Chapter 2

When his shift ended at two, he went home. Callie, the mixed-breed stray cat he’d adopted, greeted him at the front door as if he’d been gone forever. He laughed, picking her up to pet her. “I take it your food bowl is half empty, meaning truly empty as far as you’re concerned.” Setting her down, he went to top it off with more dry food, then headed to the bedroom to change into jeans and a T-shirt. He hung up his work slacks, remembering at the last second to retrieve the note from the pocket. After reading it again, he stuffed it in the top drawer of his dresser with the others before returning to the living room.

“Not today, Callie,” Jim said, lifting her off his desk chair. “I have work to do.”

She looked as if she was going to debate that, then strolled across the room to settle in the corner of the sofa.

Taking a drawing pad from a desk drawer, Jim opened it to the sketch he’d been working on for one of the costumes for the upcoming show at the Onyx, where he worked during the week. He studied it for a minute, shook his head, and made a couple of changes. “That works better. Let’s just hope his majesty agrees. His majestywas Ken, the show’s director, a man in his mid-fifties who had been with the theater well before Jim had joined the company. Generally calm and collected, Ken had his moments when he went the other direction. “Like when I show him my designs,” Jim grumbled under his breath. They seemed to butt heads at least a couple of times for each show—if not more. In the end, they’d come to an agreement, generally with Ken grudgingly telling Jim that his designs were excellent, “as always.”

It was getting dark when Jim eventually came up for air. He had added colors to the designs, making notes at the bottom of each one on what fabrics he’d had in mind to use for the costume, from the supply he had at hand at the theater. He’d cut swatches Tuesday morning, before showing Ken what he’d come up with.

“Eight? Already? No wonder I’m hungry.” He went into the kitchen to see what he could make to eat. Nothing appealed to him, even though he’d gone grocery shopping only two days earlier and had plenty to choose from.

Callie had trailed after him, and now sat by her bowl, staring mournfully up at him. He opened a can of wet food, scooped it into her dish, then went to change into a T-shirt that didn’t look as if he’d owned it since before the turn of the century. With that done, he put his wallet and keys in his pockets and then left the apartment, making certain the door had locked behind him.

“So, what doI feel like?” he asked himself when he was in his car. After a moment’s thought, he decided on Laterza’s, his favorite Italian restaurant, which was about five blocks away. Maybe I should walk, to work off what I’m going to eat. Hell, why not? Getting out of the car, he set off on foot, enjoying the cool September evening.

“You live,” Beth, the hostess, said when he entered the restaurant.

Jim laughed. “I do, and I’m starving.”

“Then you came to the right place.” She grinned, then escorted him to a table for two along the side wall of the main dining room, handing him a menu. When the waitress came over, Jim asked for a glass of red house wine, and an order of lasagna with a salad on the side. She came back quickly with the wine, and while he sipped it, he watched the other people—mostly couples in twos or fours, with a smattering of singles.

One man caught Jim’s eye because he looked seriously lonely. His thin shoulders were slumped as he stared at the book he was reading, holding it in one hand while he ate with the other. Every once in a while he’d glance up when laughter or loud conversation from another table caught his attention, looking longingly at the people involved. Then he’d push his glasses back up on his nose and return to his reading, looking even lonelier.

Jim felt sorry for him, not that he’d do anything about it. He wasn’t the kind of guy who willingly introduced himself to someone he didn’t know—except when he was waiting tables. Then, it came naturally as part of the job.

By the time his dinner arrived, the guy Jim had been covertly watching was finished with his. He flagged down the waitress, paid, then left the restaurant. At least Jim presumed he had, since he didn’t see him leave. He was too busy eating his own meal, which was as good as he remembered from previous visits.