Dear Irene by Jan Burke

saw Coburn waving me out from my hiding place. I took a deep breath and walked out to see why I was being summoned.
    “Geoff says there’s someone here to see you,” Coburn shouted. I nodded and handed back the ear protectors. I glanced at my watch as I walked up the basement stairs. 9:30. Way too early for Kincaid. I reached the top of the stairs and Geoff motioned to me. I didn’t see anyone in the lobby.
    “What is it, Geoff?”
    “Detective Harriman is waiting to talk to you.”
    “Look, Geoff—”
    “I asked him to wait outside. Now, I ain’t so old I don’t see you two must have had a scrap of something — he don’t leave his police work to come down here all of a sudden-like just on a whim. It’s none of my business, but I’ve never seen you be a coward, Miss Kelly, so you better get on out there and talk to the man, or you’ll disappoint me.”
    I had to grin. “Lord knows, Geoff, I can’t afford to do that.”
    I went out the front doors and saw Frank leaning against the building, looking at the toe of one of his shoes like it held the secret of life.
    “Crime on a coffee break in this town?” I asked.
    “Hi.” He stood up straight, but didn’t come closer. Wise man.
    “I’m under strict orders from Geoff to listen to what you have to say. Have you been bribing that old geezer?”
    “No, but it’s a thought. I came down here to apologize. They told me your phone is out of order.”
    I reddened a little, but held my ground. “I was just thinking about why you made me so angry.”
    “Well, besides the fact that I insulted you, you probably think I don’t trust you.”
    That floored me. I don’t know exactly why. He has this knack for getting to the heart of things that has unnerved me more than once. It’s a little disquieting to be with someone who can read you like a large-type book. I didn’t say anything.
    He sighed. “I’m sorry I lost my temper. And I do trust you.”
    “Do you? I could have sworn otherwise from the conversation we just had on the phone.”
    He leaned back against the wall and went back to studying his shoe.
    “Look,” I said, “I accept your apology. I owe you one, too. As for the trust issue, I guess we need to talk. What time will you be getting home tonight?”
    “Late,” he said quietly.
    He was unhappy and I knew it, but I fought the urge to say something just to make him feel better. This was too important. I repeated that to myself a couple of times.
    “If you aren’t too tired when you come home,” I said, “let’s talk. I’ll try to stay up. Or wake me when you get in.”
    “Okay, I’ll see you at home then.” He turned and walked off without saying another word.
    Well, I had stood up for myself all right. Why did I feel so shitty?
     
9
     
    I TRIED TO CRAWL UP out of my foul mood before Steven Kincaid arrived. He showed up a little early; I was still working on some notes, but I asked Geoff to send him up. I glanced up as he entered the newsroom, and noticed that every female within shouting distance was looking him over.
    Then I noticed the men. Hostile doesn’t quite describe it. I expected to hear the cry of Tarzan any minute. It was apparently stuck in some newsman’s throat.
    “Hello, Steven,” I said with a smile that was as much amusement at the general consternation he had caused as it was a welcome.
    “Hi, Irene. I’m a little early.”
    “O’Connor once quoted someone as saying that ‘the trouble with being punctual is that nobody’s there to appreciate it.’”
    He shrugged and gave me a fleeting, disarming grin. “Evelyn Waugh said punctuality is the virtue of the bored.”
    “I think I like that one better. But you don’t strike me as being bored.”
    “No. Restless, I suppose. Who’s O’Connor?”
    “I’ll tell you about him on the way to lunch. Do you mind a walk of about six blocks?”
    He didn’t. I used the time to talk on and on about my old friend and mentor. It made me smile, but when I looked