Random Hearts by Warren Adler

Author:Warren Adler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Family and Relationships, Marriage, Media Tie-In, Mystery and Detective, Romance, Contemporary, Travel, Essays and Travelogues
Publisher: Stonehouse Press
Published: 1984-03-31T16:00:00+00:00

18

They sat at a table in the rear. It was a small restaurant, and business was slow.

"Do you feel funny about this?" he asked. He had ordered duck à l'orange, and she had ordered broiled rockfish. The waiter poured out cold Chablis from a carafe.

"It's fine," he said, tasting it. He repeated the question.

"Funny?"

"I mean inappropriate."

"No. I don't feel inappropriate."

He sipped the wine. It felt tart on his tongue but smooth going down. In the soft light he noted the angles of her face—deepset eyes that peered over high cheekbones. Her nostrils, flared, making her nose seem flatter from a frontal view. Her lips were full with a wide angel's bow, which she had darkened with lipstick, giving her a different appearance than before. More confident, perhaps. He wasn't sure.

Her small, pale, tapered fingers played with the stem of her wineglass. Although he had observed them yesterday, he was surprised that her hands were so small. Lily's hands were long and thin, the fingers delicate but bony, the wrists thin with a large nob rising on the outside.

"I'm glad that's over," he said, pulling his gaze away from her, looking instead into the bowl of the wineglass. "Her brother accused me of being Lily's killer."

"Nice people."

"Just sick at heart," he said gently, although it belied what he really felt. They had been cruel. He told her other details about the funeral.

"I wanted to look grief-stricken," he said. "I guess I wasn't as good an actor as I thought."

"I know what you mean."

He felt no compulsion to press the point. Instead, he fished in his pocket and brought out the key.

"I brought it," he said, holding it up. Her eyes widened as she looked at it.

"Now we need to find the lock. I checked a locksmith. If it's a Medeco, it's registered and numbered. Ours is a Yale. Very common."

Ours. The possessive pronoun was disconcerting. But she did not correct herself, and he let it pass.

"I tore the house apart looking for an address. I didn't even know what to look for." She took a deep drink of the wine. "I tossed out everything that belonged to Orson, the physical things. I kept the pictures, though. They're for Ben. Mementoes of a father. Just for him." Her eyes glazed, as if masking some inner anguish. After a moment they cleared.

"I haven't yet been able to summon the courage to go through her things."

"But you must," she said. "Somewhere there is a clue. Somewhere..."

Her entreaty had not lost any of its urgency.

"Yes. I'll try tonight."

He had deliberately avoided opening her closets, looking through her drawers, touching her makeup and toiletries. Too painful? Too overwhelming? He was not sure.

"If you'd like, I'll help," she said haltingly, lowering her eyes.

"It didn't bother you ... to go through his things?"

She looked up at him.

"It bothered me not to find what I was looking for."

"You didn't feel..." He groped for the word. "Funny?"

"I felt like a searcher. Nothing more."

"His things..." Again he hesitated. Was the image he sought sentimental or unclean?

Her eyes narrowed as she inspected him.

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