It was on Friday morning when everything seemed to happen at once. Kane’s absence, as expected, had created a little extra work for Erin as well as the rest of the staff, but what she hadn’t anticipated was an outbreak of the flu, leaving the office very shorthanded. Nor had she expected that the bank’s main computer would break down, slowing the month-end posting to a snail’s pace. It was a hectic, frustrating day, and when the telephone rang for what seemed to be the twentieth time within the span of five minutes, Erin couldn’t keep the tight strain of anxiety out of her normally composed voice.
“Miss O’Toole,” she nearly shouted into the mouthpiece.
“Erin?” a familiar voice inquired.
“Mitch? Is that you? I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks,” she exclaimed, and felt a pang of regret that she had answered the phone so harshly. “How are you?” she asked with genuine interest.
“I’ve been better,” was the matter-of-fact reply.
“Oh, Mitch. I’m so sorry,” she began, suddenly at a loss for words. What could she say to him? Any condolence sounded foolish.
“I know, Erin,” he replied as if he really did understand that she still cared for him and considered him her friend.
There was an uncomfortable pause in the conversation, before Mitch cleared his throat indecisively and stated the reason for his call. “I was wondering if you would like to go to lunch with me today?” he inquired.
“Oh, Mitch, I’d love to, but I’m absolutely swamped,” Erin replied as she gazed at the stack of unanswered telephone messages that had been growing on the corner of her desk.
“Too busy for lunch with an old friend?” he joked, but the humor fell flat.
“Of course not. It’s just that…well, Kane is out of town, and everyone here is down with the flu—including the computer.”
There was a harsh laugh on the other end of the line. “Yeah, well, I get the message” was the curt retort. “Some other time…”
Indecision tore at Erin. She knew that today was the day of Mitch’s arraignment hearing, and she also knew that if the judgment was turned against him, it was unlikely that she would see him again for an indefinite period of time. Kane wouldn’t approve of a meeting with Mitch; Erin was sure of it, and yet he had no control over her friendship with Mitch. For once her reason was cast aside as she thought about the lonely man on the other end of the telephone line.
“Oh, Mitch,” she said suddenly. “I’m sure I can meet with you today,” she choked out. “I’ll just have to make some room.”
“Good!” Was there excessive relief in his voice? “How about Shorty’s at one thirty?”
“Perfect,” she agreed lamely, and felt herself something of a traitor.
The few s
hort hours until her agreed rendezvous with Mitch flew by, and with an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, Erin set out on the short walk to a local pub known for its specialty: barbecued spareribs. Located in an older hotel in Pioneer Square, Shorty’s had become a favorite with some of the employees of the bank, as much for its earthy San Francisco atmosphere as its flavorful food. Erin had been to the restaurant bar with Mitch several times in the past, but today, under the shroud of the allegations against him and the twisted set of circumstances surrounding them, she felt apprehensive about the lunch. Don’t be silly, she chided herself. This is the same old Gay Nineties restaurant, and he’s the same old Mitch. Don’t let any of this talk of embezzlement go to your head. But still her stomach knotted, and without thinking, she pulled her pewter raincoat more closely around her throat and shook off a chill that ran up her spine.
She swung the heavy wooden door inward, and stepped into the dimly lit and secluded restaurant. The tangy odor of honey and tomato sauce assailed her nostrils, and she felt herself relax a little with the familiar aroma. It was forced, but she even managed a smile for the blond hostess who led Erin to a table where Mitch was already seated. She hadn’t seen her ex-boss for over three weeks, and it was difficult to hide her surprise and embarrassment for the shell of a man that Mitch had become. Although more sober than the last time she had faced him, he carried with him a haunted look that destroyed the pleasantness of his face. His features, once bold, appeared gaunt, and his once-bright eyes had faded to a watery blue. A small, thin cigar was burning unattended in the ashtray.
At the sight of Erin, Mitch visibly brightened. His smile, though slightly strained at the corners, appeared genuine as he rose from the table while she was being seated. After she was comfortably settled in her chair, Mitch reached across the small table for her hand and clasped it warmly. “Erin,” he shook his graying head in wonderment. “If possible, you’re looking lovelier than ever!”
“Thank you,” she murmured, and nervously pulled the napkin from the table in an effort to steady her hands. It wasn’t like Mitch to gush, at least not the Mitch she remembered, and his bubbling enthusiasm seemed somehow phony and out of character. The uneasy feeling grew in the pit of her stomach. Perhaps it was the way he didn’t quite meet her gaze, or the way he played with his cigar, but something about him made Erin definitely uncomfortable.
“So,” he said with forced joviality, “how’s it going at the old salt mine? Still as busy as ever?”
He had asked the question, but Erin had the distinct impression that he was totally uninterested in the topic that he had introduced.
“We’re busy—all the time,” she admitted, and when he didn’t immediately respond, she continued chattering to break the uncomfortable silence that was building. “Kane—that is, Mr. Webster, has been out of town for a few days, and well, that just tends to make things all the more hectic for everyone else….” Why did she feel compelled to rattle on about the bank, and why did she feel so nervous around a friend whom she had once respected? She wiped her damp palms on the napkin in her lap.
The waiter deposited two platters of ribs on the table, and Erin turned her attention to the saucy food, hoping to dream up a polite way of excusing herself at the earliest possible moment. She knew now that it was a mistake to have met with Mitch; she wasn’t ready to deal with him or any of the problems in his life. Loathing herself for her turn of feelings, she managed to continue to feign interest in her ribs, wondering why Mitchell Cameron had changed so much, and how she could manage an escape from the uncomfortable and intimate lunch.
It was then that Mitch brought up the subject of his courtroom hearing. “I suppose you know that the arraignment hearing is this afternoon?” he began slowly, and lit another cigar. His faded eyes waited to study her response.
“Oh, Mitch…I wish that all of this—problem—could be avoided,” Erin claimed, and he could read the honesty in her eyes.
“Yes, well, it’s a little too late for that now, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” she sighed, touching her napkin to her lips and pushing the uneaten ribs aside. Her appetite had diminished. “If there’s anything I can do to help you, just let me know.”
Blue eyes lighted. “There is something.” His voice was bitter cold.