Peter Abrahams - Lights Out

“That’s to prove how old they are,” Eddie said.

Karen laughed. “I was thinking the same thing.”

Some coincidences mean a lot . The icy feeling subsided.

In a few miles they came to the restaurant, Au Vieux Marron. Outside it looked like a barn; inside like a French country inn, or what Eddie imagined a French country inn to be. The maitre d’ welcomed them in French. Karen answered him in French. She said something that made him laugh. He showed them to a table by a window overlooking a pond. A waiter arrived.

“Something to drink?”

“Kir,” said Karen.

“Monsieur?”

Eddie didn’t know what kir was, thought that beer might not be fancy enough. “Armagnac,” he said.

“Prior to the meal, monsieur?”

The waiter was watching him; so was Karen. “With ice,” Eddie said. The waiter withdrew.

Drinks came, and later food. Eddie ordered canard because it was the only word he knew on the menu. He’d never had duck like this-thin underdone slices of breast served with a sauce that tasted like raspberries, only more tart. The name of the recipe seemed to have something to do with Inspector Maigret; Eddie had read several books in the series, liking them mostly for their descriptions of food and drink, and the relish with which Maigret consumed them.

“Good?” said Karen.

“Good.”

She was eating something Eddie couldn’t identify from the menu, still couldn’t identify when it arrived. It didn’t matter. The food was delicious; she had another kir, he had another Armagnac-she taught him how to order it “avec glacons,” and how to say several other things in French, such as, “I’m going to call the cops,” and “Take it or leave it.” Eddie caught a glimpse of what life could be like at the happy-go-lucky end. Under the table their feet touched; Karen waited a few moments before shifting hers away.

It was all false, of course. He knew that deep down the whole time, knew it up front between courses, as soon as Karen looked at him over the rim of her glass and said, “So tell me about yourself, Eddie Nye.”

“There’s not much to tell.”

“I can’t believe that.”

“It’s true.”

“It can’t be. You’re between jobs, for instance.”

“Right.”

“Tell me about that.”

“It’s the same old story.”

“What did you do before?”

Why not just tell her the truth? He knew it wasn’t simply to protect Jack. He didn’t want to tell her because he didn’t want to see the expression that would come into those cool blue eyes when she found out.

“I was involved in a resort development.”

“Was this after the warehousing business?”

“The warehousing business doesn’t count.”

Karen stabbed a strange-looking mushroom. “Where was the resort?” She popped it in her mouth.

“In the Bahamas.”

“Which island?”

“The banana-shaped one.”

Karen laughed, but only for a moment. He was starting to like that laugh-it was loud and came from deep inside-and was trying to think of a way to trigger it again, when she said: “What’s this banana island called on the map?”

“Saint Amour.”

“It’s lovely.”

“You’ve been there?”

“Sailed by a few years ago. I hope you didn’t spoil it.”

“Spoil it?”

“With your development.”

“It wasn’t my development. I just worked there.”

She stabbed another mushroom. “Was Jack involved?”

“Yes.”

“Funny.”

“Funny?”

“He never mentioned that either.”

“He went on to bigger and better things.”

“Don’t I know,” said Karen.

Soon the waiter arrived with coffee. “Another Armagnac, monsieur?”

“Okay,” Eddie said, although he was suddenly conscious of how much he’d been drinking since he’d found Jack.

“Avec glacons?”

“Now I can have it sans , can’t I?” Sans -it came to him from his reading: “La Belle Dame Sans Merci,” whatever the hell that was about. Karen laughed; even the waiter smiled.

Karen stirred her coffee. “So Windward wasn’t involved in the resort.”

“No.”

“J. M. Nye and Associates?”

“It was before all that.”

Karen shot him a quick glance. It said: You’ve been out of work for a long time.

The waiter laid the bill in front of Eddie. It came in a leather folder, as though there was something to hide. “Why don’t I take that?” Karen said. “I invited you.”

“I ate the most,” Eddie said, opening the folder: $107.50. That surprised him.

“I insist,” Karen said.

“Next time,” Eddie said. She smiled. He laid down the $100 bill and the rest of his money, making $124.75. Not enough tip. He remembered the $350 sitting on the table. Jack’s $350.

They went outside. The sky had cleared. There was a moon and stars. The trees were black, the pond silver. Karen took Eddie’s arm. “Let’s go for a walk.”

They walked around the pond, following a footpath of crushed stone. Karen still held his arm. “You don’t know much about your brother’s business, do you?” she said.

“Should I?”

“You were involved in it.”

“What do you mean?”

“At that resort.”

“It wasn’t Jack’s. We were just employees.”

“Who owns it?”

“I don’t know who owns it now.”

“Who owned it then?”

“People named Packer.”

She stopped. “You don’t mean Raleigh Packer?”

“No,” Eddie said. But then he remembered Brad and Evelyn’s son, the one Jack had met at USC. “Who’s Raleigh Packer?”

“One of Jack’s associates. Former associates.”

Eddie made another mental leap. “The one who went to jail.”

Karen let go of his arm. “So you do know something about Jack’s business.”

“That’s all I know.”

Karen was silent. Eddie picked up a flat stone and skipped it across the pond. It left footprints of quivering silver in the moonlight.

“What jail is he in?”

“Raleigh Packer? He’s in a halfway house somewhere. He only spent a few months in jail. Jail of the country-club type.”

“What for?”

“Stealing. The indictment was complicated, but it came down to stealing.”

“Stealing from who?”

“Investors.”

“You?”

“No. I just signed on with Jack last night, as a matter of fact.”

“So why do you know all this?”

“I do my research.”

Eddie scaled another stone. It bit into the water and disappeared on first contact. “I’d like to see Raleigh Packer.”

“Why?”

“Just to find out how he’s doing.”

“Did you know him?”

“I knew his parents.”

“We have something in common, then, besides Jack,” Karen said. “I’ve met his mother.”

“Where is she?”

“In the area.” Karen picked up a stone. “Try this one.”

Eddie whipped it over the pond. It skipped once off the silvery surface, rose, and disappeared into the night, as though launched into space.

Eddie stared out over the water. Karen moved close to him. “I like you, Eddie,” she said. “I think you should go back to Albany or somewhere similar.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just to be on the safe side.”

“The safe side of what?”

Karen didn’t answer. She just took his face in her hands and kissed him on the mouth. “I’m attracted to you,” she said. “And I haven’t been attracted to anyone in a long time. Remember that, no matter what happens.”

“What could happen?”

“Anything.”

Anything could happen when you were free; even getting kissed by a woman like this. Eddie took Karen in his arms, kissed her. She responded, even moaned, very low, but he heard it. The sound thrilled him, spurring his imagination. It rushed ahead, much too far, developing snapshots of a wonderful future: he and Karen, a house, even children. She pushed him away. “Let’s go,” she said.