of course. I usually get to see the worst side of people.” He thought a moment. “Sometimes the best, too, but I’m sure that you see mostly good stuff.”
“Good stuff?”
“You know, people redecorating. Starting new.” He’d let her stick with her cover story.
“Oh that. Right. I do professional space. It’s really kind of boring. Tell me a little about police work. Do you carry a gun?”
“Not with me. I’m off duty and in another state. I have one hidden away at the cottage, however.”
“I’ll remember not to sneak up on you at home. So tell me, is being a cop in the city anything like the shows on TV?”
During their breakfast/lunch he told her a few of the less gory and more interesting stories about being a policeman in New York City, then they talked about a myriad of topics, jumping easily from one to another. Brad found he could understand why she commanded the kind of prices she did. She was undoubtedly great in the sack, but she obviously wasn’t half bad over the dinner table either. A great conversationalist, and an intent listener. When he talked she looked at him as though what he had to say was the most important thing in the world. Usually the women he met had an agenda, and when you talked they either thought about what the proper response should be to get what they wanted or how to change the subject to something in which they were more interested.
They explored a few of his interests, the plight of the New York homeless, World War II movies, and Internet dating, at which he’d failed completely. He even told a few self-deprecating stories and she laughed in all the right places. She, in turn, was passionate about universal, quality education, antiques, although she didn’t own many, and good Midtown restaurants. Quite a dame. Attractive in so many ways. Always remember though, he told himself, she’s a hooker.
Although he hadn’t found any way to nudge the conversation toward what he was here to learn, he decided that he’d pressed things as far as he dared on first meeting. And, in the back of his mind he wasn’t quite as fixated on finding out what she knew as he had been. They agreed to split the check and walked out into the hot sunshine. “Well,” he said, “I’m off to the gym. You?”
“I think I’m going to the beach and just veg with a book. I guess I’ll see you tonight at the cookout. Is it really all right for me to just show up?”
“I haven’t been here for one, but everyone’s made it abundantly clear that we’re welcome. We’ll have to sit together and gossip about all the neighbors, which seems to be most of what the women do around here.” He winked at her. “And just because I’m a guy doesn’t mean I’m not interested in all the info.”
With a chuckle she said, “I guess that’s what makes you a good cop. Ear to the ground, always paying attention.”
“Right you are. See you later.”
He got in his car and headed for The Fitness Club. Step one, he said to himself. Not bad at all. If it takes a few days to find out what I need to so what? I’ll just enjoy her company in the meantime.
He hadn’t really considered how he would find out what the investigators wanted to know. What do you say? Oh, by the way, I understand that you’re a hooker. My bosses want a copy of your client list. You wouldn’t mind giving that to me, would you? Not a chance. Now that he’d met her he was quite sure that this whole thing would never work. Another one of the chief’s bright ideas, or was it just Mike’s way to get him to rest and try to recuperate, physically and mentally. Maybe they never thought he could be successful. He should call the whole thing off, but what would it hurt to stick around for another week? After all, he had the house and the time, and, if he were to admit it, he did need to decompress. When he returned to the city he’d merely tell everyone how hard he’d tried and how angry he was that he’d struck out.
What about Leslie? He knew exactly what she was, although she had surprised him with her comfortable manner and good conversation. She was a very highly paid hooker and thus she had to be a good listener and a good entertainer. She had gazed at him as he talked as though he was the only man in the world, and when she unconsciously licked her lips he pictured her tongue on his body.
No! Don’t go there! She’s a case, a source of information, and nothing more. And don’t forget, he told himself again, she’s a whore.
As Leslie climbed back into her car, she thought about the hour she’d spent with Brad. She’d slipped into entertainer mode with little thought, but had quickly found that she didn’t have to make the effort. Like many of her clients, he was easy to talk to and readily held up his end of the conversation. Stop that! she told herself. She had to stop comparing everyone, well every man anyway, to her customers. Brad was just a nice man who happened to be staying across the street. But what was the little tug she felt? Cut it out. He’s a cop. Tug or no tug, he’s the last thing she needed.
She spent the next hour driving around the shore area. The town of Sound’s End was a comfortable little hamlet with old-fashioned New England charm, but much of Route 1, the Boston Post Road, was so commercial that it had lost any of the old Connecticut ambiance it might once have had. Between the fast-food restaurants, T-shirt shops, boat rental establishments, and motels, it looked like any other tacky mass-vacation destination.
Back on Atlantic Beach Road, she felt like she’d come home. Thank heavens for that real estate lady, she thought. She might have ended up in a neon tourist trap but this was delightfully low key, exactly what she’d been looking for. And she was actually looking forward to the cookout that evening.
Leslie spent the remainder of the day sitting quietly on the beach slathered with number 45 sunblock, reading one of the many novels she’d brought with her. She hadn’t read for pleasure in more time than she cared to remember and she’d actually forgotten how nice it was to really get into a book, just for fun, not so she could impress someone or make clever conversation.
During the afternoon, she idly noticed the comings and goings on Atlantic Beach Road. A woman she assumed was the infamous Vicki arrived back at her house somewhere around two in the little silver sports car she thought was the same one she’d noticed earlier in town. Abby and her children left just after lunch and returned around five, while Suze came and went several times, waving to her from a distance each time.
Brad also waved at her when he came back from his workout, then, around four-thirty, came out in a pair of cut-to-the-knees jeans and began to swim, long graceful strokes carrying him back and forth, parallel to the beach. At just after five, she watched a young man wheel a large tub-type grill out to a spot in the parking area behind the seawall, then pad back into Marie’s house. She quickly glanced at her watch and realized that, if she was going to clean up and change for the evening’s festivities, she ought to get moving. The afternoon had disappeared without her notice. How fabulous.
After a quick shower to remove the layers of sweat and sunscreen, she wondered what to wear. What did one put on for a cookout? She glanced out her side window and saw Joe and Marie setting up a large metal table between the two grills that now graced the lot. They were both wearing jeans so she selected a lightweight pair and added a yellow polo shirt, socks, and sneakers. She pulled her hair back in a plastic butterfly clip, put a ten-dollar bill into her pocket for the kitty and wandered out. As she closed the door behind herself she was delighted that she didn’t feel the need to double lock it. This sure wasn’t Manhattan.
In the few minutes since she’d glanced out the window, the crowd had grown and the area along this little stretch of parking lot and seawall was bustling. People were setting up folding chairs and tables while Joe poured charcoal briquettes into one of the grills from a large bag, poured lighter fluid on, and lit the fire, then loped back across the street and into the house. “What can I do to help?” Leslie asked as she approached Marie.
The woman’s smile was wide and welcoming. “Glad you’re joining us,” she said, “and there’s really nothing much to do. It’s gotten pretty routine, especially since I’ve done it so many times. We wait until the charcoal is ready then plop stuff on and grill. Joe