He released her and, crossing the shallow front porch, thrust open the door. “You can come in or not,” he said over his shoulder, “it’s up to you.”
He disappeared through the door, leaving it open. Despondent but curious, Alex followed. The front door opened directly into the living room. Through an arched opening on her left, she could see a dining area and kitchen. A hallway on the opposite side presumably led into a bedroom, where she could hear him rummaging about. Absently, she closed the front door, removed her glasses and gloves, and looked around.
The house had the stamp of a bachelor. Furniture had been arranged for comfort and convenience, not with any decorative flair. He’d set his hat on a table and tossed his coat and gloves onto a chair. Other surfaces were clear, but the bookshelves were cluttered, as though straightening up amounted to cramming anything lying around onto a shelf. There were cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling that caught the sunlight as it poured in through the dusty venetian blinds.
He caught her looking up at one of the cobwebs as he reappeared, carrying a pair of aviator sunglasses. “Lupe sends one of her nieces out here every few weeks. It’s about that time.” It was an explanation, but hardly an excuse or apology. “Want some coffee?”
“Please.”
He went into the kitchen. Alex continued to walk around the room as she stamped circulation back into her frozen feet. Her attention was drawn to a tall trophy in one of the built-in bookshelves. “Most Valuable Player” was engraved on it in block letters, along with Reede’s name and the date.
“Is this the right color?” He had moved up behind her. When she turned he was holding a mug of coffee out to her. He had remembered to add milk.
“Fine, thanks.” Inclining her head toward the trophy, she asked, “Your senior year, right?”
“Hmmm.”
“That’s quite an honor.”
“I guess so.”
Alex noticed that he resorted to that catchall phrase when he wanted the conversation to end. He remained an enigma in all other respects. “You’re not sure it was an honor?”
He dropped into an easy chair and thrust his feet out in front of him. “I felt then, and still feel, that I had a good team backing me up. The other nominated players were just as valuable as me.”
“Junior?”
“He was one of them, yeah,” he replied, instantly defensive.
“But you won the award and Junior didn’t.”
His eyes glared at hers. “Is that supposed to be significant?”
“I don’t know. Is it?”
He gave a scoffing laugh. “Stop playing lawyer games with me and say what’s on your mind.”
“Okay.” She leaned against the padded arm of the sofa and considered him carefully as she asked, “Did Junior resent your getting named most valuable player?”
“Ask him.”
“Maybe I will. I’ll also ask Angus if he minded.”
“Angus couldn’t have been prouder the night of the awards banquet.”
“Except if his son had been named most valuable player instead of you.”
Reede’s expression turned stony. “You’re full of shit, you know that?”
“I’m sure Angus was proud of you, glad for you, but you can’t expect me to believe that he wouldn’t have rather seen Junior get the trophy.”
“Believe whatever you goddamn want to. It makes no difference to me.” He emptied his coffee mug in three swallows, set it on the low coffee table in front of him, then stood up. “Ready?”
She set her coffee down, too, but she made no move to leave. “Why are you so touchy about this?”
“Not touchy, bored.” He leaned down to put his face close to hers. “That trophy is a twenty-five-year-old, tarnished piece of junk that’s good for nothing except to collect dust.”
“Then, why have you kept it all these years?”