by Vicki Hinze
Rachel harrumphed. “A turf war’s more like it.”
“Whatever.” Mark went on. “They all ended up leaving here.”
“And both families landed in Biloxi?” I encouraged that line of discussion, hoping Rachel wouldn’t report more on the disappearing witness and Daisy Grant’s disappearance.
“Apparently. You’d think with fifty states they could get away from each other, but they didn’t. More’s the pity.” Rachel sighed. “Edward was nice in high school. He sat behind me in science in our sophomore year. I was sorry to hear he got killed like that.”
“How did he get killed?” Mark asked.
“Shot dead on the street.”
“I warned him, senior year, to get away from them all. He said there was no getting away from his family or its rivals. Poor guy was kind of hopeless.” Mark headed to the stove and pulled out a bin of flour.
He looked so sad. I glanced at Rachel. “He’s okay. They weren’t close friends,” she whispered. “It’s another person he knew dying. Loss gets to Mark like nothing else.”
“Does he always cook when he’s troubled?”
“Of course.” Rachel smiled. “He’s a chef.”
I nodded. That made sense. When something bothered me I did what made me comfortable—clean. Otherwise, I’m not exactly a domestic goddess. “I’ll get busy on the computer and see what I can do about a website,” I said in a normal voice so Mark could hear.
“Use the computer in my office. It’s up and running and you’ll have a reasonably quiet workspace.” He paused pouring milk into a large bowl of flour. “Have I mentioned I hate computers, Lily?”
About a dozen times. “I believe you mentioned something in passing.”
He nodded, clearly oblivious he’d shared that tidbit of information on any occasion. “If you could keep that thing out of my life, I’d love you forever.”
“Careful, Mark.” Rachel giggled. “Lily isn’t one for frivolous words. She’ll hold you to them.”
He looked from Rachel to Lily. “I know exactly what kind of woman she is.”
That he might terrified me. “If that’s the mission, then I’m on it.” I turned for the office and didn’t dare acknowledge anything to do with the loving forever comment. It was just an expression of gratitude. He didn’t mean anything by it. Actually, I was more than a little surprised Rachel called him on using it. Innocuous enough, and there were no PC police in Jameson Court. Still, it must be an odd thing for him to say to snag Rachel’s attention. I didn’t know what to make of that.
“I’ll call you when breakfast is ready.”
I stopped and looked back at him. “You’re cooking breakfast for me?” No one had cooked breakfast for me since I was twelve. Even in my foster homes from twelve to sixteen, if breakfast required cooking, I’d cooked it. Well, aside from Jackson’s pastries. But I was his taste-tester, so that was different.
Rachel’s gaze darted between them. “He cooks every morning, Lily.”
“Oh. Great.” Oddly disappointed, I walked into the office and sat down at the computer with two goals: Create a website. And then work at making it unnecessary for Mark Jensen to go near his computer.
I’d love you forever.
Just words. He didn’t mean them, of course. But for a woman who has heard too little of love and forever, and too much of earning my own way, I seriously debated putting him to the test. It’d be an interesting experiment—and a way to pay him back for being good to me. Daisy Gra—Lily Nichols always paid her debts.
Breakfast came and went and I returned to Mark’s office and the website project. Then more mornings and afternoons like it passed the same way, and not every evening but most evenings, Mark came up to the apartment after work to talk. He ended up cooking dinner for the two of us and we’d go for a walk and talk or if it rained, just sit and talk until midnight. Day after day, we’d do it all again.
By the end of the second week, news of Edward’s murder faded. The search was abandoned on Daisy Grant much sooner, and I finally began breathing easier. Working days at the computer in Mark’s quiet and serene office, chatting with Rachel and Mark off and on during the days and then Mark and I adopting our evening semi-routine . . . it formed a predictable and peaceful life. While still nervous—more at times than others—I found myself settling in, and I liked it. Honestly, Mark had a lot to do with that.
Well, being totally honest, Mark had everything to do with that. He was all Craig and Jackson had said and more. I kicked myself for refusing those blind dates at least a half dozen times a day. Mark tugged at things I’d buried so deep inside me I didn’t know they even existed anymore. The biggest shock came on one of our walks. We had just passed Jackson Square and I went to step off the curb. He called out, “Stop!” I did. Immediately. He grabbed my arm and a car veering too close to us jerked back into its lane. I didn’t pause to ask questions, to check things out myself, I just stopped. That was new to me. And I realized why I had stopped. I trusted him. Completely trusted him.
Trust happened to be something I’d not experienced since Mom had dumped us at the Piggly Wiggly. I liked many people, I shared things with many people, but trust them? No, none of them. I couldn’t do it. Even Jackson got edited versions of me from me. But Mark . . . I didn’t withhold from Mark and keep secrets to protect myself. What I withheld from him, I withheld to protect him. That was a first for me. Frankly, I wasn’t sure I liked it.
But like it or not, I trusted him and our pattern had been set. It felt normal and good. Comfortable, and oddly exciting. I, who rarely had a minute to spare and definitely didn’t share those I did with anyone else, had a routine with Mark that wasn’t at all routine. I think because I actually let my emotions show with him, and that was not usual or routine for me in any sense of the word with anyone. As odd as it feels and weird as it is to admit, I am enjoying my life. Imagine that? Enjoying it.
Who ever would have thought?
At breakfast one morning, I half-listened to him chatter about football season starting and half-pondered why he had this all-encompassing effect on me. Unsure, I prayed I wasn’t imagining that I seemed to have a similar impact on him. We finished breakfast and I headed to the office, where I worked on the website the rest of the morning and a big chunk of the afternoon.
The other staff began gearing up, prepping for dinner, but I remained lost in my own world in his office. It was liberating, a new experience, to be able to hide away and just be creative. Mark’s instructions on the site had been simple: hours of operation, address, map, and a photo of the building from the street. That first day, he’d passed me his cell phone to snap a photo.
I’d taken it, knowing I could do a lot better website than that, and I had. As well as what he’d asked for, I’d added the lunch and dinner menus, an online reservations form, and other unsolicited treats he and his diners might enjoy. The site was gorgeous—and almost done. I studied it intensely, and bubbles of joy and surprise floated up in me. Even I hadn’t known I could create something so utterly charming on the web. What can I say? The man inspired me.
That afternoon, I got the surprise of my life when my drifting thoughts coalesced and I realized Mark could also break my heart. I steadfastly believed he wouldn’t do it, but that he could . . . I scarcely believed it. I never let anyone get that close. Ever.
The shock took a while to work through and a good while longer to stop terrifying me. Then, I broke for a cup of soothing peppermint tea and wrestled with all it meant.
Two cups of tea later, the truth slotted in my mind, pulled into focus, and wouldn’t be shunned or denied. Knowing he could and wouldn’t hurt me was the most precious gift I’d ever been given in my life.
Unfortunately, my conscience got wind of it and nagged me half to death.
Mark had been everything good and kind and decent to me, and I’d been dishonest with him.
No matter why I’d kept secrets—even if I did it for his own protection—I wasn’t being hone
st. I’d lied and lied and lied to him. In doing so, I’d broken the refugee’s golden rule. I knew the worth of my ally. But, boy, he’d gotten the short end of the stick with his.
The sparkle in my day dimmed, and guilt held a banquet inside my head.
* * *
“LILY, IT’S AFTER four. You’ve been staring at that screen again all day today.”
Startled, I jumped, then looked toward the doorway and saw a dashing pirate standing there holding a white, diaphanous dress and clear shoes. “Mark?” The voice was his, but with the garb and patched eye, I couldn’t be sure.
“Take it easy. If you’d come up for air now and then, you’d know it’s Halloween.”
I rolled back a bit from the computer. “You’re going trick-or-treating?”
“You really have been buried in here.” He laughed. “We wear costumes every year and tonight after closing, we have a Halloween Ball. It’s a Jameson Court tradition.” He lifted the dress toward her. “When I got mine, I took the liberty of picking up one for you.”
Why would I need a costume? I’d never worn a Halloween costume. “You got me a Halloween costume to wear in the kitchen?”
“No, for the ball after the kitchen closes.”
He’d mentioned there was a ball tonight, and that explained all the extra activity in the kitchen itself. “I’m invited to the ball?”
“I told you on our walk a few nights ago.” He frowned. “You weren’t listening to me. I called you on it, too, but you assured me you had heard every word.”
He had. The memory of that came back to me. “Yes, you did. Sorry. I forgot for a second. Actually, I guess I didn’t realize it was Halloween today.” A ball meant a ton of extra work for the staff. I stood up and stretched. My muscles were cramped from being bent to the computer screen all day. “Do we need to convert the dining room, or what?”
“No. There’s a ballroom on the third floor. Everything’s done.”
“Wow. Terrific.” From the outside steps to the apartment, I knew there was a third floor but I had no idea what was up there. That was one of the few things they hadn’t talked about. “You make a great pirate.”
“It’s my trademark. I’m always a pirate.”
“Jean Lafitte fan?” The Civil War pirate was well known in the city. I walked over and touched the long white dress he held on a hanger. Soft. “Pretty. Thoughtful of you to get this for me.”
“I guessed on the size for it and the shoes. Hope I got close.”
So did I. My ankle finally felt better and I didn’t want do to anything to set it to throbbing again. “We’ll soon know.”
He smiled. “So how’s the website coming. Can I look?”
I blocked his path. “I’ve told you a hundred times. You can’t see it until it’s done.”
“Did I ask for too much?” He lost his smile. “If it’s too hard, I can hire—”
“You asked for very little, and it’ll be done soon. I just have a few finishing touches to put on it.” Another ten minutes and I’d have been done.
“Finish it tomorrow or the day after,” he said, dropping his voice. “Rachel told me you didn’t even break for lunch today.”
“I had tea this afternoon.”
“Tea is not lunch.” He dipped his chin, his tone chastising. “Don’t do that again. Eating is very important to your health, Lily.”
“I was enjoying myself,” I said honestly and, well, amazed. Now he worried about my health, too. Neither Craig nor Jackson had exaggerated about Mark at all, and I liked him too much—even more than Craig and Jackson swore I would, which was a lot. Those two always had been trying to hook Mark and me up, which is exactly why I’d made sure I never met him. I regretted that now but, liking him as much as I do, scared me right out of my sneakers. “After all the excitement of the last few weeks, I needed the calm and quiet.”
“That’s what Rachel said,” Mark admitted. “Try the shoes.”
My gut-alarm sounded. Had she recognized me from the news? “Oh?”
“Moving, getting mugged and all.”
I let myself breathe and set the shoes on the floor then toed off a sneaker and stepped into the slipper. It actually fit. I drew in a breath.
“Too tight?” He let out a frustrated sigh. “I consulted with Rachel and we really thought a seven would fit.” He wiggled his fingers. “I’ll run back to the shop and exchange them. What size do you need?”
So eager to please me. I smiled. “They fit perfectly.”
“Really?” His lips spread into a smile.
I nodded. “Like they were made for me.”
“Good.” That pleased him immensely.
“Well, I’ll run upstairs and put this dress on, then you tell me what you want me to do down here—and don’t you dare peek at that website, Mark Jensen.”
He frowned. “Why not? You know I’m eager to see it.”
“Yes, but tomorrow will be soon enough. I want it completely done before you start picking it apart.”
“Why would I pick it apart?”
“You’ll notice every flaw, and tonight I want to be happy at having created it before I have to start changing it to suit you.” He was the boss. I should do what he wants. “Is that asking for too much?”
“No, but you’re fretting for nothing. I’m not that hard to please, I promise you.”
I grunted. “You’re very hard to please,” I said with a deliberate sniff. “If you weren’t, this wouldn’t be the best restaurant in New Orleans and you’d have disgruntled employees. Half the reason your staff is so loyal is they enjoy the prestige of working for you at Jameson Court.”
“Seriously?” He looked genuinely surprised. “I thought it was because I pay them well and treat them decently.”
“That comes in lower on the totem pole. They leave here, they can handpick their next job anywhere. Do you really not know this?”
He paused. “I think I’ll take the fifth.”
“So you do know it.” I took the dress and then stared at him, waiting.
With a sigh, he answered, reluctant as all get out. “Think hero points.”
“What?” He’d lost me.
“If I say I did know, I’m a conceited jerk. If I say I didn’t know, I’m a dumb jerk. When either way I’m a jerk, how can I answer, Lily?”
Darling. “Honestly, you can’t and get away with it.” I shrugged. “I can spot a liar at twenty paces.”
“I won’t lie to you. Ever. About anything. Refugees don’t do that.”
Guilt rammed through me. “I appreciate the reassurance, but don’t be so set on that line of thinking, okay? Sometimes things happen and people lie—omit, really—to protect not to deceive.” Oh, I hoped my face wasn’t telling him more than my words. They gave away too much already.
“Have you lied to me?” he asked, proving my hunch was dead-center and on target.
A knot rose in my throat. There it was. A straight out question I couldn’t avoid. But just the thought of answering it struck terror in my heart.
“Mark?” Rachel stuck her head in the door. “There you are. Back in the office again, eh? I’m not used to finding him in the office,” she said to me. “He’s always avoided it at every possible opportunity.” She smiled at me, then looked back to Mark and her smile faded. Worry filled her eyes. “You need to get out front.”
“What’s going on?” The change in his tone signaled he picked up on her worry.
“Victor Marcello’s just come in. He’s having a memorial service for Edward—friends and family—here, because they have deep roots in the city, and he wants you to cater the dinner afterward.”
Mark sobered. “When is it?”
“Monday, and we’re booked, but you can’t tell him no. Edward apparently talked about you to him. He knows you knew each other in high school and he’ll be really offended if you don’t do this—for Edward.”
My luck had fizzled. Of all people and places, Victor had to remember Mark and Jameson Court and
Mark’s connection to his dead son. Why do things always work this way? Finally, something good and now this. Just figures.
“Book it,” Mark told Rachel. “Then phone Maxie at the Courtyard. She’ll send over extra staff. I’ve done it for her.”
“You don’t want to see him?” Rachel’s jaw dropped loose.
“No,” Mark said honestly, “but I will.” He glanced at me. “Victor Marcello isn’t a good man to tick off.”
“Never make an enemy on purpose,” I said, repeating one of Lester’s favorite sayings. Where it came from, I hadn’t a clue. But this wasn’t about making an enemy. People in business were tied up all the time. Mark didn’t want to see Victor Marcello’s grief. It would bring back his own and make it fresh again. That’s what this reluctance was all about. My heart hurt for him.
“Are you okay, Lily?” Mark studied her. “You’re as pale as a ghost.”
“I’m fine.” For a woman scared to death, I was fine. If Victor Marcello recognized me, he’d kill me for sure, for running and not testifying. In his eyes, it’d be solely my fault that his only son’s murderer was free. But him showing up here didn’t mean I’d messed up my death and he’d found me at Jameson Court. Marcello hadn’t come for me. He’d come for Mark about cooking for the gathering after Edward’s second memorial service. Totally different connection. Thank heaven.
Marcello already had held a funeral in Biloxi. I’d seen clips of it on the news. It was quite a star-studded event. Tons of celebrities and powerful politicians.
You’re safe. He has no idea Daisy isn’t dead and you’re here.
I wasn’t rationalizing. He couldn’t know, or he’d be marching into the office with or without approval, grabbing me and then dragging me to the authorities, insisting I’d testify or else every step of the way. “You go ahead.”
Mark glanced at Rachel. “Lock that computer and don’t let her get back on it today. She needs a break—whether or not she wants one.”
“You’ve got it, boss.” Rachel smiled.
Mark went through the kitchen and disappeared. My nerves jangled.