The Return of Jonah Gray by Heather Cochran Page B

who had quickly come to his aid—first of causing the fall and later, of trying to steal his watch. The girl had burst into tears.
    I figured that my father had simply been drunk. It wouldn’t have been the first time. But Ed insisted on a trip to the hospital, to do an X-ray and look for signs of a concussion.
    â€œI’m going with them,” my mother told me. “You stay here,” she said.
    â€œWhy me? What about Kurt?”
    â€œKurt left already. Something about an early appointment. And with Blake over at Barney’s, someone’s got to pay the caterers and make sure they get moved out.”
    What could I say? It was their anniversary. I told myself that I’d count the inconvenience as part of their present.
    It was nearly eleven when my mother left for the hospital, and there were still seven or so couples lingering in the torchlight. I stood by the sliding doors between the den and the patio, watching them. I was wondering when everyone would leave when a hot hand settled onto my shoulder.
    â€œIs the old man gonna survive?” I turned to face Ian Maselin. “I can tell you’re worried. It’s always a shame to see a pretty girl worried.”
    â€œI think he’ll be fine,” I said, trying to inch off gracefully.
    â€œYou’re probably right. And here I am, left,” he said.
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œOh, you know that song, don’t you?” He swayed a little bit to get the rhythm down. “Well, you’re right, I’m left, and she’s gone,” he sang. Mr. Maselin was always singing or humming something. Serenades were a large part of his flirtation routine.
    â€œI don’t think I know that song,” I said, backing farther away.
    â€œNo? Oh, honey, it’s Tom Jones. You’ve got to know Tom Jones. Well, you’re right, I’m left, she’s gone. You’re right, and I’m left all alone. I’ve got a whole collection of original records in my media room. You should come by some time and take a listen.”
    â€œYeah,” I said, meaning never. “I’d better go pay the caterers.”
    â€œI suppose I should scare up that wife of mine,” he said. He went away humming. Much as I disliked him, I had to admit, the man could carry a tune.

Chapter Seven
    IT HAD BEEN NEARLY ONE IN THE MORNING BEFORE the caterers finished clearing out. Scott had invited me to join a gaggle of them at a bar up in Berkeley, but I didn’t want to leave before my parents returned.
    â€œOkay, then. I guess I’ll see you around,” he’d said.
    I’d nodded, though I knew that the statistical likelihood of our crossing paths a second time was slight. I was okay with that. You reach a certain age and the previously spontaneous “why not?” spirit mellows into a more rational “why bother?” Scott was cute and nice, but the fact was I was more interested in a good night’s sleep.
    Besides, my to-do list the next day was long. Once back in Oakland, I planned to straighten my closet. I was going to get my car washed. I was going to do laundry. I was going to vacuum. I was going to crack open my new book, New Approaches in Forensic Auditing.
    Those were my plans at least. In the end, the same tasks remained on my list, no checkmarks or lines bisecting them. Instead, I spent the day at my computer, combing through the online archive of the Stockton Star and reading everything Jonah Gray had written since taking the job a year before. So much for my determination to follow my standard protocols.
    The first mention of him was my favorite.
    The Stockton Star extends a warm welcome to its newest newsroom staffer, Jonah Gray! it read. I wondered if all new employees went through this public getting-to-know-you hazing.
    So how old are you, Jonah?
    I’m thirty-two.
    And how long have you lived in Stockton?
    Only about a month at this point.
    What brought you to our fair city?
    A