“You’re not in this by yourself.” Max flung the rug at her feet. “I promised to take care of you, remember?”
“If I relied on promises for my survival, Max, I would have been destroyed years ago.” Keely closed her eyes.
Max said quietly, “If you’re trying to hurt me, you’ve succeeded.” His eyes were bleak, his mouth vulnerable. Despising herself for her weakness, Keely looked away. “I’m not trying to hurt you, I’m trying to save myself! I called a reporter and told him that on Monday I would turn over to the police some new evidence in Flo’s murder.”
“According to the paper, you said a lot more than that.” Max paced, drawing an ever tightening circle around Keely. “You also promised to release details of the protection racket, along with a list of victims and the link to a local businessman.” Max shook his head in disbelief. “You’re playing with dynamite.”
“Which could blow up in my face.” Keely detached the portrait camera from the tripod. “Detective Gifford threatened to put me in protective custody for the weekend, but I refused. I’m aware of the risks.”
Blowing out his breath in a ragged sigh, Max stopped in front of her. “While you’ve been granting interviews, I’ve spent my evenings hanging around the Brew & Cue, waiting for Jackson to show up. I played pool until my fingers developed a permanent cramp. I even acquired a nickname, ‘Pockets,’ because I’m always digging into mine to pay up bets.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, ‘why?’” He scowled. “Isn’t it obvious how I feel about you?”
She turned away. “Just why are you involved? Isn’t your aunt’s business booming again? No one thinks you’re a murderer.”
“No one thinks you’re a murderer, either, Keely.”
“Really?” She spun around and kicked the rug. “Why are ghouls beating a path to the studio door, asking to see the blood? Why are people afraid to let me be alone with their kids? Honey’s the first session I’ve been able to handle solo and that’s only because her grandmother is one of Ida’s best friends. I’m a suspect in a murder, Max. I can’t live this way any longer.”
“You’re not alone, Keely. Didn’t we make a good team?”
His tentative smile tugged at Keely’s heart. She steeled herself. “Look, Max, you just don’t get it. I don’t want to be a part of a team. I want to nail Damien Franklin and be left alone to run my business.”
“Keely—”
“I don’t want your help, Max. I’d like you to leave.”
He blinked, a wash of red creeping up his neck. Keely doubted that Maxwell Summers had ever been rebuffed so thoroughly. Since the day he’d learned to walk, women had probably twittered like birds when he strolled by.
“You’re not telling me everything.” It was an accusation. “Keely, I’m not leaving until you come clean.”
At a loss for words, she stared at him. Max was a warmhearted charmer, an engaging and considerate companion and Keely couldn’t bear the thought that he might be hurt because of her.
She’d received a call at 2:00 a.m. Tuesday from Damien. His voice uttering a string of foul oaths had shocked her into wakefulness.
Before Keely could hang up, he got down to business. “I like hurting women. Flo could testify to that. I can have your precious fry cook pounded into a lump of raw meat or mess up that lush you call a mother. She gets hold of some bad booze, she’ll need more than a fancy clinic to paste her back together.”
Keely had slammed the receiver down and let the answering machine record the next calls. But Damien hadn’t said another word, simply remaining on the line until the message tape activated before hanging up.
On Wednesday, she’d received an unsigned telegram. “Coming Soon: Judgment Day.” Since then she’d taken steps to protect both her mother and Max, asking the clinic to keep a close watch on Moira and avoiding the caterer.
To monsters like Damien Franklin, saving face was a matter of ego, of sheer survival. In escaping, she’d damaged his pride. By withholding the videotape, she’d figuratively spit in his eye. Flo’s sprawled body served as a horrifying example of what Damien did to those who got in his way.
Keely had no intention of twisting helplessly in the wind until Damien picked his moment to retaliate. Seeing her interview in the paper this morning had strengthened her resolve to end this torment.
If only getting rid of Max was as easy! He’d been stung by her curt dismissal, but instead of stalking out and slamming the door, he remained before her, rock solid.
She gestured toward the curtain with the camera. “Our partnership’s dissolved as of today. Good-bye, Max.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do!” It took all her will power not to break down and tell him the truth. “Max, why do you believe in me? You saw me lose control and break Doug’s TV with a baseball bat. I could just as easily have lost control with Flo and—” her voice faltered, “and killed her.”
“But you didn’t.” Max held out his hand. “Keep looking into my eyes, Keely. Tell me you killed Flo. Tell me you want me to leave.”
“Max—I—” Keely’s voice dried up. Crossing the room, she put the camera down on a shelf. “Just go. Please.”
“I’m not bailing out on you. Your fight is my fight.”
She turned. Max hadn’t budged from the center of her studio. “Be reasonable! Gifford didn’t like me talking to that reporter, but she knows why I did it. She won’t let anything happen to me this weekend.”
Keely fervently hoped this was true. Max said nothing.
She walked toward him, avoiding the stained area on the wooden floor. “Max, if Damien killed Flo, he’s got to keep me from talking. By giving that interview, I narrowed his window of opportunity to two days. By Monday, this will all be over.”
Max’s scowl told Keely she hadn’t convinced him.
Chapter 26
After listening to Gifford’s blistering denunciation of her plan, Keely anticipated Max’s vehement disapproval. She had not, however, expected his calm announcement he would serve as her bodyguard for the weekend.
“If you expect me to leave you floating on the pond like a sitting duck, you’re mistaken, Keely. Damien killed Flo. He’s not going to hesitate to get rid of you.”
Her protests rang hollow in her own ears and, when Ida threw her not inconsiderable weight on Max’s side, Keely accepted the edict that her afternoon appointments would be canceled.
After packing an overnight bag, Keely found herself bundled into a rental car.
“The cops found my Bronco early this morning in a bank parking lot,” Max explained grimly in response to her questioning look. “Of course, the goons didn’t leave any fingerprints. But somebody had tap danced on the hood and it wasn’t the Good Fairy.”
At Feast of Italy, they found themselves in a beehive of activity. Keely was pressed into service making pastry shells for a dish called Swete Fysshe en Doucette. The shells would be filled with a mixture of cold salmon, dates, almonds, herbs, and pine nuts.
Along with other workers, Keely quartered fruit for a spicy pear sauce called chardwardon. Karla explained that the sauce would be served as an appetizer, along with hard cheese and dark bread garnished with Swithin cream. Keely paused, enviously watching the deft cuts made by her companion. “Have you ever made any of these dishes before?”
Karla’s white blond curls would have danced if they hadn’t been tamed by a hair net. “Are you kidding? Jusselle Date isn’t exactly one of our most requested dishes. I never heard of this stuff until Max handed out the final menu. He’s a genius at researching authentic dishes and figuring out proportions. A medieval banquet for three hundred of your closest friends? No problem for Max. Anna Marie’s going to miss him.”
“What else are you serving?”
Karla indicated a rolled up sheet of parchment paper tied with a russet ribbon. “As we say in the business, ‘Feast your eyes on the menu.’”
Unrolling the paper, Keely le
arned the guests would be dining on peppermint rice and sweet capon, along with destiny cakes. The beverage list featured a drink called Lamb’s Wool, which included a non-alcoholic version prepared with cider for those who didn’t like white wine.
Max moved over to the island where the three women were working. “Pack it up, folks. We’ve done all we can. Be back here at 9:30 tomorrow morning.”
In an amazingly short period of time, food was packed away in containers and refrigerated. The floor was swept and counter tops scrubbed while utensils and mixing bowls were loaded into the gaping maw of the dishwashers. Calling goodbyes, the workers left in a group, leaving Max and Keely alone for the first time.
Keely sank down on a stool by the island and kneaded the dull ache in the small of her back. She’d never dreamed that food preparation could be so arduous.
Max, however, still looked relatively fresh. He’d spent most of the afternoon arguing with suppliers over the portable telephone he kept clipped to his belt. Between calls, he had pitched in wherever needed, able with a few words to bring order out of the chaos for a staff working with unfamiliar recipes.
Keely stretched her arms above her head, trying to unkink her spinal column. “All ready for tomorrow night?”
Max removed a covered bowl from one of the refrigerators and faced her across the island. “We’re in good shape. Everything that can be stored overnight is prepared and the fruits and vegetables have been cleaned.”
Keely suddenly realized that she hadn’t thought of Damien Franklin once since Max had kidnapped her.
“It’s nearly 10:00 o’clock on Friday night and I’m still in one piece,” she announced triumphantly.
“That’s a matter of opinion.” Max took Keely’s hand and inspected the tiny cuts on her fingers. “Your knife seemed to be flying out of control. I hope that wasn’t me you were dissecting so vigorously.”
“Don’t flatter yourself—I didn’t think of you once,” Keely informed him with perfect truth. She hadn’t kept an actual count, but it had been well over a hundred.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Raising Keely’s hand, Max kissed each finger tip, the pressure of his lips slow and deliberate. Releasing her, he leaned across the island. “Better now?”
She gave him a tranquil smile, camouflaging the acceleration of her heartbeat. “I’m tougher than you think. What’s in the bowl?”
Amiably accepting the change of subject, Max peeled off the lid. “Marzipan. I’ve got to make the gift for Anna Marie to present to the bride before we can shut up shop for the night.”
Keely watched as Max added confectioner’s sugar to the bowl’s contents. In a heavy saucepan, he heated almond paste until the dough stuck to a spatula and then dumped the mass on a sheet of waxed paper. Whistling a sprightly tune, he kneaded food coloring into the mixture to tint the paste a rich gold.
Max broke off to chuckle. “I think I’ve memorized every song on that jukebox at the Brew & Cue. It was a form of brainwashing—the tunes keep running through my head—so don’t be startled if I start talking in country-western lyrics.”
Keely heard her own inner music, the wistful melody of “I’ve Got You Under My Skin.” Despite her hectic schedule this week, she’d missed Max. At odd moments, she found herself yearning to glimpse again his slow, intimate smile, remembering the protective curve of his body when he bent toward her, the thrust of his jaw when he argued for a point.
But her own needs must be sacrificed. She couldn’t bear the thought of Max being hurt. He’d offered her everything and she’d given him nothing but trouble. The least she could do was encourage him to walk away. Find someone who didn’t have the threat of Damien’s revenge hanging over her head or the burden of Moira. A woman who could love him the way he deserved to be loved. Someone able to play happy families.
Keely’s bedroom had become unbearably lonely. Watching Max’s supple fingers stroke the dough, she fantasized them caressing her own flesh and shuddered with erotic delight.
Fortunately for his peace of mind, Max was intent on his task. Removing the net which subdued her hair, Keely felt a sense of release. “What’s the symbol for Camelot?”
“Got to admit, this theme’s a challenge.” Poker-faced, Max deftly shaped a slender rope of dough. “Tell me what you see.”
Keely leaned forward, fascinated by the movements of his hands. “Isn’t that the symbol for infinity?”
She recalled her own wedding day, those sentimental dreams of unity which had so quickly turned to ashes. “Does that mean Courtney’s marriage will seem like it lasts forever?”
Max paused to admire his handiwork. “This, my unromantic lady, is a love-knot. In medieval times, this little item was considered the ultimate in love tokens, representing the perfection of an affection without beginning and without end.”
“In other words, an illusion.” Keely’s voice was light, but inside she was hurting.
“True love is an illusion only to those on the outside looking in.”
An outsider, Keely thought. I’ve always been one, always will be.
“I loved Lisa.” Max stared down at the love-knot, tracing the elegant simplicity of its design with his index finger. “But through my selfishness I ended up losing her.”
“Max, you don’t need to explain—”
But the trickle of words quickly turned into a torrent.
“…when Max’s Bistro ended up becoming my life and Lisa was shut out. When she left me for my partner, I was crushed and angry. I didn’t have the right to be angry, Keely. I’d promised to cherish Lisa and my indifference to her emotional needs was just as devastating to her as her infidelity was to me.”
Max’s gaze never left her face, his voice softening. “Since my divorce, I’ve been drifting, Keely. Until I met you.”
Forgetting to breathe, she became aware of a momentous sense of anticipation, as if privileged to witness the birth of the universe. At any moment, celestial lights would blaze across the sky and the majestic music of the heavens forming would shake the ground under their feet.
“I dyed this love-knot yellow because gold never tarnishes.” Max leaned across the island until his breath stirred her hair. “Gold signifies eternity. Gold symbolizes forever.”
Keely fell to earth with a sickening thud. That love-knot was a Holy Grail—the ultimate illusion. Unattainable. Nonexistent. At least for her.
Failed relationships, disappointments, and betrayals formed a choking lump in Keely’s throat. “I’m sorry, Max. All I see is fool’s gold,” she whispered in apology. “Broken promises.”
She raised shamed eyes and met Max’s intense, blue gaze. A gaze brimming with such empathy that she was shaken into speechlessness.
Max said quietly, “I’m a man, not a genie, Keely. I won’t vanish in a puff of smoke.”
She shook her head, denying his words. “I’m not sure what you’re looking for in a relationship, Max, but I know I’m not the person who can give you what you need.”
“Keely—”
“To me, love is a four-letter word!” She held Max at arm’s length with a look. “I thought I loved my mother. I thought I loved Eric. I don’t know what love is!”
Max started to speak, but she stopped him with a gentle hand upon his lips. “I’m sorry, but I don’t trust my judgment, Max. I’m attracted to you—I admit it!—but all I can offer is a purely physical relationship which would satisfy neither of us.”
Max gripped her extended hand. Without speaking, he kissed the soft flesh of her palm. Once, twice, three times.
“I’m not your mother, Keely. I’m not Eric. My name is Maxwell Summers and I’m in love with you.”
Their gazes locked. Keely forgot to breathe as Max continued, “I made the mistake once of not fighting to hold onto love and I’ve regretted it ever since.”
He kissed her palm again, almost reverently, before stepping back. Keely closed her hand upon the pledge his lips had seared into her flesh.
Chapter
27
Keely slept that night in Max’s apartment, in Max’s bed. Alone. He insisted on taking the sofa so she reclined between sheets scented and imprinted with his body.
If he’d meant to torment her, he couldn’t have planned a more exquisite torture. She lay on her back and pressed her palms against the silk beneath her.
After tonight’s conversation, Keely couldn’t imagine Max making love to another woman: his hands were made to stroke her skin, his mouth to trail kisses across her own heated flesh…
Max had opened a door between their separate lives. That door might never open again. Haunted, Keely painted the blank canvas of the ceiling with murals of a Maxless future until she drifted into a troubled sleep.
He awakened her the next morning with a breakfast tray of creamed eggs in brioches and papaya cups brimming with fresh raspberries. Max served her courteously, but restraint existed between them. They exchanged few words, polite strangers at an uncomfortable first encounter, until he left her alone with her breakfast and her regrets.
Keely sensed Max’s emotional withdrawal and, illogically, it hurt. It’s what you wanted! she reminded herself savagely as she pulled a coral jersey dress over her head and stepped into sandals.
As they stacked the dishes in the dishwasher, Keely studied Max with covert, sideways glances. Judging from the shadows under his eyes, he hadn’t slept well either. At least she hadn’t broken down and told him of Damien’s harassment tactics. He’d immediately go tearing off looking for Damien and she’d only have to rescue him again.
Separated by more than the width of the car seat, they drove to Feast of Italy, where once again an organized chaos reigned. Engaged in packing the pastry shells for the salmon and fruit salad, Karla greeted Keely cheerfully. Loaves of dark bread cooled on racks around the room.
The wedding was scheduled to begin at 5:00, which meant Keely needed to start taking pictures by 4:00 p.m. Formal portraits of the bride and groom had been completed over a month earlier. After Max finished supervising the loading of the food, he drove Keely home to pack her equipment bag.
Wedding Chimes, Assorted Crimes Page 26