One-Night Man

by Jeanie London

"--and since you're here, we could take advantage of the time by discussing how best to present the connection between the Eastman Gallery and Eastman Antiquities. I've managed to field most of the questions so far, but more are bound to come up. Especially if Joshua Two starts developing your educational resources."

  Business? Quinevere no more wanted Regina's input than she wanted that cut-crystal chandelier above them to fall on her head. She was attempting to make it easy to cross the chasm between them. Pride demanded that Regina say "No, thank you," to the offer, but a tiny voice inside urged her to forgo pride just this once to get out of this lobby where it might appear to the other guests that her family had abandoned her.

  She'd managed to avoid dealing directly with Quinevere McDarby for fifty-odd years. Must she really face this now, when all she wanted to do was enjoy her old age and savor the fruits of her labors?

  But Quinevere McDarby was a fruit of her labor, that tiny voice inside pointed out. The woman would never have been in Regina's life had it not been for the choices she'd made about her marriage so many years ago.

  Regina stared at the nemesis she'd created, remembered asking her late husband what it was about the woman that had made him commit so completely to her. He'd said that Quinevere McDarby possessed the most loving heart of anyone he'd ever met in his life.

  Regina remembered thinking he must have been blinded by lust, even recalled feeling a fleeting flash of envy that he'd regarded the woman so highly. But upon closer inspection...she supposed she could look at the way Quinevere had welcomed her and her family this weekend in very much the same way.

  If she'd been of a mind to.

  She wasn't. But perhaps the time had come to at least talk with the woman.

  Rising, Regina said, "I do have some thoughts on how best to..."

  AS MUCH AS JOSH WOULD have enjoyed crawling into bed beside Lennon and taking advantage of the lull in their schedule before tonight's banquet, the report he'd just received by fax of the police department's investigation focused his thoughts on work.

  He reviewed the report, satisfied with their efforts, yet disturbed that they hadn't discovered anything conclusive. Josh did, however, notice something about the logistics that raised a discrepancy with his investigation of the flash-and-bang attack.Digging through his briefcase, he retrieved his handheld tape recorder and replayed the tape he'd made of his initial interview with Miss Q the night she'd called.

  "Could you see anything in the alley?" he'd asked.

  "It was dark, Josh Three," he heard Miss Q say.

  Depressing the button, Josh replayed that segment again.

  "It was dark, Josh Three."

  According to the police department's follow-up investigation, the city's utility company had just replaced streetlamp bulbs in all the Quarter's dark alleyways in preparation for the Mardi Gras festivities, which meant the alley behind the museum would have been lit up like a stadium.

  He depressed the Play button again.

  "What direction did the grenade come from?" he'd asked.

  "Opposite the streetlamps."

  Opposite the streetlamps meant the assailant would have to run right beneath the streetlamp to get out of the alley. Why would someone trying to frighten an old lady make the attempt from a place where he'd be forced to run under a damned spotlight to get away?

  As Josh mulled over that question, another hammered at him--what had happened to make the letters stop coming?

  Over the past days he'd eliminated most of the suspects, the literary crowd, plus practically all the bachelors, and those left on his list had weak motivation at best. The only thing that had changed yesterday was his relationship with Lennon. That got him thinking in an entirely new direction....

  Getting to his feet, he pulled the bedroom door closed so as not to disturb Sleeping Beauty, and headed for the phone to dial Beauregard Armistead, his grandfather's close friend and the lawyer who'd represented the Eastman family's interests for longer than Josh had been alive.

  Though Beau was clearly staggered by this out-of-the-blue call, he listened when Josh got straight to the point.

  "I've got a question about my grandfather's military artifact collection. Do you know if he kept collecting up until he died, and what happened to the collection after his death? Is it on display somewhere?"

  Josh shook his head as the lawyer confirmed his suspicions. After thanking Beau for the information, he hung up the phone.

  No damned wonder he wasn't getting anywhere on his search for suspects. There weren't any. Except for the one he suspected of masterminding this entire charade.

  And he was going to pay her a visit right now.

  Writing a note in case Lennon awoke to find him gone, he left the Carriage House for the main hotel. Five minutes later the elevator dumped him on the top floor and he knocked sharply on the door straight ahead, then strode in when the door opened.

  "Olaf," he said, greeting the man who held the door. Meanwhile his gaze scanned the room for the tiny whirlwind who was about to answer his questions.

  She sat at the table, smiling cheerily when she saw him. "What a nice surprise, Josh Three. Come sit. Olaf was just entertaining us with the real story of how he got his name."

  She seemed to think this was significant, but Josh was distracted, and surprised, by the table neatly laid with tea and assorted finger foods, and by the woman he'd never expected to see there.

  "Grandmother?"

  "Hello, Joshua," she said casually, as though sitting across a table from Miss Q were an everyday occurrence.

  Before Josh could even begin to process this unexpected sight, Miss Q asked, "Where's Lennon?"

  "Sleeping in our suite."

  "You left her sleeping--alone?" Miss Q's eyes grew wide. Her teacup clinked on the saucer when she set it down.

  "Wasn't protecting her the whole point of you being here this weekend?" his grandmother asked.

  "My great-niece is horizontal in a bed and you're here chatting with two old ladies?" Miss Q asked with something remarkably like disgust in her voice. "Josh Three, I'm surprised at you."

  His grandmother's cup hit the table with another loud clink. "Do you ever think about anything but sex?"

  "Not if I can help it," Miss Q replied cordially, leveling her a curious glance. "Exactly what is it you have against sex?"

  Josh took one look at his grandmother's expression and saw an argument coming. Time for evasive maneuvers. "I just received an interesting piece of information," he interjected.

  "Really?" Miss Q said raptly. "Something that explains why you've left Lennon alone and unprotected, perhaps?"

  "As a matter of fact, yes."

  Josh could tell by the flare of amusement in Miss Q's face that she was busted and she knew it.

  "You're responsible for the flash-and-bang grenade and the letters, aren't you?"

  Josh wasn't sure what he expected, but her casual grin and easy nod wasn't it.

  "I am indeed."

  "Did you hire someone to set off bottle rockets when we walked into the alley?"

  "I wish I'd have thought of it." Her lively face twisted into a frowning moue. "A stroke of brilliance that had your grandfather's fine touch all over it."

  Okay. Josh didn't know what to say. Miss Q seemed to be in command of all her faculties and given the extent of the work she'd done pulling this gallery together, she couldn't be too prone to memory lapses. Which meant she must be crazy. "And you stopped sending the letters because...?"

  "I was too busy to keep putting them together. Once you and Lennon became lovers, I didn't see the point."

  "I see." He turned to Olaf. "You were in the courtyard?"

  He nodded. "I grew up using stones to hunt in the jungle. I could bring down dinner from the branches of a tree at two hundred yards. Lennon was never in danger."

  She'd been frightened, and that was enough, as far as Josh was concerned. "You knew about this all along?"

  "Not until after we heard those
fireworks in the alley. Miss Q explained in the car while we were driving away. She was so thrilled at such a timely coincidence she couldn't keep her secret any longer. She told me everything."

  "And you willingly went along."

  Olaf flashed a white smile. "What Miss Q wants Miss Q gets. That's my motto."

  It looked like Miss Q wasn't the only one shooting with more than a few blanks in her cylinder.

  "And where did the grenade come from?"

  "I've stored your grandfather's military artifact collection at the gallery until I decide where to place it."

  "Did you pitch Lennon to the bachelors to get them to participate in the auction?

  She arched a fine brow in an expression very reminiscent of her great-niece. "I wouldn't exactly call it pitching."

  "What would you call it, then? And what was the point of all this?"

  Miss Q scoffed. "Josh Three, you're a private investigator and you haven't figured that out yet? With as close as you and Lennon have become, I would have thought my motive obvious."

  "Indulge me." He leaned back against the desk, settling in for what would surely be an explanation he'd have to wrap his weary brain around.

  "Please do, Quinevere," his grandmother said. "I'm interested in hearing this, too."

  Miss Q settled back in her chair and propped her fingers together before her. "It's very simple, really. Lennon has some very decided ideas about what she wants for her future, which I attribute largely to watching her mother and me make some rather unorthodox choices for our own lives. She wants what she calls a 'normal' marriage."

  His grandmother applauded. "Smart girl."

  Miss Q scowled. "She planned to find a husband at the bachelor auction, and suffice to say, I didn't like her criteria. I want my great-niece to have the very best in life, and when your grandfather reminded me that he wanted the same for you, Josh, I knew I had to get you two together."

  His grandfather reminded her?

  There it was again--that casual reference to talking with a man who'd died two years before. Josh made a mental note to ask Lennon about this phenomenon later. He wouldn't raise the question now, not with his grandmother staring as though she'd just realized she was sitting awfully close to a ticking bomb. She'd had enough shocks to contend with for one day.

  But to Josh's profound surprise, his grandmother's shock melted away and she chuckled. "You're just as much of a manipulator as I am, Quinevere. I had no idea."

  "We must keep an eye on our own, mustn't we?"

  "We must," his grandmother agreed with something that looked remarkably like a smile.

  And as Josh stared at these two, realizing he was witnessing a meeting of the minds the likes of which had never before been seen--and probably never would be again--both women turned to stare at him.

  "The acorn doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?" Miss Q fixed her gaze on him.

  Josh suddenly found himself the recipient of two wistful stares. He knew exactly what Miss Q was doing, trying to get his grandmother to openly acknowledge that he was capable of leading his own life without her interference.

  "Joshua was a very good man and his grandson is, too." His grandmother shot a look that revealed she knew exactly what Miss Q was pulling, too. To her credit, though, she didn't balk, but carried the thought one step further. "And now you're trying to arrange something between our families. What do you think about that, Joshua?"

  A formal connection between the Eastmans and the McDarbys. Just the thought should have made her faint. Yet she'd asked what he wanted instead, reinforcing that times had changed.

  Josh knew exactly what he wanted, because falling in love with Lennon had stripped away all his barriers. Him, a man who prided himself on maintaining distance with his emotions. He went undercover with drug dealers without a second thought. He handled grenades, dodged crossfire and collaborated with the authorities as part of a normal workday. Yet one gorgeous blond romance writer had managed to span that distance to make him realize what he'd been missing in his life, make him acknowledge just how lonely he'd been.

  He knew exactly what he wanted, and hoped his grandmother was ready to hear it.

  "I want to marry Lennon," he said. "Maybe you ladies would be kind enough to advise me on how I might help her move past her rather decided ideas about Mr. Right and Mr. Wrong...."

  LENNON SAT UPRIGHT in her back-row seat and wished this auction were over. She also wished she knew where Josh had gone to, but she sat with two generations of Eastmans and thought it best to stay put, keep them occupied and wait for Josh's return.

  She forced a smile when Davinia commented about the six thousand dollars the last bachelor had commanded--the most generous bid yet. The bidding increased in five hundred dollar increments, amounting to very generous totals that would go a long way toward keeping the gallery solvent until it had earned a reputation of its own."He was the most handsome so far," Davinia said, glancing down at her gold-embossed program, which contained the bachelors' biographies. "It was clever of your great-aunt to schedule the auction right in the middle of the events. The bidders seem eager to spend the next two days with their bachelors."

  Auntie Q was something, all right.

  Lennon's head was still reeling from Josh's explanation that her great-aunt had staged all those threats to bring Josh into their lives. Lennon couldn't say she was surprised. Not at all, in fact. The entire scheme was quintessential Auntie Q. And she'd gotten her wish, because Lennon was experiencing grand passion big time.

  The trouble was Lennon didn't want just grand passion with Josh. She wanted the whole package--marriage, a future, and yes, lots of babies, no matter how tall they might grow to be.

  She'd fallen in love, love, for goodness sake, with a romance hero who wanted no more than a weekend of exciting sex. And Davinia's reminder that the weekend was already half over gave Lennon visions of the bleak road ahead, trying to cope with the aftermath. Just the thought of Wednesday's arrival and checkout time made her numb. She'd head home, try to get back to work--she was so behind--and attempt to write a happily ever after for Milord Spy when her own heart was breaking.

  Linc Palmer walked onto the stage, formally dressed, as were all the bachelors tonight. He smiled as Auntie Q introduced him and prompted the audience to bid high for this handsome doctor.

  Lennon remembered Josh's comments about Doc Linc, as he'd called him, being so fixated on physical beauty that he stalked women like he was searching for a winning slot machine. How she could have thought about marrying any of these bachelors was beyond her.

  When she thought about marriage, or about passion, or about sex, the only image that sprang to mind was of an intensely handsome man with too-long black hair and deep green eyes. A man who'd completely redefined the meaning of Mr. Right and Mr. Wrong.

  Doc Linc commanded a whopping sixty-five hundred dollars, which appeared to please him as he left the stage to join the leggy brunette who just might live up to his exacting physical standards. The auction was finally over and Lennon intended to see where Josh had gone. She only had two days left and planned to make the most of each second. Good thing she'd napped earlier, because she didn't plan to waste any more time sleeping....

  "What a wonderful turnout for our bachelors," Auntie Q said into the microphone, reclaiming the audience's attention. "The founders, family and staff connected with the Joshua Eastman Gallery appreciate your generous support. Your programs indicate that the handsome Dr. Palmer was our final bachelor of the night, but since the programs went to print, we've added another. A man who unexpectedly and very graciously offered himself to help raise funds for the Eastman Gallery.

  "But I must caution you that our latecomer has insisted on a stipulation--whoever buys him won't get to just enjoy him until Fat Tuesday. Whoever buys this bachelor gets him for keeps."

  For keeps?

  The audience buzzed expectantly, and Lennon watched raptly as Auntie Q swept her hand toward the wings and said, "Please
welcome our final bachelor."

  When Josh stepped onto the stage, the women in the audience went nuts, catcalling, whooping uproariously and good-naturedly accusing Auntie Q of saving the best for last, which didn't go over too well with the other bachelors, judging by all their grumbling as they returned to their seats.

  And the tumult continued, which was a very good thing, as Lennon could only stare, trying to draw a decent breath, trying desperately to comprehend what was happening.

  This was such an outrageous, audacious move, so completely unexpected, that it took Josh's grandmother leaning forward in the row and saying, "I hope you're not going to leave him standing up there," to snap Lennon out of her daze.

  Had she just been given some sort of blessing?

  Apparently so, because Josh's parents were both watching her with delighted smiles. Lennon's gaze shot back to the stage, where Josh stood, resplendent in his black tux, with his long hair unbound, looking just like a romance hero.

  Auntie Q read his bio, but Lennon didn't hear a word as Josh stared directly at her, revealing with a glance that he wanted her...for keeps.

  In one quick burst of mental math that would have made any teacher proud, Lennon calculated exactly how much her publishing house would be sending in the next royalty check--there would be no bidding war for this bachelor.

  She raised her paddle.

  "The lovely lady in the back will start bidding at..."

  "Seventeen thousand."

  Davinia gasped and Mr. Eastman chuckled by her side, while shouts of "You go girl!" erupted in the auditorium. Regina Eastman shook her head and muttered something about fools and their money, but Josh shot Lennon one of those roguish half grins, clearly surprised, but obviously very, very pleased.

  "My upcoming royalty check," she explained, and Davinia patted her hand with an approving smile that indicated, unlike her mother-in-law, she thought the money well spent.

  "Do I hear seventeen thousand, five hundred?" Auntie Q demanded from the podium.

  The tumult died away swiftly, and Lennon had the giddy thought that she'd done exactly what she'd hoped to--shut down the bidding completely.