Gwen rose and made a move to follow him, but it was obvious he was reliving something traumatic, so she let him go. As soon as the door swung shut behind him, she locked eyes with Margie behind the bar, who glared at her for a few seconds, then began to aggressively wipe down the bar.
Gwen returned to her chair, feeling guilty for being the cause of Jeremy’s apparent panic attack.
Peter approached. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure,” she replied. “But we should probably go somewhere else where we can talk.”
He waited for her to collect her jacket and purse, then led her outside. By now, it was pouring rain. Cars drove past with wipers whipping back and forth, their tires swishing through puddles on the street.
“Let’s just go back into the hotel,” Peter suggested, leading her to the separate entrance next to the bar.
He ushered Gwen inside, and they went immediately upstairs to her room. She unlocked the door and entered first. Peter followed and shut the door behind them. Gwen removed her coat and hung it inside the antique wardrobe.
“You were talking to him for quite a while,” Peter said. “It looked like he had a lot to say.”
“He did,” she replied. “He held nothing back about Valerie’s time in Valdez. He knew a lot from his friendship with her, but he also knew things he learned from her friend Angie. She was the wife of a local cop who didn’t think too much of Jeremy. It’s a complicated story, a bit of a love triangle between Jeremy, Angie, and her husband. Valerie seemed caught in the middle.”
Peter sat down on one of the twin beds. “Did he tell you anything about the baby he rescued?”
Gwen pulled off her shoes, sat on the other twin bed, and slid back against the pillows. “We didn’t quite get there. He was telling me about the earthquake and how he watched from his boat when the docks collapsed, but that’s when he got the strangest look on his face and said he had to leave.” She met Peter’s gaze. “I think whatever happened was awful. He couldn’t even talk about it.”
“A lot of people died that day,” Peter said. “He must have seen some terrible things.”
“I believe so.”
They sat in silence while Gwen strove to remember everything Jeremy had revealed in the bar. “He wouldn’t let me take notes or record our conversation, so I should probably tell you everything right now before I forget the details.”
Peter reached into the pocket of his jeans. “Do you mind if I record you with my phone?”
“Please do. And I’ll record it as well. It’s important information for the historical record. This will need to be transcribed for the museum.”
“And for my book,” he reminded her, his eyes lifting.
“Yes.” She immediately recognized Peter’s fear, his underlying mistrust. “I give you my word that I won’t steal this from you.”
He relaxed and set his phone to record.
Gwen spent the next half hour recounting everything Jeremy had disclosed in the bar. When she finished, they put away their phones and took a break, lying back on the two twin beds.
“He didn’t look the way I expected him to,” Peter said.
“How did you expect him to look?”
“I don’t know. A little more rough around the edges. Like someone who’s lived a hard life.”
She folded her hands across her belly. “You’re right. He didn’t look like a prison convict. He looked like somebody’s well-to-do granddad. His jacket was Patagonia. Did you notice that? And he was clean shaven and quite handsome for a man of his age.”
They continued to lie there, each of them staring at the ceiling.
“Are you hungry?” Peter asked.
“I am. Maybe we should get some dinner.”
They agreed it was a good idea and rose to their feet. They were just putting on their jackets when Gwen’s cell phone rang. She picked it up and looked at the screen.
“It’s Eric,” she said, fighting to suppress a feeling of disappointment, because she wasn’t in the mood to talk to him now.
Peter gestured toward the door. “I can leave you alone for a few minutes ...”
