“I majored in historical restoration, but you don’t pay the bills and put your sister through private schools doing that. Editor of a fast-growing magazine is the way to go. LuLu will make a great attorney. She’s so smart, always has been. A shame our parents didn’t live to see her at this state of her life. Dad was an attorney, and LuLu following in his footsteps is just what he would have wanted. We’ve been headed in this direction for so long, and now we’re almost there. I got her internships in law offices when she did her undergrad work, and now the dream comes true. What could be better?”
“I’m sure your parents would have been proud.”
And Keefe knew all about having parents proud of you. “Thank God, Dad supported me in acting. Even in the hard times he let me do my thing. I’m sure he wanted to say, ‘Look, you numbskull, take over the family business and drive the tows. Be done with this acting crap,’ but he never said that. He just told me if acting was what I really wanted to do, to hang in there and make it happen.”
Callie pointed to the road coming up from the docks. “That’s Georgette.”
“And she’s walking fast. Georgette doesn’t do anything fast except ride on Digger’s Harley.” Keefe stood. “I’ll go see what’s the matter.”
“I’ll stay right here. I’ve locked all the doors and downstairs windows.”
Keefe paused. “Something’s worrying you, isn’t it?”
“We’re no closer to finding Mimi, and whoever is looking for her is kicking the search up a notch with those posters. I thought M. Perry might be a PI, but now I think Mimi was into something really big, and the people she’s got the goods on aren’t trusting anyone who could potentially turn on them and get them into more trouble. M. Perry is either part of the evildoers themselves or someone unsavory who’s been hired and operates outside the law.”
“That investigative mind of yours is on full alert.”
“There’s a lot going on. I’ll stay right on this porch. Rory is due back in a few hours. He’s helping Thelma with a plumbing problem since Conrad is still in New Orleans. He’s been spending a lot of time helping her out.”
“They’re really close, best of friends. When Mom died Thelma stepped in. She’s family.” Keefe trotted down the steps and met Georgette on the road, her face pulled into a worried frown, slightly bedraggled—Georgette was never bedraggled, least since Keefe knew her. She pushed damp hair from her face as Keefe stopped her and asked, “Hey, hold up. Where’s the fire?”
“I. . . I’m not feeling good. Thought I’d get a Coke and some aspirin at Slim’s before it gets worse.”
He put a reassuring hand on her hot shoulder. “Do you want to come into the house? I’m sure we have something for a headache.”
“No, no. I just need a fountain Coke. Settles my stomach.” Georgette swiped a bead of perspiration from her upper lip. “I get these all the time. I’ve got to go.”
“I’ll come with you.” He took her hand. “It’s okay, Georgette.”
She looked even more frantic. “You don’t have to come. I’ll be fine.”
He tugged her along. “You don’t look fine. We’ll get your Coke and sit for a spell, and you’ll calm down and feel better.” They crossed the road and walked along till the familiar neon beer lights glowed from the windows of the bar. Keefe opened the door. The crowd was just starting to build, young Jimmy Jude at the old upright playing “Howlin’ For My Baby.” They flagged down Sally at the bar and she came over and looked from one to the other. “You two out together? That’s bound to get tongues wagging around here.”
“We’re out looking for a Coke and aspirin for Georgette’s headache.”
Sally smiled and patted Georgette’s hand. “We’ll fix you right up. You’ll be good as new in no time.”
Georgette asked, “Uh, I didn’t happen to leave my purse here, did I?”
Sally shook her head. “No one’s turned it in, and the Landing’s real good about that sort of thing. I’ll go get what you need.”
Georgette said to Keefe, “I must have left my purse at Digger’s. Do you mind—”
“Paying for your aspirin and Coke would be my pleasure. I think you’re looking worse.”
Sally gave her the pills and soda, and Georgette downed them. Keefe said, “Let me take you home. All this smoke and music isn’t doing you any good.”
Sally reached behind the bar and snagged keys from a hook. “Dad’s truck is out back. Should have a full tank of gas. Watch out for Grant, though since it’s not raining, you should be okay.”
Georgette frowned. “Grant.”
“Ghost.”
Georgette’s eyes rolled. “And I thought I had a headache before.”
Keefe took the keys from Sally and headed Georgette toward the door till he heard behind him, “Hey, O’Fallon.”
Keefe turned and got sucker punched right in the jaw, sending him reeling backward into a table, drinks flying. The guy came at him again, and Keefe faked a left swing but landed a solid blow with his right into the guy’s gut, making him double over, then added a swing to the jaw. He was damn tired of guys swinging at him.
“That’s enough!” Sally yelled, brandishing a baseball bat and charging around the bar. She slammed the bat on the table. “This here’s a respectable place.”
In two seconds Demar was at her side, apron covered in barbecue sauce and looking meaner than a bull with a jackhammer up his butt. He snatched the bat and shoved Sally behind him.
Keefe held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, man, I didn’t start this.”
“Like hell you didn’t, O’Fallon,” said the guy who’d hit him. “You’re turning my son into a damn pansy just like yourself. You’re nothing but a coward, and now you’re hiding behind a girl.” He coughed and tried to right himself as he rubbed his jaw.
Demar glared. “Seems to me the pansy here sure kicked your ass and doesn’t need to hide.”
Keefe added, “Who’s your son? Who the hell are you?”
“Like you don’t remember me. Butch Longford ring a bell? I used to beat the hell out of you till—”
“Till Quaid came along and I learned how to fight. Who the hell’s your son?”
“Barry. Bad enough his mama insisted on Barry, now he’s doing some fairy princess thing on a stage and acting like some fruitcake when he should be playing baseball. And if it wasn’t for you giving him that part, he’d be the best pitcher this town has ever seen.” Butch made a dive for Keefe, and Demar held him back. “Knock it off, Longford.”
“Then tell him to leave my boy alone.”
Keefe said, “Barry’s a good actor, loves the theater, and if you give him half a chance and you come to the play, you’ll agree. Look, I’m sure you love your son and want what’s best for him.”
“I want you to go back to New York.”
“You want Barry to be you and all the things you aren’t. How much a coward is that? I’ll make you a deal. Let Barry do the play, you come see him perform, and if you can look me in the eye and tell me he’s not a damn good actor, I’ll build the high school a new baseball field with my own money.”
Keefe knew he had Butch. The whole town was here as witness, and if he didn’t agree to the offer, he’d look like a total narrow-minded fool. If Barry was good and Butch said he wasn’t, he’d look like an ignorant imbecile.
Demar growled. “That’s fair enough. Now you two shake.”
Butch took Keefe’s hand. “I hate your guts, O’Fallon.”
“And I don’t give a damn.” He turned and ushered Georgette toward the door.
Outside Slim came around the corner from the alley porch out back. He handed Keefe a towel with ice along with a great smile showing perfect white across his dark face. “Lordy, it was nice to see you flatten that asshole after all these years,” Slim said in his deep voice that seemed to resonate around in his barreled chest before it came out. He chuckled, the sound deeper still. “I can’t wait to tell your daddy about it, do his old heart good
, too, though he has other things for making that happen right now.”
Slim’s eyes widened as if he’d said something he shouldn’t have. “Bonnie I’m talking about,” he added in a rush. “That baby is sure a peach and could brighten anyone’s life, especially your daddy’s. I better be getting back to my ribs and chicken. If they burn, there could be a mutiny.” He winked at Keefe. “Damn fine job, boy. Damn fine. Sure as hell made my day.”
Slim ambled toward the back porch where the usual slow circle of gray smoke disappeared into the darkness, making the whole Landing smell of great food.
Georgette took Keefe’s arm and smiled. “I have to agree with Slim; that was a pretty awesome punch, especially for a pretty-boy TV star.”
Keefe laughed and steered Georgette toward the truck. “When I auditioned for the role of Lex Zandor they wanted someone who could dance and throw a punch and make them both look good.” He helped her, then climbed in the other side. “The things you do for show business.”
“Almost as crazy as stealing a set of stairs. Who would have thought people would actually do that?”
Keefe drove for Hastings House. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”
“They’re doing the deed as we speak. Joe said it took them all a week of working like dogs to get those stairs done, they were perfect and they sure as heck weren’t going to do all that work over just because Stanley got herself into a snit about the play.”
Keefe pulled into the drive of Hastings House. “What if they get caught? Did they think of that? It’ll be real hard to put on a play behind bars. If Stanley catches them, she’ll press charges.”
“I don’t like that woman at all. I had a teacher like that once. Said I was stupid. I gained twenty pounds that year and never slowed down.”
“We all had a teacher like her once, and that’s a damn shame.”
Keefe kissed her cheek. “Hope you feel better soon. Lie down with a cold towel, I hear that helps. If you feel worse, tell Thelma.” He waved to Georgette as she entered the house, then headed back to town. He had to stop the cast from getting those stairs. He didn’t need them in the pokey; that would screw up the plans for Digger and the Lee.
Keefe parked the truck a block away from the school, thankful for only a sliver of moonlight and streetlights that were quaint as hell but not all that bright. Whistling, he headed for the school, hands in pockets, doing his best performance of Opie in Mayberry. He caught a flash of light across the gym windows at the top and heard something thud and clank inside. Damn, they were already there. The term Showboat Shenanigans took on a whole new meaning, and across the street Stanley was headed his way.
Fuck!
She pursed her lips as she drew up in front of him her back to the gym. “And why are you out at this time of night, Keefe O’Fallon? Thinking about apologizing to me? And I just might accept it if you give up being director and let me take over.”
“I’m taking a walk just like you.” Behind Stanley the door to the gym opened, and a set of stairs paraded out, eight pairs of legs supporting it. The spectacle turned the corner, probably to a waiting truck in the back.
He continued, “And since the weather report makes no mention of hell freezing over you can bet I’m not letting you direct my play.” Oh, crap. Was that Callie holding open the door?
“It’s your funeral, and I’m not taking a walk just for the heck of it,” jeered Stanley. “I’m here to check on my gym. This afternoon I told the school board you were putting on an inferior performance, a play that really wasn’t a play, and they backed me all the way. We don’t need an embarrassment in this town.”
Think of something to say. Stall! “Well, it’s not going to work.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What’s not going to work?”
“Stopping the performance. It didn’t stop Shakespeare when they shut down the Rose; he merely took Romeo and Juliet to the Curtain. If it worked for old Bill, it can darn well work for me.”
She put her hands to her hips and jutted both her chins. “There is no other theater in town, Mr. Smartypants, and why is your jaw bruised? You’re still nothing but a no-good ruffian causing trouble around here.”
Oh, hell, was that a . . . balcony coming out now, eight pairs of legs walking under it? And once again Callie as doorman . . . rather doorwoman. Everyone else was hauling sets, and Digger was in charge of the getaway truck. But right now Keefe had to say something to Stanley to keep her occupied. “We do have another stage, the Liberty Lee.”
“That rust bucket?” she scoffed on a sour laugh, making Keefe angry enough to spit nails. He’d had enough grief from arrogant assholes who thought they knew everything.
“Let me tell you something. The Lee is going to be great, the play is going to be great and I’m going to do whatever I can to get you out of teaching theater and putting on plays in this community. You’re ruining potentially good actors by not giving them a chance, especially young men because you like sweet little girls to play in sweet little plays. And you being the superintendent’s sister is going to protect your job for just so long.”
The balcony turned for the back of the school, and the door slipped from Callie’s fingers, making a bang. The only reason Stanley didn’t notice was because her face was so red and puffed in outrage it probably sealed her ears shut. “How dare you,” she finally spluttered as Callie dashed to the back of the school, making him weak with relief. Stanley continued, “One of these days you’re going to get yours, and I’m not the only one who wants that to happen.”
“Whatever,” he said to Stanley as Callie caught his eye from around the corner of the building, smiled sweetly, gave a knowing wave, then took off. Thank God for that. An engine caught behind the school, and Stanley’s ears perked like a bloodhound’s. “What’s that? Someone breaking into my gym.”
“It’s not yours, it belongs to the town and that sound is a car. Kids necking behind the school no doubt.” Digger probably had the stairs and balcony balanced on the back of his pickup and was slowly taking them to the Lee by way of the back roads. Then they’d paint the set, and Stanley would have no proof that it was the same one that had gone missing from the gym. But right now he just needed to keep Stanley riled a few more minutes so everyone could make a clean getaway. “You should take early retirement, do us all a favor and get out of here.” That should make her implode.
“Maybe you should drop dead.”
He heard the truck engine fading. That was good. “You know, I’m sorry we didn’t have this conversation earlier. I feel better now, don’t you?”
“Bite me.”
Keefe arched his brows in mock surprise. “My, my, such language.”
Stanley gave him the bird and stormed off across the street, not even checking the gym. It had worked. Showboat Shenanigans had succeeded in getting the sets; now they had to succeed in using them. A lot depended on the play going well—Barry’s future as an actor, saving the Lee and Keefe O’Fallon’s debut as a director. He hadn’t thought about that before, but he liked directing a lot more than he thought he would. But a small gig on the showboat wasn’t exactly the big-time, and it sure didn’t pay the bills.
He’d had enough drama for one night, a cold beer and sitting on the front porch sounded perfect. And he wanted to talk to Callie. Whatever had possessed her to be a burglar? Knowing Callie, it hadn’t taken much.
He returned the truck keys to Slim so as not to interrupt Sally and Demar sneaking kisses in the kitchen. There was more cooking at Slim’s than ribs and chicken, and he felt jealous. He crossed the road and headed home. Demar and Sally had found some middle ground between a cop and keeping secrets and learning to trust each other. For him and Callie there was no middle anything. She wasn’t about to give up her editor job to move to New York and watch him be a soap star.
Lights glowed from Quaid’s room on the second floor. Callie was home, and he smiled at the thought of seeing her, talking to her, spending time with her. The porch light was on, and
he took the stairs two at a time and opened the front door, least he tried to. Locked. Well, hell. Callie was taking this security thing seriously, and that was good except he’d forgotten his key. A locked house on the Landing was hard to get used to. Okay, he locked his place in New York, and he had a security system, but this was different. This was home. He rang the bell and whammed the pineapple door knocker he’d given his dad one Christmas when Keefe first moved to New York.
He tried the doorknob again as it was yanked open from the other side, pulling him straight into Callie wrapped in a towel. He snagged her in his arms to keep both of them from stumbling, did anyway and flattened her against the wall, his arms caging her on either side. “We got to quit meeting like this.” He grinned. “Then again, I think I really like meeting like this.”
“You need a key. With all the racket you were making I thought something terrible happened. I grabbed the towel and ran.”
“Dad?”
“Came for Bonnie and spending the night at Hastings House in case the plumbing repair isn’t repaired.”
“A flooded house would not be good.”
Her hair hung straight and wet, drops trickling down her neck and face, off the tip of her nose, across her chest and disappearing into the towel. Her breasts rose and fell, the soft mounds of delicious flesh visible above the blue terry cloth. Her eyes went from emerald to jade, the only sound the grandfather clock and their breaths coming as one.
She licked her bottom lip. “So,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, her body leaning into him. “What’s the big emergency?”
“This.” He wound his fingers into the top of the towel, pulled it loose and let it drop to the floor. “I’m getting pretty good at undoing towels.”
“I’m getting pretty good at dressing in them when only you’re around.”
A half smile fell across his lips, and he gazed at her loveliness for a long moment. “This get-up is on purpose?”
“You pressing me to the wall isn’t?”
“Oh, Callie girl, what are we going to do?”
“Guess.” She gave him a sweet smile, a glint of devil lurking in her big green eyes. Then she tangled her fingers in his hair and seared his mouth with a kiss, the heat from her body seeping right through his clothes. He swept her into his arms and turned for the stairs.
The Way U Look Tonight Page 18