Chapter 7

The cab driver’s route skirted Lake Union, south along Eastlake Avenue. As they neared the south end of the lake, Fay realized she was not more than a quarter of a mile from Jillian’s and the crime scene. She asked the cab driver to divert to the Westlake Avenue address.

For her to visit the crime scene at this late date seemed pointless; her curiosity was drawing her there more than anything else. The rain was coming down in buckets as the cab pulled up in front of the pool club. Again, she asked the driver to wait for her. Wishing she had thought to bring an umbrella, Fay flipped up the collar of her raincoat, opened the door of the cab, and darted for the shelter of the club’s front-door alcove.

The entire event took less than fifteen seconds, yet when she arrived at the door, rainwater was already dripping from the ends of her neatly trimmed hair. She brushed away a significant drop of water from the tip of her nose. She imagined she must look like the proverbial drowned rat. “Bad hair day gone sour,” she muttered to herself.

On entering the club, Fay marched directly to the restroom. Grabbing a wad of paper towels, she managed to dry her hair. A quick brushing helped. She had given her appearance her best effort. When she had entered the restroom, she had looked like hell. When she left the restroom, she looked like heck. It was an improvement.

Jillian’s Pool Club was much larger than she had imagined it would be. The club was housed in one of Seattle’s many historic, two-story brick buildings. She quickly walked the length of both floors, noting approximately fifty pool tables. A video arcade, several bars, and fifteen monitors showed various sporting events. A respectable club—a fun place—one she might visit again, although the scent of an exotic blend of burning cigarettes and greasy hamburgers that filled her nostrils convinced her perhaps fine dining would be found elsewhere. She returned to the waiting cab.

Fay had intended to walk the alley where Charma died. Still, she reasoned the cab driver could drive her through it, saving her another drenching. She was not looking for clues that would eventually lead her to the killer. It was not her job. Her job was to recommend that the investigation extend beyond the preliminary inquiry level or to conclude that an investigation was not required.

Fay glanced at the cab driver’s registration card. “Arnold, will you drive me through the alley behind the building? Slowly, please.” Arnold had been driving like a crazed Paris taxi driver since she had first hired his cab. She wanted to see the alley, not experience it as if it were a special effects scene from a sci-fi space movie. But who was she to criticize the man? She, too, drove like a crazed Paris taxi driver. She admired Arnold’s skill.

Arnold was not a talkative man, although he did manage a “yeah” as he wheeled the cab around the corner and into the alley at a blistering five miles per hour.

The temperature of the cab quickly turned from warm to cold. “Arnold, will you turn up the heat a little?” Fay asked.

“Yeah.”

As the cab rolled through the alley at the speed of a funeral procession, she caught the aroma of aftershave. It was a scent familiar to her. She could not recall where she had experienced it before. And she had not noticed it in this cab until now. It was after she asked Arnold to turn up the heat; then she had noted the scent.

“Excuse me, Arnold. What aftershave do you wear?” Fay inquired.

“Yeah,” he replied. And with that, the cab accelerated.

“Thanks.” She liked the fragrance and made a note to pick up a bottle of Yeah aftershave someday.

“Where are you from, Arnold?’ she asked.

“You-crane.”

“Ah. Welcome to America,” she murmured.

Arnold dropped her at Nordstrom, where she made a quick call to Pearce. No word had been received regarding Charma’s records. “Okay,” Fay said in an irritated tone. “They’ve had their chance. First thing in the morning, I will eat their young. The bitch is back. Oh, and make a note to get ahold of one of those Long Distance Death shirts for me.”

“Ma’am?” Pearce said hesitantly.

“What is it, sailor?”

“I will give you my shirt, but I don’t think an angry officer descendin’ on them people like an insane banshee from hell will accomplish much. Besides, those guys are my friends. I’ll lose my cred with them. Like they say, ‘Squeaky wheel—most desirous of grease—sometime experience unpleasant application of same.’”

“Okay, I get your point.” Fay smiled and asked, “Chan?”

“No. Pearce, ma’am. But I do have an idea.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“I’m goin’ to the hockey game tonight with my friend Davy. He’s Admiral Wallace’s aide. Anyway, let me ask him about the files. Away from the office,” Pearce suggested. “I’ll find out what’s causin’ the hold-up, ma’am.”

Fay agreed and asked, “Have I been a bitch lately?”

“I won’t mince words with you, ma’am. You’re quickly getting’ there…ma’am.”

Fay smiled. She appreciated Pearce’s unfailing honesty. “Ah… good. I haven’t lost my charm. See ya later.”

While at Nordstrom, Fay purchased a dress and a pair of shoes. Before leaving the store, she stopped at the men’s department to search for a bottle of Yeah aftershave. After sampling twelve different ones, she discovered her fragrance. Arnold was wrong. The aroma was L’Observe. She purchased a bottle, thanked the attentive salesperson for her time, and left the store.

Fay arrived early at the Four Seasons Hotel Seattle. Her intention was to duck into a restroom to repair her makeup and change out of her wet uniform and into the dress. As she skirted the outer edge of the lobby, trying to remain as inconspicuous as she possibly could, she passed by a huge flower arrangement placed near her restroom objective. Noting it appeared to be almost the size of her car, she let out a low whistle.

“Faydra?” a familiar voice called from the other side of the flower arrangement.

Oh crap. It was Ford.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Ford said as he appeared from the opposite side of the massive flower arrangement. “If you hadn’t whistled, I would’ve completely missed you.”

Fay greeted him with a sheepish smile.

He looked as dashing and as handsome as ever. He was holding a small bouquet of beautiful peach-colored roses. “Faydra, you look extremely radiant this evening.”

“I do?” Did he, perhaps, mistake the look of radiance for something else? Fay embraced him. The closer she got to him, the less he could see of her. “Hi, handsome. Long time no see.”

He smiled and handed her the flowers.

“Thank you.” She brought the roses to her nose and inhaled deeply, a tactic designed to hide her face from him. “Umm…these are exquisite,” she said.

Ford took a step back. After carefully surveying her from head to toe, he said, “You look ravishing.”

“Oh, come on!” More than two years of friendship, and he still knew how to turn on the charm. Ford was a gentleman, he was a lawyer, and he was a big liar.

She excused herself to the restroom to make repairs.

Later, Ford and Fay were seated in the exquisite Georgian Room restaurant.

Ford ordered a bottle of wine. “How’s my girl Pearce?” he asked.

“JP is fine. She’s at the Seattle hockey game this evening with one of her pals,” Fay said. “You know she has a mega crush on you, don’t you?”

“I didn’t know that. I know someday JP will find a guy who can see what a catch she is. He’ll be one lucky guy. He won’t be as lucky as I am, but he’ll be lucky.”

He held his water glass in a toast, and they clinked glasses for luck.

“I worry about JP,” Fay said. “She has so little confidence in herself.”

“What about the guy she’s going to the game with?”

“Davy is a buddy. I don’t know why they’re not dating.”

The waiter arrived at the table. Fay waited for him to pour the wine and move away from the table before continuing. “I do know she loves ice hockey,” she said. “Land sakes, she can holler.”

Ford’s mood changed. “How’s your investigation going?”

“Don’t ask.” She sipped at her wine. “I am concerned, of course. I am getting stonewalled on getting Charma’s records.” Leaning closer to him, Fay whispered, “His remains are gone. The SPD seems to be backing away from the case, and when I visited Howard Carney, the man who found the body, he acted strangely. Speaking of Howard Carney, now there’s a character who has a story I’d like to read someday.”

“I agree; the whole thing sounds strange. I’ll have a private detective check out Carney for you.”

“Miss Pearce thinks Charma was killed by one of his own.” Fay took another sip of wine. She held the glass to her lips, gazing at some distant object. “At this point, I am beginning to think JP is right. Oh! And I got something for you.” She handed the small gift bag to him.

Ford smiled. He removed the aftershave from the bag and examined it. “You chose it. It must be the best.”

“It has become one of my favorites of late.”

Ford reached across the table to grasp Fay’s right hand. “Thank you, my dear. Now I have a small bit of news.”

“I am sorry, Ford. I have been so absorbed in my own troubles; I haven’t given you a chance to get a word in edgewise.” Fay returned her wineglass to the table and focused her attention on him. “C’mon…tell me!”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay! It’s not that big of a deal.” He paused for a moment and then said, “Senators Marsh and Anderson have nominated me to fill a vacancy in the federal court.”

Without saying a word, Fay rose from her chair, moved around the small table to Ford, embraced him, and then returned to her chair. “It is a huge deal! I am so happy for you. Ford, you will make an excellent federal court judge.”

“Well,” he said, “President Ross does have to approve the nomination first.”

“Nonsense. Armand will approve it.” She knew Armand Ross would embrace the idea of having a Native American serving on the federal bench. While she was overjoyed at the news, she also knew Ford’s announcement sounded the death knell to their relationship, given the busy and demanding schedule of a new federal court judge.

Fay and Ford spent the following two hours eating the wonderful meal and celebrating. The restaurant was its own world; they found it hard to leave.

Ford offered to drive her to the ferry terminal. They were early for the next boat, so he elected to wait until the passengers began boarding.

“Faydra,” Ford said, “I’m concerned. This has all the makings of a dangerous case. I think you should get help.” Ford leaned over and kissed her.

Every phase of a relationship had its own kiss. Theirs was the kiss mirroring the different points they were at in the relationship, he more involved than she. It would have been okay to freeze the situation just where it was indefinitely. But Fay knew—sooner rather than later—she would have to make a decision. She was unsure when it would be or exactly what it would be, but she did know it did not have to happen tonight.

“Thank you for the wonderful dinner.” She sniffed the roses again. The flowers were releasing a heavenly scent, sending a wave of optimism over her. It was suddenly tempting to think Ford was somehow wrong about the case’s danger - tempting to accept his offer to get her help and compelling to let him further into her heart. Perhaps it was years of training as a professional or years of practice as a woman moving through life looking for the right situation, but still, something made her think better of giving in to any of the temptations.

“Goodnight,” she whispered and walked down the ferry’s passenger boarding ramp alone and onto the ferry. In the darkness, the blast from the ferry’s horn was deafening. Fay felt the deck shudder as the ship’s massive propeller began to churn the black water of the Puget Sound. The boat quickly pulled away from the dock, and Ford grew smaller in her sight and soon disappeared from her vision altogether.

She arrived home late. The cat was pouting once again. She had just finished feeding her pest when her cell rang. Fay remembered she had promised Ford she would call the moment she got in. Picking up the phone quickly, she said, “Hi, honey. I got home all right.”

“Different honey,” the voice replied. “It’s JP.” She was excited. “Davy told me Charma’s records have disappeared. Several people were inquirin’ about the records, but they can’t be found. To top it off, NAVSPECWARCOM has never heard of Major Irving.”

“Why is a little voice in my head saying, ‘I knew it, I knew it?’” Fay asked. “Okay, thanks, sailor. See ya tomorrow. Oh hey, Pearce. Are you in the market for a cat?”

“Nope.”

Fay clicked off the cell and picked up Mr. Bill. As she rubbed his head, she said thoughtfully, “I’ve got to find out what’s going on. Who croaked poor Paul Charma, cat? Why did they do that? Huh?”