“Raleigh, please,” I said, losing patience.
He pushed the envelope toward me.
I opened it and fanned out eight or nine pages of names and addresses bearing Gerald Brandt’s office crest. I recognized some of the guests on the groom’s side immediately. Bert Rosen, former secretary of the treasury of the United States. Sumner Smith, some billionaire who had made his money in the eighties through big-time LBOs. Chip Stein, of E-flix, Spielberg’s buddy; Maggie Sontero, the hot SoHo designer from New York. Lots of big names and big trouble.
On the bride’s side, there were several prominent names from the San Francisco area. Mayor Fernandez for me. Arthur Abrams, the prominent local attorney. I had gone up against his firm once or twice in the witness box, testifying in homicide cases. Willie Upton, superintendent of public schools.
Raleigh pulled his seat over to me. Side by side we scanned the rest of the list. Columns of impressive-sounding couples with Doctor or Honorable in front of their names.
It was a long, unrevealing, seemingly impenetrable list.
I don’t know what I expected — just something to jump out at me. Some flashing name resonating with a culpability even the families didn’t recognize.
Raleigh let out a worried breath. “This list is scary. You take fifty, I’ll take fifty, and we’ll give the balance to Jacobi. We’ll all meet back here in two weeks and see what we’ve got.”
The prospect of hammering away at these people — each one horrified and indignant at the prospect of why we were looking into them — didn’t fill me with joy or high hopes.
“You think Mayor Fernandez might be a sex killer?” I muttered. “I do.”
What came out of me next was a complete surprise. “So you said you were married?”
If we were going to be thrown together, we might as well get it out. And the truth was, I was curious.
Raleigh nodded after a short pause. I thought I saw pain in his eyes. “Actually, I still am. Our divorce is coming up next month. Seventeen years.”
I flashed him a sympathetic wag of my eyes. “I’m sorry. Let’s stop the Q and A.”
“It’s okay. Things happen. Suddenly, it seemed we were just traveling in different circles. To be more precise, Marion fell in love with the guy who owned the real estate office where she worked. It’s an old story. I guess I never quite learned which fork to use.”
“I could’ve saved you some pain,” I said. “It goes left to right. Are there kids?”
“Two great boys. Fourteen and twelve. Jason is the jock. Teddy’s the brain. Set up a home page for his sixth-grade class. I get them every other weekend. Lights of my life, Lindsay.”
I could actually see Raleigh as superdad. Kicking the ball around on Saturdays, installing the computer in the den. On top of it, the guy did have affectionate eyes. It was gradually dawning on me that he wasn’t the enemy.
“I guess —” he grinned at me — “getting the order of forks right didn’t exactly help you, though. You’re divorced, right?”
“Oohh. Somebody’s been checking around,” I said. “I was just out of the police academy. Tom was in his second year of law school at Berkeley. At first, he was going to go criminal. We had sort of a Carville-and-Matalin thing going. I imagined me testifying, Tom Terrific socking it to me on the cross. Ultimately, he opted for corporate.”
“And?”
“It was his picture, not mine. I wasn’t ready for the country club. It’s an old story, right?” I smiled. “The truth: He walked out on me. Kind of broke my heart into tiny pieces.”
“Sounds like we’ve got some things in common,” Raleigh said gently. He did have nice eyes. Stop it, Lindsay.
“If you must know,” I replied, deadpan, “for the past six months I’ve been having this torrid affair with Warren Jacobi.”
Raleigh laughed and pretended to look surprised. “Geez, Jacobi doesn’t seem like your type. What’s the fatal attraction?”
I thought of my ex-husband, Tom, then one other man I had been sort of serious about. What always attracted me when I let someone get close. “Soft hands. And, I guess, a soft heart.”
“So what ya think?” Raleigh said. “You put a few homemade jams on the shelves. Give the coffees some sexier names. Arabian Breeze, Sirocco. You think we can hike up the average sale?”
“Why are you going through this, Raleigh?”
He gave me a look that was sort of between an embarrassed grin and a sparkle in his clear blue eyes. “I’ve been doing police work for sixteen years. So you get to thinking…. I have this favorite place. Up in Tahoe. Maybe one of these franchises…”
“Sorry, I don’t see you behind the counter picking out the muffins.”