by Patricia Kay
Jack smothered the temptation to smile. He and Crampton both knew Jack only called the older man “sir” when he wanted something.
“You’re pushin’ it, Forrester.”
Jack shrugged. “I may clear this up in a week. Or it may take the full four weeks. Or I may need longer.”
Crampton clamped the cigar in his mouth. When he spoke, he spoke around it, and the cigar bobbed with each word. “What if I tell you your job hinges on you bein’ back in four weeks?”
“Then I’d say I’m sorry you feel that way, but—” Jack left the sentence unfinished, and met Crampton’s dark-eyed gaze levelly. Jack knew Crampton was bluffing. It was an old game they played. Because they both knew Jack could write his own ticket anywhere. He was one of only a handful of investigative journalists so well respected in the industry that he constantly fended off other job offers. Tempting job offers.
But Jack didn’t want to leave World Press. He liked the organization, he agreed with their policies, and he especially liked working for Gerald Crampton.
Finally Crampton spoke. “If I were you, I’d get going while the going’s still good.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jack said and extended his right hand. When he walked away, he was smiling.
That conversation had taken place twelve days earlier. So two of Jack’s four weeks were already used up. He didn’t have a whole lot of time left.
Remembering this, he looked at Nicole again. She was turned away from him, staring out the window. Her full bottom lip was caught between her teeth as if she were concentrating very hard. What was she thinking? He wished she’d smile at him again. She had a wonderful smile, a ten in anyone’s book. “Have you thought about what I told you this morning?” he finally asked.
She turned her head. “Yes. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t seem to help myself.”
He grinned. “So I’ve got your curiosity stirred up, have I?”
Now she smiled, and Jack felt as if someone had just given him a gift. In the dusky interior of the car, he could see the gleam in her dark eyes. “You could say that,” she said softly.
Jack had a sudden, almost overwhelming desire to kiss her. And if he hadn’t been driving, he might have given in to the urge. So it was probably a very good thing he was driving, he told himself. Damn. It was hard to keep his mind on business when he was around Nicole. She had the kind of effect on him that he hadn’t experienced since he was a teenager with hormones gone wild.
Now, think, he lectured himself. Figure out a way to enlist her help. Because in a few minutes, it’ll be too late. You’re almost at her house.
When Jack turned on to Nicole’s street he still hadn’t decided just how he was going to get her to cooperate. He wasn’t even sure how to prolong their time together. But when he pulled into the driveway of the Reed-Douglas property, Nicole solved the first part of his problem for him.
“Would you like to come in and stay for supper?” she said as he turned off the ignition.
Jack couldn’t believe his good fortune. “Are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t.”
“I’d love to, then.”
“You might be sorry. I’m not a very good cook.”
“Anything’s better than baloney-and-cheese sandwiches, which is about the extent of my cooking.”
“Well, okay. Come on.”
She didn’t wait for him to come around and open her door. She got out and walked around the back of the car. She pointed to the cottage at the back of the property. “That’s my place over there.”
He already knew that, but he didn’t remind her of it. He didn’t want her getting mad at him all over again. Not now when it looked as if she’d finally decided to be friendly.
“First I’ve got to collect my daughter from Margaret,” Nicole continued. “She baby-sits for me.”
So that little girl had been her daughter. Jack wondered where the father was, because Nicole definitely wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. He leaned back against his car. “I’ll wait for you here.”
“Okay.” Nicole walked over to the back steps of the Reed-Douglas house. The back porch light was on, and before she even had a chance to knock, Margaret Reed- Douglas opened the back door.
“Hi, Margaret. Is Aimee ready?” Nicole said.
“Hello, Nicole. Yes, she is.” Margaret looked over Nicole’s shoulder. “Oh, I see you and Mr. Forrester found each other.” She smiled and waved to Jack. “Hello, Mr. Forrester.”
Jack walked over to the porch. “Hello, Mrs. Reed-Douglas. It’s good to see you again.”
“Oh, please call me Margaret. Mrs. Reed-Douglas sounds so dreadfully stuffy.”
“Only if you’ll call me Jack,” he said. He walked up the steps and stood just behind Nicole.
The older woman smiled at him, and Jack thought how nice she was. Just the sort of woman you instinctively trusted. Nicole was lucky to have someone like Margaret to sit with her daughter.
“How would you both like to come in for a few minutes? Perhaps have a cocktail with me and Caldwell?”
“Thank you, Margaret, but Jack and I have a lot of catching up to do, so I think we’ll pass.” Nicole turned to look back at him. There was an unspoken plea in her dark eyes. “Don’t we, Jack?”
Jack echoed her excuse. He had no wish to have this nice woman and her equally nice husband discover that he hadn’t been quite honest with them when he’d met them over the weekend. And he had a feeling Nicole was through covering for him.
Margaret said, “Well, at least come in until I get Aimee.”
Jack saw no graceful way to refuse, so he followed Nicole into the large kitchen.
A few seconds later a beautiful little girl with silky blond hair and heart-melting Bambi eyes raced into the kitchen, Margaret not far behind. “Wait, Aimee. Here’s your jacket.”
“She doesn’t really need it,” Nicole said. She grinned and enfolded her daughter in her arms. “Hello, there, sweet-cheeks.” She nuzzled her daughter’s neck. “I smell peanut butter. Have you been eating peanut butter cookies again?” Margaret gave Nicole and Jack an apologetic look. “She loves them so.”
“Mommy, not so hard...” Aimee wriggled from Nicole’s grasp. She looked up at Jack and immediately put her right thumb into her mouth.
Nicole gently removed the thumb, and Aimee tried to hide behind Nicole’s back. “Aimee, chere, don’t be that way. Say hello to Mommy’s friend, Mr. Forrester.”
“Jack. My name is Jack,” he said, kneeling to Aimee’s height. “I’m very glad to meet you. So you’re Aimee.”
The thumb went back into her mouth, but she nodded. “And who’s this?” Jack touched the rag doll she clutched tightly in one arm.
Aimee mumbled something that sounded like rabbity-ran.
“Now come on, sugar. Take your thumb out of your mouth, and say it right,” Nicole said.
The thumb came out slowly. “Raggedy Ann.”
“Oh! Raggedy Ann!” said Jack. “That’s a great name.” Aimee studied him gravely for a few seconds, then apparently deciding he was all right, gave him a dazzling smile.
Jack’s heart turned over. If he’d thought Nicole’s smile was a ten, then Aimee’s would have to be a twelve. The smile had made the most enchanting dimple form in her right cheek – inherited from her mother, obviously. Jack had always liked children, but he’d never had the opportunity to spend much time with them. For years he’d hoped Jenny and her husband, Kevin, would have children, because Jack figured with his life-style he’d probably never have any himself. But Jenny and Kevin were still childless after eight years of marriage, so he’d about given up hope. “I like your name, too,” he said to Aimee.
“My big name is Aimee Arlette Cantrelle,” Aimee said proudly. “After my grandma.”
The thought passed through Jack’s mind that Aimee wasn’t using her father’s name. He wondered why.
Nicole smoothed Aimee’s hair, her hand lingering on the child’s head. “My
mother’s name is Arlette,” she explained.
Jack saw the love and pride in her possessive gesture. He knew that Aimee had a mother who loved her very much.
“Well, come on, let’s go,” Nicole said. She looked at Margaret. “Thank you, Margaret. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night, Nicole. And good night, Jack. I hope you two have a wonderful visit.” She smiled down at Aimee. “Good night, Aimee.”
“’Night, Aunt Mar’gret,” Aimee said.
“See you tomorrow,” Margaret said.
“’Morrow,” Aimee echoed, blowing Margaret a kiss.
Nicole took Aimee’s hand, and Jack followed them outside and down the path toward their cottage. Within minutes they were inside, and Nicole switched on several lamps. They were standing in a nice-sized living room that stretched across the front of the cottage.
“Take your things to your room,” Nicole told Aimee, and Aimee, with another bewitching smile directed at Jack, left the room.
“She likes you,” Nicole said.
“I like her, too.” He looked around. “This is a nice place.”
“It is, isn’t it? I love it. I’m really lucky to have found it.” She grimaced. “I pay much less than it’s worth, but when I tried to talk to Margaret and Caldwell about it once, they wouldn’t listen. They said they were particular about who they rented to. They said money isn’t everything.”
Jack studied the room: the polished wood floors; the faded Oriental carpet with its muted tones of rose and blue: the comfortable love seats on either side of the fireplace; the French provincial writing desk placed so whoever sat there could look out the big front window; the small mahogany drop-leaf table at the far end of the room with ladder-back chairs at either end.
He also saw the toys scattered about, the magazines on the floor, the overflowing knitting basket, the discarded plastic wrap from some kind of snack food that lay on the coffee table, and the brown leaves of the neglected Scheffelera plant that graced one corner of the room.
“I’m afraid I’m not the world’s best housekeeper,” Nicole said. She walked over to the coffee table and picked up the plastic wrap. “From my granola bar this morning,” she said, an apology in her voice.
“I hate houses that look as if no one had ever lived in them,” Jack said. “My mother’s house was so perfect I was always afraid to touch anything. I always vowed if I ever had a place of my own, I’d enjoy it.”
“Come on back to the kitchen,” Nicole said.
He followed her through the door at the far end of the room, which led directly into a large kitchen, a cheerful mix of yellow walls, yellow ruffled curtains, white countertops, dark wood cabinets, and a bright red tile floor. Jack smiled to himself. Nicole colors, he thought.
“If you’ll look in that cabinet—” she pointed to one of the kitchen cabinets, “—you’ll find a bottle of scotch and a bottle of vodka—I’m afraid that’s all I’ve got—and glasses are over there. There’s ice in the freezer. Fix yourself a drink and make yourself comfortable in the living room. I’m going to go change clothes.”
Jack found everything easily. After pouring himself a drink, he walked back to the living room. He gazed around again, wishing it were cool enough for a fire, but the evening was mild. He walked over to the mantel. There were several framed photographs gracing its polished wood. He walked over to study them. One of them was a large family-type formal portrait. He picked it up. There were a lot of people in it, and there was Nicole, in a red dress. She was holding a child who must be Aimee, although in the portrait she was only a baby.
He studied Nicole’s smiling face for a long moment, then put the picture down and wandered over to the front window. He sure wished he could meet the rest of the Cantrelles. He couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that one of them had to know something about Elise Arnold.
* * *
After Nicole left Jack in the kitchen, she poked her head into Aimee’s room. “ What’cha doin’, sugar?”
“Gettin’ my shoes off.”
Nicole grinned. Aimee hated to wear shoes, and the first thing she did when she came home was take them off. “Why don’t you leave your shoes on tonight, since we have company?”
Aimee frowned.
“Oh, all right. Here, let me help you.” Nicole untied the laces on Aimee’s high tops. When Aimee’s feet were finally free of the shoes, she wiggled her toes happily. “Come to my room while I change clothes, okay?” Nicole said. “Then we’ll go out and see Jack.”
Aimee hopped off the bed and followed her. “Jack, Jack, Jack,” she chanted. “Is Jack a wabbit?” Obviously thrilled with her witticism, she started to giggle.
Nicole laughed. “You’re silly. Of course Jack’s not a rabbit. He’s a man. You know that.” Is he ever, she thought.
Aimee climbed up on Nicole’s unmade bed and continued to chant, “Jack Wabbit, Jack Wabbit,” while Nicole changed clothes.
Nicole gave her daughter a mock frown. “If you’re going to call him by that silly name, at least say your R. ” It’s rabbit, not wabbit.“
“Rabbit,” Aimee said, falling on her back and dissolving into a fresh spate of giggles.
Nicole shook her head, then changed quickly, putting on jeans and a favorite plaid shirt. She tucked the tails of the shirt in, then pulled on socks and slipped her feet into worn leather loafers. “Come on, sugar, let’s go.”
Holding Aimee’s hand, Nicole entered the living room. Jack stood, drink in hand, staring out the front window. He turned at their approach. He smiled, his eyes filled with undisguised approval as he took in Nicole’s appearance. Then his gaze dropped to Aimee.
“Jack Rabbit,” Aimee said.
Nicole rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry. She decided you’re a rabbit. I can’t talk her out of it.”
Jack grinned. “Don’t try. I’ve been called lots worse.” His blue eyes twinkled. “I’ve been looking at all your pictures.” He pointed to the mantel. “Who are all these people, anyway?”
Nicole walked over to the mantel, and he followed. Aimee sat on the floor and pulled a picture book from under the stack of magazines lying by the coffee table.
Nicole picked up a small framed photograph. “This is my brother Norman and his wife, Alice. It was taken at their wedding.”
“Who are the kids?” Jack asked.
“The children are hers, from her first marriage.” At his interested look, she explained. “Alice’s first husband was a cop. He was killed, shot by a big-time drug dealer.” She sighed, remembering that terrible time. “Jimmy—her first husband—was my brother Neil’s partner. It was awful. Just awful.”
She picked up the second photo. “And this is my brother Neil, his wife, Laura, and their daughter, Celeste.”
She caressed the surface of the next framed photo. “This is Aimee on her first birthday.”
“I thought so.”
Then she picked up the family photograph they’d had taken two Christmases ago. “And here we all are. This is Mama... and Papa. And here’s Neil again... and Laura... and Celeste. And that’s Norman again, and Alice, and her two children. And this is Denise, my sister, and her husband, Jett, and their two children, Jeannine and Justin.”
“Wow, that’s quite a group,” Jack said.
“Soon to be more.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Both my sisters-in-law are expecting babies.”
He nodded. “It must be nice to have such a big family.”
“It is, but sometimes it has its drawbacks.”
“Such as?”
Nicole sighed. “Well, since I’m the youngest, my family has a tendency to hover just a bit too much to suit me. That’s one of the reasons I moved to New Orleans.”
“What were the other reasons?”
“Come out to the kitchen with me while I fix supper, and I’ll tell you. Aimee, chere, do you want to watch the rest of Dumbo while Mommy cooks supper?”
“Dumbo! Dumbo!” Aimee clapp
ed her hands and threw down her book. She grinned happily.
“I guess that means yes,” Nicole said and turned on the television set, then the VCR. After a few seconds, Walt Disney’s Dumbo, already in progress, appeared on the screen. Nicole motioned to Jack to follow her, and they left Aimee happily engrossed in the movie.
“Sit,” Nicole said, and Jack sat on a kitchen chair. She opened the pantry door and rummaged on the shelves, pulling out a large jar of prepared spaghetti sauce, a couple of cans of plain tomato sauce, a jar of olive oil and a package of spaghetti. “Remember, I’m not all that great a cook.”
“So tell me what the other reasons were for your moving to New Orleans. Where do the rest of your family live, anyway?” Jack leaned back, balancing the chair on its two rear legs.
“In Patinville, just west of Baton Rouge.” She opened the refrigerator and extracted a large onion. Then she took a package of ground meat from the freezer and shoved it into the microwave to thaw. “It’s a small town. You’ve probably never heard of it.”
“You’re right. I haven’t.”
Nicole pulled a large pot out of the cupboard and set it on the stove. She poured a bit of olive oil in the pot and turned the heat on under it. Then she opened the cupboard where she kept her spices and started pulling things off the shelf.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” Jack reminded her. “Say, do you need help?”
“No. I’m doing fine.” She took a deep breath. “If you must know, I came to New Orleans because everyone in Patinville knew about Aimee and the circumstances of her birth. I didn’t want her to feel as if she were different. I didn’t want people talking about her or making her feel bad.” She put her chin in the air and turned to face him. “You see, I wasn’t married to Aimee’s father.”
There was no censure in his expression as he absorbed her statement. Only a quiet acceptance.
In that moment, Nicole decided Jack Forrester could become very important to her. Probably too important.
Chapter 5
What did she think he was going to do? Sneer and call her names? Obviously, this was a subject that Nicole was sensitive about. Jack chose his words carefully. “I’d hate to think people are so narrow-minded they’d be cruel to Aimee over something like that. Single mothers are not exactly uncommon, you know.”