C.E. Murphy - Truthseeker

“Lara and I,” Kelly said briskly, “were going to stop for a cup of coffee down the street. Would you like to join us?”

Kirwen turned a slow, regretful smile on the invitation, looking at Kelly but leaving the sensation and weight of his gaze on Lara. There was a trace of apology in it, something more meaningful than the polite, obligatory refusal of, “I think perhaps I’d better not. Maybe another time, Miss …?”

“Richards,” Lara supplied. “Kelly Richards. We need to get going, Kel.”

“But—”

“Now, Kelly.” Lara pinched a smile toward Kirwen, wrapped her hand around Kelly’s biceps, and tugged her toward the newly purchased Nissan up the street.

Kelly dug her heels in and pitched her voice low. “He’s into you, Lara! What the hell are you doing? He’s rich, he’s handsome, he’s famous, he’s got a well-made trench coat, what’s the problem? Let’s get coffee! You could get a date! I mean, sure, dating with you is a little weird, but you could give the guy a chance.”

“His name’s not David Kirwen.” Lara’s answer cut across Kelly’s good-natured spiel so sharply they both flinched. Kelly came to a full stop, and Lara puffed her cheeks. “Sorry. That came out nastier than I meant it to.”

Kelly flicked a glance toward the weatherman. “S’arright. Look, Lara, of course his name’s David Kirwen. He’s famous. He’s a TV personality. Everybody knows who he is.”

“Everybody is wrong.” Cold water slid down Lara’s spine, highlighting the discomfort that slithered there as well. “It felt wrong. Can we just get in the car, please? I’m soaked.”

Kelly scowled, first at Kirwen, then at Lara. “But everybody knows who he is. I mean, if you say so, but …”

“I know. But have you ever known me to be wrong?”

Kelly’s shoulders drooped and she slogged toward the Nissan. “Only when somebody was making a joke that you didn’t get. Lar, how can he not be David Kirwen? Who is he, if he’s not? What happened to Kirwen, if he’s not?”

Lara shot her a look of horror. “You make it sound like he killed somebody or something.”

“Well!”

Lara slumped, blouse sticking to her skin. “I’m sure it’s not like that. His name is David Kirwen. It’s just … also not.”

“How can his name both be and not be David Kirwen? You only get one name. It’s the rules. One name each. Well, unless you take a stage name. Maybe that’s what he’s done.” Fire sparked in Kelly’s gaze. “I’m going to go ask him. Wait here.”

“Kelly! Kelly! Wait!” Lara broke into a run after her friend, who splashed through puddles and caught Kirwen’s elbow as he climbed into his news van. He came out of the van to look at her curiously, and Lara slowed to put the heel of her hand against her forehead, then gave in to a low laugh. Kelly was her perfect foil, acting on impulse where Lara overthought things. It seemed to be both a more interesting and more terrifying way to live. She wasn’t sure if she envied it, but their ongoing friendship suggested she at least admired Kelly’s madcap approach.

David Kirwen lifted a complicated expression to greet Lara as she approached the van. Curiosity and interest enlivened his features, and he spoke diffidently. “You think my name’s not David Kirwen?”

“Lara has this annoying knack of always knowing if somebody’s telling her the truth,” Kelly said blithely. It sounded almost ordinary the way she said it, so matter-of-fact as to be unquestionable. “So she got the heebie-jeebies when your name sounded wrong to her. I’m sure she’d like to go out for coffee if you’ll just explain.”

Lara, despairing, said, “Kelly. I’m sorry, Mr. Kirwen.”

Kirwen shook his head, complex emotions turning more toward hope. “No, it’s all right. In fact, my name isn’t Kirwen. It’s ap Caerwyn, Dafydd ap Caerwyn.” The difference in pronunciation was subtle, yet significant enough to send a rush of relief over Lara’s skin as the name rang true. Kirwen’s attention remained on her, intent, and she steeled herself against stepping back, out of his range of interest. “How did you know?”

“Dafydd ap Caerwyn,” Kelly repeated. “It doesn’t sound that different. Why don’t you use it?”

“The spelling.” Dafydd turned his TV-star smile on Kelly. A spark of envy startled Lara and she put her hand over her chest like she could push it down. “Americans usually pronounce it correctly if they hear it first, but if they see it written down they tend to call me Daffy-Did. It’s Welsh, by most accounts.”

Kelly spun around in triumph, fists against her rain-soaked hips. “There! See? Nothing mysterious at all! I told you!”

Astonishment dropped Lara’s jaw and she gaped at her friend, who had the grace to look mildly ashamed. “Well, all right, I didn’t tell you. But there was a simple answer! Now we can go out for coffee!”

“Kelly! No! We can’t! For one thing, I’m soaking wet, and for another, I have to go back to work! And for a third I don’t need you to—”

“Matchmake?” Kelly asked archly. “You need somebody to. Can you come out for coffee, Mr. Kirwen? You and maybe your …” She leaned past Kirwen to peer into the van. “Your cameraman?”

The van’s door slid open to reveal a broad-shouldered man whose short hair was so wet and plastered to his head its color was indistinguishable. “If you don’t say yes, David, I’m going to drown you in one of these puddles. I was gonna have a barbecue tonight, man, and look what the weather’s doing.”

“You should know better than to trust a weatherman, Dickon. And I’m afraid we really can’t, Miss Richards. We’re expected back at the studio in less than half an hour. Maybe I could make it up to you by taking you out to dinner tonight? Miss Jansen?”

Lara jolted, taken aback at being addressed. “What? Oh. No, really, you don’t ha—”

“We’d love to.” Kelly put her hand on Kirwen’s arm and squeezed, then tilted to smile brilliantly at the cameraman. “You’ll come, too, won’t you? Since it’s not barbecue weather?”

“Damn straight I will, especially if David’s paying. C’mon, Kirwen, let’s get back to the studio before they send an ark to pick us up.” He slammed the sliding door closed and Kirwen got into the van as Kelly turned back to Lara, triumphant.

“There, see, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Now we have dates for tonight!”

“Really?” Lara watched the van drive away. “Because I didn’t notice any exchange of telephone numbers or a decision where we’d be eating.”

Kelly’s jaw snapped shut. “Well, we know where they work.”

“Oh, you have got to be kidding.” Lara looked to the heavens, beseeching, then spluttered and wiped rainwater from her eyes. “Seriously. Thank you for trying to salvage my love life, but I’m not quite that desperate. Look, I took a long lunch so I could go car shopping with you, but since we mostly skipped lunch, could you drop me off at St. Anthony’s before I go back to work?”

Kelly sent another glance, this one defeated, after the van. “Yeah, okay. No dinner date and I pulled you out of the diner before we finished lunch. I’m the worst friend in the univ—” She broke off under the sound of Lara’s laughter. “Okay, fine, maybe not the worst. But I’m up there!”

“I think you’d have to do considerably more than leave me hungry to qualify as even a moderately bad friend, much less the worst in the universe.” Lara threaded her arm through Kelly’s and tugged her toward the Nissan. “You can buy me lunch on Saturday. We’re helping Rachel move, remember?”

Kelly kicked spray in the gutter puddles like a gloomy four-year-old. “Rachel’s supposed to buy us pizza.”