The Second Man (8 page)

“I don’t remember who he works for,” Jill said. “That would have been a wild coincidence, you running into him. Ham’s about the only one of our friends who wouldn’t know you from college if you met on the street.”

“Good. I won’t have to worry about explaining to him at least why I didn’t recall our time together.” Max sighed. “It’s very awkward, this situation I find myself in.”

“Don’t feel embarrassed by it. Leave that to this one’s ex-husband.” Millard pointed to Jill. “I was astonished to hear Andrew Denton is going to show his face in town. The man never did have any shame.”

“No?” Max said gently.

“No. I knew he was trouble for the moment I met him,” Millard said. “He’s dishonest to the bone. Cut every corner there was while he was at school.”

“Perhaps he’s changed.” Jill took a deep breath. “I mean, everyone changes, right?”

“I seem to remember some cliché about a tiger not changing his stripes,” Millard said.

“Jill gives everyone the benefit of the doubt,” Max said. “Was she always like that?”

“Yes,” Millard said. “I’m not sure it’s a positive thing.”

“No?” Max asked.

“Don’t be too trusting,” Millard said, wagging her finger. “The world is not always as it seems.””

“I’m not too trusting. I suspect everyone. I’m a teacher, remember. Always on the lookout for fake ‘my dog ate my homework’ stories.” Jill smiled nervously at the approaching waiter. She considered asking Millard if she had heard about Ben Pierce’s death, but that question would take the conversation in a direction she was not ready for. “Oh good, here’s the food.”

The trio dug into their lunch, chatting about the people Jill had covered with Max last evening, and a few more Millard knew some interesting things about.

After they were done, Millard suggested they meet up at the college as they walked to the parking lot. All agreed a tour of the classrooms and dorms where Max had spent a year of his life was in order.

“Do you want to ride with me?” Max asked Jill as they crunched through the parking lot.

“No, let’s drive separately. I have to run some errands afterwards.”

“Right, you have errands. Anything that might jog my memory involved?”

“No. I’ve got to go see my mom and a few other things.”

“You don’t want company?”

“I thought you had business things to do during the day?”

“I did. Wrapped it up this morning with a two-hour call to New York.” Max put his arm on her shoulder. “I cleared the day for you.”

Her heart rate jumped. “Well, why don’t we firm up a plan for dinner tonight? I should be back home by six or so. We could grill burgers at my place.” Jill gulped after she said those words, second-guessing if she should have made the offer.

Max and me. Alone. Is this a good idea
?

“Home-grilled hamburgers? I would love some of those.” He stepped closer. “When I’m not with you, a hundred questions come to mind to ask, and I’m afraid I’ll forget some. So a whole evening together sounds terrific.”

They stopped next to her car and he put his other hand on her waist and pulled her closer. “I think I might be remembering how it felt to be with you, before. Some kind of knowledge in my blood, if not my brain. You are very kind, and caring. I was a very lucky man.”

Parts of her body began to respond with the yearning she felt last night. “I think we need to go slow here, Max.”

Max dropped his arms. “You’re right. Forgive me, but I’m finding myself a bit out of control around you.”

“I’m not thinking all that clearly myself,” she said. “But we’ll talk more about, about everything, later. At dinner.” She raked her hand through her hair. Dr. Millard, behind the wheel of the same ancient Mercedes she drove fifteen years ago, honked as she headed up the hill to St. John’s campus.

“Let’s head up to the campus. Follow me, okay?”

“I will.” Max grasped her arm. His eyes darkened with that look she was becoming very familiar with. “Don’t lose me.”

“See you there.” Jill slipped into the car. Her hand was sweating as she put the key in the ignition. She glanced in the mirror as Max’s convertible pulled up behind her, waiting for her to move.

He wants to make love to me.
A burst of liquid heat spread through her. “Sweet Jesus,” she murmured, and put the car into gear.

Chapter 8

Jill and Max toured a couple of the classrooms in the Liberal Arts building where Dr. Millard had her offices, and then went on to the gym. But they could not get into the dorm rooms, as they were locked because the students were away for the holidays.

“Let’s go down to the theatre, then we’ll stop in my office,” Millard directed. “We’ll take Max to the scene of the Senior Talent Show. If that doesn’t prompt his brain, nothing will.”

Jill nodded. A month before they graduated, the seniors produced a charity show for the college and community to raise money for scholarships. Favorites from the Forties, was the name of the event that year. She could see the program in her mind, a black and white photograph of Bing Crosby wearing a tux on the cover.

“I performed in a talent show?” Max frowned. “What was my talent?”

“We sang a duet,” Jill said.

“But I can’t sing,” he protested.

“That’s correct,” Millard said. “Jill sang and you more or less sat there through one of my favorite Jules Styne, Sammy Cahn classics.”

“I sang?” He put his head back and laughed. “Wow, that must have been scary.”

“No, you’re not listening. What Dr. Millard said is right. I sang,” Jill teased. “You kind of mumbled the lyrics in your Swedish accent. ‘Kiss Me Twice’ never sounded so international.”

“‘Kiss Me Twice?’ I don’t know that song.” Max’s expression tightened. “How does it go?”

Jill grinned and cleared her throat. She was not a great singer, but since all Irish Catholics grew up in church choirs, she could carry a tune. She launched into the charming old love song about a second chance at romance after a long, long time.

Millard and Max clapped.

Jill grinned self-consciously and made a tiny bow.

Max shook his head. “You sound moody and sexy. Like Norah Jones.”

“Wow, I’m sure Norah Jones would be alarmed to hear that you think I sound like her, but thanks.”

“Is anything coming back to you after hearing that great rendition?” Millard asked.

“No.” Max seemed far away. “Memory of music is stored in a different part of your brain than daily events. So I was hoping.” He shrugged. “But nothing.”

“Give it time,” Millard said. “Alright, come on you two, let’s go see where the magic happened.” They walked around the building to the back steps and went inside.

The 300-seat theatre was dim and musty. Dust motes danced in the light pouring in from the high windows at the back. Millard narrated the current year’s program highlights and Max walked around, sat in one of the creaking wooden seats, and then they all headed backstage.

Millard took them through the green room and dressing areas, pointing out the new light controller and automated curtain apparatus, before they trooped across the performance area.

They stopped center stage. The professor pointed down at the orchestra pit. “We still use live music for the Christmas Chorale. The board of directors tried to replace our vintage Bennett upright piano, but I raised a fuss so they left it alone.” She shook her head. “Newer isn’t always superior.”

“I agree,” Max said. “I have a 1976 Mustang. It’s my prized possession and I love it, even if it stays in a garage next door to where my daughter lives in Paris eleven months of the year.”

Jill lowered her head.
Max keeps his car near his ex-wife.
She did not know what to make of that, and with a pang she didn’t want to label, wondered if he was really over her.

Fifteen minutes later, the three of them were ensconced in Dr. Millard’s office. With a rush, the years dissolved and Jill felt like the intimidated student she had been years before.

A huge poster of conductor Andre Previn hung on the wall facing Dr. Millard’s desk, as it always had, while busts of Beethoven, Mozart, and Handel teetered on the top shelf of her bookcase. Leather boxes stuffed full of vinyl records were everywhere, and an ancient turntable system held the place of honor on the credenza beside her desk.

Jill and Max took the cracked leather desk chairs opposite her. “Thanks for the tour, Dr. Millard,” Max said. “I appreciate your taking the time to revisit all my haunts.”

“I enjoyed it. And thank you for lunch.” The professor picked up a manila envelope lying on her desk and handed it to him. “I put a package of memorabilia together for you to look at, Max.” She turned to Jill. “Do you have the Senior Yearbook from your class? Someone has taken the school copy out of the library without filling out a slip. If you have one, I thought Max might benefit by having a look at some of the faces.”

“I should have thought of that,” Jill said. “Yes, I’m sure I have mine somewhere.”

It might actually be in one of the boxes I repacked yesterday
. She had not stopped to look at each of the books scattered around the floor of the garage, but the box marked ‘Jill college stuff’ was one the burglar had dumped out. “I’ll check. Good idea.”

“Do you want to open that packet and ask us questions about anything?”

“No,” Max said quickly. “No. I’d rather look at it by myself.”

Jill heard strain in Max’s voice. The visit to the past was proving difficult for him in a way he might not have anticipated, she realized. Like looking at photographs of relatives you never knew.

Jill turned down Dr. Millard’s offer to stay awhile and listen to Shaw’s Chorale recording of “Handel’s Messiah,” which Millard deemed the best she had ever heard, hugging the professor at the door.

“I’ll see you soon.”

“At the cocktail party, the real fun begins,” Millard said. “Don’t worry about it, Max. Your classmates were drinkers. They’ll move past your odd tale quickly and hit the bar.”

“That’s good to know,” he said.

Millard waved them off, and they headed to the parking lot.

Jill stopped beside her car. “Okay, well I’ll see you tonight at my place.”

“Are you sure you want to get together tonight?” Max’s fingers clutched the envelope Professor Millard had given him. “I realize I’m expecting a lot from you. I’m worried I might be taking up too much of your time.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want you to come over. But don’t feel obligated.”

His eyes flashed. “No, don’t misunderstand me. I want to. Very much.” His eyes were intense. “It’s just that I realized when we were walking around with Professor Millard that this must be awkward in many ways. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable with me.”

“I don’t. Actually, the more obvious it is that you don’t remember me, the less stressful it is.” Her face reddened. “But you need to remember that I
do
remember you. The old you, anyway. In many ways it feels like I’m catching up with an old friend.”

“One with a very bad memory?”

Jill smiled. “Well, there’s that.”

Max visibly relaxed. “You are a very forgiving person. Not many people would make such an effort.”

It wasn’t difficult to be kind to him, she realized, although she didn’t trust herself to say that. “See you at seven?”

“Yes. And I will bring wine, and dessert, okay? You like chocolate, don’t you?”

“See, you do remember things about me.”

“I’m a good guesser.” Max opened her car and Jill slipped inside.

“Thanks. See you later.” She buckled her seatbelt.

“Drive safe.”

“You too.” Jill backed out and then braked to adjust her mirror. She caught the image of Max sitting in the rented convertible, his cell phone pressed to his ear. His expression was serious, and quite suddenly, he looked like a complete stranger.

Goosebumps raised along Jill’s neck. “Don’t be too trusting”, Dr. Millard had warned. She would remind herself of that, Jill told herself. She put the car into gear, and drove quickly out of the lot.

Ben Pierce’s killer stepped out of the shower and dried off quickly. He had a lot to do before his date tonight.

He stood in front of the mirror and wiped the steam off the foggy hotel mirror. He combed his wet hair straight back and then slathered shaving foam on his face, his eyes taking stock, considering if she would find him much changed.

Too much changed.

It’s been fifteen years,
he thought. But he was intent on getting her into bed. He needed to know if she would question how things were different now, if she would press him about anything he could not explain away.

He pressed the razor against his cheek too hard, nicking himself. A trickle of blood dyed the white cream on his left cheekbone. He dabbed it with a septic stick, angry with himself for the slip, and continued shaving.

He dried his face and stared at the image, turning from side to side. Satisfied, he threw the towel on the floor and hurried to dress.

At 7 p.m., the doorbell rang. Jill found Max, arms full of bags and a huge bouquet of tulips, waiting with a smile on his face. “Delivery for Miss Farrell.”

“Hey, come on in.”

Max followed her into the kitchen.

Earlier she had pounded a package of ground sirloin into patties, and had sliced tomatoes and onions and cheese. These makings for dinner now sat covered on a platter on the counter.

“Set your bag on the table. Can I get you something to drink? Beer, wine, soda?” Jill took the flowers and grabbed for a vase to put them in.

“Why don’t I pour you a glass of wine?” Max pulled out a good Chablis, as well as a bottle of black currant liquor, crème de cassis. “Or I can make you a Kir? You enjoyed those at the restaurant.”

She put her hand on her midsection. “No. I think I’ll stick with sparkling soda for right now. But we’ll make Kirs one night when Carly is here. She loves them, too.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting her. Again. And I’ll have to quiz Hamilton to see if he remembers meeting me.”

Hamilton works in the financial market
, Jill thought, the random fact making her frown.
And he lives in Europe. Is he on Andrew’s suspects list, too?

Jill settled the tulips in the vase and wished her brain would stop reminding her of her conversation with Andrew. But his words echoed like background music in her thoughts, along with a melancholy mourning for Ben Pierce that she could not share with anyone.

She set the vase in front of the kitchen window and took the chair opposite, where Max sat watching her.

“How was your afternoon? You went back to your hotel?” Jill added seasoning to the bowl in front of her, full of chopped potatoes, onions, pickles, and mayonnaise.

“Yes. I made some calls. Took a swim in the hotel pool. I think I scared some kids with how pale I am.”

“You don’t look so pale.”

“I would say I am at least ten shades paler than the average Californian.” He leaned toward her. “Potato salad,
ja?
Our Swedish version,
Farskpotatissalad,
uses sour cream instead of mayonnaise. And fresh dill.”

“I think you made some of that for us, when you were at the house for a barbeque once.” Jill put the lid on the bowl. “Would you stick this in the refrigerator for a few minutes? And I’m sorry I keep mentioning things you don’t remember. You’ve had a rough day already.”

Max put the bowl in the fridge. “It was disappointing that nothing came back to me up at St. John’s today. But I’m still trying to remember. I appreciate you helping me.” He came back to the table. “I hope you know that.”

“I do.” A smile tugged at her mouth. Jill got up and pulled some utensils from the drawer. “Shall we eat dinner outside? It’s warm, but I think it’ll be nice.”

“Whatever you want to do.” Max took the table settings from her. “I was thinking about your mother today. How are you coping with all of that?”

“Pretty well. I feel helpless, pessimistic, even. But I also accept the reality that she isn’t going to ever get better. It’s frustrating, as it is for you not being able to remember, I’m sure.”

“That is the word. Frustrating. Powerless. I hate it. Just waiting to see what happens next. It’s like watching a horror movie.”

Jill rubbed her suddenly chilled arms. “For me, the worst pain comes from not understanding why it happened to her.” Her voice dropped. “Even my faith can’t help me accept that, nothing can. The randomness makes me so angry.”

“I understand how you feel. Being at the mercy of an injustice fills me with rage, too.” Max squeezed her shoulder with his left hand. “And I don’t mean the accident that robbed me of my recall. I was never unfaithful to my wife, but Claudine cheated on me. For years. She’s married to the man now. He’s my daughter’s stepfather. It kills me to accept it some days.”

“Wow, I’m sorry to hear that. That must be very difficult.”

“It is. But it won’t help anything if I let my anger control my life, or direct my dealings with Olivia’s mother and her new husband. Anger is the most corrosive emotion of all. I hope you don’t have any left for me, because of my disappearing.” Max’s eyes locked on to her face, searching.

“I don’t. I don’t blame you at all anymore.”

Max put his hand gently on her face. She thought he would kiss her again, as he had done last night. She wanted him to, but instead he moved away from her, leaving her to worry about what he had seen in her face.

“Sure you don’t want a glass of Chablis while I discuss being a loser in love?” His voice was husky.

“You weren’t the loser in that relationship, your wife was.”

“That’s generous of you to say.”

“Just speaking the truth as I see it.” Jill cleared her throat. “Why didn’t you kiss me?”

He froze and then slowly turned. “You wanted me to.”

There was a hint of a question. “I don’t know what I want.”

He nodded. “I know. That’s why I didn’t kiss you. Yet.”

“Yet?”