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Chapter 12

  He stepped out onto the porch to look at his neighborhood in the daylight. His bare feet were cold on the painted wooden floor. The houses on either side were on a par with theirs, older, one-storied with attic dormers, but in good condition with nicely landscaped yards. Across the street the places were more impressive, and were set up higher on the hill behind steep, beautifully landscaped front yards that came down to the level of the sidewalk. They too were vintage, each with its own character and style. Being near the college, he suspected some of these homes had been built for faculty administration and bigwigs.

  Back in the house he looked at the layout. The front door opened into the living room, and to the right was a good-sized dining room with windows facing the street. The kitchen was behind it and he went back and poured another cup of coffee. A small utility room opened from the kitchen to a back door that led to the deck he'd seen last night. From the deck, the yard sloped down to trees that were almost bare, only a few brown leaves clinging. They looked like fruit trees.

  Then he went down the bedroom hall, and stood at the door of the master bedroom. He wanted to go in, but something stopped him. He felt like a guest, and if he snooped, he would feel guilty when Carrie got home. He didn't want any more barrier between them than what was apparently already there.

  He'd been putting off listening to his messages, but now he had to face up to it. He forced himself to go to the phone in the kitchen, and he punched in the *98 code without even thinking about it. It was automatic. Huh! My fingers remember things. The recorded service ran through his messages.

  9:30 a.m. (A man's voice) "Brian, where are you? We're waiting the meeting for you. You better be on your way!"

  10:15 a.m. "Brian, it's Lou. What's going on? We did what we could without you, and we've rescheduled for 11:30. Andrea has to catch a plane after lunch. Where the hell are you? Call me. Your cell is switched off. I left a message there too."

  12:12 p.m. A pause, a breath, then a click.

  2:12 p.m. "OK Brian, obviously something is wrong. Andrea is pissed. I just got back from taking her to the airport. We have to get the contract ready for the Monday meeting with Fitzhugh. Get in touch as soon as you get this message!"

  4:23 p.m. "Brian, Andrea. I'm in Portland. You've really left us in the lurch. There better be a damn good reason. Call Lou. If you're dead, I'm sorry as hell. If you're not, you might as well be." The receiver banged down.

  Well, Andrea sounded like a lot of fun. There was one more call where no one said anything, a few minutes after 5:00.

  He went looking for his cell phone. It was behind the clock on the bedside table in his bedroom. He turned it on and, once he figured out how to access them, listened to essentially the same messages from Lou on that one. There were four other messages, all from yesterday. One was a reminder for a haircut appointment that he had missed. The first of the others was at 12:10.

  "Brian, I've been waiting for you at Anthony's for ten minutes. I guess you had a meeting this morning since you weren't at the office. You could have told me. You didn't forget me, did you?" The woman's voice was both playful and accusatory. "Call me if you're held up. I'm going to go ahead and order. Bye."

  And the same voice at 12:52. "I don't know what happened to you. Why didn't you at least call? You've got my cell number. I might as well go back to the office. You missed a good lunch." She sounded irritated. Then she switched to a sultry suggestive tone, " . . . And that's not all."

  It freaked him out. He looked at the number displayed on the caller ID. His wallet was still on the bed and he opened it to pull out the business cards again. It was the same as the number on the back of Katherine Wells card. In a panic his finger hit the delete button. Shit! He was involved in an office affair!

  There was still the last message, at 10:00 p.m., from the same number, Katherine Wells' number. He took a deep breath before he listened to it. The woman's voice was angry this time. "Okay, I've been waiting all evening for you to call and explain why you stood me up at lunch. Where were you today anyway, that you couldn't just pick up the phone? You could have had the decency to let me know you couldn't come! I'm going to bed now, but call me when you get this message, even if it's the middle of the night."

  He paced the room, trying to make the messages sound like something innocent, but he couldn't manage any other explanation. Maybe she was just a flirt. Maybe nothing had happened yet. But he didn't believe it. How could I do that? He shuddered.

  Was this why he was consigned to the guest room? He thought of Carrie's intense doubting look when she came to the motel. He remembered her comment about his "mysterious errands." Maybe she just suspected something. Last night she'd touched his cheek. He didn't think she hated him. But whatever this was with Katherine Wells needed to be over as of now. He didn't need more complications. And although he couldn't remember how it had happened, he was pretty sure it had been a mistake.

  In a way it felt like the forgetting was a gift. At least in his own mind, he could start fresh. Still, in the real world he would have to do some cleaning up after himself, and for now he didn't have the first idea what that was going to entail or where to start.