by Jan Coffey
“We have spring mums, too. And in the Italian culture, there are considered funeral flowers. Particularly appropriate, don’t you think?
“Joanna—”
“Or I can put together a nice arrangement of sunflowers. The American Plains Indians put those on the graves of their dead. Now gladiolas, or carnations, even roses are more universal in nature. But I don’t have any of those outside.”
“Jo—”
She shook off his touch on her arm and pointed to a pot of flowers. “Here. Snapdragons might be the perfect gift. They’re supposed to offer protection from curses.”
“Jo! You’re being totally immature. Stop.”
She glanced back at him. At his handsome face and the stubborn set of his mouth. “What, you’re not happy with my recommendations?”
“I’m not happy with the way you’re behaving.”
“You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry. Seriously, I have a much better selection inside. Come in and take a peek.”
“But the shop is closed on Sundays.”
Joanna looped her arm through his and pulled him toward the back door of the shop. “That schedule is for everyone else. But you are an exception.”
“And why am I an exception?”
“Because you are my favorite customer,” she said brightly. “And because you are not leaving until we find just what you want.”
She took a key out of the pocket of her sundress and unlocked the door.
“We haven’t had much luck with what I want lately.”
“Which just means we have to try harder.”
The shop was dark, but Joanna didn’t bother to turn on the lights. Instead, she pulled him in and pushed the door shut.
“Please.” Her mouth attacked his lips. Her fingers moved up over his chest. “Make love to me, Andrew. No one will be in for a half hour.”
“Jo—”
“Andrew, I’ve missed you so much.” She kissed his lips, his cheek. She pushed him back against the door and bit at the salty skin of his neck.
“Jo, you’ve been seeing me around town every day. So you haven’t missed me.”
“Yes, I have.” She let her hands feel the contours of his back, the curve of his firm buttocks.
He placed his hands firmly on her shoulders and forced her to look into his dark brown eyes. “You’ve missed sex, Jo.”
She bristled. “That’s not true. Despite what you may think, there are plenty available men in this town.”
A frown pulled at his lips. “Then what are you waiting for? Go ahead.”
“Because that’s not what I want!” She wrapped her arms tightly around him and pressed her face against his chest. “Please, let’s not fight. I’m sorry. Please. These last two weeks have been horrible. You don’t answer my calls. We see each other around town, but you look right through me. Like I don’t exist at all. Like all the time we’ve had together means nothing. Andrew, I’ve been hurting.”
It seemed like an eternity before his arms wrapped around her. “Jo, I’ve been hurting too. But I don’t want to go on the way we were. I told you before. I am ready to move on to the next step. The fooling around is not enough anymore. I want to take you on real dates, where people see us together. This is not the 1950s. We can sleep together. Wake up together. We can spend our weekends together.”
“I don’t deserve you.”
“That’s bull, and you know it.” He nestled her head beneath his chin. “It’s time to get out of that morgue your sister calls home. It’s time for you to bloom. I want to spoil you, Jo. Is that too much to ask?”
“We will. We will do all those things.”
“When?” He took hold of her chin and forced Joanna again to meet his troubled gaze. “If this thing between us is going to work, then I’m through having to do 360-degree surveillance before holding your hand.”
“We’ve only done that because of Gwen. She’d freak if she found out…found out…”
“That you have a black boyfriend?”
“That I have any serious guy. It’s all about Cate and her suicide.”
“Come on, Jo—”
“Gwen is not over it yet. And I know she’d be destroyed if she thought I was deserting her, now.”
“Jo, you had a sister who died tragically, but that was four years ago. I respect Gwen’s grief. But I think she’s making a lifetime career out of working on other people’s guilt.”
She tried to look away, but he held her chin.
“Look, it doesn’t matter a damn if Cate was a lesbian or not. It doesn’t even matter anymore if it was Marilyn that started the tongues wagging in this town.”
“Marilyn was the one who ruined Cate’s life.”
“Maybe she was. But your sister committed suicide ten years after leaving Stonybrook. And you told me yourself you don’t know why she did it. Gwen, on the other hand, made it her life’s mission to blame Marilyn…right up to the day she was murdered.”
Joanna looked away. Andrew’s words rang too much with the truth.
“Cate is dead. Leave it go.”
“I have left it.”
“Maybe you have. But Gwen is not done yet. She started on you the day Cate left. You couldn’t leave this town—or that house, for God’s sake! You went to the community college because Gwen didn’t want you to move away. And when you were done with your degree, you had to keep right on working in this shop. What does she expect you to do? Just work here like a slave, under her thumb, forever?”
“Come on, Andrew—”
“I’m serious. How long are you going to let her control you, Jo? I mean, haven’t you sacrificed enough? I don’t kn—”
A knock on the door behind Andrew stopped them both. Flustered, Joanna immediately reached over and switched on the overhead lights. At the sound of a key turning in the door, she moved across the room to one of the refrigerated cases.
“Good morning, Dr. Rice. What brings you here on a Sunday morning?”
Joanna watched her sister look over Andrew. Gwen always made sure to acknowledge his professional title. The problem was, she seemed to use it to limit the extent to which her sociability could go. Always formal.
“Your sister was kind enough to recommend a floral arrangement for a friend.”
On cue, Joanna found herself reaching inside the refrigerator and picking out a large and exotic arrangement of wild flowers. “This was the one I wanted you to see. It’s my favorite. If you’d like, I can drive it over to your house this afternoon…since you don’t have your car.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Andrew said coolly. “I’ll arrange to have it picked up tomorrow. So long, Gwen.”
Joanna’s steps moved of their own accord toward the door, following him out. Something had turned in their relationship, and a sense of cold dread washed through her. But she wasn’t going to lose him. She couldn’t let him walk out of her life. She loved him.
Gwen’s hand wrapped around her wrist.
“I need to talk to you, Joanna. I’ve had a very rough morning.”
~~~~
“My name is on every goddamn charity push in the county. Half of my time is spent going to boring lunches or dull dinners. Every time I turn around, there is another hand stretched out looking for another check.” Marilyn placed her hands on her new lawyer’s desk and glared down at the distinguished looking man. “Now, are you telling me that all that means nothing when it comes to beating Ted for the custody of the girls?”
“I didn’t say that,” the man replied calmly. “But your husband has drummed up some very strong support from members of your own community.”
“Who?” she seethed. “I asked before. Who does he have?”
The man opened a file on his desk. “Gwen Miller. She gave a deposition declaring that you created a scandal with regard to her sister some years back.”
“Unbelievable! That same, old, ancient history, schoolgirl crap. Well, I can give you enough information to knock the wind out of that complete
ly.”
“Of course. The courts understand that there is always another side.” He went back to his files. “Brian Hughes, a restaurant owner in Stonybrook. He says that he has seen you drinking heavily and behaving roughly with your children while in the company of a number of men in his establishment. There is also a very strong deposition from a Reverend Allan Webster—”
“I can take care of those, no problem. They’ll withdraw their statements.” She’d make sure they did.
“Yes, I’m sure any emendation they make will ‘clarify’ everything.” The lawyer looked up at Marilyn. “But the greatest harm to your position comes from this next statement in which you are termed an ‘unfit mother.’”
“I don’t believe it. Nobody would dare say such a thing about me.”
“I’m afraid they have.”
“Who?” she fumed.
The man hesitated for a long moment before answering. “Stephanie Slater. Your mother has stated unequivocally that she believes your husband should get custody of both of the girls.”
Chapter 13
As Heather came in the back door with the dog, Mick glanced over the top of the open newspaper.
“Is Max sick?”
“No. Why?” Heather opened the refrigerator door. He watched her move a few cans of soda from the cabinet to the fridge. She opened one. He struggled against the urge to tell her it was too early in the morning for soda. Hell, he’d drunk worse things than soda in the morning when he’d been her age.
“Well, because you’ve taken him out three times already.”
“I think his hours must be mixed up or something. He doesn’t know if it’s day or night. I feel the same way.”
“Do you ever have trouble sleeping?”
A guarded expression came over her face. “Why do you ask that?”
Mick decided on the direct approach. “I had a call from the drugstore yesterday. About a prescription you dropped off.”
“They were checking on me.” She took a long swallow of the soda. “So what did you tell them? Not to fill it?”
“No, I didn’t say that.” He folded the newspaper. “I trust you, Heather. And I also trust your mother. I think she’s a damn good pediatrician. Which brings me back to why I asked the question to start with. I’ve made an appointment for you to see a doctor in town tomorrow afternoon. He’s a general practitioner.”
“What for? I’m not sick or anything.”
“I didn’t say you were. But with you going to school here in the fall, you need a local doctor.” The suspicion was still evident in her face. Mick sat back in his chair. “Also, I was hoping you could check this guy out for Léa. At the hospital this morning, they told her she should see her own doctor in a couple of days to check on the stitches. But I don’t think she knows any local doctors anymore. So if you give us the low-down on this guy…”
“Sure, let’s use Heather for a guinea pig.”
“Hey, this guy was recommended by your grandfather. I just want to know if he’s good with women.”
Heather seemed to think about that for a moment and then put her empty can of soda by the sink. “You think she’s gonna stick around?”
“Reading what’s in today’s paper, it looks like she might.” Mick pushed the newspaper across the table.
“What do you mean?”
“They have an article on her life in the Philadelphia paper. I didn’t finish reading all of it yet.”
Heather reached for the paper. She leafed through until she found the page. “Horrible picture. She looks like the walking dead. A Question of Appeal! Good title. Very catchy. Did they interview her or something for this?”
“No, they say she wouldn’t agree to be interviewed. But there’s plenty of material from everyone else she ever worked with.”
“Cool! Here is a picture of her house. It even has the corner of our house in it. Does it say she’s gonna hang around Stonybrook?”
Mick hesitated for a moment. His daughter was actually enthused.
“It says she may be looking for new representation for her brother. And it mentions that her house was on the market until last week. The two might be related.”
“She is trying to sell it. For the money for a new lawyer. She told me so herself.” Heather’s blue eyes snapped up to Mick’s. “Why don’t you help her? With the house and all that. Just take it over. It’d take your people no time at all to fix it up.”
The same question had crossed Mick’s mind as he’d read the article. Everything was clearly on Léa’s shoulders now. Her devotion to her brother was the only appealing part of this whole trial. Two years ago, he’d made up his mind that he wasn’t getting involved. It was none of his business. He had nothing personal at stake. He’d even refused to form an opinion on whether Ted was capable of killing his family.
The article gave a clear picture of what her life had been like in the past couple of years. Caring for a dying aunt. The trips back and forth between Maryland and Pennsylvania. The pressures of her job, the trial, the financial burden. And there was no end to it yet. Even these jaded reporters plainly felt that the performance of Ted’s attorney during the trial had skirted the edges of competence. Which meant she needed immediate financial support for a new attorney. Of course, Mick couldn’t believe fixing and selling the house would provide money quickly enough to make a difference. Hell, the lawyer she had now probably already threw a lien on the place.
“Well, Dad? What do you think?”
Mick got up to pour himself another cup of coffee. “I don’t think Léa would appreciate it if I tried to take over her life. Besides, selling the house right away might not be the answer to her problems. We have no way of knowing what’s going on with her.”
“But there must be a way you could help her. You have friends. She has nobody. Like this morning in the hospital. If we weren’t there, she would’ve had nobody to call to come and pick her up.”
“The last thing she needs now is to think that we feel sorry for her. She might be down on her luck these days, but she’s never lost her pride.” He poured a glass of orange juice and brought it back to the table, putting it in front of Heather. “I think we can help her by just being here. I’ll offer my help though. Whether it’s repairs on her house or making contacts with other attorneys or whatever. Or just supporting her as a friend. At the same time, we’ve got to respect her decision about how much she is willing to take us up on any of it.”
“You know this is one of the big differences between you and Mom. She’d just write a check.”
“Are you saying I should write a check?”
“No.” She closed and folded the newspaper on the table. “You…you think of people’s feelings. You give it thought, and try to do the right thing.”
“How your mother and I do things may just have to do with our jobs. With our lifestyles. Maybe with where we live.”
“No. She’d be the same wherever she lived. And you don’t have to defend her.” She picked up the newspaper. “Can I take this upstairs and read it?”
“Are you going to come downstairs later and eat breakfast with us?”
“Do I have to eat your cooking?”
“There’s always cold cereal.”
She gave him a narrow look and tucked the paper under her arm. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
Mick watched her pick up the glass of orange juice and carry it out of the kitchen.
Orange juice. They’d definitely crossed another milestone.
~~~~
Léa was too restless to lie down. The five-minute bath and the two Tylenols had actually done her a lot of good.
The trial appeals and the lawyers’ fees and the sale of the house and some nut case’s strange letters were still pressing. And since last night, the matter of some creep trying to knock her out had to be added to the list, too.
But on top of all of that, her suspicions about Heather possibly being suicidal were the most disturbing. She already knew what Mick’s re
action would be if she approached him with her suspicions. The only answer for right now was for Léa to keep an eye on Heather while she was still around.
Dressed in her last clean T-shirt and a pair of denim shorts coveralls, she packed her duffel bag with her laundry and straightened the room.
A few minutes ago, she heard Heather’s bedroom door close. Léa seized the opportunity and started downstairs.
Max met her at the bottom of the stairs, tail wagging. She petted him and then took another appreciative glance at the beautifully done rooms on the first floor as she followed the dog to the kitchen. She found Mick working in his office, a room off the kitchen.
“Good morning.”
His eyes lifted from the paperwork on his desk, and he immediately stood up. “What are you doing up already? You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I did rest.”
“Did your head ever hit the pillow? Did you get in bed, at all?”
She leaned against the doorway. “I think beds are overrated.”
“Depends on what you use them for.”
“I really need very little sleep.”
“That leaves a lot of room to be creative.”
Léa glanced at the press of his hip against the desk. The stretch of his long legs in the faded jeans. The bare feet. She looked up and saw the teasing gleam in his blue eyes.
“Are we talking about the same thing?” she asked innocently.
He pushed away from the desk and came toward her. “I was talking about sleeping. How about you?”
“Yeah. Me too.” Léa backed out of the room before he reached the doorway. “So, all those promises about breakfast. Was that only talk, or can you really cook?”
“You hungry?”
“Starved.”
His gaze rippled over her, like water over pebbles, covering and touching everything. “Yeah. Me, too.”
“Just tell me what to do.” She moved ahead of him. The strangest sensations raced through her. She wanted to run, to create space between them. At the same time, she wanted to be caught. And that was a first.