Come See Me, and Come Lonely

Come See Me...

I'm not sure what I was expecting. He was younger than I had thought he'd be. Of course, I had come to know him over the months but somehow I had always pictured him as a much older man, perhaps bordering on his sixties. This man couldn't have been more than forty-five? Forty-eight, tops. And tall. Much taller than me, towering at least four or five inches over me, perhaps more. He was certainly dressed for the punishing northern Scottish coast. That was the next thing I noticed about him, a smile slowly curling the corner of my mouth as I curiously looked him up and down. He was wearing worn jeans and brown hiking boots, a gray woolen sports coat over a dark green vee-neck sweater, the crisp, white collar of a button-down shirt just peeking out.

The hand that enveloped mine was warm, large, and soft. A capable hand. A wonderful hand to have holding yours, that is if you could forget the fact that this was probably the same hand that had also held a 9 mm Glock all those months ago. The eyes were warm and crinkled at the corners when he smiled. In fact, his whole face smiled, he had the loveliest, toothiest grin it caused his cheeks to fold back in deep dimples, his rather prominent nose to crinkle slightly, and his whole face to light up like the sun when he looked at me.

I was completely speechless as he clasped my hand tightly but did not shake it. A gentleman, I thought to myself. Dimly, somewhere in the back of my mind I remembered someone was telling me that a gentleman never shakes a lady's hand but clasps it tightly in his. Somehow it did not surprise me that he followed this archaic, courtly rule.

This tall, dangerous stranger, however, wasn't speechless at all.

"Ms. Mallory," he said in a deep, velvety voice with that tough-as-nails South Jersey accent that I had been expecting. "I can't tell you what an honor it is to finally meet you. The mind behind all those wonderful stories. Thank you for allowing me to intrude on your writer's retreat."

I saw those warm, dark eyes take a surreptitious glance around at our surroundings, the tiny little bothy in which I was staying. A bed in the corner, a shabby, velvet Davenport that had once been red but was now faded to a salmon pink in front of the fireplace and a small kitchenette with a small round table and two chairs. That was it. Spare and basic, but quite cozy, remote, and intimate. I suddenly felt a sliver of misgiving. What had I been thinking?

I cleared my throat. "The pleasure is all mine Mr...," I began.

He looked quickly back at me. "Please. Luke."

I finally was able to smile and laughed a little breathlessly. "Of course. Luke. And you...uh, may call me Clara." I quickly extracted my hand to step back, my heart my throat.

He had to duck his head to get through the door of the tiny dwelling the ancient wooden floors creaking ominously under his boots in a way they had not when I tread them.

"Sorry," I apologize with a vague gesture around the place. "It's not very much..."

My words trailed off into silence as I turned to him again. He was staring at me with a kind of scrutiny so intense I could feel myself melting into the floor, looking down at my shoes, not wanting him to find anything within me that was lacking with whatever image he had built up in his mind of me.

"It's charming," he said, and once again that deep voice seemed to reach deep within me with soft, caressing fingers. "Just the thing, am I right?"

I nodded, looking around with a nervous smile. Anything to break eye contact with this man. "It's certainly been... inspiring." I looked back up at him, my eyebrows raised. "So, how have things been?"

What an incongruous question considering the circumstances. Still...it was what one asked company, wasn't it? Even if that company was a...I swallowed hard, trying to mentally suppress the word.

His grin was slow and easy as breathing as he took a confident step towards me. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes leaving mine for the first time since I had opened the door, studying the floor between us. "To tell you the truth, Clara dear, I've been kind of counting down the days." He met my eye again with a kind of shy and hopeful, almost boyish smile.

I huffed in amusement and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, me too." And then my feet seemed to move of their own volition as I closed the distance between us.

***

One year earlier....

Luke Vincent
2200 A South Pomona Rd.
Pomona, NJ

Dear Ms. Mallory:

I hope you don't mind me writing to you via your publishers. It says on the book jacket that you live in the Atlanta area, but that's a big place, so I figured this was the best way to make sure you got my letter.

I have just finished reading your new book Bullet Proof and I had to write and tell you how much I enjoyed it. Since finding that book, I've been looking for the rest of the Cara Friday detective series. I located your first book, Dead in the Water, in a used bookstore, and I hope to acquire first editions of all your works. In hardcover yet, which is something I don't do for many authors.

I especially liked the scene in Bullet Proof in which Cara's preppy boyfriend, Bradley, turns out to be the killer, and as he's attacking our heroine, he falls out the window of the apartment when he trips over Cara's cat, Jamaica. Excellent touch.

Anyhow, Ms. Mallory, you do good work. So I wanted to write and tell you that you have a satisfied customer, and that I'm looking forward to Cara's next adventure, which I'm sure you're working on even as I write.

Here's wishing you the best of luck and continued success.

Sincerely,
Luke Vincent

***

C.J Mallory
P.O. Box 2571
Peachtree City, GA

Dear Mr. Vincent:

Thank you very much for your kind letter about my books. It's always nice to hear from readers. It's nice to have readers. I'm glad you liked Bullet Proof. It's one of my favorites, not only because it went book club, but also because I got some rage out of my system towards an old... acquaintance, shall we say? I don't think libel comes into it, because unfortunately, he didn't trip over a cat and fall out of window. But I certainly enjoyed writing the scene and picturing him taking the plunge. Getting paid for it was just a bonus.

Thanks again for writing!

Feloniously yours,
Clara J. Mallory