start somewhere,” Grace said with a wide smile.
Shea shook her head. “They have me doing the weekend weather now, can you believe it?” she said in a lowered voice. “I’m not a meteorologist, I have no experience, and they want me to stand there and read about fronts and airflow systems like I know what I’m talking about.”
“Sorry,” Grace said with a sympathetic tilt of her head. She turned to Ray, noted the sour expression on his face, and introduced him anyway. “Shea, this is a friend of mine, Ray. Ray, this is Shea Sinclair.” She didn’t say Ray Madigan, not wanting to answer questions about the shared last name right now. And curious Shea would definitely have questions.
She waited for Ray to turn on the charm. He didn’t.
“Nice to meet you. Grace, we need to go.” He took her arm and headed for the door.
Once they were outside, he picked up their conversation as if it had never been interrupted. “Strictly business. We can talk about the murder you witnessed, if you feel up to it.” Ray led her into the sunshine and to his car, opening the passenger door for her.
“Why were you so rude to Shea?” she asked as she sat down.
He didn’t deny it as he leaned forward, placing his face close to hers. “I hate reporters,” he drawled softly. “All of them.”
“Well, that’s not fair…” He slammed the door on her protest.
When Ray sat behind the wheel and they headed out of the parking lot, Grace turned to study his profile. Already his rare moment of displeasure had faded. You’d think he didn’t have a care in the world.
“Have you talked to Luther today?” she asked.
He glanced at her quickly, then returned his eyes to the road. “Yeah. They still haven’t found anything.”
“Have they looked?” she snapped.
“Where are they supposed to start?” he answered without malice.
She settled back into her seat and accepted the fact that Luther didn’t believe her, that they didn’t have enough clues to even begin an investigation.
“I could always go to Shea and see if she can get it on the news. If I go public, the police will have to do something.”
“No.”
“Why not? Because you hate reporters? And when did you develop such an aversion…”
“If the man you saw is still in Huntsville,” he interrupted, “why provide him with your name and another good look at your face?”
Grace slid lower in her seat. “I never thought of it that way.”
“Don’t worry,” Ray said in a soothing voice. “Eventually a body’s bound to turn up, or else someone will file a missing persons report on a man who matches your description of the victim, and then Luther will have something to go on.”
Eventually wasn’t very comforting. “Well, if we don’t have anything, what kind of business are we supposed to discuss over lunch?”
He turned into a bumpy parking lot, pulled into a space, and brought his car to a stop. Grace looked through the windshield to see The Hamburger Shack, affectionately called The Shack by those who dared to brave their big burgers and greasy fries. The building hadn’t changed, except perhaps to become more weathered over the years. The concrete block building had been painted yellow years ago, and the door was a bright red. Wooden picnic tables sat randomly on a cracked brick patio.
“Lunch first, business later,” Ray said, opening his door and crossing to open hers. “Grab us a table and I’ll get the food.”
She started to reach into her purse, but Ray stopped her. “If I count it as a business expense it’s not a date, so hang on to your money, all right?” He sounded annoyed, like he was seconds from losing his temper. And Ray never lost his temper.
“All right.”
She sat at a picnic table in the sun, her back to the parking lot where she could see the door Ray entered. Two other tables were occupied, but they were on the opposite side of the patio. Here she and Ray would be relatively alone. She wasn’t sure if that was a good idea or not.
When school was out you couldn’t find a parking space at The Shack, much less a table. How many meals had she and Ray eaten here? Too many to count. She wondered if he’d brought her here on purpose, to remind her of better days, or if he just had a hankering for a really good burger. You could never tell with Ray.
She slipped off her plum jacket and placed it on the bench beside her, and rolled up the sleeves of her white blouse. It was a warm day. Besides, with the jacket on the bench beside her Ray would be forced to sit across the table, not right next to her like he used to. After last night she knew she was going to have to be careful. Very, very careful.
She lifted her face to the sun, momentarily taking it in, allowing herself to relax. It was a beautiful day, even with all that had happened. How did Ray know that a simple lunch in the sun would make her feel this way? Free and light, unafraid.
Ray wasn’t long getting their food. He backed through the red door, a tray laden with two baskets and two tall paper cups in his hands. “I hope I remembered right,” he said as he placed the tray on the table. “Medium well, no onions, fries extra crispy, strawberry shake.”
She glanced into the basket he placed before her. “I don’t remember the burgers being this big. And there are enough fries here to feed a small family. I can’t possibly eat all this.”
He looked down at the jacket on the seat beside her, and without comment sat on the opposite side of the table. “Sure you can,” he said.
She did her best, but there was no way she could eat everything Ray had brought her. Besides, she didn’t eat like a nineteen-year-old anymore! Ray did, though. He didn’t leave a speck of food in his basket.
When she pushed a half-full basket away Ray lifted his eyebrows and grinned. “That’s pathetic,” he said lightly. “I remember a time when you wouldn’t leave so much as a crumb of one of Arthur’s burgers untouched. His feelings are going to be hurt when he sees this.”
“Arthur’s still here?” The owner of The Shack had been elderly when they’d first come here, twelve years ago.
“Some things never change,” he said in a low voice, and she remembered last night, the way she’d been tempted by a kiss. Did he intend to remind her?
“Can we talk about the murder now?” Grace asked, trying to turn the discussion around. She’d rather relive that terrible morning than sit here mooning over her persistent and troublesome attraction for her ex-husband.
Ray’s smile faded, and he placed his forearms on the table and leaned toward her. “Gracie, are you absolutely sure what you saw was a murder?”
Not him, too! “No,” she snapped. “I made it up. That’s how I get my kicks these days.”
She started to rise, but Ray reached out and grabbed her wrist, holding her in place.
“Sit down.”
She did. “Just forget it,” she said lowly, shaking off his grip. “If you don’t believe me…”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” he said in a soothing voice. “But we have to consider the possibility that what you saw was…shall we say, less fatal than you think. Maybe it was a fight that got out of hand, but no one’s dead. Maybe the guy you saw jump or fall out of the car was hurt, but not murdered.”
“And the man who chased me?”
“Maybe he wanted to explain what had happened, so you wouldn’t panic.”
“He didn’t look like he wanted to explain anything, Ray,” Grace said. “He looked…he looked…”