Caroline slammed the door after her, as Michelle had slammed it the day before. She dumped the contents of her purse onto the gray slate floor, watching her wallet, comb, lipstick, sunglasses, and an assortment of crumpled tissues fan out across the foyer. No phone. “Damn it, Michelle.”
How would Lili get in touch with her now? What if she’d already called? What if Michelle had answered and repeated her threat to call the police? Would Lili have known such threats were groundless? Would she risk calling again? Would she try the house or get in touch with her at work, as she had before?
Or would she just give up, decide it wasn’t worth the effort, and never call again?
“How could you be so stupid as to leave your purse lying around?” she castigated herself, retrieving the items from the floor and returning them to her leather bag.
The phone rang.
“Lili?” Caroline wondered aloud, scrambling to her feet and racing into the kitchen, slamming her hip against the brass knob of a cabinet as she grabbed for the phone and pressed it to her ear. “Lili?”
“Caroline?” a man’s voice said.
The voice was vaguely familiar, although Caroline couldn’t place it. “Who is this?”
“It’s Jerrod Bolton.”
“Who?”
“Jerrod Bolton,” the man repeated with a chuckle. “I realize it’s been a long time…”
“Jerrod Bolton,” Caroline repeated, a picture slowly forming in her mind’s eye. “Jerrod Bolton,” she said again, seeing his face clearly now, although he remained as nondescript as the last time she’d seen him standing beside his glamorous wife in Mexico. Why was he calling? “Jerrod, my goodness. This is a surprise. How are you?”
“I’m fine. I was wondering if we could meet for lunch.”
“Why?” Caroline asked.
He laughed. “I see we’re not going to waste any time beating around the bush.”
“Why do you want to meet for lunch?” Caroline persisted. “Is something wrong?”
A brief pause, then, “There are some things I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Such as?”
“I’d rather not talk about them over the phone.”
“Sounds ominous.”
“Sorry. I don’t mean it to. I’ve just learned some things I thought might interest you.”
“What sort of things?”
“The sort of things one doesn’t discuss over the phone. Can we meet?”
“Does Hunter know you’re calling me?”
“No. And I’d prefer you didn’t say anything to him, at least for the time being.”
“I don’t understand.”
“And I’d be happy to explain. At lunch. Today, if you’re available.”
“Where?”
“Darby’s, over on Sunset Cliffs. Say twelve o’clock?”
Caroline repeated his words silently in her head, trying to make sense of them. Why did he want to see her again after all these years? Why didn’t he want Hunter to know? What possible things could he have learned that would interest her?
“Caroline, are you still there?”
“Darby’s, over on Sunset Cliffs,” she said. “Twelve o’clock.”
—
Darby’s was a typical Southern California beachfront restaurant: large, casual, airy, and inviting. Light walls, dark hardwood floors, a giant swordfish mounted on one wall, half a dozen strategically placed televisions broadcasting an endless stream of surfing videos, a giant bar in the center of the room staffed by beautiful young women in tiny black dresses that barely covered their high, firm backsides.
Caroline approached the reception counter and looked around the main room, already crowded with midday diners. She didn’t see anyone resembling Jerrod Bolton, although she reminded herself that fifteen years had passed since their last encounter and he hadn’t been all that memorable to begin with.
She tried not to think about the possible things he’d learned in the interim that might hold any interest for her, as such speculations invariably proved wrong. It was always the one thing you hadn’t thought of, the one possibility you hadn’t considered. How many times had Hunter told her to stop worrying about what might be and concentrate on what was, to forget suppositions and deal strictly with the facts? And the fact was that she hadn’t seen either Jerrod Bolton or his wife in fifteen years. So why did he want to see her now? What could he possibly have to tell her that would benefit her?
“Can I help you?”
Caroline looked at the short but shapely young woman with waist-length black hair and deep burgundy lips who was smiling at her expectantly. “I’m looking for Jerrod Bolton,” Caroline said. “I think he has a reservation…”
“Oh, yes. Mr. Bolton. He’s on the patio. Right this way.”
Caroline followed the young woman as she maneuvered her way in staggeringly high heels through the close-together tables of the main dining room to the patio outside at the back.