by Caryl McAdoo
“Wait.”
“For what?”
“Answer one question. Were you working there when Nancy was still alive?”
“No.” Soon as it came out her mouth, Vicki wished she’d said yes.
“Then I don’t know if you can help me anyway.”
“Fine. I’m outta here.”
The reporter grabbed her arm. “Please, can’t we talk?”
Vicki stared at the woman’s hand until she removed it from her arm and released her. “Look if I can’t help you, and you don’t have any money, we’re done.”
“You’re right, but maybe one question? I’ll give you fifty for your trouble if you answer just one question.”
Vicki pretended to consider the offer. She definitely wanted to hear the question. Maybe she should ask for more money, didn’t want to seem too cheap. “I already answered one question, so I’ll take the fifty. What else you want to know? Keep in mind the answer may or may not cost you more.”
Waters pulled out a wad of money, forked over fifty, then counted out another. “How did Nancy Preston die?”
Vicki took the money. “Car wreck. A drunk hit her head-on.”
“How come that’s not in any of the newspaper stories?”
“Beats me, but that’s two questions.” She held out her hand, palm up.
“So you know a lot about her?”
She curled her fingers back and forth. “Yes, and that’s three now.”
“Come on give me a break. I’ve got another two fifty. Can’t we visit a while for that?”
Vicki eyeballed the woman a second. She didn’t seem like a muck-raker. “You said earlier you had an angle. What is it?”
Waters shrugged. “A man—not any man mind you, but one of the richest men in Texas—is still grieving over his dead wife after five years. If I can find out about the real Nancy Preston, then I’ll have a piece worthy of the Sunday Dallas Morning News.”
Vicki nodded toward her hand. Waters greased her palm. “What do you want to know?”
For the next hour, Vicki answered the reporter’s questions to the best of her recollection. So, in essence, she was being paid for her research. Nice how things work themselves out. Once they started covering the same ground twice, Vicki extracted herself with a promise to call if she thought of anything else.
On her return to the B & B, it took longer to tell Preston and the other ladies about the encounter than her little snoop-dog escapade actually took. When she finished, no one spoke. Vicki couldn’t get a feel for Preston’s reaction, couldn’t read him.
Before he said anything or indicated how he planned on handling Miss Waters, Marge spoke up. “Well, Dub, I for one think it’s a wonderful idea.” She smiled. “I think you should have Vicki bring her out, so you can tell her about Nancy yourself.”
He leaned back and looked to the ceiling. “I don’t know. What if it’s all a ruse?”
Vicki waved the notion off. “I don’t think so, but can’t we check her out?”
Preston nodded. “As we speak.”
Marge touched his forearm. “So there you go. If her story’s true, then let her have the lowdown directly from you, so it’ll be accurate.”
“There’s merit to what you’re saying, but it’s never been my policy to talk with the press. I’ll think about it.” He nodded at Vicki. “Thanks.”
“Anytime, Dub.”
* *
“So, anyway, how are your costumes coming, ladies?”
He listened to the three tell him about their appointment with the kid genius who got them wired up and ready to surf, but past that, hadn’t done much yet. What he condensed to a paragraph took the women over thirty minutes to relate. He shook his head. The rabbits those ladies did chase, but he enjoyed the hunt greatly.
Their dainty words fell easy on his ears and let most of his mind concentrate on the reporter. In the end, he decided to speak with her in private. When he stood, the ladies all stopped talking leaving a silence in the place of chatter. He loved it, though he knew he should be more polite.
“Marge, could I have a word with you?” He held out his hand.
“Certainly.” She glanced at Audrey who wore a smug I-told-you-so grin.
He pulled her to her feet then guided her toward the patio. The cool, overcast night reminded him of fall, his favorite season, even if it was June. He loved everything about Texas except its blasted summer heat, and he didn’t look forward to the blistering months ahead. No words passed until she stopped at the gold fish pond.
“Why do you think I should talk with this reporter?”
“So that the world, or at least our corner of Texas, can better know the woman you loved so much. She must have been a special lady.”
He nodded then motioned toward the stone bench. She took his hand, and he helped her sit before slipping in beside her. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Never hurts to have a friend at the paper, either.”
“Oh, I could buy the paper if I wanted. Bought a PR firm once, so they could work for me.”
“What’d you do with it?”
He scooted around. “You smell good.” He remembered the fragrance she had worn the first day he met her, but this was different. “What is it?”
“Yves Rocher’s Tendre Jasmin. I liked it.”
“Well, I love it.” He drifted closer, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. “It’s new.”
“Got it on the Dallas trip. Used my own money by the way.”
He opened his eyes and leaned back. “How come I didn’t smell it inside?”
She smiled. “Maybe I didn’t want you to until we were alone.”
“Good answer.” He closed his eyes again and sniffed his way to her neck. His lips stopped a fraction of an inch short of where he wanted. For just a second, he lingered there then pulled back. “You know?” He stood. “Sometimes I think, oh no, what if Nancy finds out? She’d like you.”
Marge hugged herself as though winter had ousted summer’s ill tempered heat. “I don’t know what to tell you, Dub. Maybe talking to this reporter will help you sort things out.”
“What would your Walter think of me?”
She laughed. “I’ve thought about that. He’d like you. Probably want to punch your lights out for making time with his girl.” She smoothed her dress. “But overall, I think he’d approve. You’re honorable, and he respected a man who kept his word.”
He nodded a thank you. “So you think I should talk with Miss Waters?”
“I would if she wanted to profile Walter.”
He extended his hand and pulled her to her feet. “Okay. If she checks out.” He stepped into her space and breathed her presence. “I almost kissed you a minute ago.”
She eased closer until the length of her forearms rested against his. “I know. I hoped you would. Your breath was so warm.”
He released her hands then traced her hairline with a finger. “Do we care there’s probably three pair of eyeballs fixed on us?”
She smiled. “Four, counting Jorje.”
“That Mexican’s always sneaking up on me, and I never can catch him.”
She chuckled. “Well, are you going to kiss me? Or not?”
He tilted his head and pressed his lips against hers. Their softness exceeded his expectations. He wanted to devour her, eat her alive, but instead, eased back and filled his lungs with her. He held her shoulders, moved her slightly back, and focused on her image. For a second, he feasted on her beauty then burned the memory into the gallery of his heart.
She opened her eyes.
“You taste better than you smell, and you smell divine.”
“Thank you.”
Without looking away, he motioned with his right hand. Within seconds, Jorje stood beside him. “What is it, amigo?”
“Miss Waters. She checked out, Boss. I talked with her editor and the editor’s editor.”
“Good. Go tell Vicki to come here.” He winked at Marge then faced the house.
/> She snuggled in next to him. “Does this change anything?”
He looked at her. “You talking about Jefferson?”
She nodded once.
“No.”
She stepped away, glared until Vicki neared, then marched into the house.
He watched her disappear. Why did she have to act like that? Before facing the younger woman, he took a deep breath and settled his focus. “Vicki, darlin’.” He spoke loud enough for Marge to hear. She broke step, but didn’t turn around. “Go invite Miss Waters to lunch tomorrow, if you don’t mind.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Journal entry – June 3rd
Never should have kissed her.
Marge slammed her door shut then headed straight for her bed where she knelt and pulled out her suitcase. There might not be a jet plane out front, but she’d bet she could get a taxi. Either way, she was leaving. Another night under his roof would be one too many. He’d called Vicki darlin’ just to get her goat.
She hated him, hated it that he put more stock in his stupid game than her. That’s what it amounted to. Well, she’d make it easier for him to narrow his choice down to one. Tears welled, but she blinked them away. No crying over him either. She flipped the case open then stared at it. She didn’t want to leave.
What was she doing?
Her nose tingled, and her sinuses filled. An arrow stabbed her heart. She wanted to stay and never wanted to leave. She wanted to kiss him again, be with him and share her life. Why did he have to charge so high a price? What kind of relationship would they have based on luck instead of love? And was she ready to admit love on her part—much less dare to imagine it on his?
As if to answer her own question, a future flashed before her mind’s eye. Two old people who looked somewhat like them hovered over a felt covered table cutting high card to see who walked the dog. Humph. Preston wouldn’t even have a dog. Too needy.
Soon as she got home, she would buy herself a puppy with some of his money! A toy Pomeranian, they were so adorable! For a moment, she stared at the white-haired couple then shook the image away and settled on leaving. Forget wrinkles and folding, she threw everything into the suitcase.
The bag soon overflowed with all her belongings. She had much more than when she came. She hadn’t realized. After careful poking and much tucking, she sat on top of the luggage, latched its buckles, then set it by the door. She’d call Stephanie first. That would help her keep her resolve. No, before she called Stephanie, she’d tell him goodbye.
It was the least she could do.
* *
After Marge stomped off to her room, Preston retreated to his orchard. Storm clouds hid any trace of blue sky. In the near distance, lightning streaked to the earth. Just what he needed. He’d about worked off her searing glare when she came walking up the road. He chopped a couple more weeds then threw the hoe over his shoulder and headed toward her. Met her at the fence.
He smiled. “You know, the Greeks only wanted to know one thing about a man after his death. Did he have passion?”
She pursed her lips. Her eyes glistened. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“No one who knows you can say you’re not passionate.”
“Whatever. I just came to tell you goodbye.”
He stared into her eyes. She didn’t look away, and nary a tear fell. “Please, don’t.”
“No, you, please, don’t. Don’t ask me to stay. I can’t stand it another day. What if I lose? I couldn’t stand to lose.”
“But leaving makes no sense.”
“Yes, it does.” She backed away a step. “I’m sorry, Dub, but I’m through with the game and counting on Lady Luck. I make my own decisions. I’m going.”
He shook his head. “Yes, but not home, to Jefferson. I don’t think anyone will lose this month.”
“You can’t say that. You’ve got rules, and if I lose, then you’ll send me packing because I’m not lucky. I never have been. I never won anything in my life. Everything I ever had was because I worked hard for it. Even Walter.”
He dropped the hoe and jumped the fence. He wasn’t sure who was more surprised. “Please, don’t go. You were so excited about the ball. I saw it in your eyes this afternoon. Besides, I want to see you all dressed up in your costume.”
She backed another step. “Don’t ask.”
He matched her step. “You know you want to stay. I want you to stay. Don’t do this, please.”
She looked away for several beats of his heart. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” He nodded toward the house. “I bet Vicki’s back. Come on. We need to word the confidentiality agreement, fax it to legal, and plan out tomorrow’s lunch with this reporter. I need you to be a part of it. After all, you’re the one responsible for her invite.” He resisted the urge to slip his hand into hers.
First, the fax to legal got hashed out—Marge added the most—then the conspirators spent another half-hour working on the menu. At the last item, orange sherbet, he nodded toward Audrey. “You mind serving, or should Jorje ask one of his cousins?”
“No, I can serve, happy to, but then what? Should I leave?”
“No, no. Stay and eat with us, of course.”
“Okay.”
He faced Vicki. “What’s your story?”
“I’m your faithful gofer.”
“You told her that?”
“Well, no, not in those words.”
“She didn’t ask?”
“Not really. I told her that I told you she was my cousin, and that I talked you in to letting her ask a few questions about Nancy.”
Marge cleared her throat. “There’s never a good enough reason to tell a lie, young lady.”
Preston squelched a grin. “So are you eating?”
“Sure, wouldn’t miss it.”
He faced Natalie. “What do you think?”
“I don’t if I can help it. If it’s okay with you, I’ll be the one staying in my room.”
“That works.” He turned to Marge. “You in or out?”
“I’ll help Audrey serve then be a fly on the wall.”
“Take good notes.”
She smiled. It warmed his heart that she couldn’t stay mad at him long. “Okay. Don’t you ladies need to do some net surfing and costume designing before supper?”
For the rest of that day and half the night, he recalled pertinent information he wanted folks to know about Nancy, even dreamed about her which was rare these days. By the following noon, he figured he’d relived most of her life. He met the pickup in the drive and opened the door for his guest.
“Welcome to the Apple Orchard Bed and Breakfast, Miss Waters.”
She stuck out her hand. “Thank you so much, Mr. Preston.”
“Call me W.G.”
“I’d be honored, and please, sir, call me Susie.”
He gestured toward the house. “Lunch is almost ready.” Once she passed, he winked at Vicki. The little gal had won herself a place in his heart, no doubt, he could count on her.
She winked back, handed him the signed agreement on the way by then caught up with the reporter. “See this great old hardwood floor in here?” Vicki pointed toward the hall. “Came from a skating rink in Louisiana, but not just any skating rink, the one that Nancy skated on as a young girl.”
While his newest gofer-girl toured the reporter, Preston eased into the kitchen. Soon enough, the pair returned, and Susie sat in Marge’s chair picking at her food between questions. By sherbet time, he figured she must be done since she’d covered everything. The reporter leaned in close. “What about the guy who caused the wreck, sir?”
“What about him?”
“Well, I could never find any reference to his name, much less a trial or sentencing. Do you know where he is, what happened to him?”
Preston leaned back and studied her a second. She didn’t flinch. “Living in Dallas, last I heard.”
“And his name?”
“Oh, I guess tha
t doesn’t need to be mentioned. He’s a good kid.”
“A good kid who caused your wife’s death then didn’t even do any time?”
He looked over her head a couple more seconds. “Nope, not a day.”
She clipped her pen to her pad. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… If that’s an area you’d rather not talk about. I’m just so grateful…”
He shook his head. “No, I suppose the story needs telling. Nancy made me promise that I’d help the young man who hit her, never mind he was driving drunk.”
“Oh, I see, Nacny’s request, huh? Wow. Your wife certainly had a forgiving heart, but I bet that was hard for you.” She set her ballpoint to the paper again with her shorthand notes. “So he got off?”
“Not completely. My attorney recommended mandatory rehab with continued testing. The boy’s in college now, and from what his pastor says, he’s truly remorseful about the wreck.”
“Could I have his name for my records?”
“Can’t see a need.”
Waters started to say something else, but Preston silenced her with his eyes. “Okay then, Miss Waters.” He stood and extended his hand. “Been a pleasure. Your cuz’ll take you back.”
* *
Vicki took the hint and eased the reporter out of her chair. “Did I tell you about the apples Mr. Preston grows here?”
Waters gathered her things, thanked the man again then followed her make-believe cousin out the front door hearing all about dwarf apple species. Vicki waited until she turned onto the farm-to-market road before broaching the subject of cash. “You got the rest of my money?”
The Barbara Walters-wannabe dug into her purse and pulled out a neatly folded wad of crisp bills. “Hope you know I ended up driving all the way to Dallas and back to get this for you.”
“Hey, I earned it, didn’t I? You got your interview.”
“So what about this rumor I heard this morning.”
“What’s that?”
“One about you and the cook and that other lady hanging around. Hear tell you women are some sort of secret harem.”