The Suspect by L. R. Wright Read Free Book Online Page B

she would feel any physical attraction for him, by the time lunch was over.
    "You do have an Aryan look about you," she said.
    They were almost alone in the restaurant, which was a place with overgrown ferns hanging from the ceiling and a view over the water.
    The waitress approached, a petite, curvaceous young woman with a tumble of wavy auburn hair. "Hi, Cassandra," she said with a grin. "How's your life?" Her eyes skittered to Alberg. 'just fine, thank you, Rosie," said Cassandra brisledy.
    "You two gonna have a drink? Maybe a bottle of wine?"
    "I was thinking more of coffee," said Cassandra. "And then maybe some food."
    "Oh. Right. I'll go get a couple of menus, then.”
    "Librarians," muttered Cassandra as Rosie turned away, "can't slink among the stacks smelling of gin."
    Alberg was observing with interest Rosie's undulating progress across the room.
    "She's studying psychology," said Cassandra.
    Alberg looked at her. "I beg your pardon?"
    "Rosie. She's a psychology major. At U.B.C. Her parents own this place. She works here in the summers."
    "Ah."
    Rosie returned with menus. "The clam chowder's good today. So I'm told."
    "I'll have it," said Cassandra promptly. "And coffee.”
    "Me too,” said Alberg. He smiled at the waitress as he handed back the unopened menus, but at least this time he didn't goggle at her as she walked away.
    "I hate this," said Cassandra with passion.
    Alberg leaned forward politely. "What do you hate? Having lunch? Restaurants with ferns? Or meeting strangers?"
    "Meeting strangers." She took a drink of iced water, wishing it were wine.
    "I liked your ad," he said after a while.
    "Why? What made you like it?"
    "It had a nice, sunny sound to it."
    Rosie returned with two bowls of clam chowder and a basket of rolls and butter. "Have a nice lunch, you two," she said sentimentally.
    Cassandra stared indignantly at her back.
    Alberg laughed. "Hey, look," he said. "Relax. Enjoy yourself. You never have to see me again, if you don't want to. Meanwhile"—he waved his spoon at her—"she's right, it's good clam chowder. You can tell by the smell." He closed his eyes and leaned over the soup and sniffed, blissfully.
    "I'm sorry," said Cassandra, smiling. "You're right." She began to eat.
    "Tell me about yourself," he said.
    "I'm a librarian. Here in Sechelt. That's what I meant in the ad, when I said—”
    "'Books are my work, my comfort, and my joy.' ”
    She looked at him curiously. "What did you think of that?”
    "I thought you were probably a librarian." He took a spoonful of soup.
    Cassandra laughed. "I could have been a writer. Or a bookbinder.”
    "You could have been. But it seemed unlikely. What else?”
    "What else? Well, let me see." She broke open a roll and buttered half of it. Then she put the roll back on her plate and her hands in her lap and spoke rapidly. "I'm forty-one years old, financially secure though not much more than that, never been married, came here from Vancouver almost nine years ago—God, I can't believe that—I've got a mother who lives in Golden Arms and a brother who lives in Edmonton, I go back to Vancouver once a week if I can to remind me that these villages up and down the coast are not all there is." She picked up her soupspoon and the buttered roll.
    "Golden Arms? Oh, that senior citizens' place.”
    "Yes, that's right. They live there on their own, but somebody's there to sort of watch over them. Now you. Tell me about you.”
    "I'm a police officer."
    She looked at him blankly. "A police officer. A cop. Are you a Mountie? Up here, you must be a Mountie."
    "R.C.M. Police. Yeah. I hate 'cop.'”
    "A policeman. R.C.M.R" She chewed her roll thoughtfully. "I use marijuana sometimes. Nothing else, though, not for a long time. I've had a few speeding tickets, too."
    "This is obviously not going to work out."
    She looked up to see him smiling; she hadn't heard a smile in his voice. The smile altered her entire impression of him. There might be some exuberance in