Luck Be a Lady

by Cathie Linz

  “Hell, no.”

  “A showgirl?” Ria asked.

  “I was there to help out my grandfather.”

  “Was hein trouble with a stripper or a showgirl?”

  “You have a one-track mind. Get it out of the gutter.”

  “It’s the company I keep. It’s hard to be all girly-girl hanging around you morons.” She swept her arm in a semi-circle to include the rest of the police officers in the vicinity.

  “Hey, don’t blame us. You were that way before you became a cop. I think you were born with that don’t-mess-with-me attitude,” Logan said.

  “I’m just trying to make my pop proud,” she said. “How about your dad? Is he doing better about you transferring here?”

  “Define better.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  Logan shrugged. “Families are a pain in the ass.”

  “Yeah, but they’ve always got your back.”

  Logan remembered telling Megan that and her confessing that she’d wished she’d had some siblings.

  “A-ha!” Ria pointed at his face. “I knew it! You’re thinking about that girl you met in Vegas.”

  “You’re delusional.”

  “Don’t bother putting your cop face on now. It’s too late. I saw the look in your eyes.”

  “When was your last vision test, Delgado?”

  “A month ago, and I have 20/20 vision,” she instantly replied.

  “Been sniffing any glue? Smoking any weed from the evidence room? Stealing any vodka from the flask in Schmidt’s bottom desk drawer?”

  “None of the above. I’m just naturally observant.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Don’t try changing the subject. There’s no wiggling out of this. You met a girl and you’re afraid to talk about her. And you got defensive when I thought she might be a stripper.” Ria paused and narrowed her dark eyes at him. “Ay dios mio,tell me she’s not another damsel in distress.”

  His stony face gave nothing away, but Ria knew him well.

  “She is!” Ria socked his arm. “Will you never learn? You didn’t marry her in Vegas, did you?”

  “Of course not. Marriage made me what I am today—happily divorced from my ex-wife.”

  “Which was the right move for you. I have to admit that marriage doesn’t always suck,” Ria said. “Sometimes it works out okay. I had my doubts and it took my guy two years to convince me to say yes to his proposal. But I’m glad I did. And he’s lucky to have me.”

  “You really have to deal with this low self-esteem problem you have, Delgado.”

  Ria grinned. “Hey, if you want something in this life, you’ve got to ask for it and go after it. My guy did that. Nobody is going to hand it to you on a silver platter. At least not in our families. Now, the West family is another matter.”

  “The West family?”

  “Yeah, the owners of West Investigations, the biggest investigation firm in the city.”

  “What about them?”

  “Their head honcho was in talking to the chief a while ago. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

  “No. Why should I?”

  “Because his parting words, which we all heard, were ‘Tell Doyle to stay away from my niece.’ So the girl in Vegas was Megan West, huh? I Googled the family and found the info. I knew all this when I started interrogating you. I gave you the chance to confess on your own . . . which you didn’t do.”

  “I’m not confessing diddlysquat.”

  “Diddlysquat? Is that another one of your grandfather’s sayings? I love those. I should keep a list of them.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Ria sighed. “If I only had a dollar for every time a guy said that to me.”

  “Tell me again why I agreed to partner with you?” he growled.

  “Because you like me. Adore me, actually. Would be totally lost without me.”

  Logan rolled his eyes.

  “I realize you can’t admit it out loud,” Ria said, “but we both know it’s true.”

  “I’ll tell you what’s true. And I’ll even take a polygraph test to prove it.” He motioned her closer and pointed to the pile of papers on his desk. “I didn’t join the police force because I like paperwork.”

  “I’d really like to help you out, but I picked up the slack while you were off wooing Megan in Vegas. I figure this is payback time.”

  “Come on, Delgado. I’ll order Chinese from your favorite place.”

  “I have a husband at home waiting for me. He already ordered Chinese from my favorite place. But nice try.”

  Logan sighed.

  “And good luck with Megan,” Ria added with a grin. “It sounds like you’re gonna need it. Or you could be smart and stay faraway from damsels in distress like her.”

  Megan was ready to return to work Tuesday morning. It was downright cold, in the low 40s, as she stepped outside, but then this was Chicago in November, not Las Vegas. A few yellow leaves stubbornly clung to the trees lining her street. They matched the yellow sweater she wore along with brown pants and a faux sheepskin coat. Her Ugg boots kept her feet warm during her commute to work at the North Shore branch of the Chicago Public Library.

  In really bad weather, she took the bus. But since the CTA had raised fares yet again, she walked whenever she could. She didn’t have a gym membership and didn’t need one with the eight-block hike.

  She stopped midway though her walk to drop a few dollar bills in the open guitar case of a street musician, a regular on her route. Nodding his appreciation, he kept playing despite the cold weather. He’d once told her that he grew up in Anchorage so Chicago’s weather didn’t faze him.

  A gust of wind threatened to lift her cloche off her head so she tugged it down even farther. Nothing like fresh air in the Windy City to really wake you up. Most of her fellow commuters making their way to work on foot had their iPods playing, as did she, although she’d paused it when approaching the street musician even if he didn’t know she had done so. It seemed the polite thing to do. She resumed play as she crossed the street and moved on.

  Instead of listening to some of her favorite tunes, she was playing a podcast from the American Library Association conference that had taken place way back in July. So she was a little behind schedule. She’d been busy helping her cousin plan her wedding.

  Megan had saved some of the photos that Faith had e-mailed from New Zealand. She and Caine looked divinely happy.

  “How was the wedding?” Tori Holt asked the second Megan stepped foot in the library staff room. Tori was part Southern belle and mostly punk rocker, an unusual combination that made her one of Megan’s favorite friends at work. Tori’s short hair was dyed neon pink, and not only were her ears pierced multiple times, but so was her nose. Her musical tastes ran from Muse to Mozart and her literary faves included Shakespeare and too many graphic novels for her to choose a favorite. Born and raised in Alabama, she’d gone up north for college and stayed.

  Megan removed her hat and hung up her coat before answering Tori’s question. “The wedding was fine.”

  “Uh-oh. Something in your voice makes me think there was trouble during the trip. Did you lose money at the slot machines or something?”

  “Or something.”

  “My cousin lost over five hundred dollars gambling in Vegas.”

  Megan had lost more than that. She couldn’t put a price tag on losing the trust she’d had in her father because of his lie. No amount of money could replace that. She planned on speaking with her father after work today . . . unless she chickened out, which was a definite possibility.

  “I’ll bet your cat missed you.” Tori was a big animal lover who frequently volunteered at the Anti-Cruelty Society.

  “I was only gone four days, but Smudge acted like it was four weeks.”

  “I remember when you first got her from the shelter. A skinny little black kitten. Black kittens and cats are often the last ones adopted, but you wen
t right for her. Remember how you had us trying to come up with a name for her?”

  Megan nodded and smiled at the memory. “You came up with some innovative ones.”

  “Some of my faves were Elsie—or LC for Library of Congress. Dewey had already been used too much and is a male name. But Izzbin would have been good for ISBN.”

  “She responded to Smudge.”

  “How progressive of you to let your cat choose her name. Just one of the many things I like about you. I also like the fact that you don’t nag me about the fact that I haven’t submitted the rest of my paperwork for the workshop at PLA.”

  “Your first workshop at the Public Library Association is a big deal. What are you waiting for?”

  Tori grinned. “For you to nag me.”

  Megan complied. “Get a move on, girl.”

  “That should light a fire under my heinie,” Tori said.

  Megan laughed. “I haven’t heard it put quite that way before. Is that wording a Southern thing?”

  “It’s a Holt family thing. One of my uncle Bo’s favorite sayings. He’s a real character. Every family has one, not just Southern families. Actually, some of my family members think I’m the character in the family tree.” She tugged on her pink hair. “Not that I agree with them. What about you? Who’s a character in your family? Is it your dad? I love the way you call him a ‘mathlete’ when you talk about him. I think that’s so cute. So is he the character in your family?”

  A week ago Megan would have denied that. Her dad was the quiet, reliable one. Now he defied labeling.

  “What are the requirements for ‘being a character’? If it’s unusual sayings, then the award would have to go to my grandmother’s fiancé, Buddy.” Megan hoped that Buddy would once again become Gram’s fiancé after they got over this bumpy patch. “He says stuff like balderdash . Or none of your beeswax.” Megan wanted the spotlight shifted from herself to someone else. Shanti Gupta, the branch’s children’s librarian, arrived just in time. “What about your family, Shanti? Is anyone strange?”

  Shanti’s long, silky black hair was gathered back with a colorful hair clip. She favored wearing dark colors with splashes of color, which today were provided by a silk scarf in shades of red and purple to accentuate a black top and pants. “Everyone in my family is strange,” Shanti said.

  Aisha Davis, the branch library’s circulation manager, who’d heard Shanti’s reply, joined the discussion while stashing her packed lunch in the staff fridge. “Hey, if you really want strange, then you should’ve seen the family that came in here yesterday. They were all dressed like vampires. The mom and the two tween girls.”

  “Obviously big Twilightfans,” Megan said.

  “Yes, but do you really have to dress the part?”

  “Apparently they thought they did.”

  “The thing is, they didn’t want a recommendation on vampire books. They were looking for a cookbook of Siberian pastries. I sent them over to the reference desk.”

  “Because if it was an easy reference question, they’d just ask Google,” Tori said. “We get the tougher ones.”

  “Yes, but we are librarians,” Megan said. “We can handle it. We can handle anything.”

  “Except more budget cuts from the city,” Shanti said. “We’re already badly understaffed as it is.”

  “Which reminds me,” Megan said, “I’ve got circ desk duty tomorrow, right, Aisha?”

  Aisha nodded

  Megan said, “But first I’ve got to get through today, including finishing last month’s report. And getting ready for the Adult Book Club meeting here tomorrow night.”

  “Good luck getting all that done while working the reference desk all afternoon,” Tori said.

  Megan grinned. “I’m good at multitasking. It’s a requirement here in libraryland.” She felt better being on her home turf. Here she was sure of her identity. She was confident of her place in the world.

  Time went by quickly as the reference desk was busy with one patron after another. One was a fan of narrative nonfiction like Devil in the White Cityset in Chicago; another had just finished Seabiscuitand wanted recommendations on what to read next. Megan had to gently ask what appealed to the reader of each book in order to hook her up with something she’d like. Next came a complicated question about genealogy, and then a very pregnant mom-to-be wanted baby name books.

  The rest of the day was a blur as Megan completed the October monthly report and made notes about discussion questions for the book club meeting the following evening, as well as going through several issues of Booklist , Publishers Weeklyand Library Journalfor book purchases. Then there was the pile of paperwork on her desk, which had somehow grown to twice the size it had been before she’d left for Las Vegas. She also had to create two book displays and refill the one for Thanksgiving cookbooks.

  Life was hectic here in libraryland. But it sure beat having to deal with her family situation. Megan knew she couldn’t keep hiding forever, though. So after work, she headed to West Investigations where she knew her father was working late.

  She walked into his office, took a deep breath and said, “We need to talk.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Her dad’s face paled. Megan’s heart ached at his nervous reaction to her words. They’d always been so close. She would have bet a million dollars that he’d never lie to her, certainly not about anything big.

  Sure, he might fib and tell her she was the smartest girl in the world when she was growing up. Or that freckles were God’s way of saying you’re special. But to tell her that her mother was dead when she wasn’t . . .

  “Why don’t you sit down?”

  Megan shook her head. She was too wound up to sit. “Why?”

  He sighed. “I never meant for you to find out the way you did.”

  “You never meant for me to find out, period.”

  “I thought maybe when you were older ...”

  “I’m almost thirty, Dad. Were you waiting for me to collect Social Security before telling me? Or were you waiting for my mother to really die?”

  “No. It’s complicated.” He nervously tugged on his trademark quirky math tie. “I never wanted to hurt you. That was the last thing I wanted. I was trying to protect you.”

  “From what? My own mother?”

  “I just thought it was simpler to tell you that she’d died.”

  She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Simpler? How can you say that?”

  “Divorce is a complicated subject for a small child to comprehend.”

  “Other parents manage. They don’t lie and say that someone has died when they haven’t. What did you do to drive her away?”

  “Me?”

  “Or was it Uncle Jeff? Whose idea was it to lie about my mother’s death? Gram says she didn’t know anything about it.”

  “She didn’t. We figured the fewer people who knew the truth, the better.”

  “Who is we? You and Uncle Jeff?”

  He nodded.

  “Yet Aunt Sara knew.”

  He made no reply.

  “What were you thinking?” Megan demanded. “I don’t get it. Did you pay my mother off to stay away from me?”

  He still didn’t comment.

  She immediately pounced on his silence. “You did, didn’t you? I knew it!”

  “She received a generous divorce settlement.”

  “And in exchange, you got complete custody of me.”

  “Your mother loved you, but she wasn’t able to cope with parenthood.”

  “What do you mean? Did she have postpartum depression or something?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Then why didn’t you get her help? Take her to a doctor or something.”

  “I tried. She wasn’t real cooperative.”

  “Is that why you got divorced? Because she went into depression?”

  “No.” He looked hurt by her accusation. “I’d never abandon her in her time of need like that.”

>   “Then what happened?”

  He rubbed his forehead. “It’s hard to explain.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Relationships are complicated.”

  “Was she cheating on you?”

  “No.”

  “Were you cheating on her?”

  “No!”

  “Then what?”

  “We grew apart.”

  “Have you been in touch with her since she left? Has she been in touch with you?”

  More silence.

  “You’re still not telling me the truth. I should have known that after lying all these years, you wouldn’t be willing to tell me everything.”

  “I’ve made a mess of things.”

  Tears prickled the back of her eyes. “Yeah, you have.”

  “I don’t know how to make it right.”

  “By telling me the truth.”

  “I can’t. Why can’t you just believe that I did what I did because I thought it was in your best interests? You know I’d do anything for you.”

  “Anything but tell me what really happened.” She wiped her tears away. “I have a right to know.”

  “I know you do. I just don’t know how to tell you.”

  “Is she in some kind of Witness Protection Program or something?”

  His startled look told her that hypothesis wasn’t accurate. “No. What makes you think that?”

  “The secrecy. Was everythingyou told me about her a lie? Did you really meet her when you both reached for the same book at the library when you were in graduate school?”

  “That’s the truth.”

  “Is she really a mathematician?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

  “Believe that I love you and that I always will.”

  “That might have been enough when I was a small child, but it’s not enough now. You’ve broken the trust. You were the one who did that, not me. And telling me that you did it to protect me without saying anything more than that . . . Is it your way of trying to turn me against my mother? By making her into this scary figure that I needed protecting from? Is she an evil person?”

  “No.”