He wanted to grab her and hug her and never let her go, but he took a deep breath instead. “You’re welcome. And you’re right. I have a cake to bake.”
Chapter 8
Kate’s parents arrived very promptly at four o’clock. Her mother was slim, dressed in an elegant navy suit with a pink silk shirt. Her brown hair was cut short, showing off chunky gold earrings and a face that was pretty despite her look of apprehension. Kate’s father was a brick of a man: sturdy Irish stock. He was square-faced with tightly curled red hair and Kate’s green eyes, although they’d faded somewhat with age. He was medium height and heavy-boned. And he shook Dave’s hand as if he were weighing a melon that was several ounces short of expectation.
“Nice to meet you, sir,” Dave said.
“I understand my daughter’s living with you.”
Dave gauged the arm span on Michael Finn and took a precautionary step backward. “She broke her leg, and it was easier to care for her in my house.”
Kate swung in on her crutches. “You aren’t going to grill Dave, are you?”
Michael Finn smiled at his daughter. “Of course I’m going to grill Dave. Fathers are supposed to do things like that. Isn’t that why we were invited to dinner?”
Grace Finn walked into the living room. “Look, dear, Dave has furniture. And it’s nice. It’s not all black leather and chrome.” She bent to admire an earthenware jug of fresh-cut flowers. “These are lovely.”
There was another knock at the door, and Dave let Elsie in.
“Man,” Elsie said, “it’s gonna snow. It’s cold-er’n a witch’s… um, nose out there.”
Dave took Elsie’s coat, but she insisted on keeping her big black patent leather purse. “Never like to be too far from my purse,” she explained to Kate’s mother. “Never know when you’re gonna need a hanky.”
Kate looked at Dave. They both knew what was in the purse.
“Elsie,” Dave said, “I thought we’d agreed that you should leave your hanky at home today.”
She took a seat in the wing chair with her purse on her lap. “I thought about it, but when I picked up my pocketbook and slung it over my arm, it just didn’t feel right. Never know when you might need a hanky.”
Kate plopped herself in the other wing chair and stretched her leg out on an ottoman.
“What are those marks on your cast?” her mother asked. “Do they mean something? They look like crayon.”
Kate stared stupidly at the tally lines.
“Toe exercises,” Dave said. “She’s supposed to do toe exercises every day, and it’s hard to keep track of them, so we mark them on her cast.” Did they buy that?
Elsie shook her head. “Boy, you must think we’re really dumb. Toe exercises, hah.”
“That’s an awful lot of marks,” Kate’s father said to Dave. “Didn’t anybody ever tell you about moderation. You want to pace yourself, son. You’ll get a heart attack.” He drummed his fingers on the padded arm of his chair and didn’t seem displeased at the idea of Dave biting the big one.
“I feel fine, sir. Honest,” Dave said.
“You look like hell. You’ve got bags under your eyes.”
“I’ve been busy.”
Michael Finn’s eyes narrowed. “I just bet you have.”
“Daddy!” Kate glared at her father in warning.
Mr. Finn leaned forward in his seat. “You must make a good salary to afford a house like this, Dave.”
Dave loosened his tie and popped the top button on his shirt. He needed air. “Actually, I bought this house with my lottery winnings.”
Michael Finn digested that. He sat silent for a moment, then resumed his drumming. “I’m not a gambling man myself.”
“Oh.” Stay calm, Dave told himself. This wasn’t as bad as it seemed. It couldn’t possibly be. “That’s admirable, Mr. Finn. Keeping a tight rein on those vices, huh?”
“I believe in hard work,” Mr. Finn said. “You get something through hard work, and you appreciate it.”
Dave was beginning to better understand Kate. Her father was obviously a man who’d brought himself up through the ranks and was proud of his accomplishments. Because he’d instilled that same work ethic in his daughter, it was difficult for her to respect rewards that were too easily won. And he suspected there had been little room for play in the Finn household. Play would have been equated with goofing off.
“So exactly what sort of job do you have?” Michael Finn asked Dave.
Dave had known it was coming. The old Acme safe. Baboooom! “Well, sir…” It wasn’t that he was ashamed or embarrassed by what he did, Dave thought. It was that no one ever seemed to fully understand. “I don’t exactly have a job.”
“Oh?”
“I guess you could say I’m self-employed.”
Slik ran down the stairs and stopped short at the living room. “Oops. Hello,” he said, obviously surprised to find everyone watching him.
Dave held his breath. Now what? Could it get any worse? “Some friends are doing a little photographic work upstairs,” he told Mr. Finn. “It’s of a technical nature.”
“Yup. It’s technical all right. Sorry to have intruded,” Slik said, backing away. “Need to get a piece of equipment from the car.”
Elsie squinted after Slik. “Something familiar about him.”
Kate felt her heart flop in her chest at the thought of Elsie impulsively blasting away at Slik’s privates in front of her mother. That would be a migraine to last a lifetime. And Slik wouldn’t like it either. Yessir, the cloud of doom was sliding over Dave’s house. It was only a matter of time. After tonight, breaking her leg was going to seem insignificant.
“You’ve probably seen him in the café,” Kate said. “Probably seen him with Dave. They’re… friends.” She looked Elsie straight in the eye. “Dave wouldn’t like it if anything happened to Slik. Would you, Dave?”
“No.” Dave shook his head vigorously. “I wouldn’t like it at all.”
Kate put her finger on her left eyelid to stop the nervous twitch she’d suddenly developed. “Now that we have that settled, I think we need some refreshments. Anybody want wine? Daddy, you need a beer?”
Michael Finn looked at the bottle Dave handed him. “Imported. Just how much did you win in that lottery?”
“Millions.”
Mr. Finn asked. “Investing it?”
“Uh, no. Not yet. So far I’ve just been spending it.”
Grace Finn caught the look of incredulity on her husband’s face and, without even realizing what she was doing, drained her glass of sherry. Her eyes opened wide, and she clapped her hand to her chest. “Goodness,” she gasped.
Slik returned with what was obviously a rifle wrapped in his suit jacket. He nodded politely to Kate’s parents and hurried up the stairs.
Elsie gave a long, low whistle. “Damned if that didn’t look like a rifle.”
“I don’t think so,” Kate’s mother said. “It wasn’t a rifle, was it?”
Michael Finn just raised his eyebrows.
“Tripod,” Kate said. “That’s my story, and I’m going to stick to it, so don’t anybody bother asking questions.”
Elsie leaned forward in her chair. “Something’s going down. I can smell it.”
“Nonsense.” Kate forced a thin smile and cracked her knuckles. “That’s roast chicken you smell. Dave, could I see you in the kitchen a minute?”
“Excuse us,” Dave said. “We have to check the roast chicken and stuff.”
Kate propped herself against the refrigerator and closed her eyes in a moment of unguarded desperation. “I just want you to know that no matter what happens tonight… I love you.”
Dave grinned down at her. “It’s not so bad.”
“No?”
“No. I think your mother likes me. And your dad hasn’t punched me out yet.”
“He’s showing a lot of restraint. They’re really not bad people.” She was distracted by a group of men running through Dave’
s backyard. “Why are there men running through your yard?”
“They looked like cops. Probably just taking a shortcut.”
“I guess I’m being silly, huh? Worrying about nothing.”
He kissed her on the nose. “Everything’s going smoothly.”
Kate cocked her head. “Was that a gunshot?”
He lowered his mouth to hers. She’d said she loved him. Sort of a strange admission of love, but he’d take it. “Want to tell me again that you love me?”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, and the crutches clattered to the floor.
“What was that?” Elsie yelled. “Something break in there? That wasn’t more gunshots, was it?”
“Kate accidentally dropped her crutches,” Dave called, kissing Kate again. “I’m not up to another notch on your cast, but it would be nice to cuddle. Maybe we could tell everyone to leave.”
Kate wanted to cuddle, too, but she didn’t think asking her father to leave without supper was a good idea. “I think it would be wise to feed them first.” She stiffened in his arms. “Do you hear police sirens?”
“Probably some cop late for dinner.”
“On our street? We don’t have any cops living on our street.” Her voice had risen to a pitch just short of a dog whistle. “Give me my crutches!”
Howie came bounding down the stairs three at a time and passed Dave on a run. “We need the bullhorn from the car! We need the tear gas!”
Dave stood at the open back door. “Couldn’t you wait until after dinner?” he asked hopefully.
Howie returned with his arms full. He stopped in the middle of the kitchen and sniffed. “Oh, man, that chicken smells great. You have stuffing?”
“Yeah,” Dave said, opening the oven door. “Looks good, huh?”
“You going to make gravy?”
“Sure. You have to have gravy with chicken and mashed potatoes.”
Slik shouted from the top of the stairs. “Howie, you got the stuff? Would you hurry it up down there?”
Howie swore under his breath. “Sometimes this job’s a pain in the butt.”
Kate felt as if she’d fallen down the rabbit hole. Howie Berk was counting his tear gas canisters while he discussed gravy with Dave, and her mother and Elsie were sitting side by side in the living room, getting skunked on sherry, speculating on the size of Slik’s gun. Kate thumped her way into the living room and tried to look calm. “How’s it going?” she asked. “Anybody need more wine?”
Elsie and Grace Finn held out their glasses.
“Looks to me like we got a drug bust going,” Elsie said. “Looks to me like we got feds upstairs.” She patted her purse. “Good thing I brought my hanky with me.”
Dave refilled Elsie’s glass. “You so much as touch your hanky, and I swear I’ll beat you senseless with Kate’s crutch.”
“Hah!” Elsie said. “You and who else?”
“Me, that’s who else,” Kate said. “You don’t want to mess with a redhead.”
Elsie considered that. “You got a point.”
“Drug bust?” Kate’s father looked out the window. “Is that true? What kind of neighborhood is this?”
Dave shook his head. “This is a great neighborhood. Really quiet. Very respectable. I’m sure this isn’t a drug bust.”
From the second floor the walkie-talkie squawked, and there was the sound of glass breaking. “Okay,” Howie yelled over the bullhorn, “we know you’re in there, Omar. Come out with your hands in the air.” There was a moment of silence, and then the bullhorn was directed down the stairs. “Sorry about the window, Dave. We couldn’t get it open. Next time don’t paint over the latch.”
“I could be wrong about the drug bust,” Dave said. “But I’m sure it’s not important. Probably just some kid smoking in his bathroom. You know how the police always overreact.”
Grace Finn slugged down another glass of sherry, and Kate rushed to refill her mother’s glass.
“Mom, don’t you think you’re drinking that sherry kind of fast? You’re not much of a drinker, you know.”
“Don’t worry, dear. I’ve only had one eensy-teensy glass.”
“Mom, this is at least your third.”
Dave stared at the blue-and-red flashing lights outside his house. Grace Finn had the right idea. He’d like to get drunk, too, but he had to mash the potatoes, and he made it a point never to operate machinery while under the influence. He cautiously set a bowl of salted nuts at Mr. Finn’s elbow and backed away. “Guess I’d better mash the potatoes now.”
Kate pivoted toward him on her crutches. Her eyes were as big as golf balls, and she spoke in a rapid-fire shriek. “You need help in the kitchen?”
“Sure. You know CPR?”
A SWAT team assembled on the front porch and the Evening News van double-parked in front of Kate’s house.
Elsie got to her feet. “You look kind of pale,” she told Dave. “He’s a nice kid, but he’s kind of a wimp when it comes to shooting people,” she said in an aside to Kate’s mother. “Hasn’t lived in the right sort of neighborhoods.” She turned her attention back to Dave. “How about if I give you a hand with those potatoes?”
She tucked her purse under her arm and marched off to the kitchen, followed by Kate and Dave. “The key to good mashed potatoes is to add just the right amount of milk,” she explained to Kate. She drained the potatoes and added a blob of butter and some milk. “Some people use a potato masher, but I like an electric mixer.”
Dave took the chicken from the oven and set it on a platter on the table. He closed the kitchen door and felt much better. Out of sight, out of mind, he told himself. “I’ll make the gravy, and, Kate, you can get the broccoli going.”
“Broccoli,” Kate said, a vacuous glaze settling over her eyes.
Shouts rang out from the alley behind Dave’s house, and the back door flew open. A man burst through the door and stopped in the middle of the kitchen. He was young, in his early twenties, and desperate-looking. He made a subtle movement with his hand and the gleaming blade of a knife flashed.
“Well, if this don’t beat all,” Elsie said, hands on hips. “What do you think you’re doing busting in here like that?”
He pointed the knife at her. “Shut up, you old bat, or I’ll make you look like Frank Perdue’s package of chicken parts.”
“Old bat?” Elsie’s eyes narrowed. She whipped the .45 out of her purse and leveled it at the man. “Drop that knife, or I’ll blow your eyeballs clear out of your head. And back off from the chicken. I don’t want you ruining my dinner.”
Howie ran into the kitchen with his pistol drawn, and two uniforms came through the back door.
“You’re a little late, Howie,” Dave said, waiting for his heart to start beating again. “Annie Oakley already nabbed him.”
“Sorry. He slipped away from us and made a run for it.” Howie looked at the gun in Elsie’s hand and muttered an oath. “You have a permit for that monster?” he asked Elsie.
Elsie, Kate, and Dave all answered in unison, “Absolutely.”
Howie made a disgusted sound. “Put it back in your purse. I’m gonna pretend I never saw it.”
Kate’s mother staggered into the kitchen. “Michael found a portable TV on the end table and tuned in to the football game. You don’t mind, do you, cutie pie?” she asked Dave.
“Hell no,” Dave said, stirring the gravy and feeling a little hysterical, barely able to keep from laughing. “How’s the game going?” he yelled to Mr. Finn.
“Notre Dame’s ahead by seven.”
“Good!” he called back. “That’s good, isn’t it?” Dave asked Kate.
Kate giggled. “Makes my day a lot better.” Her mother was practically drunk. Her father thought Dave was a bum. And their chicken had been caught in the middle of a police raid. The word disaster hovered at the forefront of Kate’s mind.
Dave read her thoughts. “And we haven’t even eaten yet.”
“We’re going to look back o
n this someday and think it’s funny.”
He put his arm around her and kissed her on the neck. “Your mother called me cutie pie!”
Elsie left at eight and Kate’s parents left at eight-thirty. Kate and Dave stood on Dave’s front porch and waved good-bye.
“That went well,” Dave said.
Kate rested her head on his shoulder. “My father said if I married you he’d put me up for adoption, and it’s the first time I’ve ever seen my mother drunk.”
“She wasn’t real drunk. She was just a little… tipsy.”
“She dropped her roll in the gravy boat and fished it out with her fingers!”
Dave pressed a kiss into her hair. “I liked it when she buttered her thumb.”
They turned and went into the house, sealing the world off with the click of the dead bolt.
He circled his arms around her in the foyer. “Remember when we were in the kitchen, and you told me you loved me?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Would you tell me again?”
She leaned into him, pressing her breasts against the wall of his chest, and she kissed him. “I love you,” she whispered into his mouth. Her tongue touched his, and she repeated the phrase. “I love you.”
Sunday morning Kate awoke, looked at Dave asleep next to her, and silently admitted she loved him beyond reason. She’d admitted it to herself, to Dave, and in a late-night phone call to her parents. Now what? A couple years earlier it would have been simple. Go with the flow. Live with him, marry him, divorce him if it didn’t work out. But that was a couple years earlier. She was older and wiser now.
She didn’t want to live with a man outside of marriage. In her eyes it lacked commitment. It was irresponsible. She bit her lip and acknowledged that she’d been doing just that. She was in Dave’s bed and had been there for four nights.
And what about marriage? There was a time, not long ago, when she’d vowed she’d never again get married. Now she wasn’t sure. But she was dead sure of one thing. She’d gotten her last divorce. If she ever married again, it would be for keeps. The next man would be chosen much more carefully—she knew more about what she needed in a relationship now. And she knew Dave lacked some of the qualities she wanted in a husband. “Damn.”
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