by Holmes, Dee
“Every question isn’t nosy, Kathleen. Perhaps I’m just interested in getting to know you.”
She clasped her hands. “I’m sorry. I was being flip, and it wasn’t the Juilliard. I just said that because it’s where every music major dreams of going. I went to a Midwest college in Missouri.”
He nodded. “Are you good?”
“I’m very good.”
“Play something for me.”
“Now?”
“Why not?” Booth settled onto the couch, stretched his legs out and said, “Unless you’d rather kiss me again. You’re damn good at that, too.”
She gave him a withering look as she slid onto the piano bench. “You’re not going to let it go, are you?”
“My one sweet memory with you, sweets. I want to treasure it.”
She plunged her fingers down on the keys. “For God’s sake, Booth...”
He held up his palms, indicating he’d let it go. “Okay, okay, but it’s tough to square a kiss like that with the fact that you didn’t even want to be friends a few days ago.”
For an instant she looked stricken, then she flexed her fingers, placing them on the keys again. “Maybe that was a little hasty,” she murmured.
And before he could respond to that, she began to play. Booth settled back, relaxing, fingers tented, tucking her comment into the back of his mind to consider later.
He had no idea what the music was, aside from a vague recollection of something similar at a concert he’d gone to in junior high. At the time, he’d been more into the Rolling Stones than Bach or Beethoven. Then he’d been bored and itchy. Now he was drawn in as irresistibly as he would be if she crawled into his lap and kissed him again. Her piano selection was classical, complicated, and her skill at the keyboard far surpassed “very good.” He listened, even closing his eyes for a few moments as the music rolled through him.
When she’d finished, and sat with her hands in her lap, he was struck by how relieved she seemed. As if playing had been some kind of catharsis.
“Magnificent.”
“Thank you. My mother was very exacting when it came to piano lessons. She was a brilliant pianist.”
“And she taught you?”
She nodded.
He stayed still, thinking, debating and soaking it all in while a random thought took told. He made a mental note to do some checking during the next few days.
He looked at Lisa, who was waking up, and then walked to the piano, where Kathleen was still seated. He noted the name Loretta Brown on the front of the sheet music Kathleen had just played.
He looked down at her and she glanced up, and then, as if fearful he’d see too much in her expression, she looked back down at the keyboard. Booth cupped her chin and tipped her head up. Her eyes were wide blue pools of naked vulnerability.
In that instant, he knew that what he’d just listened to was what she loved more than anything. Which again raised the question of why she wasn’t playing professionally. She lowered her lashes and started to slide from the bench, but he stopped her. For the barest of seconds it felt as if she were fighting his hands.
Immediately he loosened his grip. “When Porky said you played, I assumed it was a few runs up and down the keys and Christmas carols for your family. You have an incredible talent.”
“I’ve always loved the classics.”
“So why aren’t you playing professionally?” he asked bluntly.
“Someday I hope to.”
“Why not now?”
“Because it’s not possible now.” She slid to the other end of the bench and stood. “Lisa is awake.”
Booth was the first to reach Lisa who was trying to climb out of the stroller. He lifted her out and placed her on the floor. Kathleen had moved away from the piano, but Lisa headed straight for it. She pulled herself up, and stretched one hand out to press the keys. For a moment the two adults listened, sharing grimacing smiles.
“I have some shopping to do,” Kathleen said when Lisa lost interest. She held the door for him and Lisa to leave.
Booth wasn’t ready to end this. The kiss, the mysterious mail, her talent at the piano—they all bothered him and he wanted to know more, but at the same time he doubted he’d learn anything here in the apartment. She was much too guarded.
“Would you do me a huge favor?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Depends on what it is.” Then Lisa crawled over to her and put her arms out to be picked up. Kathleen hoisted his daughter onto her hip as if she did it every day. Lisa pointed to Bosco, who had wandered back in and was headed for the kitchen.
“I think you wore Bosco out, sweetheart.” She glanced up at Booth. “What’s the favor?”
“Come with us.”
“Pardon me?”
“I have to go buy food—my least favorite chore. That’s the favor. I could use a hand with Lisa.”
“Why don’t I keep Lisa while you go to the store?”
“I thought you said you had shopping, too.”
“Just the drugstore.”
“Then we’re all set.”
“Booth, really, I don’t think—”
He slipped his hand around the back of her neck and dropped a kiss on her startled mouth. It lasted long enough for him to know that if he continued, she wouldn’t stop him. She tipped her head sideways as though wanting to indulge for a few seconds. He felt the clamor of the pulse behind her ear.
“That wasn’t fair,” she said softly.
“Impulse.”
She didn’t smile, her eyes troubled. “Why are you doing this? Yes, I was too quick to say no to a friendship, but anything more... I don’t want to get involved with you, and you need someone who’s ready for a relationship, someone for Lisa. I have too much going on in my life, too many unresolved issues.”
Booth said nothing, asked nothing and refused to even speculate. It was the first time she’d said so much voluntarily, and he felt as if he’d inadvertently touched on the secrets she held deep within her. He wondered what in hell they were.
“Kisses, babe, and especially the impulsive kind, definitely mean involvement. Then again, what’s to worry about in a food store? Seduction in the produce aisle?”
He felt her relax and then she grinned. “Ice cream.”
“What?”
“I like ice cream. Seduction should definitely take place near the ice cream.”
He stared at her. “I don’t think I’d better touch that,” he said, his voice suddenly husky. “We could be in all sorts of interesting trouble.”
“Exactly the reason I shouldn’t go with you.”
“Live dangerously.”
“I already am,” she murmured, then nodded.
“All right, I’ll go with you. Give me a few minutes to change.”
In fifteen minutes she emerged wearing another sundress, sandals and the light scent of something flowery. She slid a straw bag onto her shoulder while Booth carried Lisa. When they reached the Explorer, he opened the back door and strapped Lisa into the infant carrier. Kathleen climbed into the front seat.
Booth slid behind the wheel, started the engine and pushed the air conditioning to high. He pulled out of the parking spot and headed toward the drug store. Kathleen picked up the items she needed and returned to the car. Then Booth drove to the shopping center. They parked and were in the process of going inside when a uniformed police officer approached.
Kathleen’s steps slowed, her guard immediately in place, wariness evident. It was all too obvious that she didn’t like cops. Was it dislike—or fear? With an eye on her, Booth said, “Hi, George. What’s up?” George peered at Kathleen, nodded in silent greeting, then said to Booth, “Can I talk to you privately?”
Booth said to Kathleen, “Would you hold Lisa?”
She looked as if she were going to bolt, and for a moment he thought she would refuse to take the baby.
“George, give me a second here and I’ll be right with you.”
He took Kathleen
’s arm and urged her a few feet away, so that they were under the store canopy and out of the sun. “What in hell is wrong with you?” he asked in a low, irritated voice. He believed they’d made some progress just moments ago, and now this.
“Nothing.”
“Bull. You’re sweating, and you look as if someone’s going to drag you off to an execution.”
She turned, and Booth stopped her. “No, you’re not. You’re not running off. I want some answers.”
She shook off his hand. “I don’t owe you any answers.”
Booth swore, kicking himself for shutting her down, then swore again.
Kathleen glared at him. “Not very nice language for your daughter to hear.”
Lisa was looking back and forth between the two of them, her eyes wide, her thumb firmly in her mouth.
“We’ll settle this later. Would you mind holding her while I find out what George wants? Or do you want to refuse and make George wonder what’s wrong with you?”
She folded her arms and looked away. “You’re not nearly as nice as everyone said you were.”
“Ah, at last some insight. You’ve been asking around about me. A new topic for discussion. As for being nice, I’m not. I was amused, curious and patient. Now I’m just annoyed.”
“Well, you don’t have to be nice or patient or annoyed with me anymore, because I’m sick of your quizzes and your questions. You’ve asked the last ones today.”
“One more.”
“No,” she snapped.
He asked it anyway. “Will you please hold Lisa while I find out what George wants?”
She took the baby, snuggling her close. “Did you hear what I said?”
“With you, Kathleen, I mostly hear what you don’t say.”
He’d started to walk away when she said, “I mean it, Booth.”
He cursed again under his breath and hurried to where George was leaning against his patrol car. His insides churned, and he dug a roll of antacid tablets from his pocket, popping two into his mouth and crunching down hard.
He sure as hell didn’t need the hassle. And for damn sure, forgetting about her meant he could quit thinking about all the unanswered questions. But he couldn’t get past the sense that she was hiding something. The quick solution would be a police check, yet he resisted the impulse, afraid of stumbling across something he didn’t want to know. Then again, his instincts were telling him to get it done and then deal with the results.
KATHLEEN TOOK A deep breath, got one of the grocery carts equipped with a baby seat and settled Lisa into it. Something had to give, and refusing to see Booth after today would go a long way toward relieving her anxiety.
She couldn’t continue this charade with him. He was suspicious, and rightly so. She was doing weird things because she was trying so hard to appear normal. First there was the kiss, then her comment about the Juilliard. She smiled. She could only wish, but her answer, far-fetched as it was, had stopped the questions. Maybe that was what she should have been doing from the beginning. Making up stories and events that best fit the situation. As it was, she’d taken some basic measures against discovery. Using her mother’s maiden name, keeping a low profile, renting the out-of-town post office box and taking a job where a lot of questions weren’t asked. So many lies. An inner voice whispered, “And you know how much you hate lies.”
Yet, if she had been totally truthful, she’d be arrested, returned to Wyoming and probably locked up for the rest of her life. She had a dilemma, no matter what she said or did.
How instantly her inner warning system had gone off at the approach of George. What did he want with Booth? Had he learned who she was and wanted to tell Booth privately? Had Booth started some process at the Crosby police station to find out about her? Maybe taking her to the store had been planned, and even while she stood here, Booth and George were deciding what to do.
Kathleen shuddered, rubbing at her suddenly chilled arms. Her brother was right; she was becoming paranoid. George’s arrival was probably unrelated to her, but she had reacted nevertheless, and of course, Booth missed nothing.
She brushed Lisa’s curls back from her cheeks. “You, sweetheart, are the cause of all of this, you know that?” Lisa giggled, tugging on Kathleen’s earring. “On second thought, it’s Mavis. If she’d heard you crying that night, then I would never have met your daddy.”
Immediately Lisa said, “Dada.”
“Yes, Daddy. Your too sexy, too good-looking, too curious daddy.”
“Dada.”
She said it again, pointing toward Booth, who even from this distance looked annoyed. Get a grip, she warned herself. You barely know the man, and you’re reading his body language? Kathleen pushed the cart over to a bench of plants in need of watering. One had tiny yellow flowers that made her think of her mother’s window box back on the farm. It had hung outside the kitchen window, and every spring she had gone to the nursery and bought flats of plants to fill it. She blinked away the moisture that suddenly filled her eyes.
“What an adorable little girl.”
Kathleen glanced up at a tall lissome woman wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat and a billowy lime-sherbet-colored dress; she spoke with a slight Southern accent. She looked as if she belonged at a garden party, sipping a mint julep while harp music played.
“Yes, she is,” Kathleen said.
“And she looks just like you, sugar. Pretty hair and that sweet smile. I’ll bet she’s Daddy’s girl, isn’t she?”
“Uh, yes, she is that.”
“You must be very proud of her. Is she your first? Of course, she is. How silly of me. I have a granddaughter in Georgia just about her age.” She pronounced it “Jawgia.” “I usually spend summers up here in New England. I might be a Southerner, but the heat down there is just too much. Your accent doesn’t sound New Englandy.”
“I’m not from here originally.”
“A Midwest cadence, I think,” the woman said thoughtfully. “My Mason and I travel a lot and we hear all kinds of accents. Yours sounds like a friend from... Oh dear, now I can’t remember. Never can keep them all straight.”
“Accents are very different from state to state,” Kathleen said, being deliberately vague. She reminded herself that this had nothing to do with her particular situation, only with the fact that this woman was indeed a stranger.
The woman didn’t seem to notice her vagueness. “And you’re clear over here on the East Coast. Why, I do declare, I bet you have a story, don’t you? You know, we Southerners don’t move a lot. And if we do, it’s not very far. Is your husband from the Midwest, too?”
“I’m not married.”
She looked at Lisa, then touched her fingers to her mouth. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. How gauche of me. I just assumed—”
“We’ve set the wedding for next month,” Booth said from behind her.
The Southern woman turned, her smile broadening, color flushing her cheeks, her voice coquettish. “Why, how wonderful.” She lightly touched his arm. “My hubby tells me I ask too many questions.”
“I’ve been told the same thing,” Booth said, oozing charm. But he was looking at Kathleen. She glared at him, trying to decide whether to murder him here in broad daylight or wait for a private moment.
“Your daughter looks just like her mommy.”
“Yes, she does.”
“And both are beauties.”
“That, too,” Booth said, smiling while Kathleen fumed.
“Oh, there’s my hubby with the car. I have to dash. It’s been so wonderful chatting. You know a lot of New Englanders aren’t as friendly as us Southerners. Your wife—oh, dear, your wife-to-be—even though she’s from the Midwest—has been just delightful. Take care of that lovely baby, and I hope you have a lovely wedding.”
The woman strode off, getting into a car that sat parked about five spaces away.
Kathleen glared at Booth. “She ‘hopes we’ll have a lovely wedding.’”
Booth took the handle of the
cart, grinned at Lisa and turned to push it into the store. “Generally it’s best to have Daddy married to Mommy.”
“How ridiculous, Booth.”
“Hey, I could have said you weren’t her mommy and then she would have been even more embarrassed.”
“You could have said nothing.”
“And miss that murderous look on your face? Catching you wanting to strangle me is becoming an hourly occurrence.” He winked. “Forget it. You’ll never see her again, and I have to admit, Lisa does look a little like you.”
Kathleen rolled her eyes.
He flung an arm around her shoulders, hugging her, then grinning. “Come on, let’s get the food gig done.”
At the deli counter, Booth asked to see the manager. The two women working there grinned and flirted, asking him if he wanted the usual order of sliced roast beef, shaved honey ham and pints of three different cold salads. He said he did, told them to give it to Kathleen and went through a door that said Keep Out.
Oscar Roanquist looked up, expectation filling his eyes when Booth closed the door.
“You found Pamela,” the manager said, his words eager and hopeful.
“Wish I could say yes. But I do have something. I just spoke to one of my officers, and Pamela and five other kids were seen in a convenience store yesterday afternoon outside Hartford.”
“Hartford. She doesn’t know anyone there.” Oscar sighed, dragging one hand down his face. “At least she’s still in the state. How do you know it was Pamela?”
“They’d locked themselves out of the car they were riding in, and the clerk in the store told them they’d either have to call a cop or a lock expert. Obviously a cop would ask too many questions, so they called a lock expert. He had to have proof of ownership, and since the registration was locked in the car, he made the kid give him his license and wallet. Once he got the car opened and found the registration was in the kid’s name, he was satisfied.”
“But how—”
“The lock expert notified the police. They usually do when they have to open up a car. Obviously they have no authority to do anything, but they get information from the registration, including the plate number. Hartford ran the plate, and the driver was Johnny Ellfort.”