The Girl Wearing Yellow

Prologue

It was the blue jay diving out of the pine grove that started it all. The Steller’s jay, its blue plumage glistening in the sun, swooped down toward the picnic table, aiming for the unattended tray of French fries.

I had arrived in Lake Tahoe just yesterday, driving up into the mountains from San Francisco in my little rental car. Winter still held the Sierras in its grip and as I’d made my way up the twisting roads, dirty snow had edged the road and my tires had made a gritty rumbling on the slushy blacktop. In the shade of the huge boulders below me and up against the base of the tall pines, clean white snow lay in shadowed patches. The afternoon sun had flickered through the trunks of the trees like the frames of an old silent movie.

Today, I was playing tourist, wandering around the shops and restaurants and enjoying the sunshine and the scent of pine. I had paused outside a small shop, all uneven wood floors and mossy roof, to examine a selection of colorful hand-blown glass jewelry arranged on a small table. The flash of wings and a hoarse ‘caw’ drew my eyes toward the small A-frame hamburger stand next door. The hand-carved sign over the order window identified it as ‘Bill’s Burgers’.

As the bird landed on the weathered wood table and plucked a fry from the cardboard tray, the young woman at the table looked up from her cell phone with an annoyed frown.

“Hey!” she yelled, her voice echoing off the buildings. “Get away! Shoo!” she waved her hand angrily, but the bold bird simply hopped sideways away from her flailing fingers, the limp French fry dangling from his beak.

“Gabe!” the woman called, “Make this damn bird leave my food alone!”

Her companion, who had been standing at the counter filling two small paper cups with ketchup, turned toward the table. As he hurried across the short space between the counter and the table, I must have moved or maybe made a sound, something to draw his attention, because he looked over in my direction, and our eyes met.

An unexpected sense of awareness tingled down my spine. Under dark brows, his eyes were black, piercing, challenging. I was mesmerized, the bracelet I’d been admiring falling unnoticed from my fingers. Ignoring his companion, he started to take a step toward me.

“Gabe!” the woman wailed. “This damn bird is driving me crazy!”

Those dark eyes closed briefly as if in pain as the man turned back to the woman, some strong emotion tightening his mouth and stiffening his shoulders.

I shook off the hypnotizing effect of his glance, stooped to pick up the bracelet and replaced it on the table. I continued to pretend to browse the shop’s wares, all the while covertly watching the couple, who seemed to be having a major spat, albeit one conducted in voices too low for me to overhear.

Just as I decided it was time to stop being a voyeur and move on, the woman stood up, and with an aim that would be the envy of many a major league pitcher, tossed her uneaten hamburger at the man, hitting him squarely in the chest.

“That’s what I think of you and your stupid ‘termination clause!’” she cried, before grabbing her cell phone and storming off up the street, her sandals slapping the pavement at every step. As she hurried down the sidewalk, she narrowly missed running into a trio of young women huddled in a doorway, giggling and whispering to each other. In her wake, even more giggling ensued, accompanied by a middle-finger salute. 

 Her companion watched her go, making no effort to follow. Instead, expressionless, he calmly brushed sesame seeds and bits of chopped lettuce off his black T-shirt, and then stood to gather the trash and throw it away.

Quickly, I ducked inside the souvenir shop, hovering near the front window until I was sure he was gone. Once he was out of sight, I made my way quickly down the sidewalk in the opposite direction, trying to shake off the strange sense of recognition for a man I’d never met.