“Oh, yes! I knew right then and there you’d be the perfect man for my granddaughter. I’m not getting any younger, you know, and it would be nice to have her settled before I pass on.” Charlotte drew her hands to her heart in true dramatic fashion.
“Gran! Cut that out,” Lexie said, appalled.
Coop wasn’t sure what bothered her more, the fact that Charlotte was still pairing them up as a long-term couple or her talk of dying one day soon.
Lexie exhaled hard. “Let’s try to focus, okay?”
Charlotte’s head bobbed up and down.
Sylvia’s did as well.
“Good. Coop, why don’t you explain what you found out about the ring,” Lexie suggested.
Charlotte and Sylvia closed their mouths and leaned forward in their seats, clearly interested in his story.
Just as he was interested in Charlotte’s reaction. “After I chose the ring, I returned to my office and showed it to my style editor. She immediately recognized it as a valuable piece of a collection. Trifari, she said it was called.” Coop never took his gaze off Lexie’s grandmother.
Wide-eyed, Charlotte listened without comment.
“Go on,” Lexie urged.
“Yes, do,” Charlotte said.
“A little research turned up something very interesting.”
“It was part of a set and my necklace is the match?” Charlotte asked, sounding proud of herself for making the connection.
“I wish it was that simple, Grandma. I need you to listen to what Coop says and please don’t get upset. We need to watch out for your blood pressure.” Lexie’s warm eyes filled with concern.
“My blood pressure’s fine. Medication’s controlling it and you worry too much. Go on, Coop,” Charlotte demanded.
A quick glance at Lexie confirmed that that’s exactly what she wanted him to do.
“The ring appears to be part of a collection of jewelry that does include your necklace.”
“Aha!” Charlotte pumped her frail arm in victory. “I was right.”
Lexie groaned and rolled her eyes.
“But the entire set was stolen during a brazen house robbery in the 1950s. The set disappeared and the thieves were never caught,” Coop explained.
Charlotte fingered the paper napkin on the table, crumpling it into a ball. “Then whoever stole it probably turned it over to a fence and I bet that’s how my Henry got the necklace.”
Lexie frowned and adjusted her glasses, something he noticed she did when deep in thought. “I thought you said Grandpa was given the necklace as payment for chauffeuring services.”
Coop had been about to call the other woman on the same thing.
“Exactly. Whoever gave your grandfather the necklace probably got it from a fence,” Charlotte said, amending her new story to suit the facts.
“Makes complete sense to me,” Sylvia said.
They reminded him of a comedy pair. Laverne and Shirley or Lucy and Ethel came to mind.
Coop rubbed his eyes with his palms. Their banter was getting to him as well. “Ladies, that would work except for one important detail. The family who originally owned the jewels and from whom they were stolen was named Lancaster and lived in Manhattan.”
Lexie nodded. “And I remember mentioning the other day that Sylvia once said Grandpa worked for a family named Lancaster.”
Charlotte’s lips pursed in a pout. “As I recall, I said I don’t remember that name or conversation. What’s the point of all this?” She began fanning herself with the rumpled napkin. “Is it warm in here?”
“Grandma, are you okay?” Lexie rose from her chair.
“I’m fine. Just suddenly overheated from the wine.”
“Which is why you shouldn’t be drinking.” Lexie began clearing the table, starting with the wine-glasses and bottle, carrying them to the sink far from Sylvia and Charlotte’s reach.
“The Surgeon General says one glass of red wine is good for your heart!” Charlotte said.
“I’m sure half a bottle of Manischewitz Concord Grape exceeds the recommended daily allowance,” Lexie said.
“Get back to the point. I need to know what it is you’re suggesting,” Charlotte said, her eyes narrowed.
Lexie drew a deep breath. “That maybe Grandpa didn’t actually get the necklace as payment. Maybe he just said he did. Maybe he—”
“You think your grandfather was a thief?” Charlotte asked, her voice rising, clearly appalled at the notion.
Lexie rushed over and put a comforting hand on her grandmother’s shoulder. “Grandma, I’m not saying that at all. Of course, I don’t believe it. But if it appears that way on the face of things, then we need to dig deeper and clear his name!”
The pain in Lexie’s face sliced through Coop unexpectedly.
“What’s the point?” Sylvia asked. “Obviously, nobody has looked into that case in years. Why would they start now?”
Lexie’s gaze fell to Coop and he squirmed in his seat. They both knew he’d be digging up the past and he waited for Lexie to out him.
She kept her hand on her grandmother’s shoulder in support. “It turns out that, although Coop got the ring from a woman, the actual owner of the store is a man. And he’s called Coop more than once trying to get the ring back.”
Lexie didn’t meet Coop’s surprised stare. She hadn’t told her grandmother that he was planning to write this story, and he couldn’t imagine why she’d covered for him.
Before he could process the thought, Sylvia began to cough.
Charlotte jumped up and slapped her friend hard on the back.
“Watch it. You’ll crack a rib,” Sylvia muttered.
“Are you okay?” Coop asked.
Lexie hovered on the other side of Sylvia’s chair.
“I’m fine. Choked on my own spit.” The older woman dabbed at her damp eyes with a napkin.
Coop glanced at the toasted older women and knew they wouldn’t be getting any lucid information from them today. “I think you ladies should lie down and take a nap,” he suggested.
“That’s a good idea.” Lexie helped Sylvia up from her chair, then Charlotte. “Coop and I will take care of things here.”
As Coop watched the two women depart, he had the definite sense they knew more than they were telling. He just didn’t know what. Or whether Lexie would see past her worry for her grandmother and believe Coop’s instincts, which had never failed him before.
IT DIDN’T TAKE LONG to straighten up the kitchen after lunch and Coop helped Lexie, respecting her obvious need for silence. Lexie was grateful for the short time to gather her thoughts. The pretty flowers he’d bought sat in a vase on the counter, reminding her that he wasn’t a complete jerk. Just a self-centered one whose story meant more to him than her grandmother’s feelings.
“I see you have your hands full with those two.” Coop broke the silence, speaking of her grandmother and Sylvia.
“Tell me something I don’t know.” She blew her hair out of her face. “And I never got a chance to tell my grandmother that her necklace is stolen property and she’ll likely have to return it.”
Coop nodded. “There’s time for that.” He placed his hand on her back, the innocent touch immediately turning hot as awareness sizzled through her.
His eyes darkened to a hue she recognized from last night.
Lexie swallowed hard. How was it that this man had such an overwhelming effect on her?
“Let’s sit,” Coop said, his voice rough. “We need to talk.”
His jaw was taut. Not a good sign.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Come.” His hand still on the small of her back, he guided her toward one of the kitchen chairs.
“Would you rather sit in the family room where it’s more comfortable?”
He shook his head. “It’s more private in here. I don’t want your grandmother to overhear.”
Uh-oh.
Lexie lowered herself into her seat. “What’s going on?”
Coop straddled the chair next to her, looking sexier than any man had the right to. “First things first. Why didn’t you give me up? You could have told your grandmother about my story, but you didn’t.”
She’d wondered that herself. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I wasn’t looking out for you. I was looking out for her. I figured she’d have enough to deal with today without adding that to the mix.” Which had been the initial reason she’d given herself.
There was another, more personal reason as well.
“Is that it?” Coop pushed.
Damn the reporter in him.
“Fine. My grandmother likes you.” And that mattered to Lexie more than it should. “I didn’t want to disillusion her.”
Coop cleared his throat. “I don’t think your grandmother has as many illusions about life as you think.”
Lexie narrowed her gaze. “What exactly does that mean?”
“You said yourself that she and Sylvia have been acting strangely lately, right?”
“So?” She locked her jaw, certain she wouldn’t like the direction in which he was headed.
“Well, didn’t you notice how quickly Charlotte came up with the fence story as an explanation? Before we even asked her how your grandfather would have come into possession of stolen goods, she offered an answer.”
“She’s a quick thinker.”
Coop leaned in closer.
The masculine and oh-so-familiar scent of his aftershave sent her senses and her body into overdrive. Tamping down arousal in favor of rational thought wasn’t easy, but she tried.
“And when we tied the robbery to the Lancaster family, she played dumb and claimed she didn’t remember any such name.”
Coop’s satisfied expression made Lexie uneasy. “How do you know she doesn’t remember? Maybe she’s telling the truth. Ever think of that, Mr. Hotshot Reporter?” Defending her grandmother came naturally to Lexie. She’d done it often enough with her parents over the years, offering explanations for her over-the-top behavior. Now was no different.
Coop exhaled a frustrated groan. “Every time the Lancaster name comes up, your grandmother either changes the subject or gets sick.”
“She said she was warm, Coop. Not sick.”
“As a diversion maybe? I can’t prove it or explain it, but I have a hunch that she knows more than she’s saying.”
Much as Lexie wanted to deny Coop’s belief and continue in her defense, she wondered about the possible truth in his words.
Her grandmother had been acting odd lately. The woman had a memory like a steel trap for the most minute details from the past, and Lexie had seen no indications that Charlotte was getting forgetful. Except for this convenient memory lapse. And what were the chances Charlotte had forgotten the name of the family her grandfather worked for, let alone gotten her beloved necklace from?
Lexie shifted in her seat, uneasy but unwilling to admit as much to Coop, who had his own agenda. She had no intention of helping him build a case—or a book—about her family. Whichever member happened to be involved.
He cleared his throat, obviously waiting for her to say more. “How about we agree not to discuss this right now. Instead we just continue digging into facts.” Lexie would deal with whatever she discovered, as long as it was truth and not fiction or a reporter’s hunch.
“Fair enough.” Coop braced his hands on the top of the chair.
“First stop the Vintage Jewelers?” she asked. “After we each work this afternoon.”
He inclined his head. “And then we go to Dad’s bar for dinner.”
Lexie immediately shook her head. Dinner with Coop, alone time, intimate time, no longer seemed like a smart idea. Even if she wanted him as much, if not more than she had before, their competing agendas made any kind of relationship just plain stupid.
Coop stood. “Suit yourself. I just want to see if he can get us access to the old case files on the robbery.”
Not a dinner date. She’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. Embarrassment warred with disappointment, even though she’d turned him down.
She didn’t want him investigating without her. “Umm, I can move some things around and go with you.” She bit the inside of her cheek hard.
“Great. I’ll make sure Dad has a table waiting.” He winked at her.
And that’s when she knew. He’d cornered her into exactly what she’d been trying to avoid. Intimate, alone time with a man she craved like crazy. She wasn’t as annoyed as she should have been, which probably made her insane.
RICKY HID IN THE BACK of his own store, feeling more like a sneak than he had back in the day. He’d just come from the bank, leaving Anna in charge. He’d returned unannounced via the back entrance just as they’d walked in the front. He’d heard the chimes signaling customers and peered through the curtains separating the store from the office.
He hadn’t recognized them right off. No, sir, they’d tried to disguise themselves, but he’d heard their voices when they’d asked about the ring Anna had given to that damn reporter and Ricky knew. He didn’t have a plan yet, so he eavesdropped, watching and listening as his daughter fielded their questions.
“We saw the robbery on the news. It must have been so frightening for you.”
Because he was named Ricky, the women had taken on nicknames when they’d all been a team. The one he’d nicknamed Lucy spoke first. Apparently, things hadn’t changed. She was still the ring-leader of the two. The other had been Ethel, the best friend and follower.
“I was just glad the robber didn’t hurt my daughter,” Anna said, her voice catching.
Ricky still broke into a sweat at the reminder that something could have happened to his daughter and granddaughter, the only things he’d done right in this lifetime.
Up front, the talk turned to families, seemingly normal conversation since most old people who came in to browse liked to chat about themselves. Not Ricky. He’d always been private, which had kept him out of trouble all these years. But he listened with interest, curious despite himself about his ex-partners’ lives. Apparently, Lucy was widowed and had one child and Ethel was a widow without kids to keep her company in her old age. And, of course, they had each other, they explained to Anna, patting each other’s hands. It was all Ricky could do not to puke.
He couldn’t tell if the years had been kinder to them than they had to him, thanks to the scarves tied around their heads and the large black sunglasses covering half their faces.
Ricky almost laughed out loud and gave himself away.
“We’re curious about the ring you gave that handsome reporter,” Ethel chimed in, pulling Ricky’s thoughts back to the matter at hand.
“You know, he’s been named the latest Bachelor,” Lucy said.
Still reading the gossip columns, Ricky thought to himself.
“He really didn’t want to take a reward, but I insisted. He finally chose the ring. Whatever you want to know, I can’t tell you much about it,” Anna said.
Good girl, Ricky thought.
“Not even where you got it?” Ethel asked.
“You’d have to talk to my father. The ring was just one of many trinkets he collected over the years. I’m afraid he’s something of a pack rat.”
“I’ll just bet he is,” Lucy muttered.
“Excuse me?” Anna asked, surprised by her comment.
The old battle-ax. Still as feisty as ever.
“I said, I’ll just bet he is. I saw on Oprah how more people than we realize have that serious psychological disorder. It can lead to hoarding,” Lucy explained in a more serious tone.
Anna sighed. “I know. That’s why I periodically sell things when Dad isn’t looking.”
“Is your father around?” Ethel asked, sounding nervous now.
“No, he went to the bank, but he should be back soon if you’d like to stay and talk to him,” Anna offered.
Good thing Ricky had never remembered to put chimes on the back door as well as the front. Not ev
en his daughter knew he’d returned.
“No, thank you,” Lucy said. “We need to be going.”
Ricky nodded. Yes, yes they did. Get out. Go away. Never come back.
“Oh, wait! Is that your father?” Ethel asked.
Ricky shut his eyes and swallowed a groan. On the wall behind Anna was a photograph.
“Yes, it is. That’s my dad and Ed Koch, back when he was mayor of NewYork,” Anna said proudly.
Ricky still recalled the night they’d met at a restaurant and his wife, bless her soul, had insisted that he and the mayor pose together. She’d later had the photo enlarged and framed. Then she’d hung it on the wall.
Ricky had forgotten all about it until now. The innocent picture gave Lucy and Ethel all the information they needed—that this was Ricky’s store and the ring hadn’t been passed around through the years, but had stayed in his hands.
The telephone rang and Anna excused herself to take the call. The phone was right behind her so she didn’t have to come into the back, thank God.
“It was taken a long time ago,” Ethel said. “But he was aging already.” Ricky caught the glee in her tone.
“And not well. Look at that paunch. He’s balding and that comb-over is laughable.”
Lucy always was a bitch, Ricky thought, his hand going to the top of his now completely bald head. Behind those disguises he doubted they looked like cover models these days, either.
“I’m sorry for the interruption,” Anna said, returning. “Did you like the ring? Maybe I can find you something similar.”
“No, thank you. It was such an interesting-looking piece, we were just curious about its history,” Lucy said. “But it was nice chatting with you, dear.”
“Same here. Come back any time. You can talk to my father or maybe there will be something new that interests you!” Anna said in her cheery sales-woman voice.
Normally, Ricky was proud of her ability. Now, though, he cringed.
The jig was up.
He started to sweat, his mind whirling with scenarios of how to deal with the two women when the time came and they cornered him. And he knew for certain they would.
His gut—which had always told him when to do a job and when to get out—had warned him to be prepared for one of them to find him. Not both together. They’d been best friends until that night he’d gotten his kicks with Ethel. The last time Ricky had seen them they’d been rolling around the bedroom floor in what would be called a catfight these days.
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