Together Again(45)

                With mahogany red hair and creamy skin as well as a name like McCarthy it wasn’t hard to figure out Fiona’s ethnic heritage. A reporter for Portland’s weekly alternative newspaper, Willamette Week, she was with Mark Howard, a reporter with the daily paper, The Oregonian. They’d been dating for over a year and most people who knew them assumed it was serious so suited for each other were they.

                “If she’s here, I have yet to see her and I’m pretty sure I’ve said hello to everyone, although it is crowded.” Liz looked around the gallery again and, when she still didn’t see Margo, shrugged her shoulders.

                “Where’s Amanda?” Fiona said. “I’ll go give her some moral support until Margo gets here.”

                “I’m right here.” The voice came from behind where a five-foot nothing little bit of a thing with caramel-brown curls and huge hazel eyes stood. Hard to guess from her looks that this was the artist in question. Amanda St. Claire looked more likely to be writing poetry in a garret than wrestling with tabletop-sized sheets of glass and twenty-pound kiln shelves. But everyone who knew art glass knew her as one of the most creative and talented artists in the region.

                With her was her husband. Even for his wife’s opening, Sam stuck to his cowboy boots and jeans, although as a concession to the evening, he had put on a jacket.

                “And if you’re looking for Margo, be patient. Sam says an out-of-town guest has just arrived so she may be a little late.” Amanda looked up at her husband with a knowing smile.

                “Out-of-town guest? Has her mother finally decided to come see her?” Fiona asked.

                “Not exactly,” Amanda said. “I hear … ”

                “Well, if that’s her guest, I’m surprised she showed up at all,” Liz interrupted. She was looking toward the front of the gallery where Margo and Tony were just walking in. “I sure as hell wouldn’t be wasting my time at an art gallery if he came to visit me.”

                Tony had his arm around Margo’s shoulders and she was looking up at him, laughing. His head was cocked to the side to get closer to her face as he spoke and the smile on his face went up into his brown eyes, lighting them up. She leaned into him, maybe to hear what he was saying, maybe just to be close to him.

                “Holy shit. Who’s that?” Fiona asked.

                “A Philadelphia police detective. He’s an old friend, she says. But they sure look like more than friends to me,” Sam responded.

                “We should all have old friends who look like that,” Liz said. “He’s gorgeous.”

                “Lotta women in the Justice Center share your opinion,” Sam said. “We had a parade of them through our floor today with the most wild-ass excuses for being there. Some of them giggled like goddamn teenagers.” He shook his head in disbelief.

                “You said you’d been told he was a good cop, Sam. You didn’t tell me he was to-die-for good-looking,” Amanda said.

                “Why would I notice something like that?” her husband said, his voice close to a growl.

                The couple made it to the knot of Margo’s friends. She apologized for being late and started to make introductions.

                Liz cut her off. “Hello, handsome. I’m Liz. Where’ve you been hiding?” She clasped the hand he held out in both of hers and didn’t let go.

                Margo explained how she knew Tony and gave an abbreviated explanation of what he was doing working with the Portland police.