Divine's Emporium

by Michelle L. Levigne

  "Knows me?" Jeri looked down at Junior, lying in his car seat wedged securely between them on the bench seat, with blankets wrapped around it for extra padding. The baby blew bubbles and giggled at her.

  "Claims he's your fiancé."

  "I am not engaged. See?" She spread her hand, wiggling her fingers to show there was no ring on them.

  Her heart sank. Aunt Eleanora had been pressuring her to choose among five supposedly eligible young men when Jeri had flung her old life to the winds and bolted. It would be just like her aunt to promise that whichever of those well-dressed, pampered, manicured, perfumed, in-bred idiots actually found her could marry her. That didn't mean that they actually had the intelligence to track her down, or that they knew her well enough to guess where she would go--only that they had enough money to hire the best investigators.

  It wouldn't matter if Jeri said no a thousand times. The inbred twit and Aunt Eleanora would consider it a done deal. The winner of the treasure hunt would get the prize, no matter how unwilling the bride turned out to be.

  If they had to forge her name on the marriage license, they would. They had the money and fancy lawyers to get away with it, too.

  "Something you want to tell me?" Jon-Tom said. He pulled the truck to a stop at the end of the street. Stanzer's car and a low-slung red sports car were parked in front of the cottage. "Like maybe how long you were planning on playing house before you got bored and dumped Junior?"

  "Dump?" Jeri couldn't breathe for a moment.

  "Must be a lot of fun for you rich girls to slum it for a while. Cooking for yourself and buying second-hand clothes must be a real adventure, huh?" Jon-Tom didn't look at her, just gripped the steering wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

  He thought she was slumming? Fury cleared Jeri's head and let her breathe again. For half a second, she was tempted to take his dare, to jump out of the truck, just hit the road and leave Neighborlee behind. But that would mean leaving her house and Angela and the friends she had made, and Junior.

  And Jon-Tom.

  I don't want to leave. I like it here. I even like Jon-Tom, even though he's being a total moron. What is wrong with him? What makes him think I'm playing games? I'm not his ex.

  That thought stopped her cold. Jeri took another look at Jon-Tom, who still wouldn't look at her. Was he afraid she had been lying, just like Caryn?

  Was he afraid of her leaving? Did it make him angry? Did he care that much?

  "I am not engaged." Somehow, she managed to say it in a calm tone of voice. She remembered a time when she would have been unable to speak, choked by imminent tears. Aunt Eleanora had trained her to fear scenes of any kind, so she gave in rather than argue or cry or scream in public. "I ran away from home to avoid creeps like the one Stanzer has cornered. I'm not the girl I was three months ago. Can we leave it at that?"

  "Sure." He shrugged and still didn't look at her as he took his foot off the brake and gunned the engine.

  Jeri felt sure Jon-Tom would have swung into the driveway, spitting gravel, except for two things. First, there was a baby in the truck. And second, that ugly sports car and Stanzer's car blocked her driveway. He probably wouldn't have hesitated to ram the sports car, but Stanzer was a friend. Besides, Jeri felt sure Jon-Tom loved his truck more than the creep who had been spying on her house ever truly cared about her. Whoever he was.

  The creep loved her trust fund, her family's money, and the social standing that would come from combining two old and prominent families. Loved her, Natalie St. Germaine Hollister? Hardly.

  Jon-Tom pulled the truck up so the passenger door was lined up with the slate path to the curb. He was always thoughtful like that, even when he was angry. She knew he had to be angry, because he'd never been this silent and tense with her.

  A figure dressed in white silk slithered around the roadblock presented by Stanzer, and darted toward the truck. "Natalia, darling!"

  "Foster," Jeri groaned. She didn't need to see him in his summer "ice cream suit" to recognize him. He insisted on using his fake French accent and changing her name, as if that gave him a special claim on her. Once upon a time, she'd thought he did have a special claim because he had convinced her he cared about her, about the things that mattered, and about helping her escape the cage her aunt and high society had built around her. Just about the time she decided she felt like a total nit as Natalie, she'd realized that Foster was just coaxing her into slipping from one cage into another. She hated being Natalia because Foster loved Natalia. Pretty much along the same lines that a sexual predator loved the children he abused.

  "So you know him." Jon-Tom stared straight ahead, still gripping the steering wheel.

  "Not anymore. I'm not Natalie or Natalia. I'm Jeri." She took a deep breath, grasped the door handle, and swung it open into Foster's fashionably rippled chest. He had gained his muscles by way of a gym and personal trainer, whereas Jon-Tom had his through honest hard work. Jeri preferred nature, whenever possible.

  She didn't hit Foster on purpose, but Jon-Tom snorted and his eyes lit up. If he thought she had meant to do it, well, then she meant to do it.

  "Darling." Foster didn't have the sense to realize what had happened. He looked around, stunned, and flashed her a twenty-thousand-dollar smile. She knew it cost that much because she had seen the bills for his dental work, as if he thought they would impress her. "What are you doing here?"

  "I have no idea who you are." She unhooked the seat belt holding Junior's car seat and shoved harder on the door.

  This time Foster stepped out of the way, nearly losing his balance on the curb. He staggered backwards when she emerged backwards from the cab, dragging Junior's car seat with her.

  Usually, Jon-Tom snagged the car seat to carry for her. Right now Jeri wanted to hold it, and she hoped Jon-Tom understood why.

  "What is that?" Foster choked.

  "It's a baby. Please go away. He doesn't like strangers."

  "Is this why you disappeared before our engagement could be announced?"

  "Since I don't know who you are, how could we be engaged?" Jeri didn't bother looking at Jon-Tom for help. Stanzer came to her rescue.

  "The lady says she doesn't know you," the PI said. He reached for Foster's arm, most likely to drag him out of the way.

  "Natalia, darling--"

  "Jeri." Jon-Tom held out his hand. "Want me to take care of Junior?"

  "No, I want you to take out the trash." She turned on her heel and headed toward the house. If she hadn't needed both hands for the car seat, she would have hooked her thumb over her shoulder at Foster.

  "Sweetheart." Foster twisted free of Stanzer and darted around in front of her. She could either detour around him and walk through the flowerbeds, or let him say his piece. "I've come to take you home."

  "I am home."

  "This?" He curled his upper lip at the cottage. "Your servants wouldn't condescend to live in this hovel."

  "Then it's a good thing I don't have any servants."

  "No, you have an instant family. This..." He gave up searching for a word, and pointed at Junior, who was stirring from his nap and not very happy about it, judging by his reddening, wrinkled little face. "This can't possibly be yours. Did this hillbilly talk you into something you and I will both regret?" He glared disdainfully at Jon-Tom.

  Who just stood there, thumbs looped over his belt, rocking a little on his heels, waiting.

  Jeri didn't know who made her angrier. Not even Stanzer cared to get involved in rescuing her. Well, just as she had three months ago, when it was a choice between slitting her wrists or ditching the life she had never wanted, she would just have to rescue herself.

  "Look at you." Foster looked her over, and his lip curled even more. She rather hoped it would stay that way. It was an improvement over his bland prettiness. "You're dressed like a peasant."

  Jeri liked the Bohemian look she had chosen today, with rainbow patches all over her faded, worn jeans, a rainbow print tube top,
thong sandals with lots of beads decorating them, and a dozen glittery, chiming, clanking bracelets on each arm. It was a look and a feeling of freedom she had dreamed of since she was a little girl and had to endure hours every few months with the dressmaker.

  "Next thing you know, you'll think you're actually happy, spending your time cooking and baking and cleaning and changing diapers. No time for yourself. Nothing worthwhile to show for all your hard work."

  Jeri felt her mouth drop open. Nothing worthwhile? Every time Junior smiled at her, she felt like she had just been crowned queen. If she could make sure Junior grew up to be a worthwhile person--like Jon-Tom, for instance, even if he did insist on standing there instead of throwing Foster into his car--then her life would be more than well-spent.

  Just who did this arrogant, rich, overdressed booby think he was, to pass judgment on a simple, fulfilled life?

  "Need some help, Jeri?"

  Jon-Tom put his hand on her shoulder, and suddenly everything was right with the world. She smiled at him, throwing in all the wattage she could summon. It must have done the job because Jon-Tom's eyes widened and his lips curved up in a goofy-looking grin.

  "Hold Junior for me?" She batted her eyelashes at him and that goofy look turned downright nasty and gleeful. That meant he understood her message, if not her intention.

  Right that moment, she loved Jon-Tom.

  She handed the car seat to him, took two steps closer to Foster, and metaphorically rolled up her sleeves.

  Foster's smile turned smugly triumphant.

  Did that arrogant booby actually think she was giving up and throwing herself into his arms? The only thing she planned to throw his way was a right hook.

  Which she did.

  Foster slid through the mulch of her flowerbed and out the other side into the grass, which was juicy and green in the shade. Only when he stopped moving did he lift both hands to his nose, as if he couldn't believe it spurted blood until that moment.

  "I'll sue your family for everything they've got!" Foster shrieked, sounding like he had been gelded. "Thousands of dollars of plastic surgery, and you ruined it! Not to mention my suit will have to be dry-cleaned and even then I doubt--"

  "I'll testify to the cops that this bozo threatened you," Stanzer said, sounding downright bored.

  Junior whimpered for punctuation, that little hiccupping sound that meant he was winding up for a full-blown wail.

  "And disturbing the baby, on top of it," Stanzer added.

  "You're going to lie to the police?" Foster yelped.

  Jeri didn't know much about bloody noses or broken ones, but from the small amount of blood she had raised from Foster's nose, she seriously doubted anything was broken. She made a mental note to work on her right hook, so it did more damage next time.

  "Next time," she said, voicing the thoughts going through her mind that moment, "I'll do more than try to break your nose. For the hundredth time, Foster, we are not engaged. I am not going back with you, I am not going back, period, and the sooner you get out of my town, the happier everybody in the county will be. And you can tell all your creepy friends, and especially Aunt Eleanora, that the next one who comes here to drag me away will get even worse. Got it?"

  "What makes you think I'd tell anyone where you are?" Foster snarled. He would have sounded more threatening if whimpers didn't leak through his pique.

  That was the problem with Foster and his gang, and everyone her aunt approved of. They didn't get angry. At the most, they had snits and tiny temper tantrums, and then went out to soothe their nerves with manicures, massages and herbal tea. Until it was time to go to the clubs or gentlemen's bars, where they did ungentlemanly things to girls who got paid to be stupid, and everyone got filthy, stinking drunk.

  They were the product of good breeding, according to Aunt Eleanora. Every time Jeri had tried to break free, even if just for an afternoon, her aunt had lectured her again on her mother's momentary--if three years could be called momentary--aberration, when she fell in love with a man of "common stock" and had his child.

  Aunt Eleanor had seen the death of Jeri's parents as simple justice, righting a cosmic social imbalance. She had often mocked Jeri as a child when she cried for her parents.

  Would bloodying Foster's nose finally convince Aunt Eleanora that she was a lost cause? That her "accident of breeding" was impossible to correct? Would Aunt Eleanora write her off once and for all?

  Maybe she should have punched someone years ago?

  "You can stay here in the boondocks and rot, for all I care. I hope everyone you ever cared about forgets you even exist. I know I will, as soon as I get on the highway." Foster hauled himself to his feet, ignoring the hand Stanzer held out to him. He stomped down the slate sidewalk to his sports car.

  The smears of mulch and grass stains on his white suit gave it some character. Jeri doubted any of it would rub off on Foster.

  "From now on, Natalie St. Germaine Hollister, you are dead. Socially, and every other way that matters." He emphasized his words by slamming his door. The expensive hinge didn't allow for more than a muffled thud.

  Jeri held her breath, waiting, refusing to even blink, until the engine turned over and the brake lights flashed, and Foster headed down the street.

  Stanzer broke the silence first. "You going to be okay?"

  "She's going to be...just great." Jon-Tom held out the car seat.

  Just taking the handle wouldn't be enough. Jeri scooped up Junior and cuddled him close. To her delight, he let out a little giggle and dug his tiny fists into her tube top. So what if he decided to gum her shoulder to death? She was washable.

  "You're gonna be great," Jon-Tom whispered, and slid his arm around Jeri's shoulders.

  They walked up the sidewalk to the house. Jeri heard Stanzer's car start up, and realized she had forgotten all about him. She looked over her shoulder in time to see him grin and give her a thumbs-up sign.

  For some reason, when she got into the house, her legs started shaking. The last thing she wanted was to drop Junior. She quickly shoved the baby into Jon-Tom's arms.

  Before he could do more than blurt "What--" she ran across the bare wooden floor of the living room and into her bedroom. She hit the bed and buried her face in the pillows just about half a second before the tears came.

  At least she didn't wail or sob. She just lay there, shivering, while tears soaked her pillow. She gasped for breath and felt like her heart wanted to pound out through her ribs.

  Somewhere in all the dizzy spinning, the nauseating mix of relief and glee and outright terror, she felt Jon-Tom's arms wrap around her. Jeri couldn't exactly remember when he pulled her upright, but it didn't matter. She wrapped herself around him and let her tears soak his shirt.

  Too soon, the tears slowed and the world stopped spinning. Jeri clung to Jon-Tom, eyes closed. A tiny corner of her mind wished she could just sit in his arms, forever.

  "Hey, it's okay," he whispered.

  "I know," she whispered back.

  He didn't ask about Foster while they made dinner and hung the curtains she had learned to hem at the shop that afternoon. She hoped it was because he'd caught enough of the story through her exchange with Foster, and not because he didn't care. She wanted him to care. A lot.

  * * * *

  Jeri left Junior snoozing in her bedroom in his cradle and found breakfast and the kitchen table and chairs sitting in the living room. She stepped into the kitchen, and found Jon-Tom already at work, sanding the kitchen floor.

  "Is my cooking that bad?" she said, laughing, and stepped backwards. She wriggled her bare toes, feeling the fine dust from the sanding clinging to her feet.

  "I happen to like your cooking, but you can consider the kitchen off-limits for the next day or two."

  "Continental breakfasts and picnics, then." She wiped her feet on the rug Jon-Tom had thoughtfully put in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, and went in search of her shoes.

  "Where are you
going?" he asked, when she came back to the kitchen, shod, with her purse over her shoulder.

  "Since I'm banished from the kitchen, I'm going shopping for provisions. Junior should stay asleep for another hour. Try not to get into any trouble while I'm gone?"

  "You're in deep trouble, woman. Just you wait."

  "Promises, promises."

  Jon-Tom let out that hearty, rumbling laugh that made her feel like flying and laughing with him. Jeri grinned as she stepped outside.

  Stanzer was waiting on the curb, just getting out of his car. Her stomach dropped, followed closely by her purse hitting the porch step.

  "Foster's suing?" she guessed. Somehow, she made it down the sidewalk to his car without stumbling.

  "Him?" Stanzer wrinkled his nose, showing just what he thought of the high society pest. "I figured you didn't need two doses of bad news yesterday, so I waited until now. That wimp wasn't what brought me over to the house yesterday. Mrs. Dunsmoore's been calling in prowler reports the last few days, so I set up a couple cameras to try to catch whoever it was."

  "Not Foster." Jeri felt her spirits do an upswing. Foster wouldn't be caught dead sneaking through this neighborhood. Cat-burglar wasn't a fashionable Halloween costume. He'd never try out the role for real.

  "Nope. Caught some creep sneaking around, trying to get pictures of the inside of your house. Thought it might be the same guy who broke in before. Called out like I was the police." Stanzer grimaced and shrugged. "He ran for it, and he dropped his camera."

  "And?"

  "Prints?" Jon-Tom said, startling them both. He pushed the screen door open.

  "They're still being researched," Stanzer said. "I got permission from the police to upload the photo files--digital camera. This guy's been following you two around for a couple days, judging by the different clothes Jeri's wearing in the pictures. He stayed in the shadows when I saw him, so I'm having a hard time matching his face to any records. The fingerprints ought to be good evidence, along with the photos in the camera."

  "You think it could be Caryn, trying to blackmail some money out of me?" Jon-Tom said.