Earth Angel

by Linda Cajio

  The truck bed rose into the air, its load of clean dirt hanging precariously at a forty-five-degree angle. Rivulets dribbled off the earthen slope.

  “Dadada-de-dadada-de-dada!” she sang out, and hit another button.

  The dirt whoosed out of the dropping tailgate right on cue. It settled onto the narrow creek bed, effectively damming the water at the bend. The creek would eventually erode the earth … but not before the dam caught the runoff being leaked from a hidden pipe at the Wagner plant.

  Catherine got a shovel out of the truck cab and walked into the knee-deep water. The newly created mud sucked at her rubber boots. Whistling, she began to spread the dirt around. To make it pretty. She reminded herself to call the EPA, the county, and the press after she got home. She also reminded herself to dispose of the boots. They wouldn’t be fit for wearing after she was done.

  She chuckled. It would be interesting to see how Miles reacted to Earth Angel’s latest exploit.

  She couldn’t wait to find out.

  Four

  When Catherine was finally back in her town house, she sighed in relief. Being a pollution commando was heck on the nerves.

  She glanced down at her boots. A thin rim of white gunk was drying around the ankles. Clearly her dam was working, as the paint by-products were already collecting at that point of the creek. Wrinkling her nose, she wondered how she was going to get the boots off without touching them. She wasn’t about to move off the foyer mat to walk to the kitchen and get gloves. She’d ruin her carpet. But she wasn’t about to touch the boots to take them off there.

  “Great planning,” she muttered, wishing she’d come through the garage.

  Her doorbell rang. She froze, panic rushing through her. She couldn’t have been traced already!

  She forced herself to think logically. She had rented the truck at a gas station in the suburbs, and bought the dirt at a nursery in another suburb. No, they couldn’t have found her out so quickly. Besides, nobody could possibly know about the dam yet.

  The doorbell rang again, then someone pounded on the door, nearly shooting her off the mat.

  “Catherine!” Miles bellowed.

  All the logic swept out of her head.

  The doorbell rang over and over, as if he were leaning on it. “Catherine, are you okay? Catherine, answer me! Catherine!”

  She muttered a barnyard curse and wondered if she could get away with acting as if no one were home.

  “Catherine!”

  “What?” she screamed back reflexively, then soundly cursed again.

  The doorbell ringing immediately ceased. The silence on the other side was almost as deafening. Finally, Miles asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m okay,” she called. In dread, she waited for the accusation and the demand to open the door so they could drag her away to prison forever.

  Another, longer pause ensued. “I called earlier and there was no answer.”

  “I was … in the bathroom.”

  “Why?”

  “Why do you think?” She looked heavenward in supplication.

  “Oh. Can I come in?”

  “What for?”

  “To make sure you’re all right.”

  “But I just told you I was okay.”

  “Catherine, I came to check on you because you were sick last night.” She could hear the exasperation in his voice. “Now just let me in so I can see that you really are better.”

  “Oh.” It finally sank in that he was there for a gentlemanly reason. She glanced down at the boots, the jeans, and the sweatshirt. One look, and he’d get the message. “It was lovely of you to come, Miles. I truly appreciate it. But I’m perfectly fine this morning. I told you last night I only needed to get out of the smoke and get some rest—”

  “Then why won’t you open the door?”

  “Ah … I’m not dressed.”

  “I don’t care. I just want to see that you’re all right. You looked horrible last night. I never should have left you alone.”

  Of all the times to be a gentleman, she thought with irritation. “Miles, really—”

  “Open the damn door, Catherine. I’m not leaving until you do.”

  He meant it. She panicked again. Now what? “Ah … well … just a minute.”

  She turned and raced through to the kitchen, whipped off the boots by the garage door, cursed that she’d forgotten to put on gloves, washed her hands, then tore up the stairs to her bedroom. She rolled up her jeans, threw on a neck-high velour robe, then ran back downstairs. She took a deep breath to calm herself, smiled wanly, and opened the door.

  Miles barged inside.

  Catherine glanced outside for the police, security guards, one big Doberman, anything that looked remotely like a bust. Her stoop was clear.

  “I knew it!” Miles exclaimed, scrutinizing her.

  “Knew what?” she squeaked.

  “Look at you, all sweating and bundled up like that. I knew I should have stayed last night.”

  She swiped at her brow and was amazed to feel moisture on her skin. The heavy robe on top of her regular clothes wasn’t helping, either. Still, it was better that he thought she was sick than to discover what she was really doing.

  “It’s just a touch of the flu,” she began.

  “Flu! I thought it was an allergy.”

  “Allergy. Flu.” She waved her hand. “Sometimes they start out the same. You know how it is.”

  “Well, you should be in bed.” He took her arm and moved her into the living room.

  “I was in bed,” she lied deftly, “until you tried to break down the door. Never do that to a single woman in the city. We get out our guns and blow people away for less.”

  “Do you have a gun?” he asked.

  “No, don’t be ridiculous. I just meant you scared me half to death.” She dug in her heels as he whirled her around. “Where are we going?”

  “You are going back to bed.”

  She turned, pulling him with her, and marched him back toward the door. “I will, as soon as you leave.”

  He pointed her toward the stairs again. “You get in bed first, and I’ll bring you some tea.”

  She turned him back. “I’ll get it when I’m ready.”

  “Catherine!”

  “Miles!”

  They glared at each other. Finally, Miles said, “Get in the bed, Catherine. I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so? You’ve seen me, now just go—”

  She squawked as he swept her up into his arms and strode toward the stairs. She scrambled to yank down the robe and keep the Chinese collar high around her throat.

  “Miles, this is silly,” she said primly. “Put me down and I promise to walk to my bedroom and then you can go back to your bank.”

  He grinned. “And miss this opportunity to show off my Galahad traits? Not on your life.” His fingers shifted along her leg. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were wearing clothes under this robe.”

  “I … got the chills.” She smiled at her adept answer. “I did put on something warmer than a gown.”

  His grin disappeared. “I should have stayed.”

  He negotiated the stairs easily. Catherine wanted to squirm out of his embrace, but knew she’d probably send them both tumbling down the steps. The fingers of his one hand were spread uncomfortably close to her breast, though, and her nostrils were filled with the scent of his cologne. That triggered something inside her. She tried to keep her gaze focused on the railing, but out of the corner of her eye she could discern his suit collar, his white shirt snowy against his jawline. His skin was tan and completely smooth, yet she could tell that by the afternoon, he’d have a shadow of a beard. Interesting, she thought, then wondered why she was so fascinated.

  “Which room?” he asked, when they reached the top of the stairs. His voice was hoarse.

  “In the front.” Hers sounded no better.

  The moment he stepped over the threshol
d, she felt the invasion. She was allowing him into the most private of rooms, no matter how innocent the reason. Now she did squirm, and he set her down.

  Miles looked around at the floral draperies and white sheers, the striped wallpaper and cherrywood bureau, the wide bed and its plump frilly comforter. One side was rumpled as if in invitation.

  Catherine swallowed, wondering what the room told him about her. Probably more than she cared to have him know.

  “Could I have that tea now?” she asked, desperate to get him out of there.

  He turned and looked at her. She wilted under his sensual gaze.

  “Sure,” he said.

  Without another word, he left the room.

  “Yes, she’s sicker than she’s letting on … I know there are nurses for hire … No, I can’t stay, Grandmother, I have a meeting at the bank … Well, why do you think I’m asking you?”

  “I have no idea,” Lettice said smartly. “I am not a nurse. If Catherine is that sick, then call in one or take her to the hospital.”

  Miles grit his teeth together and counted to ten. His grandmother was exasperating—as usual. Gripping Catherine’s kitchen telephone tighter, he said, “She’s not dying. She has the flu, and I need someone to watch over her, make sure she doesn’t get out of bed, and fix her tea and things. I don’t have time to arrange for a nurse, so can you come?”

  “You surprise me, Miles,” his grandmother said. Her voice was faint as if she were murmuring to herself. Louder, she added, “Yes, I’ll come.”

  “Great.” He smiled in pleasure and hung up the telephone.

  The tea kettle whistled, and he turned off the burner. As he fixed the cup of tea, a pair of grimy rubber boots lying by a door caught his eye. Odd, he thought. Had Catherine been wading in milk? The whitish stains looked fresh. He realized the door must lead to her garage, and he wondered why she’d left the dirty things on this side of the door, rather than in the garage.

  Shrugging, he made a mental note to ask her if she wanted them in the garage. He also made a mental note to tell her that he would help her look for the codicil. That ought to cheer her up.

  He wished he had stayed with her last night, though. She must have been sick all night. He’d panicked when he’d only been able to reach her answering machine earlier that morning. Then when he’d seen her pale face, guilt had hit him with a bang. Next time he’d let instinct rule, rather than Catherine. But in the meantime, he’d look after her. Besides, it felt kind of good.

  He rummaged through her cabinets and refrigerator, looking for something suitable for her to eat, in case she was hungry. Not sure what a sick person should have, he got out an orange, some cold chicken, and a container of raspberry yogurt, then fixed a plate of Mallowmar cookies. He wondered if it was enough, and added two more cookies and a banana just to be sure.

  “That ought to do it,” he muttered, setting it all on a tray he’d found.

  When he reentered her bedroom, every thought went clean out of his head.

  Catherine was sitting up in the bed, the covers pulled to her waist. The heavy robe was gone and in its place was a lavender nightgown. The bodice was all lace, seductively hinting rather than blatantly displaying. A man could run his fingers down the spaghetti straps of the gown, then disperse with them in one quick flick. Her thick hair shone with reddish lights as it curved around her face and shoulders. Her skin was translucent, like fine porcelain. The last thing she looked was sick.

  She stared back at him for a long moment, her eyes dark and unfathomable, then lifted the covers up to her chest in a casual manner. The spell over him deflated like a sagging balloon. He continued into her room and set the tray down on her lap.

  Her eyebrows rose. “I thought I was getting a cup of tea.”

  “It’s there.” He pointed to the cup, then gingerly sat on the edge of the bed. Her legs were against his hip for one delicious second before she shifted them away. “I called my grandmother,” he said. “She’s coming over to take care of you.”

  Catherine’s eyes widened, and she made a choking noise in the back on her throat. “Dammit, Miles, nobody gave you the right to do that!”

  He raised his eyebrows. “What else was I supposed to do? You can’t be alone when you’re sick. Do you think you ought to have some medicine for that cough?”

  “I am not coughing!”

  Clearly, she was a crabby patient, he thought. He’d heard of this. She had coughed, though. “I think I’d better call a doctor—”

  “No!” She shouted the word at him, the tray nearly tipping off her lap.

  He rubbed his ear. “I’m not deaf. I was only making a suggestion, Catherine.”

  She lay back wearily on the propped up pillows. “Go run your bank, Miles. Please.”

  He frowned. “Aren’t you going to eat anything?”

  She scowled at him, her eyes blazing.

  “I guess not,” he muttered, getting up off the bed. He lifted the tray off her lap and set it on the nightstand for later. As he walked to the door, she called out to him.

  “Miles.”

  He turned around. She smiled faintly, looking pale and lovely and vulnerable.

  “Thank you.”

  He smiled. “You’re welcome. Oh! I almost forgot. I’ve decided to help you find Allan’s codicil.”

  She gasped. “You …”

  He nodded, pleased to have surprised her. “Yes. I know some people I can call to track down that lawyer. Don’t you worry, Catherine. I’ll be in to see you tonight.”

  He left her still gaping in astonishment. At least her mind was off the flu.

  “More goodies from Dr. Kitteridge.”

  Lettice waved a large white bag in the air as she swept into the bedroom. The name of the local pharmacy was emblazoned on the front. Catherine sighed and sank back on the bed. She hated playing invalid, but what else could she do?

  Lettice opened the bag and spilled out ten different over-the-counter remedies. She glanced at Catherine. “I think he’s trying to kill you.”

  “No kidding,” Catherine muttered. He’d nearly given her heart attacks twice already that morning. The first time was when he’d showed up unexpectedly, and the second was over the codicil. What the hell did he mean, he would help her find it? Next to her uncle, he was the last person she thought would volunteer for such a thing.

  He completely confused her. First, her disaster of an engagement didn’t receive a single ounce of sympathy, then the very next morning he practically broke down her door because he thought she was sick. She wondered if he was up to something with the codicil. If he was, it wasn’t to the good.

  “Well, which poison do you want to take first?” Lettice asked.

  Catherine didn’t even glance at them. “None. I’m not that sick, Lettice. It was only a reaction to an old allergy of mine last night, and this morning I have a touch of the flu. Miles just went … nuts.”

  “Yes, I know, dear,” Lettice said, smiling in pleasure. “It’s very sweet of him.”

  Catherine conceded that the woman was right. She never would have expected Miles to fuss the way he had. And that tray of food … Nearly everything on it was exactly the wrong thing to give someone with a stomach illness. One glance and it would have sent the poor soul reeling to the bathroom. She grinned.

  “You look pleased.”

  She sobered. “Just thinking. You don’t have to stay, Lettice. I’m perfectly fine by myself.”

  “And have my grandson come down on me for going AWOL? In a pig’s eye!”

  Well, Catherine thought, it had been worth a try. She wondered how her dam was doing. When Miles had been waiting downstairs for his grandmother to arrive, she had made her phone calls. Anonymously, of course. Mariana Tolliver of Channel Five news had jumped on the call from “Earth Angel.” What was happening there? Had everyone found the dam site? Were there enough pollutants already gathered? She desperately wanted to know. Her body was exhausted, but between the dam and Miles she was too ke
yed up to sleep. Besides, she had company that wasn’t going anywhere fast.

  “How about a game of canasta?” Lettice asked, as if having read her mind. “A dollar a point.”

  Catherine smiled. “You’re on.”

  Miles saw Catherine much sooner than he’d expected.

  He gaped at her as she strolled into the Wagner conference room for the second emergency meeting in two days. His grandmother was right behind her.

  Catherine was dressed immaculately in a pale yellow suit. Her skin was healthy looking, not wan anymore, but the makeup didn’t quite cover the drawn look she had. Although it was now late afternoon and she must have rested during the day, she still shouldn’t be there.

  He walked over to the women. “Catherine, go home. You’re sick.”

  She merely raised her eyebrows. “I’m much better. How could I not be with all the food and medicine you gave me? Too bad you weren’t around in the Middle Ages, Miles. You would have cured the plague single-handedly.”

  “Or killed its victims outright,” Lettice added.

  Catherine giggled and walked past him to speak to her relatives. Miles glared at his. “You are supposed to be taking care of her—”

  “Why do you think I came with her?” his grandmother interrupted. “And if she’s sick, then I’m Pee-Wee Herman. I lost four hundred dollars to her in canasta.”

  His jaw dropped. “Four hundred!”

  “Don’t look so shocked. Anyway, I’m donating it to the Green Earth Society. That was our agreement.”

  “Since we’re all here,” Byrne said loudly from the other end of the room, “we might as well get started. Lettice, you’ll have to leave.”

  “In a pig’s eye!” she declared, and defiantly took a seat opposite him. “Catherine isn’t well, and I’m here to look after her.”

  Miles knew better. His grandmother simply hated to miss out on anything.

  Byrne bristled. “I’ll have security remove you if you won’t go on your own—”

  “And you are a pompous, overbearing nitwit,” Lettice proclaimed. “Someone should have smacked a little common sense into you years ago.”

  Byrne gasped. “Why you—”

  “Uncle Byrne,” Catherine said calmly, “Lettice is hardly going to announce the proceedings to the world. I’d like her to stay, please.”