Exit Row (7 page)

“The Turquoise Trail Inn.” Was it a mistake to tell him that?

“I'll pick you up about seven o'clock. Is that too early?”

“No, it's fine. I'm still on Eastern time.”

“It's a plan.” He got up from his desk and skillfully ushered her out.

O
UTSIDE ON THE
sidewalk, Fiona blinked and reached in her bag for her sunglasses. The light was harsh now, the leaves of the trees above her a blatant chartreuse.
I don't want to be here
. She should have asked Will Dunlea for a voucher to leave immediately. Of course, she could always pick up her things, drive down to Albuquerque, and get a flight from there.

Yet would being home be any better? Without Lee, without the future they had been planning, she would have to creep back to Sydney Beach and figure out how to live next.
How could you do this to me?

She found a white ironwork bench in the next block and slumped down on it. These were the facts: Lee had never been on the Day Star flight. After a delay it had landed safely in Denver without him on it. Without the other people on it too, evidently, but she could not think about them now.

Seven months had not been a long time. She and Lee seemingly could not get enough of each other, but love had blinded her to what she did not want to see. Perhaps Lee had been secretly judging her all along, hiding any reservations he felt. When they were finally apart, objectivity had made him realize that the relationship would not work. Fiona had been a charming novelty, not a lifetime partner.

Always before she had kept some part of herself in reserve, enjoying the men she was with, but knowing she would survive if the relationship ended. As it always had, with some wistfulness but no devastation. This time she had held nothing back—and this is what happened. But why wouldn't Lee just tell her? Perhaps he could not face her shock, her entreaties, her tears.

Maybe he was back in New York right now, packing what he wanted to take to South Africa. Maybe he had begged the magazine to tell her he had not been in touch with them. She let herself think what she had been resisting until now: He had met someone else. She remembered how immediate their attraction had been, how they had gone back to his apartment that first night. Maybe that was the way it worked for him. He might have run into a former lover or planned to meet someone in New Mexico.

Sarah.
They had lived together for eight years. Eight years! That was practically like being married. Ironically, she had finally left him because he didn't want to take the next step, had no desire for a settled life or children. Fiona suddenly heard Uncle Eimer's voice: He's a bounder! What was a bounder anyway? Maybe Lee had decided it
was
time to settle down, and Sarah was a known quantity. They had split up over a year ago, but eight years was a long time.

Fiona shifted her bag from her lap to the white metal. If a client had come to her and told her the story as a lawyer, she would have advised the client to forget him and just move on.

But then she thought of her Saturday-night FaceTime conversation with Lee. He had not been in a hurry to get off the phone with her. There hadn't seemed to be anyone else in the room with him, and they had ended with their usual love talk.

I won't believe it until he tells me himself.

S
HE DECIDED TO
call Rosa.

The phone was picked up on the first ring.

“Fiona?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How
are
you? What have you found out?”

“Have you heard from Susan?”

“No.”

“Day Star told me Lee was not on the flight.” It was hard to say the words without choking up. “I don't know what to do.”

“And you believe them?”

“Why would they lie about it? Anyway, the CEO, Will Dunlea, asked me out to dinner tonight.”

“Really? Are you going?”

“Sure.” She was used to being asked to strangers' homes around the world. She always brought a gift and had had many interesting meals.

“You'll charm him. Did you get a chance to stop by Susan's?”

“No, it was late when I got here.”
And I fell asleep.

“Hold off, then. I've got a couple of other ideas. What about Dominick's daughter?”

“The kid next door said her mother put her on the plane. He also said Dominick's wife went off to Mexico with her lover.”

“Oh, Lord. What fools these mortals be.”

“I guess I'll go to the library. The woman next to me on the shuttle said that Day Star had some trouble a while back. I want to find out about that.”

“You never know. And good luck tonight.”

T
HE MAIN BRANCH
of the Santa Fe Library was an attractive tan building with a desert garden in front, and lacy latticework along the second-floor balcony. Fiona moved into the foyer and looked for the reference room. In a few minutes she was settled in front of a staff computer looking at the
New Mexican
. She caught sight of her face in the gray screen, hair carelessly tumbled around her shoulders, then jerked back as Lee's face appeared next to hers as if posing for a selfie with her.

She whirled around to get a better look. “Lee! Why didn't you call me?”

But there was only air.

I saw him, I know I did.

I'm going crazy.

She scanned the room, then sat with her hands covering her face, elbows on the table. Finally she felt a soft tap on her shoulder.
Lee?
Looking up, she saw it was the reference librarian, his pale face concerned. “Are you all right?”

“I'm okay. It must be the altitude.”

“It's tricky when you're not used to it,” he agreed.

She clicked back to 1993 and began to read.

In the beginning there was one small plane, which Jesse Wilcox and Ginger Lee bought to fly to their ranch just over the border in Colorado. They had an airfield constructed on their property so that their California friends could fly in as well. Soon those friends were buying property and building vacation homes nearby, so when a local airline went belly-up they all chipped in to buy it. As an investment. As a lark.

The local press had been skeptical, but eventually came to dote on them. Fiona read reports of Day Star's expansion, their acquisition of more and better aircraft, their strategy of taking over routes to secondary airports in large cities. Code sharing with larger airlines to bring Westerners to major hubs had been a smart move.

Caught up in Day Star's golden successes, Fiona was unprepared to come upon the next headline: “Commuter Plane Crashes in Eleven Mile Canyon.” She glanced at the date. Nearly four years ago. It had happened a few miles south of Denver. Four years ago, she was based in Paris and would not have heard about it. Nineteen people aboard, a small crash in a small area. The world had blinked and then gone on to political upheaval in Russia.

The
New Mexican
covered the aftermath of the crash in great detail, each issue another sad requiem for the dead. Fiona skipped past their descriptions and searched for the cause of the crash. Because there had been no black box on board and no survivors, investigators decided on a phenomenon known as wind shear. The account explained that in mountainous areas, waves of air sometimes accelerated when passing over a peak, smashing downward in a welter of turbulence. Such downdrafts could take even a large plane and crash it against the mountain. Thunderstorms helped to foster a wind shear.

Day Star had been stunned by the accident, but they had done the right thing, voluntarily compensating the relatives of the victims and offering them bereavement counseling. Even so, there had been one lawsuit, brought by the husband of a woman in her thirties. It asked for four million dollars for wrongful death and loss of services and earnings. The suit had been settled last year for the usual “undisclosed amount.”

It must have cost them plenty, Fiona decided. A working spouse was a valuable commodity in the eyes of the law. Day Star's net worth and its stock had dropped sharply after the accident, and there had been rumors of bankruptcy. According to one journalist, Jesse Wilcox and Ginger Lee put all their personal assets into keeping Day Star flying; over the years they had bought out everyone else. The loyal staff, from pilots to mechanics, took a voluntary pay cut.

Fiona read up to the present, then sat back in her chair, rubbing her eyes. Day Star had taken responsibility and acted honorably in that situation. No tricks, no rationalizations. There had been no cover-up. Instead of retreating into bankruptcy, they had sympathized with the victims and their families, settled their debts, and kept going.

She recast her contacts with Day Star in that light. They had answered her questions consistently and politely without violating any disclosure laws, something that as an attorney she could not fault them for. Maggie's father and the older cowboy had arrived safely on the shuttle from Taos. The FAA agreed that the plane had landed. There had been no sense of panic at the airline office this morning. According to their computer, Lee had not been on the flight.

Face facts.

W
ILL
D
UNLEA ARRIVED
at seven o'clock in a small white car that Fiona identified as a Porsche. As she jumped up and descended the porch steps, he got out and came around to the passenger door. Fiona saw that he was wearing a red polo shirt, white pants, and boat shoes. No doubt he had correctly gauged the limitations of her wardrobe. At least she had borrowed an iron from the innkeeper and pressed her khaki pants and black, scooped-neck T-shirt, then brushed her hair until it shone. But that was ridiculous. Would Will confess that something had happened to Lee if her hair was pretty enough?

As they settled themselves in the car, she couldn't hide a smile.

“Something funny?”

“No, I was just thinking about the movie where an English lawyer had a daughter named Portia. From Shakespeare? And his gangster client said to him, ‘Wow. Imagine naming your kid after your car!' ”

Will smiled tolerantly.

“I guess you had to be there.” She glanced around at the red leather interior. “Do you have a Porsche for every outfit? Or just an outfit for every Porsche?”

“What?” The engine hummed as he switched on the ignition. “Oh. Nope, it's my only car. And they aren't even Day Star colors.”

“Let me guess. Yellow and dark blue.”

“Bingo.” At the end of the street he signaled toward the plaza. “We could have walked. I think you'll like this restaurant.”

La Cantina, new to Fiona, was off Palace Avenue and through a greenery-filled courtyard. It was Southwestern inside, decorated with oversized plants.

A blonde in a short black dress and tights seated them, handing them menus.

“I'll tell you what's good here,” Will announced, without looking at his. “Black bean soup in a loaf of bread, the prickly pear salad, and red chile pasta. I like the salmon myself. What kind of wine do you drink?”

“Alcoholic.”

He laughed and ordered a bottle of pinot grigio. But instead of heading to the bar to place their order, the waitress veered over to the piano. Several other servers were waiting for her, arranged in a semicircle. Throwing their arms open, they burst into “Oklahoma.”

Fiona was enchanted. It was definitely a place to include if she ever wrote a sequel guidebook to Paris and New York.
Santa Fe's Hottest Chiles.
As soon as she'd thought it, she wished she hadn't. The book made her think of Lee and how happy she would have felt if he were there instead of Will. Still, she decided she would have a good time. If Lee had gone back to Sarah . . .

“They're really a musical troupe,” Will said. “They only serve food between songs.”

“It's charming.”

“Santa Fe has many charms.”

Including you.

As they sipped the chilled wine and broke off pieces of bread, Fiona tried to read him. What did he want from the evening? It fell into a crevice between a date and business entertainment. There was no emotional connection—how could there be—yet he touched her arm easily to get her attention or make a point.

“Are you really Ginger Lee's son?” At his quizzical glance, she added, “I mean, I always wanted her to be
my
mother. So I don't know whether to envy you, or what.”

He drained his wine glass and grinned at her. His formality in the office was yielding to a fresh-faced warmth. “Stick with the ‘or what,' ” he advised.

“Why?”

“Why.” He poured more golden liquid into both glasses. “Growing up, I probably saw less of her than you did on TV. She didn't raise me.”

“You had governesses?”

“No, I had her mother. My grandma. Ginger was young when I was born, still in high school. So it was logical to give me to her parents and leave town. Things were different years ago.” The furrows around his mouth indicated that they hadn't been for the better.

Fiona waited until the waitress set their salads in front of them and then said, “Your background sounds so much like mine. Where did you grow up?”

“Nebraska. On a farm.”

“Wow! I'm from Iowa. So you didn't see Ginger much?”

He shook his head, the charming, rueful smile in place. “By the time she had established herself as an actress and lowered her age to fit, I was much too old.” He laughed. “She would have had to have had me when she was seven. Besides, any cover story she made up for me would have been disputed by everyone in town.”

Fiona retrieved the avocado from her salad, her favorite part. “The difference is, my mother died when I was two. I was raised by my aunt and uncle.”

He winced. “That's tough. The thing about Ginger is, she never sent her parents anything, even when she and Jesse were pulling down millions. He was the one who finally brought me into the family. He was a generous guy. But by then, of course, I was grown.”

“But—he's still alive, isn't he?” She was confused by the tense.

“Sure. I was talking about back then. His mind is pretty much gone now. He sits and watches reruns, poor guy. But enough of that. Tell me more about your family.”

Fiona, already giddy from the wine, started to laugh. “It's worse than yours. My mother was the family black sheep. She hung out at a bar called the Cat's Paw. She drowned herself when I was two.”

“That's terrible!” He reached out and put a hand on her wrist. “So you never really knew her. What about your father?”

Fiona put down her salad fork and looked at him. It was easier to tell someone who wouldn't feel sad for her. “I used to have this fantasy that he was a Mohawk Indian and would come and rescue me. But he didn't, and I finally stopped thinking about him.”

“Did you ever try to contact him?”

“No.” That wasn't exactly true. Periodically she looked on the Internet, but had found no one with that name who was the right age. Her guidance counselor found that Leonard Charley had left the Chippewa reservation as a teenager.

They stopped talking to listen to their waitress do a solo of “I'm Just a Gal Who Cain't Say No.”

“Did you get along with your relatives?” Will asked.

“Well, put it this way.” She had had enough wine to make her life an interesting story. “When I drove up to the farm after college graduation, there were all these plastic garbage bags on the porch. ‘Hi, Mom, what are those?' I asked. ‘Well, Fiona,' she said, ‘they're your things. All your clothes, school papers, photographs, every last trace of you. If you don't get them out of my sight, I'm taking them to the dump.' ”

“Jesus!” He moved his hand down to hers and squeezed it. He barely moved his arm as the waitress set down Fiona's dinner of chicken in a red-pepper cream sauce.

“Actually, it's a joke. She had all my stuff on the porch, but because she thought I might want it to take east with me. I think. They weren't bad people, really.”

But he kept his eyes on her sympathetically. “You deserved better.” His voice was soft.

“Yes, well—it's all in the past now. How did you get involved with Day Star?”

“Family business. Jesse wanted to retire, and his sons with Ginger are hooligans. Never worked a day in their lives.”

“Were you there four years ago?”

He looked up sharply, fork in midair, as if she had said something rude. “Why?”

“There was that plane crash.”

He sighed. “Our darkest hour.”

“Something like that must get expensive.”

“That's what insurance is for. But I can see you're still in denial about your friend.”

“Maybe.” She put down her fork, suddenly dizzy. They were on their second bottle of pinot grigio.

The staff regrouped to sing “People Will Say We're in Love.”

Will Dunlea, all charm, smiled at her.

Some men needed to make the whole world fall in love with them, she decided. In his case, it wouldn't be hard. “Have you ever been married?” she asked.

“Nope. I'll do that when nothing else works.”

She laughed.

“I fly and skydive. And I'm a big ski bum. But a classy bum.” The wine was having its effect on him as well. “Not one of those stereotypes around here on Friday nights, in a van with a loaded gun rack, pulling a speedboat and an ATV.”

“You don't have a Budweiser cap?” she asked, teasing.

“It's Coors out here.”

“I need the restroom.” She pressed both hands against the table and stood up unsteadily. Maybe in the calm of a stall she could figure out where all this was going.

“Go back past where we came in, then on down the hall a little farther,” he said. “I'll settle up here. We can have coffee back at my place.”

“Uh.” Through her fog a bell began to clang. “I'm pretty wiped out. Maybe we'd better have coffee here.”

“Okay.” He looked only a little regretful. “Regular or cappuccino?”

“Cappuccino would be great.”

“Shall we take a peek at the dessert tray?”

“Will it get upset if we don't?”

“They make a great Death by Chocolate here.”

“Split it?”

“Why not?”

In the ladies room, Fiona patted cold water all over her face and then smoothed down her hair with wet hands. Had she learned anything from him? What had he learned from her? Maybe that you can overcome one hard-luck story until life flattens you again. She had not told him everything, of course.

Over coffee, Will blinked and said casually, “So, tell me about these other New York people. Who are they exactly?”

“Just people I met at the airport. They don't know if their relatives were on the flight, and you won't tell me.”

“Because I can't. But you know what I think?” He relaxed against the bentwood chair, hands clasped behind his head. “Given what you've told me about yourself, you don't trust people easily. Why should you? When you finally do, it's impossible to believe someone you love would treat you this way. So you're looking for people in the same situation, even though they may not be.” He tilted his golden head. “Could that be true?”

“Could be.”

“This Lee is making a big mistake. Maybe he's like a friend of mine. He couldn't bear to ask his wife for a divorce and hurt her that way. So he killed her.”

Fiona's coffee cup clattered against the saucer. “A
friend
of yours?”

Will gave her a sheepish grin. “Okay, I read it online. But I can understand the logic behind it, the thing that would make someone want to disappear without a confrontation.”

He leaned forward and pressed his fingers around her forearm, suddenly commanding. “I want you to stop by my office tomorrow morning and pick up that voucher. It'll be standby and it's a Friday, but if you get to the airport early in the day, there shouldn't be a problem. I'd feel very badly if you had to pay to fly home when it's in my power to do something for you.”

“Both flights?”

“Both flights.”

“Thanks!” She hoped she could retrieve her frequent-flyer miles. “Do you travel much yourself?”

He shook his head. “Not as much as I'd like. But I could be persuaded to come to New York once in a while.”

And do what?

“By the way,” he added, his voice soft, “I never even asked what you do there.”

She knew she would enjoy this. “Well, Will, I'm a lawyer. I always wanted to travel, though, so right now I'm doing that and writing about it instead of practicing law.”

He laughed as if she had made a joke.

She knew the part he found amusing. “I'll never go back to the law. Unless I get desperate for money again.”

“You're telling me you're a lawyer. Like going to law school and passing the bar.”

“That's how they do it in New York.”

“Wow.” The aw-shucks grin reappeared, a little forced. “It's just—you don't
act
like a lawyer. Or dress like one. But congratulations; that's wonderful.”

I get more information from people when they don't think I'm going to sue them.

She smiled and watched him sign the credit-card slip the waitress had brought with the coffee.

Out on the street a breeze had kicked up, tumbling daytime refuse through the empty plaza.

When they were back in the Porsche, Will said, “You're sure you won't come up for a liqueur? I've got a great view of Santa Fe. We could go in the sauna and I could take advantage of you.”

With that, he let her know he was rescinding the invitation. Whatever activities he had been planning had been with a wide-eyed girl from Iowa, not a New York attorney.