âI donât know what to do about that. I donât think any of us do. The only thing I can do is offer a reward.â He squinted at the room. âSay half a million dollars for any information thatâll lead us to the killer.â
Zoom lenses zoomed; hands shooting up at him from all across the floor. Mitchell looked around again, slowly, and now for the first time, at ease.
Then he saw the redhead. Watching him quizzically and leaning on the wall. First thing that came to him was, JesusâJoanna. Then he thought, uh-uh; couldnât be; no. Then he said, âThe man by the window in the tweed.â
***
She was sitting there waiting on the hood of his car.
Forget it; he couldnât run away from his car and besides, he was dreaming.
He wasnât sure if it was a good dream or a bad dream. He wasnât really sure about anything today except that anything could happen. The car could levitate. Ghosts could swim around the parking lot air.
He stopped, lit a cigarette, and peered across the lot.
Thirty yards away, and she couldâve been anyoneâjust another shined-up frizzy redhead with an angle and a pose. From twenty: Joanna. Fifteen: she was Jo, and he thought about running but he wasnât sure whereâgoing towards or away? He could say to her, reasonably, âSorry, miss, I think you got a little bit confused.â He could say, âWho me?â He could say, indignantly, âWhat are you talking about, lady? Iâve never been to Elton, Colorado in my life.â He could say anything or nothing. No comment. No capish.
Five yards away and she was tilting her head at him. Hair like a halo made of sunrise and fire. A yellow-rose sweater and a cream-colored skirt that was almost to her ankles. Funky little shoes. Eyes like a fawn. Smart fawn; nothing you could toss on your fender.
She could say, âDo I know you?â He could look at her, smile, say, âNo.âWould you like to?â All things considered, he could do it like that.
She said, âMitch?â
He said, âYou really look beautiful, Joanna.â
10
He said in the car: âHow it goes is, youâre not gonna ask me any questions and that way Iâm not gonna tell you any lies.â
She said: âI donât know. How can I not ask you any questions?â
He said, âI donât know.â
He said to her, âYou wouldnât believe it how Iâve missed you.â
She said, âI donât believe it. You know what itâs been?â
He said, âEighteen years.â
She said, âNineteen years.â
And she said, âIâve missed you.â
He grinned in the mirror. He didnât have the right to any happiness today but he couldnât seem to help it. He wasnât even certain if he trusted her or not.
He said, âDo you believe you could trust me for a while?â
She said, âI donât know.â
He said, âI donât blame you.â
He said, âThereâs only one other thing I want to ask. You can ask it of me and Iâll answer it.â
âWhat?â
âAre you married?â
âNo.âAre you?â
âNever,â he said. âAnd I lied, because Iâve really got one other question.â
âWhat?â
âWhat time you want to meet me for dinner?â
***
Standing at the open window in his living room, sun going down, vodka and tonics, Brubeck fiddling with âTime on My Handsâ and the sky turning purple and Mitchell couldnât move. Joanna smelled of Joy and he could stand there indefinitely, breathing her in. He didnât want to speak. She was standing there next to him, dressed in something longish and fuzzy and pink that reminded him partially of cotton candy. He wanted to touch her but he knew if he touched her he wouldnât ever stop.
âSo,â she said. âWhat can we talk about, huh?â
He said, âLots of
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