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“Oh, sorry.” I grab my big shoulder bag, take a quick look to make sure I haven’t left anything incriminating, and slink down the hall to the garage. The lights come on when I walk in—motion detectors. I lean against the Mercedes and play with my phone while I wait.
The lights go out, leaving me in darkness with my phone screen casting a dim glow. I frown, then realize what happened and wave my arms over my head. The lights pop on again.
The door opens, and Justin hurries out. “You need to go. Until we get this sorted out, I can’t have you here—I need this job.” He presses a button by the door, and one of the big doors creaks up.
I grab his arm. “I got ahold of his lawyer. He said he’d call, but I had to tell him Dad called me. I didn’t want him to know you let me in.”
“Thanks.” He herds me toward the open door.
“Is he alright? Why did he say not to let me in?” I stop on the cement outside the garage and plant my feet, refusing to let him push me farther.
“He gets a little confused. I’m not sure if it’s the stroke or something else.” His nose wrinkles as he shrugs. “I can’t really comment on his medical situation.”
Now you’re going to follow the rules, Justin? “He’s only seventy. Are you saying he’s got dementia?”
“No, of course not.” He waves both arms. “I’m not a doctor. I don’t diagnose, and I couldn’t tell you if I could. I gotta go. Please, get out of here without anyone seeing you.”
He hurries into the garage and hits the button. The door rolls down and thuds shut like punctuation to the end of this visit.
Chapter 19
MATT
On Saturday, promptly at nine, we begin our first run through on the stage at the festplatz. The scenery and major props are in place and the backstage crew in attendance. Over the course of the three-hour rehearsal, we barely get through half of the two-hour play. The transition from the fire hall to the real stage always requires some adjustment, even though the town has been doing this for over twenty years. Maybe because the town has been doing it for two decades.
Edie calls the rehearsal at noon. “Thank you, everyone. We’ll pick up here Monday. Rehearsal starts promptly at six p.m. We’ll do a complete run-through of the entire show on Tuesday and Wednesday. Thursday is final dress rehearsal, and Friday is opening night!” She shoots a steely-eyed glare at a few cast members. “Get your lines down. There were too many prompts today. You should be rock solid by now!”
“Are we still on for that tour?” Nica sidles up to me. “My afternoon is wide open.”
“We’re on. I’ll pick you up at two. Do you need to be back at any particular time?” This is my not-so-subtle way of asking if she’s got plans for the evening.
She shakes her head, her hair flaring. “I’ve got nothing on the calendar. I’m all yours.”
If only that were true.
* * *
When I pull my bike into the parking space in front of the Gasthaus Rodriguez that afternoon, Nica stands on the sidewalk in front of the half-timbered building. She wears a flowered top over ankle length jeans and a pair of tennis shoes. Smiling from behind her massive sunglasses, she lifts her leather shoulder bag. “You didn’t warn me to pack light.”
“I’ve got room here, unless you want to downsize.” Flipping up the visor on my helmet, I kick the stand down and lean over to unzip one of the bike’s saddle bags.
“Depends on what we’re doing today. I might need all of this stuff.” She opens the bag and pokes through the contents. “Sunscreen, bathing suit, towel—”
I look over at the bag. “You have all of that in there?”
She smiles. “I’m like a Boy Scout. Do I need it?”
I pretend to think for a moment. “Won’t hurt to have it on hand. I’ve got room.” We tuck the purse into the saddle bag, and I zip it shut. “Do you have a leather jacket?”
She eyes the bike. “Not with me. I didn’t know I’d be riding a hog.”
I twist around to open the other saddle bag and pull out a brown, leather jacket. “This is not a Harley. Not even close. Suzie is a Suzuki.”
“Why am I not surprised your bike has a name?” She shrugs into the coat. “Is this Eva’s?”
“No, I got it for Judy—my ex—but she never wore it. She had no interest in riding.” That should have been one of many red flags over the years. Don’t get me wrong—I don’t think couples have to do everything together, but they ought to have some common activities. In the twenty plus years Judy and I were together, we did a lot of the things she enjoyed, but “we didn’t like” most of my hobbies. Riding was one of the few things I refused to give up, even though she also didn’t like me going off on my own.
I unstrap the second helmet and hand it to her. She pulls it over her head and clicks the strap while I observe. “You did that like an expert. Do you ride, too?” I watch her in the rear-view mirror.
