The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [86]
“Gotta be old and decrepit,” he grumped, hands shoved in his pockets. “Believe me, you don’t wanna move in a second before you have to.”
“I don’t know about that. I think I could be very happy here.” She was only half joking. And Charlie, she could tell, was secretly pleased with her reaction. He stood a little straighter, sounded a little more proprietary, less mocking, when he told her about the bridge club and the lecture series and the drama club. It was a perfect day, dreamy white clouds high up in a blue sky, sun at a gentle slant behind massive trees edging the golf green. They sat on a stone ledge and sipped lemonade, people-watching. The current entertainment was a barbershop quartet that was, according to Charlie, “better than the ukuleles.” Between songs, a woman emcee announced winning numbers in a raffle to benefit the Alzheimer’s Association. Once in a while Charlie waved to an acquaintance, usually a lone man, but no one ever stopped to talk, and he never introduced her to anyone. It gradually dawned on Molly that Charlie didn’t have many friends.
“So, you getting any vibes yet?” he asked for the second time in ten minutes.
She shook her head. “It’s really hard to concentrate here.”
“Okay, we’ll shut up. You concentrate.”
She looked around, studying the women nearby. Some were spry and attractive, some frail and disabled, most in between. They outnumbered the men about three to one.
“Sorry,” she had to say after a few minutes of “concentration”—really just observing body language. “I’m not feeling anything.”
“Guess she’s not here. Maybe she’s a gardener,” Charlie said hopefully. “Wanna go look at the community gardens?”
“You even have gardens?”
“Vegetables and flowers.”
“Charlie, this place is paradise. Seriously, when can I move in?”
“Not quite yet, I’m afraid.”
She jumped. Oliver Worth stood behind them on the other side of the wall. The blue eyes she’d gotten lost in a few days ago were staring at her in disbelief. Distaste. She felt a hot flush rise to her hairline.
“ About time,” Charlie said, standing, reaching over the wall to give his grandson a rough pat on the arm. “Bribe enough congressmen for one day? You remember, uh, Krystal.”
“Vividly.”
“Oliver,” Molly said, standing, too, and deliberately extended a businesslike hand for him to shake. She would not fall under his stupid spell again—and then his hand enveloped hers and she melted. Oh, stop it, she thought. This is crazy. He and Charlie talked about the size of the crowd, the adorable a cappella children’s chorus singing “Doe, a Deer,” the wisdom of getting in the buffet line now or waiting, but Molly was practically in a fugue state, able only to nod and smile. She heard an actual buzzing in her ears. It didn’t go away until Oliver did, to get them more lemonade.
“Still nothing?” Charlie asked.
“What?”
“The woman, the woman.”
“Oh. Charlie, I’m just—” She put her hand to her forehead, trying to think. She turned her back on him. Women everywhere. Did any of them give off a vibe? A woman in pale blue velour, sitting with two friends at a table near the stage, was staring. At Charlie? Yes. With an avid expression, practically breathless. She had gray hair. She was pretty. “I think—maybe—it could be—”
“Who? Who?”
“By the stage, the second table. Don’t look!” She described the woman, then shifted so Charlie could get a discreet gander over her shoulder.
“Hm,” he said, narrow-eyed.
“Go say hi to her.”
“Me?”
“No, the invisible man I’m also talking to.”
“What’ll I say?”
“Say, ‘Hello, my name is Charlie. What’s yours?’ ”
“I can’t do that.”
“And then ask her to dance.” A swing band called Sawyer Bones and the Skeletons was tuning up. “Go. Just do it. You can.”
Oliver came back. Charlie took the glass he handed him and downed it in two gulps. “ ’Scuse me, I got business.” He pivoted and marched away.
Molly wanted to watch his progress with the lady in blue, but