Chapter Twenty-nine
I TOLD THE BATON Rouge homicide detectives what I had seen but left out any mention of Julian. The next morning, which was Saturday, I drove to the hotel where Penelope was staying. I used the lobby phone and asked her to have breakfast with me in the dining room.
“Your voice,” she said.
“What about it?”
“You sound tense.”
“It’s a lovely day,” I said. “Toggle on down.”
“Toggle?” she said.
Fifteen minutes later, she walked into the dining room. She had on a pink sundress and a broad straw hat, the kind Scarlett O’Hara might have worn. “Why the flowers?” she said.
I handed her the bouquet of roses I had just bought at the florist not far from the Shadows. “Let’s order, then talk,” I said.
The waitress came to our table and wrote down our order, then smiled at the roses and left.
“So tell me,” Penelope said.
“Would you like to get married?”
“With whom?”
I looked out the window at the cars entering and leaving the four-lane. “Take a guess.”
“You?”
“I’ve never had to seek humility,” I said. “It always finds me.”
“You’re asking me to marry you?”
I watched the waitress filling our coffeepot at the service counter. She had auburn hair and the strong young body of a working-class Cajun girl.
“Unless you’re thinking of doing something this weekend,” I said.
“Because your conscience bothers you?”
“Good enough for a romance, good enough for a ring,” I said.
“I appreciate what you’re doing, Dave, but we may not be right for each other.”
“It was just a thought.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone like you.”
“You’ve probably been lucky,” I replied. I put a twenty-dollar bill on the tablecloth.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yep, see you around.”
I walked through the revolving glass door and out into the sunshine. But not fast enough.
“You’re not going to just walk away from me like that,” she said at my back.
“No offense intended,” I said.