“She is. And the opening I’m going to is an exhibit of her work. So Sam’ll get you out in time to go to the gallery. I’ll leave your name with security at that door … ” she pointed to the door on the east side of the courthouse. “The guard can direct you to my office.”
“Sounds good.” He drew her into his arms and kissed her, a long, tender, and promising kiss. “Been looking forward to that ever since I boarded the plane. See you later, sugar.” He took the steps two at a time back into police headquarters.
She stood on the sidewalk for a few moments trying to sort out how her life had just changed.
A little before seven, Margo heard a commotion outside her office. It sounded like women giggling. In a few minutes, Kiki to come into her office, eyes wide. “Did you see that guy who came in with Jeff? He’s McSteamy and McDreamy rolled into one.”
Before Margo could go to the door and look, the object of everyone’s attention appeared at her office door. She might have known.
“Ready to go, counselor?” Tony asked. “We’re meeting Sam and his wife at the gallery.”
“Give me five minutes.” It was tempting to torture Kiki but she introduced them.
“Sweet. So, you’re the guy.” Kiki and Tony shook hands. “Alessandro’s Italian, isn’t it?” she asked. “Do you speak Italian?”
“It is and I do. At least enough to flirt with and read a menu,” Tony said with an expression suited to the first use of his language skills.
“Say something in Italian.”
“Quella donna dietro lo scrittorio e molto bella.”
“Which means … ?”
“That woman behind the desk is very … ”
“Okay, Tony, enough with the language lessons,” Margo said.
“I have to get out of here for my date, anyway,” Kiki said. “Come back again and teach me some more, Tony.” She wiggled her fingers goodbye, almost skipped out of the room, picked up her backpack and left for the day.
• • •
The Fairchild Gallery was in the Pearl District, Portland’s newest upscale neighborhood where art galleries, trendy restaurants and high-rise condos shared space with an armory, now renovated into a theater, a high-end grocery and outdoor equipment stores. Liz Fairchild had relocated her gallery there from a smaller space in Northwest Portland about two years before. She’d never regretted the move. Especially not on evenings like tonight with crowds of people dropping by after work to see the show of Amanda St. Claire’s new glass art pieces.
Liz, as always, was welcoming everyone in person, dressed tonight in an emerald green silk tunic over leggings that showed off her long, shapely legs. The streak in her brown hair and the polish on her well-manicured fingernails, as well as the color of her eyes, matched the tunic.
The place was crowded for the monthly opening. But only one of the people Liz was looking for had arrived. “Fiona,” she said in her distinctive, I-used-to-smoke voice, “I’m glad you’re here. Amanda is in her usual state of panic about no one she knows showing up. She’ll be glad to see you. I think she was expecting Margo, too.”
“You mean she isn’t here already? We’re supposed to meet her here and I thought we were late.” Fiona McCarthy kissed the older woman’s cheek and so did her date.