Color of Blood(32)

“We’re closing the investigation,” Dennis said.

“So what’s the verdict on your young man?”

“He was swallowed by a big, hungry shark.”

“Oh,” St. Regis said, raising his right hand in a flourish, “no Byzantine theories of official subterfuge and drug running? Really, Mr. Cunningham, how boring. A big shark. Do tell.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the way it is,” Dennis said. “Sometimes stupid things happen to nice people.”

“Well,” St. Regis said, standing, “I want to thank you for thoroughly disrupting our office. And as the old saying goes, don’t let the door hit you in the ass when you leave.”

***

Judy valeted the car at the hotel and checked her makeup in the car visor’s mirror. She brushed her hair several times to give it some life. My stupid hair just hangs there, she thought, giving it an extra swipe. Ugh.

She was thirty minutes late, having been pulled into a new assignment involving a methamphetamine lab in Albany.

Dennis was hunched at the bar, swirling his drink with the plastic swizzle stick. Uncharacteristically, he wore a white, short-sleeve polo shirt and jeans. From the back his shoulders looked muscular and taut, and Judy paused, thinking it might not be him.

“Oh, Dennis, it’s you.” She sat next to him. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I’ve been tossed into a new assignment.”

“That’s OK. Plane doesn’t leave until this evening.”

Judy ordered a sauvignon blanc. The two investigators sat side by side, looking down at their drinks in silence, the piped-in jazz a stilted backdrop.

“Are you anxious to get home?” Judy asked.

“No, not really. I’m finally starting to like this place, which for me is quite a change.”

“Well, at least you’ll get a chance to see your daughter.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s so.”

They grew silent, and Judy wondered whether she’d ever see him again. As cantankerous and boorish as he was at times, she was intrigued. Every now and then, when he looked at her just the right way, his deep blue eyes sparkled in the bright, clear Australian air, making him unaccountably attractive.

But even if Judy had wanted to flirt with her American visitor, she felt uncomfortable doing it. She’d really had no practice; Phillip had been her first and only serious relationship. After seventeen years of marriage, she was starting the relationship game all over again, and it was a confusing game indeed. Judy even struggled with how to make small talk, to fill in the odd moments of silence that occur between two adults.

Suddenly anxious and self-conscious, she pushed her drink away.

“Dennis, well, I really should be going,” she said. “It was a pleasure working with you. I’ve really enjoyed it: a real breath of fresh air from the normal copper stuff here.”

“Don’t go,” Dennis said. “You just got here.”

“I really need to leave,” she said.

“You didn’t even finish your drink,” he said.

“Well, that’s true. I just wanted to say good-bye and wish you luck.”

“Well then, why don’t you stay?” he said. “Please.”

Judy grabbed the stem of her glass and slid it toward her. She looked at him and smiled, her mind racing ahead. Just bloody say what’s on your mind, she berated herself. For heaven’s sake, just talk!

“Do you mind if I ask you something personal?” she blurted. “I have to ask this question, and I know you’ll think it’s silly, but I’m going to ask you just the same.”

Dennis turned to her, wrinkling his brow; a combination of caution and curiosity.

“Shoot,” he said carefully.

“OK, here goes. Has anyone mentioned the color of your eyes before? Don’t laugh. They’re unbelievably blue; almost like an effervescent indigo, or something like that. See, you’re laughing at me. I’m not sure I’ve ever met a person with that kind of blue eye color before. I mean it. Stop laughing, Dennis.”

“Yes, OK, some people have mentioned it before.” He laughed. “At one point when I was a kid my Mom thought I had something called Waardenburg syndrome. It’s condition that presents with these super blue eyes. But the doctor said I didn’t have that. Over the years some women have mentioned it. Actually, not sure what I’d do if a guy mentioned it to me.”

“Well, I had to ask,” she said. “Your eyes are so different.”

“A lot of people would say I’m different, that’s for sure. And not because of my eyes.”

“Oh, I just don’t think they know you well enough,” she said. “People love to judge, even when they don’t know what they’re talking about.”

She was surprised how his casual appearance softened her view of him. The collar of his worn shirt hung open, and she could see the hair at the top of his chest. His neck, no longer constrained by the white shirt and occasional jacket, seemed muscular and strong, and his sandy-brown, short-cropped hair gave him a youthful look. Hell, she thought, he could be forty-five or sixty-five; men age like that. Women just sag.

Dennis began to pepper her with inquiries about her life in Australia, her Catholic upbringing, everything really. At one point, feeling buoyed by her second glass of wine and inoculated by the knowledge she’d never see this rough-edged American again, she vented about her divorce.