Hearts Divided (Cedar Cove #5.5)(33)
“Here we are.” David returned with a cardboard box, tissue paper and an elegant plastic bag.
Chloe turned to look at David, and when she glanced back at the window, the man was gone. Shrugging off the unsettling moment, she leaned against the counter. “Where did you find the clock?”
He carefully wrapped the tissue paper around the mantel clock before slipping it into the white box with his shop logo, Elegance, in tasteful script across the top.
“At an estate sale in the Capitol Hill District. Fortunately,” David told her, taping the lid of the box closed, “I had the opportunity for a private viewing before the house was open to the public and I picked up several nice pieces, including this clock.”
“What else did you find?”
Chloe listened with interest as David pointed out the various newly acquired items in his chic, cluttered shop. Finally she said goodbye and left, the clock held safely in her arms within its multiple layers of packing.
She checked her watch. She had to lecture college freshmen on the basics of English composition at two o’clock. If she was lucky and there were no traffic snarls, she could make it back to the campus with ten minutes to spare. She quickened her steps as she headed toward her car and was soon driving north on Dexter Avenue before crossing the Fremont Bridge to hook up with Pacific Avenue on her way to Lake Union and the University District. The University spires were already in sight when her cell phone rang. She flipped open the phone, read the caller ID information and held the slim silver phone to her ear.
“Hi, Alexie, what’s up?”
“Did you get Gran’s present?” Chloe’s sister didn’t bother with a greeting.
“Yes, and it’s gorgeous. You’re going to love it.”
“Good. Which one of us is picking up the cake?”
“I will.”
“Excellent.” Alexie sounded relieved. “With Mom and Lily still in England, and you and me responsible for Gran’s birthday, I’m a little worried that we’ll forget something. Speaking of forgetting, why didn’t you tell me about the guy you met at the UW Medical Center?”
“What guy?”
“The guy kissing you in the Tribune photo.”
“Jake Morrissey? He wasn’t kissing me.”
“Ohh, yes, he was,” Alexie drawled. “And I cut out the photo to prove it. Oops, gotta run, I’m due in court in thirty minutes. We’ll discuss this later. Call me after work.”
Chloe turned off the phone and reached across the console to tuck it back into her purse.
She’d thought Jake was interested, maybe a lot interested.
But he hadn’t called. She frowned. The article and photos weren’t published in the Tribune until this morning’s edition, but the photos had been taken three days earlier. She’d been sure Jake would call and was surprised at how disappointed she felt that he hadn’t.
She nosed the Volvo into the stream of cars crossing the University Bridge and checked her watch again. By the time she turned onto Pacific Avenue and arrived at the north-central side of the university campus, she had just enough time to slip into a faculty parking space, grab her purse, briefcase and an armful of books, and dash across campus.
Halfway to Liberty Hall, she had the feeling that someone was following her. She looked over her shoulder, but although students crowded the sidewalk, none of their faces were familiar and none appeared to be paying particular attention to her. Frowning, she dismissed the oddly disturbing sensation and picked up her pace once again.
Chloe’s freshman English classes were held in one of the original brick university buildings. The small single-story hall was used as the first campus church but during the mid-1950s, had been converted into a classroom. Now it contained only one lecture theater, accessed by students via a steep flight of concrete stairs leading to the double oak doors at the front. Professors entered at the lectern level through a side door that opened directly onto a sidewalk and the campus lawns beyond.
When Chloe walked inside, the three hundred tiered theater seats were half-filled with students. She dropped her briefcase and books on the table.
“Professor Abbott?”
Chloe glanced up from organizing her lecture notes and reference books and smiled at the first-year student seated in the front row.
“Yes?”
“I read the article in the Tribune this morning—the one about the solider in rehab? The article said your grandmother was a codebreaker.”
“Yes, she worked for the Office of Strategic Services at a satellite office here in Seattle. Her father was a cryptographer working for the OSS and he hired her as his assistant when she was only eighteen years old. She loved the work.”
An hour later, Chloe assigned a three-page essay as homework. Class time had been used for a lively and passionate discussion fueled by the Seattle Tribune article with the photos of Dan West, and Chloe had encouraged students to voice their views. The papers were to explore the impact made on each student’s life by the wounding or death of American military personnel stationed around the globe.
“The essays are due next Wednesday. If you drop them through the door slot at my office, they have to be there no later than 4:00 p.m. on Wednesday afternoon,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the sound of books slamming shut. “And don’t forget to take a copy of the handouts on the table next to the exit. The page-three article on the style of Jane Austen is part of your required reading for next week.”