At the moment they met, Owen remembered, he’d just come off that entire day of interviews. He’d passed with flying colors, and he knew it. Owen interviewed well, and he had a résumé that blew away anything they’d seen before in this Podunk town. The mayor hinted that she expected to be calling with an offer soon. He walked into Henry’s Bistro feeling wired and excited, despite the oppressively hot and sticky weather. He was scheduled to have dinner with the current police chief, a guy named Peter Dudley, Jr., who was retiring. Dudley, who’d shepherded him to his interviews all day, had a country-cop shtick that wore on Owen’s nerves, so he wasn’t disappointed to get a text saying Dudley had to cancel. A tornado warning had gone into effect, and Dudley needed to oversee the town response. Owen was happy to be left alone. He’d order a steak and a bottle of red wine on the town’s tab, and think over whether he could tolerate a job that seemed more geared toward handling weather emergencies than fighting crime.
He sat down at a booth in the bar area. The restaurant was completely deserted, which probably had something to do with the black, threatening sky outside the big plate-glass window. From where Owen sat, he would have a primo view of the town’s main street as the storm rolled in. He placed a drink order with the waitress. Pretty soon the thunder started, and within minutes, flashes of lightning lit the dark sky. A few fat drops spattered against the window, and then came the deluge. Water fell in sheets. Traffic lights swayed in the wind. Drivers pulled to the side of the street as tree branches and other debris blew past. Pedestrians ran for cover, and Owen felt guilty being warm and dry inside instead of out there battling the storm. But this wasn’t his town to police, not yet anyway.
He was still waiting for his wine to arrive when she ran up under the awning. With the rain blowing sideways, the awning couldn’t keep her dry, and a few seconds later she walked in the front door, shaking water from an inside-out umbrella. Her silk blouse had soaked through to show the outline of a black brassiere underneath. He’d been alone for two years now, since his wife died, and he couldn’t help but notice. It wasn’t just the glimpse of the bra. She was a beautiful woman.
“You need a paper towel?” he said, getting to his feet.
The waitress had not returned, and there was nobody behind the bar, so Owen walked over and grabbed the roll of paper towels that sat beside the beer tap.
“Thank you,” she said breathlessly, ripping off a long piece and patting her face and arms dry. “Do you work here?”
“No, just a customer.”
He went back to his booth. She sat down on a barstool near the door and tied her wet hair into a messy knot at the nape of her neck. Something in her hands, in the graceful way she moved, reminded him of Nicolette, though they looked nothing alike. He was just about to ask her name when a flash of gold on her ring finger caught his eye. So she was married. Even though he’d only known her for a moment, he was disappointed.
“Is anybody working here?” she asked. “I’d love a drink. Can you believe this weather?” Her voice was smoky and seductive.
“The waitress disappeared a while ago. They’re probably battening down the hatches in the kitchen,” he said.
Outside, a bolt of lightning lit the sky, followed by a deafening crack. The woman jumped. “That was close,” she said.
“There’s a tornado warning in effect. You should move away from the window,” he said.
“Oh, so you’re a weatherman?” she said, smiling, a challenge in her eyes.
“Nope. A cop.”
“Well, I’d better do what you say, then.”
He liked the sound of that. She got up and moved to another barstool right across from him. As rain lashed the street, a strange green light filtered in through the big window, and lightning flashed blue in the sky. The waitress came back with his wine. He’d ordered a bottle of malbec that she’d recommended, and she opened it and poured a splash for Owen to taste. He swirled the glass and sniffed it like he’d seen people do, conscious of the blond woman watching him from her barstool. She looked like the type who went to wine tastings. He didn’t want her to think he was a rube.
“Very nice,” he said.
The waitress filled his glass. Just then, the overhead lights began to flicker, and they all looked up at the ceiling. Thunder crashed outside and the lights in the bar went dark.
“Whoa,” the waitress said. “We don’t lose power too often around here. I’d better go see what’s going on in the kitchen.” She walked away hurriedly toward the back of the restaurant.
“So much for my drink,” the blond woman said.
In the half-light, he picked up his bottle of wine and gestured at the empty second glass on his table. “You can have some of mine if you like.”
“You don’t mind sharing?”
“Not at all. My associate stood me up because of the weather, and I can’t finish a whole bottle by myself. Well, I can, but I shouldn’t.”
“All right,” she said, and came over to the booth, sliding in across from him. “Thank you. I hate being alone in the dark anyway.”
It wasn’t really dark at that hour, even with the black clouds and the heavy rain, and she hadn’t exactly been alone. But whatever got her to sit with him was fine by Owen. He poured wine into her glass, and watched the strange light from the window cast a moody shadow across her face.
“Let me see if I can find a candle,” he said, and went behind the bar again. He fished around and found one, and a book of matches. He brought the candle over to the booth and lit it.
“There you go. Let there be light,” he said.
“You sure you don’t work here?” she asked.
“No, in fact, I don’t live in this town. I’m here interviewing for a job,” he said.
“Working for the college?” she asked. “Cheers, by the way.” They clinked glasses.
“No, it would be working for the town. Police chief, actually.”
“Very impressive. It fits. You look like a G-man.”
“A G-man?” He laughed.
“Isn’t that what they’re called? Like Dick Tracy or something, from the comic books? With the dark hair and the strong jaw.”
“That’s a little before my time.”
“Mine, too, but everybody knows Dick Tracy. Nobody ever said you look like him before?”
He chuckled. “Maybe once or twice.”
“Mmm-hmm, thought so, you were being modest. So, Chief, tell me. From what I recall, back in the day, there wasn’t much in the way of crime in good old Belle River, unless you count underage drinking, or toilet-papering houses on Halloween.”
“Less crime is what cops like.”
“Won’t you be bored?” she said. “You look like a man who goes where the action is.”
“What, because of my strong jaw?”
She laughed. “Exactly.”
She ran a fingertip around the rim of her wineglass and smiled up at him. They were flirting, he realized. He hadn’t flirted since Nicolette died. Not seriously, anyway, not like he meant it.
“It sounds like you haven’t spent much time in Belle River recently. What’re you, a Carlisle grad, back for a visit?” he asked.
“Yes and no. I started here my freshman year but never graduated, to my father’s everlasting shame and disappointment. I ended up bumming around Europe for a while, getting my degree over there.”
“That sounds like more fun. Carlisle’s stuck-up anyway, right? Who needs it.”
“I’m with you on that one. You’re not an alum, I take it?” she asked.
“St. John’s. You probably never heard of it.”