The Day Trader by Stephen Frey Page A

she’s saying, and I catch myself smiling at her. She isn’t at all who I expected.
    As the waiter delivers our drinks, I glimpse a hulking figure pass a far-off window of the restaurant, and I’m almost certain it’s Detective Dorsey. I strain to catch another look as the guy passes the next window, but I can’t tell for certain whether it’s him and then he’s gone. As I ease back onto my seat Mary’s expression turns to one of sharp interest.
    “What did you see out there?” she asks, picking up her wine glass. “My God, your face went white as a sheet.”
    I smile lamely, trying to act as though my electric reaction was no big deal. “A woman I thought I recognized.” I doubt Mary will want to dwell on that. “An old friend.”
    “Oh.”
    The thought of Reggie’s presence shakes me. I don’t know whether to believe him that this morning’s Q&A was just standard procedure, or when he said he wasn’t having me watched. I don’t want to have to explain to him that there’s nothing going on here, that this is simply an innocent lunch between two coworkers. I don’t want to have to explain anything to Reggie because my impression of him is that he’s the kind of man who draws significance from subtleties, and rarely changes his mind once he’s reached a conclusion.
    “Are you all right?” Mary asks, taking another swallow of wine.
    “I’m fine,” I answer quickly. “You were going to tell me when you first came to Bedford.”
    “Actually, you wanted to know what I was doing at Bedford,” she corrects.
    “Well, I—”
    “My husband died seven months ago. On Christmas Eve.”
    I glance up. That was the night my mother passed away. It was the first time Melanie didn’t accompany me to the hospital after my mother had been admitted the week before, so I had to drive those lonely miles home by myself after watching Mom die. “I’m sorry for your loss,” I murmur.
    “Thank you.”
    She looks down and it’s my turn to reach across the table to comfort her. I hate seeing genuine sadness.
    “My husband, Jacob, was a good deal older than me,” Mary explains, her voice starting to tremble slightly. “He was in his mid-sixties, but he was so full of life. He acted much younger than his age. He made lots of money in the nineties as a commercial real estate developer here in Washington, so we were very comfortable. He owned a large house in McLean, but we were almost never there because we traveled all the time.” Her eyes take on a distant look. “We went to exotic places like Tahiti, Africa, and the Amazon. He shared everything with me, and taught me a great deal along the way. He hired me as his executive assistant two years ago, and a week later we were inseparable. I had to divorce my husband at the time so Jacob and I could be together, but I knew the moment I laid eyes on him we would be married. I’m like that. I know when it’s right, and when I get that feeling nothing stops me. Jacob said I was crazy when I first told him we would be together. He admitted how wrong he’d been after we made love the first time.
    “Jacob’s children weren’t very happy about our marriage,” she continues, “but ours was a match made in heaven. The age difference was never an issue.” Her expression turns steely. “People accused me of marrying Jacob for his money, but that wasn’t the case. I didn’t have much when I met him, but Jacob’s money had nothing to do with my feelings for him. Money can make people do strange things, even me sometimes, I’ll admit. But it had absolutely nothing to do with my love for Jacob.”
    I stare steadily at Mary, thinking about what she just said and wondering if she’s telling me the truth. Wondering if Reggie told me the truth this morning. Mary seems sincere. So did Reggie.
    “When Jacob died of a heart attack last Christmas, he left me two million dollars,” Mary says, swallowing more wine, “and the house. He left the rest of the money to the