten before she’d be able to rein in the frustration that she had no right to unleash on her sister. She made it to four. And a half.
“So?”
“Well, it’s hard on him. He’ll be exhausted. I should be here.”
“Why in hell should you be there?” She sat up in bed, pulling a pillow over her as the covers fell to reveal the spaghetti-strap shirt and bikini briefs she slept in. Their mother’s life had been ruined by her choice to sacrifice herself, her needs and desires, for a man. Why couldn’t Marcie see that she was doing exactly the same thing?
“Do you have clients on Saturday?” Juliet asked.
“Not that I can’t reschedule.”
“So come.”
“Hank will be disappointed.”
“Marcie! For God’s sake! You aren’t married to the guy!”
Last Juliet had heard, Hank still hadn’t asked, after more than fifteen years of dating.
“I know.”
“You don’t even live with him.”
“I know.”
In the dark, Juliet stared out her bedroom window to the beach beyond. When the weather was warm enough, she loved to sit in her room late at night with the window up, listening to the waves as they crashed along the distant shore.
“He’s not there, is he?”
“No.”