The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 4

by Nora Roberts

  “I take the Fifth.”

  “Couple a city lawyers,” Zachary said to Phoebe, wagging his thumb between them.

  “The lawyer with the empty wallet,” Phoebe said.

  “You willnever live that down.” Loo belted out a laugh, did a shoulder and hip wiggle as she wagged a finger at her husband. “Deadbeat.”

  “I thought the story illustrated his innate sense of honor,” Phoebe put in, and had Phin flashing his teeth.

  “I like her. Leave her here. You”—he pointed at his wife—“can go.”

  “Mom!” A girl sprinted over. Curly tails sprung out over both ears. “Hero won’t come down out of the tree! Make him come down.”

  “He’ll come down when he’s ready. Say how do you do to Miz Mac Namara, Livvy.”

  “How do you do.”

  “Just fine, and how about you?”

  “The cat won’t come down.”

  “They like being up high,” Phoebe told her.

  “Why?”

  “So they can feel superior to the rest of us.”

  “But Willy said he was going to fall and break his neck.”

  “Oh now, Livvy, you know he just said that to get a rise out of you.” Loo gave her daughter’s pigtail a tug. “You wait till this chicken’s on the table. That cat’ll come down quick enough. You go on and wash up, ’cause it’s almost time to eat.”

  “Are you sure he likes it up there?” the child asked Phoebe.

  “Absolutely.” She watched Livvy run off. “How old is she?”

  “She’ll be seven next June.”

  “I have a little girl, just seven.”

  “Boy!” Ma Bee’s voice boomed over the yard. “You going to finish up that chicken anytime today?”

  “It’s coming, Ma,” the men called back together, and began to heap it onto a platter.

  There was potato salad and black-eyed peas, collards and red beans, corn bread and cole slaw. She lost track of the platters and bowls, and how many were passed to her. Arguments—mostly good-natured—and jokes jumped and jostled around the table as frequently as the food. Many went over her head—family history, which appeared in several cases to include Duncan. Kids whined or complained, mostly about one another. Babies were passed like the bowls and platters, from hand to hand.

  Nothing like her family, Phoebe thought, the tidy number of them, the overwhelming female tone of even the most casual meal in Mac Namara House. Poor Carter, she thought, forever unnumbered.

  There’d never been an old man at one of their courtyard picnics to be fussed over until he dozed in his chair, or a couple of sparking-eyed little boys dueling with ears of corn.

  A bit out of her depth, Phoebe chatted with Celia about her children—she already had two—and the one yet to come. She shared a smile with Livvy as the high-climbing feline inched his way down the tree to come beg at the table.

  At one point Duncan and Phin debated heatedly about basketball, the sort that involved the jabbing of forks for emphasis and the slinging around of uncomplimentary names. As they insulted each other’s brains, manhood, everyone else ignored them.

  Not just friends, Phoebe realized as the insults reached the point of absurd. Brothers. Whatever their backgrounds, upbringings, skin color, they were brothers. Nobody ragged on each other that way unless they were siblings—of the blood, or of the heart.

  She was having a Sunday barbecue with Duncan’s family.

  Not just a moment, Phoebe realized. A monumental moment.

  “Are you kin to Miss Elizabeth Mac Namara, lived on Jones Street?”

  Phoebe jolted out of her thoughts to meet Bee’s steady eyes. “Yes. She was my father’s cousin. Did you know her?”

  “I knew who she was.”

  Because the tone translated Bee’s unfavorable opinion of Bess Mac Namara, Phoebe’s shoulders tensed. There were any number of people in Savannah who enjoyed painting all family members with the same sticky brush.

  “I used to clean for Miz Tidebar on Jones,” Bee continued, “until she passed, about, oh, a dozen years ago now.”

  “I didn’t know Mrs. Tidebar, except by name.”

  “I wouldn’t think. She and Miz Mac Namara Did Not Speak.” The phrase came out in capital letters.

  “Yes, I recall a feud. Something about a garden club committee.” Which was an old rift before she’d come to Mac Namara House. As age had only ripened it, no one who lived under Cousin Bess’s roof was permitted to speak or associate with the Tidebars.

  “Miz Tiffany? She had her own people to clean, but I did for her now and then when she had a party or just needed another hand. She still living?”

  “She is.” And Phoebe relaxed again. The odd and delightful Mrs. Tiffany was much safer ground. “And as colorfully as ever.”

  “Was on her fourth husband when I did for her.”

  “She’s had one more since, and I believe is currently on the prowl for number six.”

  “She always kept her name, didn’t she? Tiffany, no matter how many she hooked down the aisle.”

  “Her second husband’s name,” Phoebe explained. “She stuck with that, however many came after, as she likes the sparkle of it. Or so she says.”

  Bee’s lips twitched. “Your cousin, as I recall, didn’t have much truck with Miz Tiffany.”

  “Cousin Bess didn’t have much truck with anyone. She was a…difficult woman.”

  “We are what we are. I’d see your mama now and again, enough to say how do you do, when I did for Miz Tidebar. You favor her.”

  “Some. My daughter more. Carly’s the image of her grandmother.”

  “She must be a pretty girl. You tell your mama Bee Hector sends her best.”

  “I will. I think she’ll enjoy the connection. She’s very fond of Duncan.”

  “We’re fond of him around here, too.” Bee leaned in a little while the men continued to argue. “What’re you going to do with that boy?”

  “Duncan?” Maybe it was the wine, the steady beam from Bee’s eyes, but Phoebe said what first came to mind. “I’m still deciding what I’m going to let him do with me.”

  Bee’s laugh was an explosion of mirth. Her thick finger tapped Phoebe’s shoulder. “He’s brought other pretty girls around here.”

  “I expect he has.”

  “But he hasn’t brought any of them around for my approval before today.”

  “Oh.” Phoebe decided she could use another sip of wine. “Did I pass the audition?”

  Bee smiled easily, then she thumped her hands on the table. “Y’all want pie and ice cream, we have to clear this table.” Under the general scramble, Bee looked back at Phoebe. “Why don’t you grab some of these dishes, haul them into the kitchen.”

  And that, Phoebe decided, made her by way of family.

  She ended the evening necking with Duncan at her own front door. “I can’t ask you in.” More brain cells fried when he changed the angle of the kiss, spun it out. “Which, mmm, is a euphemism for not being able to go up to my room and get each other naked.”

  “When?” His hands glided up her, torturing them both. “Where?”

  “I…I don’t know. I’m not being difficult or coy. I hate that word. Carly. My mother.” She waved a hand toward the house. “It’s all so complicated.”

  “Have dinner with me. My place.”

  Her bones turned to mush as his lips trailed down her neck. Dinner at his place, now that was definitely code for sex.

  Thank God.

  “You’re going to cook?”

  “No, I want you to live. I’m going to order pizza.”

  “I like pizza fine.”

  “When?”

  “I…I can’t tomorrow. I have to—” She should think it through, of course. Be practical, be cautious. “Tuesday. Tuesday night. I’ll drive over after shift. As long as—”

  “There isn’t somebody on a ledge, or holding hostages. I get it. Tuesday.” He leaned back. “What do you like on your pizza?”

  �
��Surprise me.”

  “Planning to. Night, Phoebe.”

  “Okay. Wait.” She threw her arms around his neck again, dove headlong into the kiss until the need inside her edged toward actual pain. “Okay.”

  She went straight inside before she did something insane like pull his clothes off, then almost dreamily wound her way upstairs. The man could kiss her into a steamy puddle of lust. And, she had to admit, though she was eager for Tuesday night, this anticipation, this not-quite-yet bumped up the pulse and warmed the belly.

  If she’d felt this damn near giddy before over a man, she couldn’t remember it—or him. That was saying something.

  She heard the TV in the family room, and Carly’s laughter. Not quite bedtime, she thought. And she wanted a moment, just a moment or two by herself before she took what must have been a dopey smile into the family room.

  Because it was a pretty night, she opened her window. Soon enough, she thought, every window and door would be shut tight to hold in the air-conditioning and block out the steamy heat of Savannah in summer.

  She decided to change out of the sundress into her sleep clothes before joining her girls.

  She was stripped down to her underwear when she heard the whistling. It drifted through the open window, brought a quick chill to her skin.

  That tune. That same tune. The man with the camera.

  It came to her, the memory, the image of the man standing alone on River Street. But it couldn’t be the same man, could it? Compelled, she grabbed her robe, pulled it on. By the time she got to the terrace doors, wrenched them open to go out to look, the whistling had stopped.

  No one strolled down the wide white sidewalk of Jones Street.

  14

  Female voices—they always reminded Phoebe of happy birds—chirped and trilled out of the kitchen as she headed in for coffee. Since she could hear Carly’s voice, a kind of quick piping, she marveled a bit. That wasn’t the usual Monday morning routine.

  The kid liked school, she really did, but she rarely liked it on Monday morning.

  But when she stepped into the fashion show, Phoebe understood why her little girl was in the happiest of moods. Nothing like a new sweater—or a new article ofany kind of clothing—to put a smile on Carly’s face.

  The one she was currently modeling like a finalist on Project Runway was a pale, almost fragile blue. It looked like it was made from clouds, Phoebe thought, the way it simply wisped over shoulders and arms, swirled at the waist.

  Doing a practiced pivot, Carly spotted her mother.

  “Look, Mama! Look what Gran made me!”

  “It’s gorgeous.” Phoebe trailed a fingertip down one sleeve. Itfelt like a cloud. “You spoil her, Mama.”

  “My job to. But it’s a sample. It’s what I call market advertising. I’m going to do a few in adult sizes, but thought I’d start out small.”

  “Gran said she could make me a purse to match.”

  “Might as well surrender,” Ava said under her breath as she handed Phoebe coffee. “You can’t beat the two of them. How about a hot breakfast?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll just grab some toast.”

  “How about one of these instead?” Ava held out a basket filled with muffins. “I just made them this morning.”

  Phoebe took one, bit in. “And I talk about Carly getting spoiled. Carly, let’s get some breakfast into you now. I’ll drop you off at school on my way to work.”

  “We’re supposed to drive Poppy and Sherrilynn today, too.”

  “Right. I knew that.” Somewhere, in the back of her mind.

  “I can haul them if it’d be easier for you,” Ava offered.

  “No, it’s fine. Ah, listen, I was thinking about going out to dinner with Duncan tomorrow night, if that’s not a problem.”

  Phoebe watched Ava and Essie exchange smug looks behind Carly’s back as the girl dumped Frosted Flakes into a bowl.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Essie offered the most innocent of smiles. “Of course it’s not a problem. Not at all. Ava, I believe you owe me five dollars.”

  “You bet on…” Phoebe made herself zip it up because Carly’s eyes were on her, and full of speculation.

  “Is he your boyfriend now?”

  “I’m too old for boyfriends.”

  “My third best friend Celene’s mother hastwo boyfriends. Celene heard her say how she juggles them so the left hand isn’t sure what the right hand’s doing.”

  “Sooner or later your two hands get together and you end up with bruised knuckles. And that isnot to be repeated,” Phoebe added. “I’m just going out to dinner with a friend.” And having sex, she thought. Probably a lot of really great sex.

  Should she buy condoms? Surely he’d have condoms.

  God, something else to worry about.

  “I miss going out to dinner,” Ava commented. “Just someone to sit across from for a couple hours, making conversation. You going fancy?”

  “Ah, no.” Should she buy new underwear? “Just pizza or something.”

  “That’s nice. It’s friendly.”

  “I like pizza.” Carly piped up, with a look of anticipation.

  Guilt, guilt, guilt. Great. Just let me get this horniness out of my system first and I’ll make it up to you, baby. “Well…”

  “We have our regularly scheduled pizza night,” Essie reminded her. That smug smile stayed in place as Essie picked up the pitcher of juice, poured a little more into Carly’s glass.

  And just when Phoebe was thinking, Nice save, Mama, Essie threw a curve ball. “You ought to ask Duncan over to dinner one night soon, Phoebe.”

  “Oh…I—”

  “A nice family dinner. From what you said when you got home last night, he took you to his family. Now, you should reciprocate. Why don’t you ask him what night’s good for him?”

  “I guess I could.” Complicated, complicated. Why did it have to be complicated? Couldn’t a grown woman just have a simple affair?

  The answer, of course, was no. Not with a daughter, a mother and an honorary older sister living in the same house.

  “Finish that up now, Carly, we don’t want to be late. Oh, I meant to ask. Does anyone know if someone new’s moved into the neighborhood?”

  “Lissette and Morgan Frye’s daughter Mirri’s come for a visit—which rumor has is a euphemism for leaving her no-good husband after she found out he was learning more from his mixed doubles partner at the club than a strong backhand.” Ava topped off Phoebe’s coffee. “Oh, and Delly Porter’s hired herself a French au pair to run herd on those twins of hers. God help the mademoiselle.”

  “What’s Delly going to do?” Essie wondered. “Is she going back to work?”

  “Shesays having the au pair will give her children a cultural influence, and giveher more time for her volunteer work. What she volunteers for, as everyone knows, is shopping five days out of six.”

  “No, I meant a man. Is there a new man in the neighborhood?”

  “Looking to juggle after all?” Ava said with a laugh.

  “I am not.” Amused, Phoebe shook her head. “I thought I saw a new face around, that’s all.” But she hadn’t really seen his face, Phoebe thought now. “A whistler—not wolf whistler, tune whistler. Whatis that tune? It keeps sticking in my head but I can’t quite place it.”

  As soon as she started to hum, Essie broke in. “High Noon.You know how I love my old movies. That’s the theme fromHigh Noon with Gary Cooper and Grace Kelly. God, what a beauty she was. And him—now that was some handsome man. ‘Do not forsake me, oh, my darlin’,’” she sang in her light, pretty voice.

  “Right, right. That’s the one. Funny sort of song to whistle. Well.” With at least that mystery solved, she shelved the rest. “Carly, get a move on now.”

  The minute they were in the car, Phoebe turned to Carly. “Does it bother you that I’m going out with Duncan? With anyone, really?”

  “No. But if you’re too old for boyfriends, why are you?
”

  That one bit you on the ass, didn’t it? “I just mean boyfriend’s kind of a silly term for a grown woman.” A divorced woman with a child, Phoebe thought. “Just friend’s more sensible, I guess.”

  “Celene’s mother sort of brags about her boyfriends. She used to have three, but—”

  “I’m not Celene’s mother. And I don’t know as I approve of her talking about herboyfriends so much around you.”

  “She mostly talks about them to her girlfriends, and Celene hears her. Then we talk about it.”

  “Oh.” Phoebe blew out a breath as she began to drive. “Does it upset Celene that her mother goes out like that?”

  “She likes the babysitter. Terri’s fifteen and they do makeovers and watch TV. And the boyfriends sometimes bring Celene presents, and sometimes they take her places. Like one took her to Six Flags.”

  “I canhear your thinking,” Phoebe said with a laugh. “You’re such a little mercenary.”

  It wasn’t the first time Carly had heard the word, so she grinned, too. “But if you don’t ask for a present, and don’t say would you please, please, take me to Six Flags, it’s not mercenary. Is it? I mean, Gran always says when somebody gives you something, you should thank them and make them pleased they gave it. Even if you don’t like it. That’s manners.”

  “You’re a tricky one, Carly Anne. Slippery as an eel. You make me proud.”

  Phoebe returned from a suicide threat that had amounted to a sad and pathetic bid for attention to find Sykes waving her away from the squad room.

  “Just a heads-up, LT. You got the rat squad in your office.”

  “IAB’s in my office?”

  “One of them. Got here about five minutes ago.”

  “Thanks.” She should have known it was coming. Had known, she corrected. But it didn’t make it any less distasteful.

  Lieutenant Blackman from IAB was a salt-and-pepper-headed fifty. He had a sloping belly, a ruddy complexion and thin, dry hands.

  “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, to keep you waiting. Did we have an appointment for this afternoon?”

  “You didn’t keep me waiting. I thought we could have a conversation here rather than a formal interview, at this point. If you’d rather the latter, we can arrange that.”