Car Pool (22 page)

“Here’s one. Holy moly, it’s got the refinery grid numbers, volume of soil and the starting and ending times, and the date. Hah! Moving soil at three in the morning is not standard operating procedure. If we can get some refinery maps that have marked grids we’ll be able to draw it out.”

“I take it that’s good.”

“I think so,” Shay said. “Good enough to make the EPA very, very interested.” Her palms were sweating. She relished the idea of presenting the summary of the entire business to the EPA. All she needed was a favorable ear. Someone like Joan Lewis. And maybe there were a few people in her dad’s address book who were still there.

“How are we going to get grid maps?”

“That I don’t know,” Shay said. “The ones in the trailer are about four foot by six and bound. Making copies would be obvious.”

Anthea was silent for a long time. They were past San Leandro when she finally spoke up. “I think Adrian — I could be wrong, but I think he used to go with a guy who worked in graphic arts. We may not be able to get maps, but we might be able to get the files they use for permit applications. Graphics files marked with the grid.”

Shay bared her teeth with a big grin. “That would be perfect. We can mark up the printouts or print them with the information on them.”

“It’ll definitely look like an inside job,” Anthea said. Her worried frown returned. “I can’t put Adrian at risk, too.”

“I suppose that if we wanted to, we could go to the county engineer’s office and pay for maps with grid markings and then have them scanned. But Adrian’s friend’s files would be much faster.”

“I’ll ask him about it tomorrow, but he has the right to say no.”

Shay left the envelope of invoices on the kitchen counter and helped Anthea make dinner. She felt like a computer that had been given the priority task of solving pi to the last digit; she had no capacity left for thinking of anything but the three well results and the invoices.

It Was a reflex that made her stand on tiptoe behind Anthea to kiss her neck. It was something she would naturally do with her lover … with the woman she loved.

She jolted into the here and now.

The woman she loved… it didn’t seem possible. It had taken so long to get to know Anthea even remotely well and even now Shay knew Anthea had depths she hadn’t seen. And yet loving her seemed so easy. So easy she wanted to be suspicious of it, like wondering if it was Anthea’s secure financial position, not Anthea herself. She knew Anthea thought that they could just agree to put the money aside, but it was about as easy as forgetting Anthea

was white. It had an impact on their relationship and she should be on guard against feeling anything for the money.

Perhaps her success in discovering NOC-U’s illegal toxic dumping was pumping up her self-esteem because the question was bothering her less. But it still nagged at her.

Forget about your pride, she told herself, what about your heart? The woman she loved had an exquisite neck, for example. Up on her tiptoes, she kissed it again.

“What’s that for?” Anthea wiggled her rear end, which distracted Shay a great deal.

It would be very easy to forget pride, heart and independence for the joy of stroking Anthea’s velvet backside. “I like your house,” she said finally. An inane thing to say, she thought, when what she wanted to say was much more serious.

Anthea was cutting zucchini into julienne strips. “Enough to live here?” Her voice sounded nonchalant but there was a break in the steady beat of the knife on the chopping block.

The question was so unexpected that Shay didn’t know what to say. She knew how she felt, but was completely in the dark about Anthea’s feelings. Except for the sex. It was clear Anthea enjoyed the sex a lot.

Anthea dropped her knife and whirled around. “I’m sorry. I… I’m not putting any pressure on you or asking you to live with me or anything like that. It’s only been a couple of weeks. We should probably date for a while. …”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it dating. That sounds so… civilized,” Shay said. You don’t make me feel civilized in the least, she thought.

“I feel like I’ve known you for ages, but really, I don’t want to pressure you.”

Shay looked anxiously up into Anthea’s face. “I’m … I’d like… Can we not ask that yet? I feel so up in the air. I’ll be looking for another job soon and… I’m so unsettled I can’t think about settling.”

“But you might consider it?” The tiny freckles dusting Anthea’s cheeks were plainly visible for once.

“I’ve already considered it.” Parts of her mind were telling her it would never work. Anthea was too closeted. Too rich. Too white. Too Yuppified. But she couldn’t possibly say anything but yes. Whenever Anthea asked her. If Anthea asked her.

Which meant she was in love.

It felt really, really good.

It scared her to death.

Anthea opened her mouth, then closed it again. There was an uncomfortable silence, then Anthea finally said, “Do you want to make something for dessert?”

Shay smiled, though the feeling of anticlimax was overwhelming. “I thought I could just have you.”

“Want to go over to the Cafe Ptomaine with me?”

Adrian looked up at Anthea suspiciously. “Usually you just demand my presence. Why the soft gloves?”

“Oh, no particular reason.” Anthea felt a blush start at her neck.

“Are you getting married or something?”

Anthea smiled. “Well, as a matter of fact, I might be getting or-somethinged. But that’s not the reason for the lunch invite.”

“Just my charming personality, I suppose.” Adrian twisted his lips to one side. “Against my better judgment I’ll have lunch with you. Are you buying?”

Anthea raised one eyebrow. “Are you kidding? This is the woman who made it possible for you to have dinner with a certain athlete, remember?”

Anthea waited until Adrian was halfway through his plate of cafeteria beef stew — they had the audacity to call it beef bourguignon — before she led the conversation around to the topic of ex-lovers. More explicitly, Adrian’s ex-lovers.

“You know the guy I mean. The one who does graphics for engineering—”

“Oh, yeah, Erik. What about him?”

“Do you still keep in touch? I don’t know how much people keep in touch with their ex-lovers.”

“You haven’t kept in touch with any of yours. You probably will never say two words to Lois whereas I talk to Erik all the time.”

“Why is that?”

Adrian shrugged. “We made something together. We did some things together for the first time. Don’t get that prudish look on your face,” he said. “You have a one track mind. Erik and I learned to scuba dive together. We still have it in common.”

Anthea munched on a crouton. Had she and Lois made anything together? Or did they just happen to be doing the same things at the same time? She shook the thought away and remembered what she wanted to find out. “So you still talk?”

“Once a month or so,” Adrian said. He suddenly

snapped to, a hint of suspicion in his eyes. “What do you want with Erik?”

“Well…”

“Oh, God,” Adrian said. “You and what’s-her-name want to have a baby together and you need a stud.”

Anthea clapped a hand over her mouth. She could feel herself blushing. She swallowed and said, “We do not!”

“I don’t know why you’d want Erik’s genes, anyway. He’s got bad knees.”

“I need something he may have.”

Adrian waited for a second, then said, “Is this twenty questions? Do I have to drag it out of you?”

“I need some maps of the refinery that have grid locators on them.”

“You can order a set…” Adrian’s voice trailed away as Anthea shook her head vehemently.

“No one can know where I got them.”

Adrian put down his fork. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

Anthea dropped her voice. “Shay needs them for a … project.”

“Some consulting work? But why NOC-U’s maps?”

“It’s not consulting. There’s something going on, something illegal,” she whispered. “The maps will help build a case.”

Adrian looked skeptical. “A case for what?”

“Keep your voice down,” Anthea hissed. “They’ve been moving soil around that may not be clean.”

Adrian leaned toward her. “Why do we care about dirty dirt?”

“Because on an oil refinery, dirty dirt means toxic.”

Adrian’s eyebrows disappeared into his hair. “Are you sure?” His voice ended with a squeak.

Anthea nodded. After sorting the invoices, they had found a handful that were decidedly suspicious — charged to GPG, approval from one senior vice president, work done at night, and involving several cubic tons of soil each. Shay had written down the grid markings and sneaked a quick look at the map book this morning. She’d called to say, cryptically, that the tracks were pretty plain.

“So you think Erik’s graphic files will give you the info you need?”

“We need grid markers and general landmarks — just what they use for permit applications. I remembered Erik and—”

“Decided to bribe me with a piece of cafeteria chocolate cake,” Adrian said.

Anthea frowned. “What cake?”

Adrian fluttered his eyelashes at her. “Better yet, I’ve heard for ages about your gourmet kitchen, and there’s this athletic-type guy I want to impress, but I can’t afford Chez Panisse. …”

Anthea tried not to smile. In as severe a tone as she could manage, she said, “Saturday night. At six. Bring the goods and don’t be late.”

“You’re fussing too much,” Shay said.

Anthea looked up as she sliced the last strawberry into the mixed fruit. “It’s not fussing. I love to cook. My second favorite way to spend a Saturday.” Anthea watched Shay’s gaze travel over the various bowls and platters on the kitchen island. She playfully slapped Shay’s hand away from the bowl of natillas sauce.

“What’s the first way?” Shay sampled some of the diable mushroom filling instead.

Anthea smirked an answer as she stirred the natillas sauce into the fruit. Then she smiled innocently as Shay hurriedly gulped from her glass of iced tea. Diable mushrooms were a specialty.

After clearing her throat, Shay said, “Oh, yes, well, there is that and I must say it was rather fun.” Anthea thought she saw the skin on Shay’s throat turn a slightly tawnier shade. It had been a memorable send-off before Shay had left for her stint at the pizzeria. Shay cleared her throat again. “That stuff is hot as hell.”

“Why, thank you,” Anthea said.

“I meant the mushrooms.” Shay peered into the other bowls. “And what is this for,” she asked, prodding a bowl of soft meringue.

“The fruit sauce and hollandaise only took egg yolks, so I made a meringue from the whites.”

“Oh, I see. You were just using up spare ingredients.” One cheek dimpled as Shay looked back at Anthea.

“Well, yes. Hollandaise for the salmon, natillas for the fruit, which means a meringue for the gateau ganache. Adrian said that Harold loves chocolate.”

Shay smiled fondly at her. “What I see is a salad, fish, some potatoes smothered in cream and cheese, and two desserts. And fried bread.”

“That’s polenta, not fried bread.” Anthea glanced down at her hips. She sighed. “Maybe I should start on an exercise routine.”

Shay’s expression changed completely — her eyebrows flew up and her mouth opened slightly.

“Oh, no, that’s not what I meant. I mean I love watching you enjoy cooking and eating. You obsess about cholesterol and fiber during the week, it’s kind of funny that you go so whole hog the other way on the weekend. That’s why I trimmed my Saturday shift to five hours — so I could eat you for dinner —” Anthea hooted “—I mean eat with you for dinner.”

Anthea poured the fruit mix into her glass-lined copper bowl. She twisted open a few slices of orange for garnish, then stood back to study the effect. “I’ve been thinking I should take up running or something. I gained ten pounds since I quit smoking.” After a minor adjustment, she carried the bowl to the refrigerator. The urge for a cigarette came about once a day now. She began snicking small flakes of orange peel onto the salmon.

Shay made a yum-yum noise as she watched the salmon preparations. “That’s not a crime. We all can’t have Martina’s stomach. The washboard stomach is a recent fad, you know. You have a stomach that would have put most painters into a dead faint. It does me.”

“You’re just saying that.” Anthea felt inordinately pleased. She had been certain Shay thought she was fat.

“I didn’t fall for an American Gladiator. I suppose if you wanted to turn into She-Ra, Princess of Large Boobs and No Hips, I would support you… .” Now Shay was wrinkling her nose.

Anthea laughed and said, “Would you shave the chocolate for me?”

Shay opened the door to Adrian and Harold. At first glance, they were casually attired, but she noted the extra touches that said Serious Male Dressing. Adrian’s boots had a blinding shine and Shay could have cut herself on the crease in his black jeans. Harold looked as if he’d been poured into his 501s and black pullover. Something about gay men in San Francisco, she thought. Fashion divas even when they probably aren’t trying. Of course, this would be their second date, which might account for the extra care they’d obviously both taken.

Adrian whistled as they crossed the living room. “I work with Andy six years and don’t know about this view.”

Harold seemed speechless. He silently handed over a bottle of wine.

“Thanks,” Shay said.

Harold seemed to find his voice. “Is that a ganache?” he asked Anthea.

“With caramel pecan filling.”

“What’s a ganache?” Adrian stooped to inspect the chocolate-covered confection.

Harold gave him a pitying look. “It’ll be another first for our relationship.”

“I had no idea I was dating a gourmet cook.”

“I’m simply a gourmet,” Harold said. “I don’t have much success cooking it, but I do love to eat it.”

Adrian made an appreciative noise.

Shay groaned loudly and said, “Let’s not start that conversation again. We’ve already done all the food and eating puns, guys.”

“Darn.” Adrian leaned on the counter and watched Anthea finish the last touches on the salmon.

Anthea looked up at him. “You brought the maps this meal is buying?”