“No, I will not go to your birthday party. Even if I was interested in going, which I’m not, after my encounter with JD, I think he’s disinclined to invite me again.”
“Can I take you out to dinner? Just the two of us?”
“You take me out for your birthday?”
“Ordinarily, it would be the other way around, but I figure I owe you one . . . or two or three.” She waited, but as usual he didn’t say anything. “I’m leaving in what—four months. Let’s go to Geronimo. I can’t leave Santa Fe without going to Geronimo, right?”
His eyes turned far away. Then he shrugged. “Okay, let’s go to Geronimo. Let me check my very busy schedule.” A second passed. “What about Saturday night?”
“That’s the party. But I’ll cancel it if that’s the only time you can make it.”
“No, no, we can do Sunday. Around seven?”
“Has to be later. Around eight thirty?”
“Yeah, your job. What’s that all about? What do you do?”
“If you must know, I work at the Jackson Lodge doing whatever they need me to do, which is mostly glorified waitressing. But I do have a name tag and a uniform.”
“You’re a waitress?”
“A cocktail waitress, to be exact. But sometimes, if I’m a real good girl, they let me work behind the desk.”
“A cocktail waitress? Uh, don’t you have to be nineteen to do that?”
“That’s the least of the issues, Vicks. I’m a little tired of getting pinched in the butt, but I make great tips. And I have a tremendous business-card collection from horny men hoping I do the nasty on the side. I’ve kept them all. Never know when you might want to blackmail someone.”
“That sounds awful.”
“I’m making it out to be worse than it is. Mostly it’s boring. You are the first person who actually knows what I do. Please don’t tell anyone. And please, please don’t come see me there. I’d die of embarrassment. Let’s do eight thirty, this Sunday night. I’ll meet you there.”
“Fine.”
“You know I still love you,” she told him. “Say the word, Ben, and I’m groveling at your feet.”
Vicks shook his head. “No, no, no. We’re not traveling down that road again.”
“No problem. Let’s take a different road.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “You need time. I understand.”
He closed the locker and turned to her. “It’s not gonna happen, hon. I’ve got my pride but that could be whittled away . . . I really miss you.”
“I miss you too.” Her eyes were wet again.
“Dorothy, this has nothing to do with what happened between us.” He blew out air. “This is the deal. When we stopped being a couple, I went back to researching my sister’s case. And I ain’t stopping for anything or anyone.”
It was always about Ellen. Ro said, “I can accept that.”
“No, Ro, you don’t understand. We can’t be a couple anymore. Like you told me, he knows who I am. I don’t know if he’s watching me, but if he is, it’s too dangerous for you.”
“What about Haley?”
“I can watch over her. But I can’t watch you and her at the same time.” He shrugged. “She’s my sister. She comes first.” He looked around. “I know this obsession can’t go on like this forever. Eventually there will be other people in my life. But, at this moment, I’m seventeen and unattached and intend to stay that way until I get this monster off the streets.” He rubbed his eyes. “Go back to JD, hon. As a matter of fact, I’d like you to be his girl again. He can protect you in a way that I can’t. You’d be doing me a favor.” When Ro didn’t answer, Ben said, “Still want to have dinner with me?”
“Of course.” But Ro was less excited. She tried to muster up some pride. “During dinner, how about if you catch me up on what you’re doing with the case.”
“That’ll take about a minute because I’m nowhere. But I’d love your input.” Ben smiled but it looked more like a gesture of pain. “I’ll see you on Sunday, Majors.”
She watched him leave. All those horrible hours of standing on her feet just so she could work the desk to find information, doing all that crap and pretending to be her deceased sister, and he was dumping her anyway.
That’s what you do when you love someone. You do something for him, even if it hurts.
It really, really hurt. But she’d do it again in a heartbeat.
Chapter 16
Ro hadn’t been to Canyon Road since the Christmas Eve walk. Geronimo was at the top of the hill, an adobe structure done in territorial-style architecture with a patio that was empty in the bright cold night. The inside was elegant—high ceilings, whitewashed walls, a fireplace with candles, and a horn chandelier. Booths held colorful pillows and graceful table service.
She was ten minutes late when the host led her to a corner table where Vicks was waiting. He stood up when he saw her. He was dressed in a black, wide-wale corduroy jacket, a white shirt, a red tie, and black jeans. He looked older in the dim light, definitely more masculine. She approved. She was wearing a black shearling coat that Vicks helped her take off.
The host said, “May I take that for you?”
“Yes, thank you.” She had chosen her outfit with great care—a deep purple sweater dress with a V-neck from which peeked a little cleavage. Her new suede black boots that were a gift from her mom. And of course, Ben’s bracelets. She wanted to showcase them.
The host pulled out her chair and both Ben and Ro sat down.
“I was getting nervous,” Vicks said.
“Thought I’d bailed?”
“It was a possibility . . . especially after seeing these prices.”
She smiled. It wasn’t a genuine expression of happiness but she tried to make it lovely. “What’s good here?”
“Thank you.” She regarded his face. “When did you start growing a beard?”
He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I used to shave every other day when I was in school. Now I shave once a week Sunday night and that’s only because facial hair isn’t allowed at school. I’m really lazy.”
“You shaved when we were in San Francisco?”
“I didn’t want to appear sloppy.”
“I like it. Makes you look very dark and mysterious.”
The waiter came over with an ice bucket, two glasses, and a bottle of champagne. He was in his thirties and slightly balding. His name was Yves. “From the gentlemen over there.” Ro looked in the direction he pointed, toward four middle-aged businessmen who raised their glasses to her in a toast. She smiled and nodded back.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the waiter said, “but I’ll need to see your ID before I pour.”
She beckoned him close with a finger. “Listen, Yves. I work as a cocktail waitress at a local hotel, so those guys probably assumed I am twenty-one. I’m not. Knowing New Mexico law, I wouldn’t dream of getting you in trouble. This is what I want you to do. Take the bottle back and bring us two diet 7 Ups with a couple drops of cranberry juice in champagne flutes. It is pink champagne, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I don’t want to insult them. I’m going to take out my ID now. Look at it and nod. And then take the bottle in the back.” She pulled out a Gucci wallet and showed him the Gretchen Majors ID. He took the bottle back with him.
Vicks said, “Admirers from the Jackson?”