Chapter 27

Sunday, July 4, 11:05 a.m.

Sam had no difficulty making it to Greensboro well in advance of lunch, having been able to force himself to postpone his departure from Twin Rivers only until 6:32 a.m., and stopping only for a hasty breakfast at a fast food restaurant just off the freeway.

It was a bright, sunny day in Greensboro, perfect for the local Independence Day parade. Sam got caught by the lengthy parade, and it delayed his arrival at Madeleine's house despite his careful consultation of the Greensboro city map the evening before.

It didn't occur to Sam that the parade was a blessing. Without it, his arrival would have been ridiculously early.

"What am I doing here?" Sam thought as he arrived at Madeleine's apartment. "This is 'way too much woman for old, tired Sam Wicks. Who am I kidding, here?"

Madeleine opened the door and greeted him with a smile. "You're early." she said. "I guess you had no trouble finding me?"

"No trouble," Sam mumbled, deciding not to describe his frustration at waiting for the parade to allow him to cross through mid-town. Dimly, he at last realized that, without the parade, he'd have been in time for breakfast.

Madeleine was dressed casually in pleated beige slacks and a bright yellow sleeveless blouse. Her height, her strikingly slender body, caused Sam to renew his self-inquiry: "What am I doing here?" He stumbled into the apartment, conversing furiously to himself, but saying nothing to Madeleine.

Taking his light jacket, Madeleine led Sam to a chair in a living room that faced opened French doors overlooking a wooded area. "Want something to drink?"

"Coffee would be nice," Sam said.

"Mine's old. Let me make a new pot." She headed for the kitchen. "Just speak up, Sam -- I can hear you back here."

Sam was pleased that she was making "a new pot." People, he mused, came in two categories: those insensitives who drank instant coffee, and the superior breed who had the good judgment always to make "a new pot" of fresh-brew. He remembered watching, in near-amazement, the popular television commercials a few years back featuring the forty-something lovers who had met over a jar of instant.

Sam thought they deserved each other.

He looked around the bright, comfortable room, full of light from the open doors and an impressively large skylight. There were no apartments in Twin Rivers as stylish as this. "You've got a great place," he half-shouted toward the kitchen.

"Thanks! It is nice, isn't it? I moved here when I made sergeant. But I wouldn't mind being around all that water you've got in Twin Rivers. You should have seen the view from my hotel room! The morning sun came up over that huge expanse of water -- that monstrous inlet you call a river, and it was glorious! I hated to pack and head home."

She rejoined Sam while the coffee was brewing. "What is it, Sam? You don't look too perky. 'Get up too early to come up here?"

"I think I'm a bit worn-down. It's been a long week since we found the body. All that running, and getting no place. But that's not really what's on my mind, Mad.

I -- I guess you know why I came up here. Maybe I should'n of... I think..." Sam was faltering badly.

Madeleine seated herself in the middle of the couch and, grasping her own hands, thrust her long arms between her legs, crouching almost to the floor. She looked up at Sam across the room and smiled broadly. "Let me try," she said. "If I say the wrong things, you can tell me, and I'll be the one who's embarrassed. O.K.?"

Sam looked back at her with a combination of gratitude and trepidation. "O.K.," he said, finally.

"You came up here because when we went out to dinner together, you had a good time. You liked me, and you found me attractive. You didn't want me to leave town, and when I did, it made you feel lonely. Your work kept you busy, but the couple' days I was down, you enjoyed it more. So you got me to invite you up here for the day.

"But ever since then, you've had your doubts. You are, after all, forty-something, and getting to be an old bachelor. I, on the other hand, am still young stuff, by your standards, and it troubles you that, technically, you're old enough to be my father -- although you'd have had to start your sex life extremely early. How'm I doing, so far?"