Taylor and Baldwin arrived first. They’d walked to the restaurant in silence. She’d been at an unaccustomed loss for words, and the uneasy silence had enveloped them in a fog. After putting their name in for a table, they hit the bar for a beer. Taylor wondered for a moment if it was smart to let him drink, then decided she wasn’t his mother. She didn’t know how to approach the situation, anyway. They ordered, then she excused herself to go to the ladies’ room to regroup.
She washed her hands and looked long and hard in the mirror. She wasn’t happy with the face staring back at her. Her hair had come down from its ponytail. She quickly wrestled it back into place. She had dark circles under her eyes. Her face was pale. She looked like hell, but she felt worse. Maybe she was coming down with something. Maybe she just needed some sleep. She splashed some water on her face, dried off with a scratchy towel, and forced a smile at the wraith in the mirror. A little better.
Back at the bar, Baldwin had an empty pint glass in front of him, was started in on another.
She sat next to him. “Um, listen, Dr. Baldwin, take it easy, okay? We need to get our ducks in a row. This is a business dinner, and I need you clearheaded.”
Baldwin squinted at her, drained the second pint, turned to the bartender and asked for a double Glenfiddich. Drink in hand, he turned toward her as if about to say something, then bit it off and looked away. He didn’t taste the Scotch.
“Baldwin,” she said, softly. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. The lighting in here is nice. I haven’t been here in years.”
Taylor looked around and had to agree. The gas lanterns glowing softly over the brick and walnut were soothing, much more comfortable than the harsh lights they’d worked under all day. She imagined him sitting alone in the dark in an anonymous room and realized he probably hadn’t been socializing very much. But she wasn’t his keeper, and she didn’t want to start anything.
The hostess signaled the table was ready. “Are you coming?” she asked.
“I’ll just...get the tab.”
Taylor sighed and turned away, leaving her errant charge behind with his Scotch. Fitz came in the door, flirted happily with the hostess while they assembled around the table. As Taylor and Fitz sat down, the door opened and Sam breezed through.
Taylor saw her friend come in and gave a jerk of her head toward Baldwin, who still stood at the bar. Sam gazed sharply toward him, spotted Baldwin leaning against the wooden counter and made a beeline for him.
“Hi. Sam Owens. I’m the ME.” She stuck out her hand. Taylor could have sworn she saw Sam’s eyelashes bat. She glowered at her. Sam returned the look with an innocent smile.
“Do you care to join us, or are you going to drown your sorrows at the bar while we watch and make bets on when you’ll fall down?”
Baldwin’s eyes went wide in shock, and he barked out a laugh of surprise.
Taylor stifled a giggle. Baldwin certainly wasn’t aware of Sam’s inability to use the smallest measure of tact.
“Sure, what the hell. I’ve got nothing better to do.” He signaled for another whisky, but Sam shook her head at the bartender and said loudly, “Water.”
Taylor watched the exchange with interest. Baldwin was meekly following Sam to the table, looking distinctly uncomfortable and nursing his chilled glass. It looked like Sam may have tamed the beast.
Once settled with drinks and food ordered, Fitz sat back in his chair, rubbing his tummy. A hint of malice gleamed in his crooked smile. “So, Baldwin. You spent all day with the files. Got any answers yet?”
“I’m not really ready to talk about any of this. I mean, I haven’t had enough time to formulate an opinion, and it would be best—”
Taylor cut him off. “Why don’t we share some of our thoughts with Dr. Baldwin first, instead of putting him on the spot right out of the gate.” She stared pointedly at her second. Fitz choked back his smile and assumed a more serious face.
“Oh, of course. Sounds good. Okay, Dr. Baldwin. Here’s what we know. Got us a couple of dead lookers who happen to go to the same school. One’s dumped in the Cumberland, one ceremoniously placed at the Parthenon. Both were raped and scattered with herbs. You following, Doctor, or do I need to use smaller words?”
Taylor leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms over her chest, and cleared her throat. “Fitz,” she grumbled, the name coming out as a distinct word of warning, but Baldwin rose to the bait alarmingly fast.
“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out, Detective. You really don’t need me for this. I’ll just head on home now. Here you go.” He reached under the table for his backpack and pulled out the files, tossed them on the table. The contents spilled everywhere. Baldwin stalked out the door.
Taylor didn’t try to follow him. She raised a hand to Sam, who was rising from her chair, and shook her head. Sam sat back down, puzzled.
“Why’d you let him run out of here like that?”
“Don’t look at me. Fitz is the one who chased him off.”
“Didn’t take much, did it?”
Sam shook her head. “I can’t believe you two. What is this, some sort of club initiation, and he failed?”