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investigation. We want to catch whoever killed him.
Give him to me! she shouted, and sprang toward the filing cabinet. I managed
to wedge myself between her and the cabinet, blocking her path. Behind us, I
saw Jess pick up the telephone and punch 911. I m calling from Dr. Brockton s
office under the football stadium, Jess said. We have a disturbed and
violent woman here. Could you send an officer right away, please?& Yes, I ll
stay on the line until help arrives.
Mrs. Willis backed away from me, her venomous eyes darting from Jess to me and
back again to Jess. She pointed at Jess again. You will be sorry, she said.
And then she spun and hurried out the door.
Jess and I stared at the empty doorway in amazement, then at one another.
That& went& rather well, I think, said Jess. A moment later she began to
shake. Another few moments, and she began to cry. She was still crying when
the four UT police officers arrived.
CHAPTER 22
JESS STILL SEEMED SKITTISH hours after being attacked by Craig Willis s
mother. If anything could soothe her, I figured, it would be a quiet dinner at
By the Tracks Bistro.
By the Tracks was named for the railroad tracks that passed dish-rattlingly
close to its original location. The restaurant had started small, but quickly
won a devoted customer base through a combination of great food, attentive ser
vice, quiet ambience, stylish décor, and only slightly painful prices. It had
long since outgrown its small beginnings and trackside location, but the name
had stuck. Year in, year out, By the Tracks remained arguably Knoxville s best
restaurant. Not its most expensive that superlative belonged to the Orangery,
a classic, chichi French restaurant a few blocks away. But I d never found the
Orangery particularly relaxing: every time I ate there, gussied up in my
Sunday best, I half expected to be judged, found wanting, and tossed out as
riffraff halfway through my meal. At By the Tracks, on the other hand, I could
wander in without a reservation, wearing faded jeans and a polo shirt, and be
certain of a warm welcome and a delicious meal. Their entrées ranged from
basil-stuffed trout over Israeli couscous, at the fancy end of the spectrum,
to the biggest and best sirloin burger in town, maybe in all of Tennessee.
Within five minutes after we settled into a booth, Jess was sipping a
Cosmopolitan and visibly relaxing. Another drink, a half hour, and half a
bacon cheeseburger later, she was smiling and laughing. My hope was that by
the end of the meal I might be able to persuade her to stay at my house, but I
didn t want to pressure her that might undo all the good the meal had done so
I kept the conversation light. I couldn t resist telling her how beautiful and
thrilling she had been the other night; she blushed and looked shy at the
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compliments. But she did not look displeased.
We had just gotten a crème brûlée for dessert, plus a coffee for Jess, when I
saw her eyes lock onto something in the direction of the bar. Her expression
froze; it seemed to contain equal measures of pain, fear, and fury. Jess, I
said, what s wrong? I turned and scanned the bar but saw nothing amiss.
It s Preston, she said. My ex. He s sitting over there at the bar. He s
been watching us. That son of a bitch is stalking me.
I turned again. This time, I vaguely recalled having met the man at the corner
of the bar once, several years earlier, at a forensic conference. He was a
lawyer a prosecutor, if memory served, which is probably how he and Jess first
connected. Do you want me to go tell him to get lost?
No, she said. I need to deal with this. She pushed away the crème brûlée,
drew a deep breath, and set her jaw. Then she slid out of the booth and
stormed over to the bar. I would not want to be in his shoes right about now,
I thought. Jess s hands flashed angrily as she spoke; I couldn t hear any of
her words, but her tone carried, and it was not happy. I saw him shake his
head vigorously, as if denying something that he had followed her? and then he
seemed to go on the offensive. He pointed at me, and for a while they both
sounded mad. Then his tone turned pleading, and her tone softened. She sat
down on a barstool beside him. By now I was staring openly at the two of them;
for her part, Jess was looking intently at his face. He reached up and wiped
his eyes. She wiped hers.
Jess stayed at the bar for ten minutes going on eternity. When she finally
came back to the booth, she would not meet my eyes. She sat down gingerly, as
if the seat were wired with explosives. She didn t speak. Talk to me, Jess,
I said.
He s in town for a DA s conference, she said. Bob Roper, the Knox County
DA, recommended this place. He swears he would never have come here if he d
had any inkling I d be here with a date. She glanced up at me briefly, then
dropped her eyes again. I believe what he said.
Every alarm I had was ringing like crazy. What else did he say, Jess? You
seem more upset, in a pulled-in sort of way, than you did when you thought he
was following you. I realized what my intuition was telling me. You ve just
left me, haven t you? We barely got started, and it s already over. Is that
it?
This time she faced me squarely. She was crying a little, but she either
didn t notice or didn t care. Dammit, Bill, you re the last person I would
ever want to hurt. You are the kindest, sweetest, smartest, most loving man I
know. What you gave me the other night made me feel alive, and loved, and
desired again for the first time in a long, long while. It was so lovely, and
so healing. And maybe this is just a bump in the road. She drew a deep breath
and shook her head. I thought I was done with him, but now I m not so sure.
Shit, the guy still gets to me. Look what this one chance encounter has done
to me. She gave me a small, sad smile. The irony is, I could probably be
happier with you. Preston doesn t actually like me all that much. And when I m
with him, I don t like me all that much. She gave me the half smile again,
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