Stone Shadow

Highland Park

She'd never felt like this before. Never so totally open to anyone. Something magical, corny-sounding or not, was flowing between them. They had lingered over dinner as much as they dared, but the serious nature of Ukie's plight had cast a dark shadow over the conviviality that would otherwise have captured the remainder of the evening.

The drive out to Highland Park seemed to take forever. He was following her in a rented car. She'd offered to chauffeur him of course, but he wouldn't hear of it. She could tell he was delighted by her house, which pleased her.

“Gee,” he said jokingly, shaking his head as he took in the vast expanse of rooms, white walls, paintings, sculpture, objets d'art, and eclectics. It was breathtaking. “Maybe someday you'll be able to afford something nice,” in this cute, soft voice. It hit her just right.

“I know,” she confided back to him, “this squalor can really get depressing."

“So empty of objects. Is it always this bleak or did you just move and you haven't unpacked yet?” There was something everywhere you looked. A visual barrage of antiques and Deco and Nouveau and classical and impressionist and neorealist and minimalist all assaulting the eyes in a strangely pleasing hodgepodge that was so unexpected. The overall effect dazzling yet comfortable.

“No. It wouldn't be this bleak but I have a lady who comes in once a week and bleaks it for me."

“Yes.” He made a tsk-tsk sound. “Well, save your pennies. It won't always be this bad."

“That's a comfort.” She laughed. “Seriously,” she asked in a soft, smiling voice, “think it's too ostentatious?” She realized his answer was rather important to her.

“Matter of fact, what I think is"—he moved close to her—"that what you have is one helluva house. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

And he was speaking very low and she felt like he was talking about her, not the house, and she felt like an absolute, utter idiot when he didn't kiss her right then and there, but turned and just walked around admiring things, and she stood there trembling, waiting for him to take her in his arms and knowing that he wanted her too.

It was with the greatest effort of will that she wrenched her mind back to business, after all the man's brother was a mass-murder suspect, and she began going over Ukie's childhood.

When he talked about the closeness of their early years, before they'd started to draw apart, he could sense how special the conversation was to her. She seemed to be identifying so strongly with everything he told her. It was almost as if it was making her high. She was positively owing. Her eyes sparkling. Bright, like a cocaine edge. Switched on.

“Joe,” she told him finally, “I'm so bowled over by all of this."

“Not hard to understand. Twins have that effect on a lot of pe—"

“No. Not that. I mean, I've always felt like something was pulling me to this case but I haven't been able to verbalize my feelings. There was something acting like a magnet for me. I don't know how to say it. I'm a great believer in fate."

He wondered if she might have done some lines, she was so intense. “You believe in God, right?” he asked. She nodded. “Call it, God. A force. Kate. It doesn't matter, I suppose. Whatever guides our destiny—” He shrugged slowly. “I believe in fate too.” And he looked at her so deeply that it spoke volumes. “And I think this was all preordained somehow."

“I want to tell you"—she felt so corny but she had to say it—"that I know your brother is innocent. And I'll help both of you in every way that I can."

He smiled ingenuously, with the easy grace of the very handsome.