by Cathie Linz
Whenever she attempted to bring up the reasons why West Investigations was the best choice for Thompson and Associates, Caine was right there to distract Mr. Kneeson. The food, especially the truffled potato chips, was delicious, but the company was turning out to be extremely frustrating.
“Excuse me a minute,” Mr. Kneeson said, glancing down at his BlackBerry. “I’ve got to take this call.” He stood and moved to a quieter corner to speak.
Faith glared at Caine. “Stop trying to sabotage my business lunch.”
“It’s not your lunch.”
“You’re monopolizing the conversation.”
“You’re just angry because you’re losing.”
“I am not losing. Losing patience maybe, but not losing my cool or losing this client.”
“He isn’t your client yet.”
“He will be.”
“You sound pretty confident about that.”
“I am confident.”
“Then you shouldn’t be afraid that I’ll get Mr. Kneeson to go with King and not West.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “Did you somehow arrange this? For him to get a flat tire?”
“You’ve really got a vivid imagination. Is that because you’re a librarian?”
“A former librarian.”
“Right.”
“You won’t win.”
He just smiled. “We’ll see.”
She smiled back, even as she gritted her teeth. “Yes, we will.”
“Sorry about that,” Mr. Kneeson said as he returned. “Where were we?”
“I was about to tell you why someone smart enough to be a White Sox fan like yourself would want to choose West Investigations for your firm.”
“How did you know I’m a White Sox fan?”
She pointed to his BlackBerry screen with the Sox logo. Then pointed to her own screen with a matching logo.
“Do you have some of the ball players as clients?”
Faith smiled discreetly. “You know I can’t answer that question. He’s a Cubs fan.” She nodded toward Caine. “You know what that means.”
Mr. Kneeson nodded. “That his team is going to lose again.”
She nodded too. “The sports franchise that’s gone the longest without a championship. And that’s not just in baseball, that’s all the sports combined. When did the Cubs last win the World Series? Was it 1904?”
Now Caine was the one gritting his teeth. “No, it was 1908.”
She and Mr. Kneeson exchanged a knowing look.
Talk about a momentum shift. Things were totally going Faith’s way now as she and Mr. Kneeson talked baseball—recent games and the bullpen, pitching stats and RBIs.
Caine called the server over. “I’ll take the check now.”
“It’s already been taken care of by the young lady,” the server said.
Faith just smiled. She’d cornered the server earlier and made the payment arrangements with the corporate credit card.
“I hate to eat and run,” Mr. Kneeson said, “but I’ve got to get to that workshop I told you about. Caine, it was great meeting you. Faith, get the paperwork to my assistant Linda, and we’ll get things wrapped up.”
Faith waited until Mr. Kneeson was out of sight before punching a fist into the air. “Yes!” She’d done pretty damn well for only her second day on the job.
“That was dirty, bringing in the Cubs that way. Is nothing sacred?”
“Hey, there’s no crying in baseball,” she countered, quoting the movie A League of Their Own.
“No crying in the Marine Corps either,” he said.
“Yeah, I figured.”
“So how did you know I was a Cubs fan?”
“I went through your wallet, remember.”
“Right. In Italy. You saw my season ticket stubs, right?”
She nodded and shifted uneasily. Why did she have to go and bring up Italy? The moment of strained silence seemed to last forever. “Well, I uh . . . I have to get back to the office.”
“You know, Sunshine, we could have been a great team, had circumstances been different.”
But circumstances weren’t different, and she’d be wise not to forget that. More stood between Caine and her than merely rooting for rival baseball teams. Some things couldn’t be forgotten . . . or forgiven.
Chapter Seven
“Your dad is over the moon about you joining the firm,” Faith’s mom, Sara, said as she joined Faith in her condo on Saturday. They sat together on Faith’s couch, sipping herbal tea. “He’s probably given you a prime corner office with a view.”
“Actually, I insisted on having a regular cubicle. Didn’t Dad tell you?”
“No. He just keeps gloating about you working with him. Your father was never happy with you working as a librarian,” Sara said.
“I know. He wanted me working with him. But I didn’t quit because of him. He never asked me to leave the library.”
“Of course not. He would never do that. You know I was a librarian when I married your father.”
“Right. And you left your job when you had me.”
“I planned on going back to work when you started kindergarten,” she said wistfully.
“Really? You never said that before. What stopped you?”
“Your father needed my help and support because West Investigations was just starting to take off then. Your grandfather had run a small-scale operation, but it doubled in size during that time. Anyway, enough about all that.”
“Dad didn’t manipulate me into quitting,” Faith assured her mom. “The only men who have manipulated me are Alan and Caine.”
“Who’s Caine?”
“Didn’t Dad tell you?”
“No. Who is Caine?”
Faith jumped to her feet. “Your tea is cold. Let me make a fresh pot. Would you like a chocolate-and-Brie panini with that panini maker you got me? Is it okay that I kept it, even though I didn’t get married? Was that rude? I know it was rude to have you do all the work of returning the wedding gifts.”
“The gifts were still in their boxes, so it wasn’t all that difficult. And Megan was a big help.”
“I owe both of you big time. Here.” Faith handed her mom a delicately wrapped jeweler’s box. “I got this for you in Italy.”
In addition to the two cameos she’d bought for her mom and Megan, Faith had also chosen one for herself. Instead of the traditional profile, Faith’s cameo depicted the Bay of Naples. She had yet to wear it. The cameo for her mom was the most intricately done of them all.
Her mother held up her large cameo pin. “It’s lovely. Thank you so much, honey.”
They shared a heartfelt hug. “You’re welcome.”
Her mom pinned the cameo on her sunshine yellow cotton sweater and then said, “But let’s get back to Caine. You still haven’t told me who he is.”
Faith shrugged. “He’s a guy I met in Italy.”
“He’s an Italian?”
“No. American.”
“You said he manipulated you. How?”
“By lying to me. He told me he was a lawyer from Philadelphia, but he was really a private investigator from Chicago.”
“Did you father send him? If he did, I’ll—”
“No need for threats. Dad didn’t send him. Vince King did.”
“Vince?” Sara blinked, clearly startled by this news. “But why?”
“To spy on me. You know how paranoid that guy is. He thought I was trying to steal some new Italian client of his. Which is ridiculous.”
“So this Caine lives here in Chicago?”
“Yes.”
“Is he the reason you joined the firm and left the library?”
“Why do people keep asking me that?”
“What people?”
“Megan. You. Caine.”
“This Caine seems to know you pretty well, even if he hasn’t known you very long. What about Alan?”
“Huh?” The abrupt change in subject threw her.
“A
lan. The man you were going to marry. The man who broke your heart. Unless Caine did that too? Did he break your heart?”
“I only knew him for a week.”
“You haven’t seen him since you’ve returned to Chicago?”
The look on Faith’s face gave her away.
“I thought so,” her mother murmured.
“What do you mean?” Faith knew she was saying that a lot, but she couldn’t help herself. She was having a hard time keeping up.
“Just that you seem . . . different.”
“It’s the hair.”
“Don’t give me that. It’s not the hair,” her mother said. “You seem . . . I don’t know . . . angry.”
“You’d be angry too if you’d been dumped on your wedding day.”
“I don’t know,” Sara said. “Sometimes when your dad is being a bear, I do wonder . . .”
Faith blinked. “What? What do you wonder?”
“Nothing. I was just kidding,” Sara said, standing to join Faith. She put her arm around her daughter. “How about that panini you talked about? I could use some chocolate about now.”
Faith spent the rest of her weekend studying, catching up on her investigative skills. Her first week on the job had gone very well, all things considered. She’d gotten Thompson and Associates to sign on the dotted line as West Investigations’ newest client. Her dad had been proud.
She set aside the files she’d been studying and reflected on what her mother had said yesterday. Did her mom really wonder what her life would have been like if she hadn’t married Faith’s dad? And if she did, was it a sign that her parents were having marital trouble? They’d argued in the past but never for long and never in a way to make Faith question their love for one another.
Maybe her mom was just in a funk. After all, Aunt Lorraine was staying with her all week, and that was enough to drive the most cheerful person into the depths of depression. Not that Faith’s mom had seemed depressed. Faith was probably blowing everything out of proportion.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her cell phone’s ringtone of the opening of the World Series White Sox theme song, “Don’t Stop Believin” by Journey. Checking the screen, she saw that it was her grandmother calling.
“Hey, Gram. How are you doing?”
“I was going to ask you that,” Gram said. “How are you doing? Do you need me to put a hit on Alan with the Swedish mob?”
“No.”
“The Swedish mob is better than the Finnish mob.”
“So you’ve said.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“I believe you. Gram, how did you know that grandfather was the one for you?”
“I’ve told you the story before.”
“Tell me again.”
“We met in London toward the end of the war. I was fifteen. He was a lot older than I was. Twenty years older. My parents worked at the Swedish Embassy in London. They’d sent me out to the countryside when the bombing was so bad, but by this time late in the war, London was no longer being bombed. Your grandfather was so charming. We danced together. One dance. He said he’d come back for me when I was older and that I should wait for him.”
“You knew when you were fifteen?”
“He was my first love.”
Faith thought back to her first love—Danny Montgomery in kindergarten. He said he didn’t like girls, so Faith had gone home and gotten a pair of scissors to chop her long hair off so she’d look more like a boy. Her crush on Danny was gone by the time she entered first grade.
“How did you know it would last?” Faith asked.
“I didn’t. But I was young and an optimist. I knew your grandfather was special.”
“How? How did you know? Was it something in his personality? What traits did he have that made you so sure?”
“He had kind eyes and the ability to be a leader, to make people believe. He was pragmatic. Even-tempered.”
“Alan was even-tempered,” she pointed out. “He was pragmatic.”
“He didn’t have kind eyes. And he always talked about himself all the time.”
“Yeah, I guess he did.”
“Don’t pine for him. He’s not worth it. You need to go out and find yourself some sexy young man to distract you. I could set you up with someone. My bridge partner has a nice grandson who’s single.”
“No thanks, Gram. I’m not ready to start dating.”
“You haven’t told me about your trip to Italy yet. Was it everything you hoped?”
“Dad didn’t say anything to you about it, did he?”
“No. Why should he? Did something happen over there I should know about?”
“No. I just wondered. Uh, the Amalfi Coast was beautiful. Even better than the pictures I’d seen.”
“So you had a good time?”
“Positano was amazing. The place makes you want to sit down at a local café and just let the beauty and magic envelop you.”
“And you had a good time?”
Faith continued to avoid directly answering her grandmother’s question. “Great food. The food is to die for.”
“I have to confess I was nervous when I heard you took off like that out of the blue. I mean that’s not like you. But it sounds like you made the right choice going there.”
Faith wondered what her life would be like right now if she hadn’t gone to Italy. What if she’d stayed in her condo and cried about her ruined wedding, surrounded by unreturned wedding gifts? Would she have left her job at the library? Or would she have sunk into one giant pity party and not climbed out?
Had Caine actually been good for her? Wow, that was a weird concept, one she couldn’t quite wrap her mind around at the moment.
“Faith, are you still there?” Gram asked.
“Yes, sorry. I was just thinking.”
“About your new job? You dad is so happy.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“And when he’s happy, I’m happy. That’s what moms do. They are happy when their child is happy. Their grandchild too. I want you to be happy.”
“Thanks, Gram.” After disconnecting the call, Faith was left wondering what it would take to make her happy.
She knew in investigative work, sometimes you never found the answer or the information you needed, no matter how hard you tried. Too often, life was like that too.
“We’re in a rut. We need to mix things up more,” Faith said as she joined Megan in the elegant foyer of Faith’s condo building a few days later. They were meeting for their customary dinner nearby.
“I don’t want to mix things up. I want sushi,” Megan said. “It’s the second Tuesday of the month, which means it’s Sushi Tuesday.”
“But we’re in a rut.”
“We are not in a rut. Stop saying that.”
“We’re creatures of habit.”
“Oh puh-lease. You changed your hair, your job, your man, your bed. That’s enough. It’s Sushi Tuesday, and we are having sushi, got it?”
“Got it.” Faith held open the door for Megan and motioned her to go ahead of her. “Jeez, you can be stubborn.”
“Me? You’re the one with the stubborn streak. I’m the optimist in the family.”
“Sure, it’s easy to be an optimist when Aunt Lorraine isn’t your mother’s sister.”
“True.” They started walking toward the Sushi Place a few blocks away. The early evening weather was perfect—sunny and in the mid-seventies without the humidity that could turn the coolest woman into a sweating blob . . . even a mad, bad blonde with the best haircut in the world. Shaking her head, Faith enjoyed the silky swing of her hair against the back of her neck. She still sometimes caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror and would do a double take for an instant. Changing her look was one of the smartest things she’d ever done.
“I need another author mentor,” Faith said.
“Does it have to be a dead author? A dead female author? I’ve got it.” Megan snapped her fingers. “How about B
eatrix Potter?”
“Right. Like she’s a kick-ass role model.”
“Hey, she accomplished a lot in her lifetime. Not only did she create Peter Rabbit and Jemima Puddleduck, she also donated over four thousand acres of land in England’s scenic Lake District to the National Trust so that future generations could enjoy its beauty.”
“Nice but not good enough. Who else?”
“You never answered my question. Do they have to be dead?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Fiction writers? Or nonfiction? If nonfiction, then how about Gloria Steinem? Or Erica Jong or Candace Bushnell if you want fiction?”
“I did have that one shopping spree in Italy, but normally I’m not really a shopaholic.”
“That’s Sophie Kinsella. Bushnell did Sex and the City.”
“Right.” They entered the Sushi Place. The white chairs and light wood tables and floors gave the small space a bright, airy feeling. Once they were settled at their favorite table near the big windows, Faith selected the tempura shrimp maki with fried shrimp, cucumber and scallops. Megan considered the daily special before going with the miso soup, spicy seaweed salad and a selection of tamago yaki, kani and several of her favorite dynamite sushi. Faith had ordered Japanese beer before but today went with the bottled sparkling water instead, as did Megan.
“Here.” Megan handed her a CD.
“What’s this?”
“I burned a breakup CD for you. You liked ‘I Hate Everything About You’ so much that I gathered a few more songs with a similar theme.”
Faith read the first few titles from the printed play-list aloud. “ ‘You Give Love a Bad Name’ by Bon Jovi, ‘Love Stinks’ by the J. Geils Band, ‘You Oughta Know’ by Alanis Morissette, Beyoncé’s ‘Irreplaceable’ and ‘Don’t Speak’ by No Doubt. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Hey, did I tell you that I beat Caine out for a new client? On my second day on the job.”
“Yes, you may have mentioned it a few thousand times.”
“Did I also mention that I looked into Caine’s father’s case?”
Megan’s eyes widened. “No, that’s definitely news. So what did you find out?”
“On the surface it seems like a no-brainer. Dr. Karl Hunter was a chemist working for American Research Corporation on a project to develop an affordable biofuel. He was in charge of the project. There were only three other people involved in it. Details about the biofuel were sold to a rival company. A large amount of money showed up in an offshore account in Karl Hunter’s name.”