Part 7 (1/2)

”In two. Episode defined her life. Gal wouldn't be a bad catch. Just a snag, or two, come to think of it. Height differences might be too extreme. Make an odd-looking pair, me eighteen inches shorter.”

”That's a shallow reason for eliminating someone.”

Fran retrieved a stuffed animal from her desktop menagerie, a purple penguin, and squeezed it distractedly. ”Have to consider the practical aspect, Kris. s.e.x could be a problem. Bodies wouldn't fit together nicely. Too much of a workout, at my age, scooting up and down all the time.”

”I'm sure you could get in shape. Weightlifting, cardio training,” I said without a hint of sarcasm as I picked at a loose thread in my polo s.h.i.+rt and silently debated whether to make a run to Einstein's or Bruegger's for lunch. Caesar salad with a garlic bagel twist or sesame bagel with salsa cream cheese and tomatoes and cuc.u.mbers. One restaurant shared s.p.a.ce with Starbucks, which meant an iced mocha. The other was around the corner from Jamba Juice, home of the orange cream smoothie.

Fran's reply intruded into my culinary reverie. ”Don't know about the blue tint, though.”

My head jerked up. ”In her hair?”

”Skin. Round the time of Y-Two-K, drank a potion to protect her from disease. Made her own concoction by electrically charging silver wires in a gla.s.s of water. Now she's permanently discolored.”

I suppressed a laugh. ”Dark blue?”

”Baby blue,” Fran said matter-of-factly. ”Nice personality, though. Better than the alpaca farmer. Had to hear all about twenty-two colors of fleece. Dullsville! Lives on ten acres near Evergreen, building a herd. Not too compatible with my downtown lifestyle. Good-looking gal, though. Earthy. More chemistry there than with the one who sues people, that's for sure.”

”You met a lawyer?” I said, impressed.

Fran discarded the toothpick and sucked her teeth. ”Professional plaintiff. First car accident bought her a new house and trip to Italy. Second, lost sensation in her left foot but won a three-year sabbatical from teaching. Imagine that lifestyle, making yourself as disabled as possible.”

”You're a tough critic.”

”You ain't heard the half of it. Immediately crossed off the woman who wanted to paint turkey bones and sell 'em as Santa sleighs. Prayed for the timer to go off. Scampered out of my seat so fast, I knocked over a cup of coffee and a chair. Soakin' wet and got a s.h.i.+ner on my s.h.i.+n. Started me at a disadvantage with the bombsh.e.l.l who works for Denver Department of Health and Hospitals.”

I did neck rolls, clockwise circles.

My inattention caught Fran's attention. ”You listening?”

I grimaced when I felt a jolt of pain in my neck. As I kneaded the area, I said impatiently, ”You met a bombsh.e.l.l.”

”Sure did. Checks out houses and apartments for unsafe or unsanitary conditions. Better not let her near your place, Kris.”

”Funny,” I said, not amused by the somewhat accurate implication.

”She's got a nose that can smell the difference between rats and mice. Loves her work. More trash, the better. Gets to see progress after she issues a citation.”

Fran retrieved a quarter from a ceramic b.u.t.terfly dish and used it to buy a gumball from her desktop machine. She offered me a coin, but I declined. I'd chewed through three gumb.a.l.l.s earlier in the day, and my jaw was sore.

”True advocate for the poor, the disenfranchised, the mentally ill. Heads into the worst nooks and crannies of Denver and never feels fear. Might care about her work a tad too much.”

”Did you put her on your list?”

She smiled brightly. ”First name. Reminded me of myself a little.”

I cast a disapproving glance. ”Your favorite out of the five women you met is the one who's the most like you?”

”You got it,” Fran said, unabashed, as she cracked her gum. ”Last minute, added the tall, blue lady to the docket. But I have to see if that blue skin glows in the dark. Better check it out in a movie theater. Might ruin the mood between the sheets.”

”That would be a deal-killer?”

Fran blew a giant bubble and sucked it in successfully, leaving no residue on her lips or cheeks. ”Got that right!”

”When will you find out if you have a match?”

”End of business today. The organizer'll send an e-mail. For now, I'm headed back to the homestead. Need to get started on the transcription.”

”Good luck.”

”Thanks, kiddo.” Fran gathered her belongings and was halfway out the door before she added, ”Weird feeling, waiting to see if my life's going to change.”

”Tell me about it. Call me when you know something.”

”Will do. Meanwhile, I plan to have that transcription available for your perusal in the morning.”

Perfect.

Knowing Fran Green's two-finger typing, I calculated the transcription would take all afternoon and evening, forcing her to skip a round of following Carolyn O'Keefe.

Which meant she wouldn't see me!

At six o'clock, I was at the Botanic Gardens, trying to see without king seen.

I'd come in disguise, but nothing elaborate enough to hold up under close scrutiny.

Behind a vine-covered trellis, crouched against a marble bench, I watched the main stage of activity at the Urban Teens fund-raiser. Most patrons, dressed in summer casual, had gathered in a large square of gra.s.s sunken below the surrounding stone pathways. In the center of the lawn, servers dispensed beer, wine and soda from a drinks cart.

On the level where I stood, three tents sheltered overflowing banquet tables. One area was dedicated to salads: almond cherry chicken salad, lemon crab salad, smoked duck and mango salad and cuc.u.mber shrimp salad. I didn't hesitate to eat the richest food in the world, in support of some of the poorest citizens of Denver.

After sampling the salads, I made my way to the appetizer station and consumed prosciutto-wrapped asparagus tips, roast beef with caramelized onion glaze, ham with red onion marmalade and goat cheese and chive tea sandwiches. I topped off those by lavis.h.i.+ng crackers with artichoke, black olive and sun-dried tomato spreads. I avoided the crab legs and chilled prawns, but not much else escaped my grasp.

At the third table, I set up a long-term stakeout. Devoted to all manner of desserts, I figured, accurately, that it wouldn't attract a crowd until later. Also, Destiny had sworn off sweets, and I wanted to avoid her and the certain confrontation that would have erupted if we b.u.mped into each other.

While all of the desserts on the table tempted, I saved my desire for two chocolate fountains, dark and light streams of joy. From stainless steel apparatuses, warm chocolate cascaded down six levels of heaven. Unable to choose between happiness and too much happiness, I waded in both. I dipped pound cake, sponge cake and yellow cake, particularly enjoying wedges of cheese blintz. I sampled cherries, strawberries and raspberries and added frozen bananas, cubes of vanilla ice cream and chilled meringue b.a.l.l.s. Ignoring glares from the caterers, I threw in cashews and homemade potato chips from an adjoining table.

I spent more than an hour alternating between snacking and watching ladies in stilettos drop into the gra.s.sy area, often missing the arms of their well-intentioned escorts.

Finally, when my stomach felt bloated beyond relief, Carolyn O'Keefe appeared with an entourage.

For some time, I watched her work the crowd with skill and ease. In every cl.u.s.ter of people, she seemed to know someone well enough to hug- That person generally introduced her to others, and she shook each stranger's hand with a double-handed clasp, making direct eye contact before release. She listened intently, eyebrows arched upward with interest, mouth turned downward in rest, until her thin lips broke into one of her frequent, charming smiles. If a monologue dragged, the smile froze and her eyelids opened and closed rapidly. In a few instances, she glanced at her watch, but most of her exits were seamless works of art.

She often gestured with her hands, waving them in counterclockwise motions, fingers stretched out.

And that's what I drew a bead on, her slender fingers.