Hearts Divided (Cedar Cove #5.5)(36)

“I don’t date men who look like Woody Allen,” Chloe protested, affronted.

“The math professor you brought to Lily’s New Year’s Eve party was a nerd,” Alexie said.

“Sam is a very nice man. And I don’t date him, we’re just friends.”

“But he’s a nerd.” Alexie stared at her until Chloe gave in.

“All right. But he’s a nice nerd. And we’ve never been romantically involved.”

“It’s a sure bet Nice Nerd Sam would never nibble on your ear and look at you like Jake Morrissey did.” Alexie seemed to feel she’d had the last word, jabbing her fork at the clipping for emphasis.

“I remember when my Richard looked at me like that.” Winifred sighed, a reminiscent smile curving her lips.

“You’re mistaking annoyance for interest,” Chloe said. “Just before the reporter snapped that photo, we argued over whether Dan should go to work for him when he’s released from the hospital.”

“I’m guessing Jake thought he should?” Alexie asked. “And you thought he shouldn’t?”

“Of course I thought he shouldn’t take a job working with explosives.” Chloe frowned. “He’s already lost a leg.”

“Let’s get back to the subject of Jake Morrissey—I can’t believe you found him annoying.” Alexie waved her fork in the general direction of the clipping. “He’s way too good-looking.”

“I felt he was a very nice young man,” Winifred declared. “I didn’t find him difficult at all.”

“That’s because he went out of his way to be charming to you, Gran,” Chloe said wryly.

“He did have a certain rough-around-the-edges, Humphrey Bogart appeal,” Winifred agreed.

“From Woody Allen to Bogart.” Alexie laughed out loud. “That’s a quantum leap, Chloe.”

“I’m not sure I buy your analysis, Gran,” Chloe muttered.

“That’s it! That’s how he’s looking at you in the photo. It’s that Bogart and Bacall thing,” Alexie declared.

Much to Chloe’s relief, the conversation shifted to movie actors and actresses in classic pairings, and away from her and Jake Morrissey. The rest of their visit with Winifred passed with much laughter and friendly arguing over whether Bogart and Bacall led the list of top-ten best couples ever.

Alone in her bedroom later that evening, Winifred sat on the edge of her turned-down bed and picked up Richard’s photo from her nightstand.

“Richard, why can’t the girls find a man like you? Where are all the good men?” She smoothed her fingertips over the glass separating her from his smile. “Jake Morrissey might be the one for our Chloe. I think she might be more attracted to him than she’s willing to admit.”

She pressed a kiss to the photo and returned the silver frame to its place on the white crocheted doily decorating the polished mahogany nightstand.

“Good night, Richard.”

He parked in the shadow of a large elm, across the street and half a block away from Winifred Abbott’s stately Victorian home. Chloe Abbott had been ridiculously easy to follow from her house in Queen Anne to her grandmother’s. She’d arrived alone, but while she was still unloading parcels from her car, another vehicle pulled in and parked behind her in the driveway. A second woman got out. He heard them laughing and talking before doors slammed and the two of them entered the house. The neighborhood subsided into relative quiet once more.

He slumped in the driver’s seat and waited until he was sure Chloe was staying put. Then he left, parking some distance away from the house in the opposite direction. Seattle residents vigorously supported Neighborhood Watch and they were also dog-lovers. The last six weeks he’d spent following Morrissey had taught him that residents walking their dogs tended to notice and grow suspicious if he was parked too long in one place.

Around ten o’clock, the two women drove away. He followed Chloe’s Volvo back to Queen Anne and watched her enter the tidy Craftsman bungalow.

Satisfied, he drove home to neatly enter details of the day’s activities and observations in his log book. Reading his afternoon notes, jotted while slumped in the last seat of the top tier in the far-left corner of the lecture hall, brought a resurgence of the outrage he’d felt as he listened to Chloe’s class voice their opinions. What did any of these late-teens and early twenties students know about the tearing pain felt by the family after a soldier died in combat? He was convinced he was the only person in the lecture hall who’d actually experienced the loss of an American soldier and the devastation that accompanied it.

Only he could write an essay that told the truth. And he would, he decided.

He printed a note in the margin, the block letters precise, the message brief. Deliver essay to Liberty Hall, Chloe Abbott’s office, one week from today.

Then he continued transcribing his personal shorthand into sentences on the page.

Chloe Abbott would make an easy target. She seemed to lead an ordinary life, with set work hours and close family connections.

A predictable schedule and rudimentary surveillance requirements. You’re easy prey, Miss Abbott.

The spacious parking lot surrounding the casino was empty except for Jake, his crew and the building’s owner with his entourage.