Eye of the Beholder (7 page)

“Of course not.”

“Did everyone make it in?”

“Uh-huh.
I
can tell they’re dragging, but it’s business as usual.”

“Were you able to get your car?”

“Sure, after I paid a whopping parking fee.”

“Better than a whopping fine—or a serious accident. You were in no condition to take the wheel.”

“I know. You’re a prince. And that Ellen’s one lucky lady. By the way, did she close the book deal with the publisher?”

“Actually, no. It fell through.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I think she’s holding out for something better. Oh, I almost forgot … I guess you heard about the boat the Coast Guard seized this morning between Seaport and Port Smyth?”

“No, what boat?”

“The one masquerading as a fishing boat and carrying materials for making suicide bombs. The latest report is that a surface-to-air missile was also discovered on board. The Coast Guard took five Arab men into custody. It’s all over the news. You might want to turn on the radio.”

“Where have
I
been? No one in the office mentioned it so I doubt if they’ve heard anything either. I’ll go turn on the radio. Thanks for the heads up.”

“Sure. You need me for anything?”

“Not yet. I’ll call if I do.”

“Okay, I’ve got to get back to work.”

“Thanks again for keeping me out of trouble last night.”

Guy smiled. “See you Monday.”

He hung up the phone and heard a gentle knock at the door. “Come in.”

The door opened and Ellen stood in the doorway. “Sorry to bother you. Do you want spicy shrimp pasta or grilled chicken for dinner?”

Feeling guilty, are you?
“Pasta sounds good. Heavy on the spicy. Did Mina’s husband come home?”

Ellen shook her head. “Not yet. I can’t imagine the FBI will hold him much longer. None of the men they arrested were Iranian.”

“Need I remind you that al-Qaeda is an equal opportunity recruiter throughout the Arab world?”

“Mina said the Iranian people are Persian, not Arab. And their two cultures are as different as the United States and Mexico.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, Muslims stick together.”

Ellen glared at him. “Not every Muslim supports the violence.”

“No, just the throngs taking to the streets and burning the U.S. flag and effigies of our president.”

“That’s a small percentage. And you don’t see American Muslims taking to the streets.”

“Only because they’re outnumbered. Any way you slice it, your befriending the Tehranis will be perceived as anti-American.”

Ellen folded her arms tightly, her mouth a rigid line. “I resent the implication that my friendship with them somehow makes me disloyal. You don’t know anything about them.”

“Why would I want to?”

Ellen exhaled loudly. “That kind of narrow thinking is part of the problem.”

“Oh, so now it’s
my
fault?”

“Guy, don’t let this complex issue come between us. I loathe the violence as much as you do. But it’s ludicrous to turn my back on the Tehranis just because they’re Iranian.”

“You keep dancing around the fact that they’re also Muslim. Have you taken a good look at the news lately? These people are crazed and out of touch with the real world. You can’t trust any of them!”

“That’s an unfounded generalization, Counselor, and you know it!”

“Then they’d better clean out the mosques because that’s sure how it looks!” Guy looked down at the stack of papers on his desk. “I need to get back to work.”

“I’m curious what impression you think Muslims have of Christians?”

“I really don’t care.”

“Not even that they perceive the U.S. to be a Christian nation—and therefore our moral decline a by-product of Christianity?”

“Why do you always have to analyze things to death? We’re supposed to hate evil. Can’t you just leave it at that?”

“We’re also supposed to love our neighbors as ourselves. What if I’m the only Christian Mina and Ali ever know? How will they know what true Christianity is all about if I don’t model it?”

“Oh, please. Muslims are just waiting for the chance to shove their entire twisted belief system down
our
throats. If they can’t convert us, they’ll destroy us. Why do you think the FBI doesn’t care if Mina and her husband are Iranian or Saudi or Pakistani or Iraqi—only that they’re Muslim?”

“Fine! Then let the FBI determine if the Tehranis are a threat to our national security!
My
job is to treat them the way
I
would want to be treated!”

Guy put on his reading glasses and picked up the paper on top of the stack on his desk. “If you’re finished with your tirade, I need to get back to work.”

“Just one more thing,
Counselor
. You were relentless when I incorrectly judged Ross Hamilton guilty of sexual child abuse. You told me to weigh the facts, that feelings couldn’t be trusted. May I suggest you follow your own advice?”

Gordy tiptoed into the kitchen at the crab shack and came up behind Pam and put his arms around her, his cheek next to hers. “How come I always find you out here?”

She rested her back against his chest. “I love being in the kitchen. It’s therapeutic.”

“Therapeutic, eh? Well, far be it from me to deprive my
future bride of needed therapy. What smells so good?”

“I just took my fruit pies out of the oven.”

“So that’s what you’ve been up to?”

She nodded. “Three different kinds. Plus triple chocolate mousse cake and my special pineapple bread pudding. I thought we might try adding more variety to our dessert menu.”

“What’s wrong with Key lime pie?”

“Nothing. It’s delicious. But our regular customers might order dessert more often if they had additional options.”

“Hmm … you’re right. Smart thinkin’.”

Pam turned around, her arms around his neck. “Gordy, be honest with me. If you’d rather I stay out of the kitchen and spend my time out front with customers, I will.”

“Nah. I just like showin’ you off. I want you to find where you fit since you’re gonna be the other half of this ownership soon.”

“I enjoy greeting customers for a while. I really do. But I love rolling up my sleeves. There’s just something about having flour up to my elbows … I’m in my element.”

“Okay, darlin’. Fine with me. I’m just happy to have you here. Those pies any good?”

Pam smiled, her blue eyes twinkling. “Made from my grandmother’s state fair blue ribbon recipes. Cherry, mixed berry, and peach.”

“I’d better have a taste of all three with a big scoop of vanilla ice cream. Maybe a little of that chocolate cake and some of that bread puddin’, too.”

Pam gently patted his middle. “You can’t make a habit of this if you want to fit into that Hawaiian shirt we bought for the wedding.”

“Yeah, I know. But I should sample whatever we’re promotin’, right?” Gordy picked up her hand and pressed his lips to it. “Just give me a smidgen of everything.”

He watched as she took a small plate and began to fill it with samplings of the desserts she had made.

“By the way,” he said, “I listened to the radio a few minutes ago. The men the Coast Guard captured had definite links to al-Qaeda. Looks like they were usin’ that big fishin’ boat to store stuff to make bombs. But the surface-to-air missile really has authorities rattled. I guess that thing can knock out a commercial jet pretty easily.”

“Gives me cold chills. I remember watching a program not too long ago about that kind of weapon being available on the black market. I doubt this is the
only
one.”

“Yeah, makes you wonder what else is out there and who’s plannin’ to use it.”

“Did you ever get a hold of Will?”

“I left a couple messages on his voice mail, but he hasn’t called back. I’m sure every available cop’s been pulled into this thing.”

Pam put a scoop of ice cream on the pie slivers and handed the plate and a fork to Gordy. “We’ve all been waiting for the other shoe to drop since 9/11. I hope and pray this isn’t it.”

 6
 

O
n Thursday night, Gordy Jameson was just turning off the eleven o’clock news when the doorbell rang. He put down the remote and went to the door. Through the screen he saw Will Seevers standing on the stoop.

“I knew you’d be up,” Will said. “Mind if I come in and unwind before I go home?”

Gordy pushed open the door. “Course not. I’ve been waitin’ for you to return my calls. You just gettin’ off work?”

“Yeah. Do you believe this mess with the boat?”

“Still tryin’ to absorb it all. Let’s go out to the kitchen. You want a Coke?”

“Sounds good.”

Gordy grabbed two cans of Coke out of the refrigerator, then sat at the table and handed one to Will. “I’ve got a few questions.”

“Fire away. But I probably don’t know any more than you’re already hearing on the news—not that the feds would tell a lowly police chief much else anyway.”

Gordy fiddled with the saltshaker. “How’d the Coast Guard know to seize the boat? From what I saw, it looks like a run o’ the mill fishin’ boat.”

“No one’s saying, Gordy. But someone must’ve tipped them off. The feds are being really closed-mouthed. Gripes me to be out of the loop with this thing so close to my turf.”

“Is it true these guys are linked to al-Qaeda?”

“Yeah, at least one of them’s wanted in connection with 9/11.”

Gordy glanced up at the picture of Pam and him that he’d
stuck under a magnet on the refrigerator. “Then I suppose the town’s gonna be crawlin’ with feds tryin’ to figure out where these guys were operatin’ from?”

“Count on it. They’re concentrating on the neighborhood around the mosque.”

“I’ve got customers who live in that neighborhood. They seem real nice.”

“Yeah, well, this is the wrong time to be too trusting.”

“Or too paranoid. The Muslims I know don’t go along with the violence.”

“Really? Try getting them to denounce it. Wanna bet they won’t?”

There was a long pause.

“Sorry, Gordy. I didn’t mean to take my frustration out on you. But after what happened today, I’ve got an eleven-year-old holed up at home because she’s afraid some suicide bomber might be outside. Makes me want to gather up all the Arabs and ship them back where they came from.”

“We start doin’ that and it won’t be the same America anymore.”

Will took a gulp of Coke. “Let’s talk about something more pleasant. How’re the wedding plans coming?”

“Great. Pam’s doin’ most of the plannin’. All I’m responsible for is the rings, the preacher, and the best man. Which reminds me, your shirt came in. I’ll give it to you before you leave.”

Will chuckled. “I can’t believe you’re really going to have us wear Hawaiian shirts.”

“Why? We’d suffocate in suits. Would look pretty dumb with Birkenstocks, too.”

“Hey, you get no complaints from me. Do you realize the wedding’s two weeks from Saturday? You getting cold feet?”

“Nah, warm as toast. I’m so ready to be married again. After Jenny died, I didn’t think I could love anyone else. Then to find Pam … well, I can’t thank you and Margaret enough for fixin’ us up.”

“We’ve gotten a kick out of it, too. Really, Gordy, it’s great to see you so happy.”

“I just hope all this terrorist stuff doesn’t throw a big monkey wrench into the turnout.”

“Why would it?”

“I dunno. People might feel a little vulnerable congregatin’ on the beach after what was found on that boat. Plus, if the feds are gonna be here knockin’ on doors, the media’s not gonna be far behind. You remember what it was like when the Hamilton girl was missin’? This place was overrun with media. It was a big pain in the neck.”

“Well, on the upside, at least you’ll have more customers. The media always sniffs out the good places to eat.”

Gordy spun the lazy Susan and watched the condiments go round and round. “Will, you think there’s gonna be a problem with Dr. Tehrani bein’ at the wedding?”

“That Iraqi oncologist who was so nice to Jenny?”

“He’s Iranian.”

“I don’t know, Gordy. I sure don’t want to shake hands with any of those people right now. Maybe others feel the same way.”