Tess concentrated on her driving while she practiced what she’d say to the event planner.
“A quiet family-only ceremony. That’s what we want, Ms. Solvang,” she said to the stale, old leather-smelling car air, parsing a civil but firm tone. “In her grief, our mother is making poor decisions about a celebration of his life. It must be scaled back, immediately.”
Jan Solvang would ask why a famous man’s offspring wouldn’t want her father publicly eulogized. Maybe Tess should lie and say the family wanted to grieve privately because their religion favored discreet memorials. But Jan Solvang would point out that Madeline Barker was in favor of a spectacular ceremony. And the widow was Ms. Solvang’s client, not Cliff Barker’s children.
Tess hadn’t figured out how to answer the funeral planner’s questions and argue her points. It was all she could do to drive her car to the woman’s address without smashing into something. She repeated her rationale to the car’s interior. “My mother isn’t thinking straight. We must cancel the memorial.”
She touched the pocket of her shorts, tracing the outline of a knife, a four-inch folded thing she used for opening envelopes. Insurance, she called it. Something to remind her of the mission. She’d never take it out of her pocket. Never. Instead, the funeral planner would read the desperation in her face and acquiesce. Small service, quick burial. And that was more than her father deserved.
Tess parked in front of the lady’s house, just in time to see a woman with a dog exit the house. A man followed her.
Wait. Tess’s plan called for a knock on the door and a confrontation with a woman, alone.
Tess heard a “poof” when her strategy and her practiced words went up in smoke. She began to shake, wondering if she could find the damn brake pedal.
****
Jan reached the end of her sidewalk, pleased to have Roman walking behind her on his way to his car. As mad as she was about the man’s stubbornness, a stress-releasing walk made sense. Her empty house was starting to bug her, too, the gaping spaces screaming out her weaknesses. Not that a walk was an antidote. The way Roman interested her at the same time he ticked her off felt juvenile. She didn’t believe in a version of romance with The Man and The Woman at each other’s throats, engaged in a thinly disguised pre-sexual sparring match.
Jan was proud of her twelve years with Frank, absent major conflict. No fights over money, sex, or space. Sure, she knew he’d grown weary of being a lobbyist for energy corporations, and he was well aware her job in Seattle had become more stress than challenge. Still, because of their complicated history, they’d agreed to leave their jobs at their offices. No issues in the bedroom, either. They’d settled on separate bedrooms since Frank was such a restless sleeper. Sex once a month, his bed.
No fights, not even a tiny spar, until Frank decided they should marry. “We’re a couple, Janny. Let’s make it official with the paperwork, the rings, and a nice little party. We’d protect each other legally, that way. If I die, I want to make sure you’re my beneficiary.”
He’d blown up when she’d asked for more time to decide. One big fight in twelve years. And now the big apology and incentive in the form of co-ownership of the condo.
While she was thinking about how not to fight with Roman, she realized a woman had emerged from a car parked behind Roman’s and was walking toward her. Odd. The woman had left her car running, its engine noise obscuring whatever the woman seemed to be saying.
Jan didn’t recognize her and the look on her face was hard to read. Was she angry or agonized? Maybe she was lost or sick and needed help.
What is she saying and why is she barreling toward me?
Jan backed up, tugging a cowering Elwood with her. She pegged the woman as thirty-something. Slim in shorts, T-shirt, and sandals. Short brown hair, mussed. Now that she could see her face up close and hear her growling, Jan realized the woman was enraged.
“You’re Jan Solvang,” the woman spat, demanding rather than questioning.
“Uff,” Roman said when Jan’s heel crushed his toe in her effort to back away from the woman. He grasped her shoulders and held her against his chest.
“Who are you?” he asked the lady. Jan felt the vibration of his words against her spine.
The woman kept coming.
Roman stepped in front of Jan. “Stop,” he ordered.
She did.
Jan shifted to Roman’s side, keeping Elwood behind them. “Who are you?”
The woman seemed too distraught to form words. “T…Tess Barker,” she finally managed, scowling. “Oh, yeah. You know the name. We talked on the phone.” Raking both hands through her hair, she said, “I want to burn my shitty father and forget about him. You and my mother are determined to hire a brass band and a bunch of politicians to praise him.” Tears dropped to her cheeks. “I won’t let you.”
Clearly struggling to find the words, the woman grabbed something from her pocket and jabbed it in Jan’s direction, twisting it like she wanted to skewer Jan. “I give you fair warning. Stop the ceremony.”
Tess Barker looked down at her hand, seeming surprised to see the metal thing. She used both hands to unfold it, then jabbed the knife at them. “I mean it,” she said, staring at the weapon as if it conveyed her purpose instead of her words.
At that, the woman turned and raced to her car, so agitated that she apparently forgot she’d left the motor running. She hopped in the car and must have turned the key, the engine protesting with a screech at being restarted. She pulled away from the curb so fast the tires spun madly, smoking rubber.
Jan felt Roman’s hand grasping hers, squeezing it to get her attention. “I got the license number so I can double check who she says she is. For the police.”
When she sagged, feeling overwhelmed, he grabbed her waist. “You okay?” he asked. “You feeling faint?”
Straightening, she gulped air. “I’m fine. The police?”
He tightened his hold on her and raised an eyebrow. “She threatened you, Jan. Of course we call the police.”
Weakly, she said, “Of course.”
Roman glanced at the house as he took out his cell phone. “How good are your locks?”
“Deadbolts, all,” she said, wondering how events had slipped so ridiculously out of her control. Even when she attempted to pull away from Roman and walk on her own, he shook his head, grabbed her around the waist and walked with her into the house.
While Jan let the dog out in the yard, Roman shut the front door and locked it. “Even so, you better bunk with your father until the cops find the woman.”
Jan tried to convince herself that Tess Barker was grief stricken, at the stage when a person raged at the deceased. Maybe she’d picked out Jan as a tangible target for her anger. Her awkward thrust of the tiny knife and her difficulty speaking made Jan think the woman was a mess of emotions. Jan leaned against the kitchen island, feeling dizzy. “Forget it. Besides, my dad moved into a studio apartment after Mom died. He has no room for me. Add to that we aren’t exactly pals.”
“Then you’ll stay with my grandmother. I’ll arrange it—”
“You will not, thank you very much,” Jan interrupted. “She’s got enough on her mind and her sister’s staying with her.”
He was about to argue with her when she held up her palm to stop him. “We talk to the police, then you go home to dig dirt for your project while I figure out what’s going on with the Barkers. If worse comes to worst, the General can stay with me.”
Roman’s knit brows signaled he didn’t believe her. True, she didn’t have a bed for the General. He’d have to bivouac in a tent in the front yard and talk to her by two-way radio. The idea made her smile.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. Let’s call the police. We’ll argue later about what comes next.”
While Roman dialed information on his cell phone, she watched him, liking the way he set his shoulders to a thing. His voice was clear and assertive, demanding action, somethin
g a writer of documentaries must learn to do well. It was a habit, having nothing to do with her, with what he thought of her.
Yet even while the mad-as-hell woman came at her, Jan registered the feel of her back against his chest and stomach. Nestled, cradled. He’d stepped in front of her after that, then took up her hand to offer support. A man instinctively protecting a woman. She wanted to believe he’d been especially protective for her. Silly.
“So…” he said, after he ended his call, his voice loud and his eyes dark green and intense. “Tess is Cliff Barker’s daughter.”
Confused by his change of focus, Jan said, “Yes. Tess’s mother is our client. The memorial for Cliff Barker is slated for Saturday.”
“Really?” he said, watching her face as if she were the most interesting person on the planet.
“Yes. Really. Since he died so suddenly, in the middle of running for State Senator, I’ve got my hands full. Everyone wants to speak and—”
He shook his head so vigorously, she stopped talking. Apparently, he couldn’t believe his ears.
“Barker. Anti-porn, anti-abortion. Mr. Born-Again Right Wing ‘Family is Everything.’ With a kid calling him a ‘shitty father.’”
“I don’t know the politics, Roman. Madeline Barker became a friend of my mother’s after Frank introduced the couple to both my parents. Sans politics. Madeline asked for our help because my mother was an event planner. Now that I’ve learned more about this family, I wish we hadn’t taken—”
He held up his hand to stop her, clearly working out the situation in his mind. “Mr. Perfect’s daughter tells you her father’s a bad man and doesn’t deserve a memorial. Threatens you if you go ahead with the thing.” Wagging his head, he said, “Damn. What a story.”
She wasn’t prepared when he grabbed her around the waist and tugged her close. Instead of pushing him away, like she should have, she gave into the comfort his embrace offered, shutting her eyes to block out Tess’s angry face and awkward threat. If Roman hadn’t been with her, would Tess have been more aggressive, more dangerous? Would Jan have fainted, leaving her vulnerable to a knife-wielding woman? She rested her forehead on Roman’s chest, dizzy at the prospect.
Oh God, soon the police would arrive and she’d have to answer their questions calmly and thoroughly. Get ready, Jan.
Just as she began to move away from his embrace, he dipped his head to kiss her.
Branding. Hard and insistent. The message clear: I’m a charged-up male, and this is my territory. You and the story are mine.
His grip on her head was so strong, all she could do was adjust her mouth against his for comfort. Big mistake. She found they fit, too well, too right. The feel counteracted the mad woman, a stiff father, a missing mother, and frightening faint-dreams. She’d curved into his protective body when Tess came at her. Meshed this way, he promised warmth and better days. A bed.
She didn’t mean to let the hum of pleasure emerge from the back of her throat, but it escaped like a bird finally freed. He must have heard it because he dropped the phone in his pocket, framed her neck with his hands, edged her up against the kitchen wall and settled in to kissing her.
His lips captured hers completely, giving her the sense of being absorbed and enveloped, the promise of safety, warmth, and reverence so comforting, that she groaned, the sound vibrating in his mouth. When his fingers traced inside her sleeveless shirt, shivers of need raced through her limbs.
The doorbell rang, accompanied by Elwood’s whining. Roman gazed at Jan, his eyes telling her he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do. Branding complete; adrenaline rush attended to. He took her hand, drew her to the door and peered through the peephole.
She exhaled, prepared to protest the fact she hadn’t had a say in anything the last fifteen minutes, when he turned his eyes from the peephole to hers.
“It’s the police,” he said, squeezing her hand, his eyes bright. The story, Jan reminded herself. He’s got a hard-on about the story, not her; she’d given in to him because Tess scared her, nothing more.
Trying not to be disappointed, she released her hand from his and told herself in no uncertain terms: Roman Keller might be on fire, but he did not burn for her.
Chapter Six
“They’re dead wrong about us,” Jan said to her father as she threw a tennis ball for Elwood to catch. They’d paused at the wide expanse of lawn close to the golf pro shop where Jan liked to play fetch with Elwood some mornings. “We do the exact opposite of what Roman Keller and Tess Barker say. You and I try to keep families from over-glorifying those they’ve lost.”
“Absolutely,” the General said, clapping his hands for Elwood to bring the ball to him.
The dog ignored him and dropped it at Jan’s feet. She squatted down to scratch his ears. “Grace Weather’s memorial is a case in point.”
“What did you learn from your interviews about her, Janny?”
“I’d only contacted a few of Grace’s friends and family before a thread, pardon the pun, developed. She made quilts for people she liked, sewing scenes or patterns into the blankets with each person’s traits and lifestyle in mind. Last count: forty pieces of folk art, deeply prized by their owners.” Jan smiled at the memory of homing in on Grace’s lifelong devotion to quilting.
She heaved the dog’s ball as far as she could throw it. “Her art literally organized the eulogy. I’ve got ten people talking about the quilts Grace personalized for them.”
“Nice touch, Janny. Seems like you’ve got Grace whispering her wishes in your ear.”
She smiled when he winked, warmed by the General’s compliment as well as by the thought of Grace’s gift. The idea she heard Grace’s voice? Nonsense.
The General took his notepad and pencil out of his breast pocket. “Now I get why you pushed to have the reception in the Quigley Mansion. Antiques and quilts. Perfect setting. Everything else all set for Grace’s party? Food? Beverages? Music?”
Elwood bounded toward them, the yellow tennis ball enormous in the little dog’s mouth. “Done. You hang the quilts and greet people; everything else is finished. Ready for three miles, Dad? Let’s walk and talk about client number nine. Madeline and the mayor’s office have given us the go-ahead for a service and memorial on Saturday.”
“Great.” He threw back his shoulders and set a pace, looking happy about the topic. “Cliff was a Vietnam vet, so we’ll pull out all the stops. Color guard from the local armory, twenty-one gun salute, taps at the cemetery. I’m working with the widow on a display of pictures and medals he earned. We’ve got his uniform, too. Since he’s being cremated, we’ll display his dress blues on a mannequin next to a picture collage.”
Nodding, Jan said, “Here’s my problem, Dad. I must have ten high-powered men falling over each other to eulogize Cliff Barker, including the Arroyo Grande mayor and city council members. The Governor is so eager to speak he’s reworking his schedule, hoping he can take the podium. Unless I can control the number of presenters and the length of their talks, it’s going to be a two-hour memorial. But the bigger problem is I can’t find a family member to speak. Obviously Tess Barker isn’t a candidate, but all of her brothers refuse as well.
“I’ve talked to all the sons twice. Dead ends. Not only did they decline, they don’t want to talk about their father at all. The two living overseas won’t even come to the funeral.”
The General squinted at her. “Maybe they couldn’t measure up to a man so powerful. We know he gave big bucks to charity. Perhaps they wanted the money for themselves.”
“I can’t get the portraits in the Barker house out of my mind, Dad.”
“I know what you mean. Pictures of important people hanging everywhere.”
“Think about it, Dad. Who else gets celebrated in that house?”
He paused for a minute. “Madeline. That gigantic painting over the fireplace. And the series of portraits in their bedroom. They looked professionally done. Expensive.”
“And Madeline
isn’t the kind of woman who’d commission those pieces, is she?”
“No. Absolutely not.” He squeezed the skin on his forehead. “Cliff’s telling us something, huh?”
“Loud and clear, Dad. His career and his wife meant everything to him.”
“But the kids…”
“Not so much.”
The General pursed his lips. “I don’t like the idea of Tess Barker threatening you, Janny. I mean, you called the police and…”
“Roman called the police, Dad, not me; and I’m not pressing charges. Madeline assures us that Tess is distraught over her father’s death. I believe her; don’t you?”
He raised a shoulder. “I guess. For sure you’ll have to find a relative besides his children to speak for the family.”
“I’ll work on that. And then we’ve got Roman Keller.”
The General chuckled. “I knew Bella wouldn’t change her mind about using Roman.”
“He’s all yours now and you’re welcome to him.”
Her father seemed happy about the challenge. Another hill to take. “I’ll whip him into shape now that I’ve interviewed a couple people about Sidney. The kid’s wrong about his grandfather. If the guy is so into research, he can start by asking me questions.”
“He’s passionate about his own agenda,” Jan said, thinking about the intensity of Roman’s kiss. “He’s opinionated, too.” She remembered that Roman’s measured look after he’d kissed her was the same expression he used when he surveyed her empty house. It seemed his judging of people extended beyond his work to his personal life. She’d hate to have to live with such pressure every day—never measuring up to his lofty standards. She’d had enough of that with HighTech, thank you.
But he had a point about her cavernous home. Why couldn’t she make herself shop for furniture? Had she balked at stocking the bedrooms to keep Frank from visiting? After twelve years of living with the man, why in the world would she choose such a childish strategy: refusing to buy a bed as a way to avoid marrying Frank? She sighed. Since her mother’s death, she hadn’t been herself at all.
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