The restaurant was crowded; we had to wait twenty minutes for a table. Worth the wait: the food and the service were both first-rate. I had chicken marsala, Kerry a pasta dish called finocchio con sarde, made with fennel and sardines, that tasted a whole lot better than it sounds, and we shared a bottle of light Corinto wine. The place was atmospherically decorated and the lighting kept purposely dim in order to maximize the effect of candlelight. Kerry looks good in any light, the more so since she’d treated herself (and me) to the facelift after her bout with breast cancer, but there’s something about candle glow that makes her especially attractive. Gives her auburn hair a kind of fiery shine, her face a luminous, ageless quality. The longer I looked at her across the table, the more glad I was that I’d lost the argument tonight. Enthusiasm. Right. I could feel mine rising by the minute.
We were sipping the last of our wine when she broke a brief conversational lull by saying, “Tom Bates just bought a second home, a small ranch down in the Carmel Valley.”
“Good for him. He can afford it.”
“We could afford one, too, you know.”
“What, in Carmel Valley? I don’t think so.”
“No, you’re right; the Carmel area is too expensive. But somewhere else—Lake County, the Sierras, the north coast.”
“You’re not serious about this?”
“Why not? Wouldn’t you like to have a weekend getaway place?”
“I don’t know … would you?”
“Yes. I love the city as much as you do, but a change of scenery now and then would be good for both of us. Emily, too. I don’t mean day trips—quiet weekends, minivacations.”
“You sure we can afford it?” Kerry handled all the household financial matters; she has a much better head for figures than I do.
“Since Jim Carpenter promoted me to vice president we can. The market’s down now; we could get a small cabin or cottage for a reasonable price.” The prospect excited her; the candlelight emphasized the high color in her cheeks. “And we could take our time looking in different areas until we find just the right place. It’d be fun.”
“You really think we’d use a second home enough to make it worthwhile? I mean, we don’t get away on weekend trips much as it is.”
“That’s just the point,” she said. “We wouldn’t keep finding excuses to stay home or take only short day trips if we had a place of our own to go to. You’re supposed to be semiretired, but you’re right back to working four and five days a week. Wouldn’t you like to take more time off, do something besides sit around the condo when you’re not at the agency?”
“You work longer hours than I do.”
“Yes, and I’d like to cut back a little myself eventually. Don’t you think we’re entitled to some leisure time? We’re not exactly spring chickens, you know.”
“Don’t need to remind me.”
“There are other benefits, too,” she said. “Buying a piece of California real estate is always a good investment, no matter where it is, and it’ll help our tax situation. And you know we’re almost out of storage space at the condo. We could move a lot of stuff to a getaway place, not just nonessentials but utilitarian items like clothes and furniture. The living-room couch, for instance. I’d been wanting to buy a new— What’s the matter? Why are you staring off like that?”
“Storage space,” I said.
“… What about it?”
“Piece of California real estate. Storage space.”
“Are you all right? You have the oddest look on your face—”
“Lightbulb just went off.” I slid my chair back. “Wait here; finish your wine. I’ll be right back.”
“Where’re you going?”
“Make a phone call to Tamara.”
I tried her home number first; it was late enough so that she should be there by now. Five rings, while I stood shivering on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. On the sixth ring, she answered sounding grumpy.
“Got me out of the tub,” she said. “What’s up?”
“That piece of rural property Rose O’Day inherited. Didn’t you say it was in Marin County?”
“Some place called the Chileno Valley.”
“What kind of property? How big?”
“Farmland. Thirty acres.”
“Buildings on it?”
“I’d have to check the tax records, but—” She broke off and then let out a little yip; quick on the uptake, as always. “And the Chileno Valley is west of Highway One-oh-one going north. That’s where McManus and Carson were headed—that’s where they’re hiding out!”