Tips for Living(69)

A cold shower was what I needed. Ben held up my dripping finger, and I led him to the kitchen. The faint citrusy aroma of his aftershave wafted into my nostrils, mixing with his licorice scent. The combination was an instant aphrodisiac. He leaned across me at the sink to turn on the faucet, and my entire body flushed.

“Just hold it here for a minute,” he said, guiding my finger under the cool stream. The water felt soothing on the tiny, throbbing wound. But all at once my jaw clenched as I remembered last night, standing naked at Ben’s kitchen sink with pulsating hands.

“You have a vase?” he asked.

I jutted my chin toward the cabinet next to the fridge, afraid my voice would reveal how upset I was.

“In here?”

I nodded. Ben opened the cabinet and found the empty kosher pickle jar that I’d denuded after finishing the pickles Aunt Lada sent home with me a few weeks earlier. He set it on the kitchen counter.

“And where’s your garbage?”

Still silent, I indicated a lower cabinet. He frowned at me, perplexed.

“Okay, Harpo.”

He gently nudged me aside, pulled out the trash bin and took the fattest Swiss Army knife I’d ever seen from his pocket. The knife I’d discovered riding back from the police station with him. He noticed me looking at it.

“This is my lucky charm. A Father’s Day present from Sam. It’s called the Champ. There are wire cutters, a metal saw, a magnifying glass . . . The only time I don’t carry it is when I fly, which is too bad because they could probably use it to repair a 747.”

He opened the scissor attachment and began snipping the rose stems into the garbage. Watching Ben handle the roses—the relaxed, confident way he moved—was calming. I was impressed that he cut the stems on a slant to let them drink more easily. I liked that he carried a lucky charm from his son. I liked everything about him at the moment.

“So, you took off last night, and now you’re not speaking to me.” He began placing the roses in the vase. “How should I interpret this?”

I shut off the water and cleared my throat. “I guess you didn’t see the note I left.”

Ben stuck the remaining flowers in the jar. He reached into his other pocket, pulled out a folded square of paper and opened it.

“You mean Dear Ben. I’m not ready. I’m sorry.” He balled up the paper and tossed it into the open trash, frustrated. “I can’t accept this. You only gave me the lede. What’s the rest of the story?”

Tongue-tied again, I avoided his eyes and inspected my puffy, wrinkled finger. It stung like the devil.

“Nora.”

Could I trust him? I had a lousy track record picking trustworthy men. I replied with a halfhearted shrug and looked up.

His brown eyes blazed at me as he spoke. “You think it was easy for me to let it happen last night? To open myself up? You think I didn’t want to run? I did. But I said, you can’t let this one go because you’re scared of losing someone again. This one’s special.”

“Ben, I—”

“It took me hours to work up the guts to come over here to talk. To tell you I reject your ‘Dear Ben’ note. I’m not going to knock down the castle door again to reach you, Nora. I’m not going to plant the magic kiss that wakes you up. You’ve got to meet me halfway, for real, or . . .”

I didn’t want to hear the rest of that sentence. I didn’t want to lose him.

“Shhh,” I said, putting my swollen finger to his lips. And then I kissed him until we were swimming in the ocean again.



Our bodies floated on dark swells by the time we finished. We lay there, letting the current slowly draw us to shore as we held hands, utterly spent. Ben finally rolled over and brushed my hair off my face.

“I think you have a right to know that I’ve been harboring elaborate fantasies about you for at least six months,” he said, grinning.

“That’s kind of kinky,” I teased.

“You think?”

“How did reality measure up?”

“Far superior.”

He kissed me. But when our lips parted, I could tell we both felt the mood shift.

The gloom of the murder case had moved in. We couldn’t avoid it. Ben sat up and turned on the lamp on the night table.

“So, what have you heard from Gubbins about the case?”

“Nothing yet. But Kelly confirmed that Stokes and Helene were having an affair. She says he’s going to tell the police before they discover it.”

“He’s got motive. That should make Roche take a closer look at him, at least.”

“Grace says Stokes isn’t clever enough to orchestrate a frame-up.”

“If twenty-five years as a journalist have taught me anything, it’s that people are like onions. Lots of layers.”

That was me, for sure.

“You’ve already peeled off one of his and discovered adultery. Who knows what else is underneath?” Ben shook his head, worried. “There’s nothing on his in-laws’ deaths from my contact at the Catskill News yet. I wish the police would find the damn murder weapon in this case. A trace on that gun would be a big help.”

I was about to tell Ben my new theory about Tobias, and the plan with Grace, but he’d caught sight of his wristwatch and looked stricken.