Blood in the Water(11)
Sweat dribbled between her shoulder blades and dampened her blouse, and a shiver rippled down her spine. The thick and unforgiving wet lake air seeped into her lungs, making her cough. Again, she felt the urge to run for her car, but she had a professional relationship at stake so she stayed put.
Half an hour later, they’d finished their food. They currently sat on opposite sides of the picnic table, and Jane was grateful for the large wooden structure separating them. She had picked at the fish but ate most of the veggies. When she glanced up, she found Oscar studying her.
“You have lovely hair, but maybe you could use a change. Ever thought of going blonde?”
Her thoughts went winging to the crime scene photos all of those blonde women.
“Never.” Jane shook her head, dispelling the unwanted images.
“I think it’d look eye-catching on you. You’d be even more beautiful with long, golden curls.”
Jane didn’t agree. She liked her dark hair and wasn’t about to change it.
He reached for her, and Jane backed away. Something about his demeanor perturbed her, though she didn’t know why exactly. Beneath the romantic interest, there was something unnerving.
“Earlier, you didn’t say you weren’t attracted to me.”
“I don’t see how it’s relevant.”
“Indulge me—tell me what you think of my appearance.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. Jane didn’t know how to get out of the situation, so she scanned his features once more. He had a lithe, muscled body and a handsome face.
“Well, I don’t find you repulsive.”
He smiled. “You say such sweet things.”
“I’m only being honest.”
“Which I appreciate, and, like I mentioned, I find you attractive.”
“Why?” Most people found her demeanor off-putting.
“Many reasons.”
“Give me one?” Jane was curious, despite herself.
Perhaps she was sending signals to men that she wasn’t aware of. If Valentine identified the problem, she could fix it. Maybe it would solve her Beauregard issue as well.
“For one, you believed in me when no one else did.”
“Yes, because it’s what you paid me to do—very handsomely, I might add. And I merely went with the facts. While I have remarkable skills, don’t give me too much credit. The detective work was shoddy.”
“Still, you listened to me, took everything I said at face value. Everyone thought I was guilty.”
“A defense attorney doesn’t.”
“It’s more than that. You see the good in me, Jane. The man I want to be, the man I could be—with you at my side.” Once again, he watched her in a troubling, intent way.
It was time to go.
“Thank you for dinner, but I have another meeting this evening, so I should be on my way.” Jane stood and grabbed her briefcase, placing it in front of her body as though it were a shield.
“Not yet.” He sighed. “I know you’re ambivalent about men, but I want you to think about this, about us. And before you can make a decision, I need to be completely honest with you.”
Jane didn’t need to think, she’d already made up her mind. Although she supposed it would be polite to hear him out.
“About what?”
“You’re no longer my lawyer, but does privilege still apply?”
Jane had a pat answer for whenever a client asked her the question—and they often did. “Attorney-client privilege is sacrosanct and whatever you say to me in a professional context can’t be used against you. There are a few exceptions—if we are colluding together as part of a criminal enterprise, or you say something in front of a third party, or if you tell me about a crime you haven’t committed yet.”
His smile was smug. “Then we’re safe to have a real discussion. I want you to know me, Jane, the real me, not the façade I show the rest of the world.”
“What do you mean?” He wasn’t making much sense.
“I could tell you, but I think it would be best if I show you instead.”
“Okay….”
“Let’s go to my dark room—it’s inside—downstairs in the cellar.”
Despite the whispered warnings in the corners of her mind, Jane followed him.
He was an amateur photographer, so she wasn’t surprised Valentine had a dark room. In a small shadowy space, photographs were pinned on a plastic spinning rack. The space had a vaguely chemical smell—acrid, slightly sweet.
“Go on, take a look around.” Jane meandered around, taking it all in, while he remained silent, observing her. Some of the pictures had a melancholy quality—an abandoned rowboat, a fish laying on its side in the water, an abandoned house with a carpet of leaves on the floor.