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“What part of New York do you live in?” he suddenly asked.
“Chelsea.”
“Oh, yeah? Nice area.”
Another pause. He seemed in no hurry to get out of the car. “And what about you?” she asked. “Where do you live now?”
“New York.”
“New York City?”
His eyes met hers. “Yes.”
Clare looked away. She couldn’t believe the man she’d been trying to forget for the last several years had been living under her nose. Well, sort of. Give or take a few million other people. Still, what perverse hand of fate had led both of them to the same city?
“I’ve got a condo on the East Side,” he went on.
When she found her voice, she asked, “How long have you been there?”
“About five years. I got a job at a law firm in Manhattan a couple years after I was called to the bar.”
Clare jerked her head back to him. “You’re a lawyer?”
A faint smile crossed his face. “Yeah. Ironic, isn’t it?” Then he pushed down on the door handle. “Thanks for the lift, Clare. See you tomorrow.” His long legs swung out and, without looking back, he closed the door behind him.
Clare sat unmoving until he disappeared inside the small bungalow. How strange life is, she mused. Gil Harper—once suspected of murdering his ex-girlfriend—now a lawyer.
“COFFEE?”
Clare raised her head from the book she was signing. One of the store clerks was standing at her left side. “Yes, please. Double double.”
The clerk grinned. “Gotcha,” and vanished into the cluster of people milling around the table. Clare smiled at the middle-aged woman waiting in front of her and pushed the novel across the table.
“Thank you very much,” the woman said. “I bought it for my daughter. I thought she’d be interested in knowing Twin Falls can boast a real live author. We just moved here from Hartford and she thinks it’s like living on another planet.”
Clare figured the daughter was closer to the truth than the woman could have imagined. And at that moment, she was feeling neither real nor alive. It was eleven-thirty and she’d only signed about twenty-five books, which wasn’t bad for a bookstore in a place the size of Twin Falls, but already her fingers were cramped, her back ached and her stomach was rumbling. Yet how could she complain? Each book she signed contributed to the royalty checks that supported her now that she’d left teaching for a full-time writing career.
The clerk returned with a take-out coffee and set it near her elbow. “Anything else?’ she asked.
“Maybe another right hand.”
The younger woman smiled and left Clare to it. She signed three more books and, as the line began to dissipate, sipped slowly on the coffee and closed her eyes, waiting for the jolt of caffeine to course through her.
“You look tired.”
Clare’s eyes flew open at the familiar voice. Gil Harper was standing in front of the table. In his black cords, dove-gray crewneck pullover and leather blazer—all complimenting his ebony hair and dark eyes—he was drawing quite a few glances from nearby women. He held a worn copy of her book and handed it to her when she set her coffee down.
An inscription of some kind was necessary, of course. What would Miss Manners recommend in such a situation? Thanks for the memories? Or, Great while it lasted? Her pen poised above the dedication page with its “For Old Friends and New.” Clare had an inspiration. Writing Gil’s name above the dedication line, she simply signed her name below. When she passed the book back to him, he took a second to study the page.
Then he raised his head and quipped, “At least it doesn’t read “‘Old Friends and Enemies.’”
The smile Clare attempted struggled against her frozen cheek muscles.
“Did Laura mention what time we’re supposed to meet tonight?” he asked.
“Tonight?”
“Dinner. At the new restaurant. Can’t recall the name. Serenity or something.”
The smile tugged harder at the corners of Clare’s mouth. “Ah yes. Serendipity. I…uh…I think reservations are for six.”
He nodded, continuing to check her out. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
She knew what he meant, but played dumb. “What?”
“My coming along. Maybe you’d rather be with them on your own.”
She ignored the hook he was dangling before her. No way was she going to get into that debate in a public place. “I think Laura’s counting on both of us.”
“Well, Laura can’t be let down.”
Clare caught his fleeting grin and broke into a full smile. “True enough.”
Someone jostled him from behind. “See you tonight then,” he said before walking away.
She kept her eyes on him until his broad back disappeared in the bustle of shoppers and store clerks. When she turned to take the next book, she saw a young man with notebook and pen in hand standing patiently in front of her.
“Miss Morgan? I’m Jeff Withers from the Spectator, the town’s newspaper. I wondered if you could spare me some time for an interview.”
“Um, sure. I’m finished here in about fifteen minutes.”
“There’s a diner right across the street. Mitzi’s. Why don’t I buy you lunch? It looks like you might be all coffeed out.”
Clare smiled without any effort this time. “That would be great. I’ll meet you over there.” What she preferred to do was to head back to her hotel for peace and quiet, but she knew interviews were an important part of a book tour. When the signing wrapped up, she slipped on her suit jacket, assured the effusively appreciative manager that the pleasure was all hers and made her way across Main Street.
The reporter was sitting in a booth facing the door and waved at her. He stood up as she sat down, a courtesy that pleased Clare but made her feel about twenty years older.
“The specials are up on the board,” Jeff said, pointing to the wall to her left.
“The food must be good,” Clare said. “The place is packed.”
“Always is on the weekends. They serve a mean brunch.”
A waitress arrived while Clare was skimming the menu so she made a quick decision. “The frittata special please, with salad instead of home fries.”
Jeff ordered the same and as soon as the waitress left, set his notepad and pen on the table. “Would you mind if we talked while we ate? I’ve got a four o’clock deadline.”
“Not at all. When will the interview be in print?”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday edition. Look in the Lifestyles section. Now,” he said, flipping open the notepad, “I know that Growing up in Paradise is your second novel.”
“That’s correct. The first, Frankie and Me, was published almost three years ago.”
“Is it normal to have such a gap between books?”
Clare smiled patiently. She’d been asked this question many times. “I don’t know if there’s anything in the world of publishing that could be called normal, but I don’t think the gap is unusual.”
“And this one made the New York Times list so I guess that’s all that matters.”
She wasn’t certain what he meant by the comment. “It’s a wonderful recognition, if that’s what you mean.”
He smiled. “Of course! Now, I understand you were born and raised right here in Twin Falls.”
“I was actually born in Greenwich, but I grew up here.”
He paused while the waiter brought their drinks and then he placed a small tape recorder on the table. “Do you mind? I’m not the best note taker.”
Clare frowned. “All right. I guess there’s not much I can tell you that’ll come back to haunt me.”
He laughed. “Not in Twin Falls. The cover blurb of your book calls it a coming-of-age novel of a young girl growing up in a small town. But I’m curious—is it really based on your personal story?”
Clare tried not to roll her eyes. She’d been asked this question so many times, she had the answer down pat. “My own experiences gave me an informed point of view, of course, and there are some similarities between the heroine, Kenzie, and me, but the story itself is fiction.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Can you summarize the central theme of the book?”
Clare paused while their orders were placed on the table. “I think the title is the clue, right? The notion that small towns may seem like paradise on the surface, but underneath is the same ugliness that can be found in big cities.”
“Kind of like the snake in the Garden of Eden?”
“I guess, but mine isn’t a spiritual message. Simply that good and evil can be found anywhere, even in an idyllic place like…well, like Twin Falls.”
“So is the book based on an actual event in Twin Falls?”
Clare put down her fork. “I don’t believe I said that, did I?”
His smile didn’t seem so charming this time. He cocked his head to one side and as if mulling over her question, switched tactics. “But isn’t that basically what we’ve been playing cat-and-mouse about these last few minutes? And here’s what you say in your acknowledgements.” He pulled a copy of her novel from his backpack and thumbed through the first couple of pages. “You thank a bunch of people, then make a general statement that certain events may appear to resemble—I like that phrase—events that may have occurred elsewhere but any similarities are entirely coincidental.” He raised his head, frowning. “Sounds like something a lawyer wrote, doesn’t it?”
Perhaps because one did, Clare was thinking. Suddenly she was no longer hungry. She wanted to leave, but she also wanted to clarify her point. “I—”
He interrupted, “Do you think there’s a possibility someone here in Twin Falls might find something too close to truth in the book?”
Clare set her fork down. “What are you getting at?”
He leaned forward, fixing his eyes on hers. He was no longer making notes, but the tape recorder whirred away. “Here’s my point. The novel centers around the death of a friend of the heroine’s. The death is ruled accidental, but there’s ambiguity about the finding that has a profound effect on the main character. What was her name again? Kenzie?”
Clare nodded. She knew where he was going now.
“And the death eventually results in Kenzie’s leaving forever the town where she grew up. Kind of a Paradise Lost idea. Right?”
Clare checked her watch, wondering when there’d be an opportunity to leave. “That’s part of the story, yes.”
He leaned further across the table. The eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses glimmered. “And isn’t that what happened to you, right here in Twin Falls, seventeen years ago? When your friend was murdered and your boyfriend accused of the crime?”
“As I’ve already told you, what happens in my novel is fiction. And Rina Thomas was a classmate, rather than a friend. I’m sorry but I have to go.” Clare stood up.
Startled, he pulled back from the table. “But your lunch.”
“Let me pay my share.”
He rose from his chair. “No, no. The boss is paying. Listen, could you spare five more minutes? I just want to explore the idea of your novel being based on the Thomas case.”
“If you want to discuss my book, fine. However, if your real purpose in talking to me is to discuss something that happened many years ago in Twin Falls, then I’m sorry, I can’t help you. You’ll have to go to the police for that.” She started to move away.
“But the two stories are not so very different, are they?”
“The novel is drawn loosely on my childhood experiences and observations growing up in a small town. I’m sorry but I can’t spell it out any other way. Any similarities are—”
“Entirely coincidental,” he finished, quoting from the preface. “But off the record, Miss Morgan, which parts are not coincidental?”
“It’s all fiction, Mr. Withers. Goodbye,” she said and walked out the door. She brushed past a handful of people lined up to get inside and marched straight to her hotel, a brisk five minutes away.
It wasn’t until she was safely locked inside her room that she sank into a chair and succumbed to the trembling that began the instant she left Mitzi’s.
CHAPTER THREE
SHE HAD TIMED HER entrance perfectly. Laura and Dave were just sitting down at their table, and judging by the half-finished glass of wine in front of Gil, Clare figured he’d arrived a bit early. She handed her coat to the host and walked toward them, pleased that she had avoided a few moments alone with Gil—something she’d worried about on her walk to the restaurant.
“Clare! You look ravishing,” Dave enthused, standing to greet her. “Doesn’t she, Laura?”
“Now that she’s a celebrity, she has an image to keep up, right, Clare?” Laura winked.
The spotlight wasn’t really what she’d been seeking, but Clare struck a pose, hoping she didn’t look as awkward as she felt. She cocked her head, her shoulder-length hair swaying to one side, and scanned the room. “What? No paparazzi?” she demanded, smiling. She gave Dave a quick hug and bent down to give Laura a peck on the cheek.
Gil had stood at her arrival as well and was pulling out the chair beside his. Clare hesitated, then acknowledged him with a nod of her head. “Gil,” she mumbled and sat down. As he pushed the chair in, his hand brushed across her shoulders and the instant tingle distracted her enough that she missed Laura’s next remark.
“I said,” Laura repeated seeing the blank look on Clare’s face, “that I love your dress. Is it silk?”
“Yes. A celebration splurge.”
“It’s stunning,” Laura went on. “Those earth tones are wonderful with your hair and complexion. Whenever you move, they seem to shimmer in different shades of brown and gold.”
“More like copper,” Gil added.
“Since when were you such a fashion connoisseur?” asked Dave, grinning across the table.
“I know my colors as well as the next guy,” Gil said, grinning. He turned toward Clare. “Laura’s right. The dress is perfect for you.”
His smile was sincere, Clare thought, but the intense expression in his eyes unreadable. She suddenly felt uncomfortable and gave him a quick smile that felt lopsided, then turned her head toward Laura. “Who’s looking after Emma tonight?”
