The service, conducted by a balding minister speaking in somber tones, was blessedly quick. Neither Fletch nor I wanted to attend the burial, so we lingered only to ensure that the floral tribute sent by Cara Fletcher Couture had arrived. I had ordered a starburst of white gladioli and yellow chrysanthemums to represent the purity and glory of the soul. “No matter what she became, Maggie was still a child of God,” I’d told Fletch.
Shortly after the service concluded, I touched his arm. “I’m going to find a women’s room and then I’d like to get outta here.”
When I entered the restroom, I was surprised to see Shila Chong staring in the mirror and touching up her lipstick. She turned to me with a slight smile. “Great minds think alike.”
I raised my brows. “Glad to see you’re still on the job.” I took my makeup case out of my satchel and used it.
“This new event puts the Wolf brothers out of the running for Creep of the Year, but just in case, I checked them out. No issues.”
I put everything away and left, saying as she followed, “Well, it’s good to know that there’s no problem with them.”
“No problem with who?” Fletch asked.
Shit. I knew I looked like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “Oh, uh, this is Shila Chong, Fletch,” I babbled.
“Ms. Chong.” Fletch transferred his coat to his left arm so he could shake her hand. “I’m Fletcher Wolf.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Shila, fearless as usual, looked him straight in the eye as she shook his hand. From her expression, she seemed to examine and photograph him for catalogue and storage inside her very quick mind.
He smiled. “How are you acquainted with Ms. Fletcher?”
I, unlike Shila, wasn’t ice-cube cool. Instead, I twitched nervously.
“Oh, we occasionally do business.” she said in a casual tone of voice.
“What part of the couture industry are you in?” he asked.
She blinked. “Information retrieval. I work for a company that gathers, uh, data.”
“How useful. May I have your card?”
For the first time, she looked edgy. I knew why. Her card said clearly that she was a P.I. But she carried it off, saying, “I’m afraid that I don’t have one on me right now, Mr. Wolf. But you can contact me through Ms. Fletcher.”
“I’ll be sure to do that. I often find a need for, ah, information.”
“Nice meeting you.” Still wearing a slight smile, she left, no doubt heaving a sigh of relief. I know I did.
“Who was she?” Fletch asked me.
“I told you. Shila Chong.”
“Both of you were acting as though you had something to hide.”
I tried to look mysterious and alluring. “You have a vivid imagination, Fletcher Wolf.”
“Actually, I don’t. Most people regard me as stolid and unimaginative.”
“Most people don’t know you. I do.” I took his arm. “Let’s get some lunch. I’m tired of churches and funerals. All they do is remind me of death, and I bet you feel the same way.”
“You’re right. I think about my father a lot on my good days, and this is fast turning into a bad one.” He glanced at me as we left the church. “But you’ve got a secret, and I’m going to find out what it is, Cara mia.”
“For goodness’s sake! If you must know, Shila Chong is an investigator. I had asked her to look into some personal matters regarding the stalker, okay?”
“I put Ramirez on that.” Sam opened the limo door, and Fletcher helped me in.
“Two heads are better than one, aren’t they?” I tucked my satchel at my feet as he slid inside the car.
“I suppose so. Did she find anything out?”
“Nope. So we’re back where we were before. The Covarrubias.”
The limo started away from the curb.
“Were they here today?”
“Oh, no. Believe me, you would have noticed them. They look like a Jersey James Dean and his biker chick when they’re not working.”
“I remember meeting him. Adam. Skinny guy in black leather?”
“That’s the one. I thought he used to have a crush on me.” I shuddered. “But Maggie turned out to be his type.”
He took my hand. “Don’t worry, baby. The Covarrubias are in Europe, and I’m here. I’ll keep you safe.”
~*~
A week later, Fletch and I returned from lunch to find the loft inhabited by a southern steel magnolia. Veronica Fletcher Wolf occupied the big chair behind Fletcher’s desk, looking as though she’d been born to run corporations.
Suspicion flared before I tried to squelch the unfair emotion. However, her appearance in the loft couldn’t be just happenstance. I had learned that little to do with any member of the Wolf pack was mere coincidence.
“Good to see you, Mama.” Fletcher leaped to kiss his mother’s cheek. “Coffee?”
She inclined her head. “Calm down, Fletcher. I’m not here to see you.”
Ouch, I thought. Subtlety’s not this woman’s strong point.
However, he didn’t look upset. “So what can we do for you?”
“I’m here for my fitting,” she said.
“A fitting?” I couldn’t have been more surprised if the Pope had walked into the atelier to purchase a muscle-T.
“For the fall show, of course.” She removed her cloche hat and smiled at me. “Ella didn’t tell you?”
I shook my head. He looked as puzzled as I felt.
“My second son and that assistant of yours cooked up a plan to use the Board of Directors to model your designs at the meeting.”
“Yes, I was aware of that, Mrs. Wolf. I’ve been working on appropriate clothes for Fletch and Damon.”
“Well now, honey, you can do your magic for me, too. I’m the co-chairperson of the board.” She fluttered her lashes. “I’ve always wondered how it would feel to walk down that runway.”
Huh. As if. “I’m not sure I can dress you better than you are already, Mrs. Wolf. What a gorgeous ensemble.” She wore a red Chanel suit, matching purse, and even gloves. The woman didn’t need clothes, that was for sure.
Nope, the matriarch of the Wolf clan was here to see what was going on. She had to know by now that Natalie and I were staying with Fletch in his condo. I eyed Veronica, seeing old school money and old school morals. Yikes.
However, did I really have anything to hide? He’d behaved like a perfect gentleman for a week now, leaving me alone in my bed after a chaste good night kiss outside the bedroom door. For reasons known only to himself, he’d withdrawn. But I wasn’t going to ask, since I’d been the one to decide that there’d be no messing around in Manhattan.
I didn’t really want to know. Time shot by and the November shows drew closer. After working fifteen hour days, I fell into bed exhausted, snatching every precious minute of sleep I could grab.
“What suits and dresses are you showing this season, dear?” Veronica intruded upon my thoughts.
I hurried over to my portfolio of drawings for the show and hoped that one of the designs would meet with approval. I hadn’t felt so worried about my work since before I’d graduated from design school.
Fletcher crowded in to add his two cents, as usual. I didn’t bother complaining; I could no more get rid of him than a barnyard dog could eliminate fleas.
“I’ve seen this dress. It’s beautiful,” he said to Veronica as I showed her a drawing of a silver sequined gown with marabou trim at the neckline and hem.
Frowning, she squinted at the sketch. “That’s a little daring for me, dear.”
Next, I tried a pantsuit. The conservative outfit, in cranberry silk, had a poet-style blouse tucked into slim trousers.
She winced gracefully.
“Now, Mama.”
“It’s all right, Fletch.” I made an effort to sound amused, sure that she didn’t understand the difference between a salesgirl and a designer. I told myself that I wasn’t temperamental and wouldn’t take the rejections perso
nally while trying not to grind my teeth.
The next dress was a knee-length cocktail frock in the fluttery silk georgette that I adored, and had used for the canary yellow gown that the vandal had destroyed. This number was green with silver embroidered trim.
“Yes,” Veronica announced with the absolute certainty of God naming the animals. “This is the one.”
He looked as relieved as I felt, as though he personally had to ensure her satisfaction.
“Let’s take some measurements.” I whipped out a tape measure.
“Fletch, could you step out? I don’t want my son to know my bust size.”
He obeyed, grabbing his tablet before he clattered down the metal stairs.
“Just as well,” I said. “You do have to take your jacket off, and if you have shoulder pads in your blouse, that has to come off also.”
Veronica slipped off her jacket, folding it precisely before laying it over the back of Fletcher’s chair.
“Ah. Just as I thought.” The blouse Veronica wore beneath the jacket sported a Dianne Feinstein bow and linebacker shoulder pads. How eighties. “Can’t measure with that on.”
After she’d removed her shirt, I laid the tape measure across her back, checking the width of her shoulders. Then the length of the back, around the bust and waist, waist to knee. “I can make this knee length, like the drawing, or take it down to the ankle. Which would you prefer?”
“Floor-length, I think. I can wear it to the Hunt Club Christmas ball.”
I scribbled numbers onto the drawing, then knelt to measure down to the instep. “Are these similar to the shoes you’ll wear?”
“I don’t rightly know. I hadn’t thought about shoes. At my age, I generally wear low heels.”
“I’ll send you a fabric swatch. You can match the silk, or pick up a pair of Dyeables and have them tinted in the same color. There, all done.” I stood, then twisted to stretch.
Her lips twitched. Her small, ironic smile reminded me of Fletcher. “Relieved?”
“What?”
“Never try to lie, dear. You have a most transparent face.” She patted my cheek, shocking the hell out of me. “Don’t worry. You have nothing to fear from me. Natalie’s a well brought up child, a credit to you.”
“Th-thank you.” I was proud of Natalie, but could I really take the credit?
“You just bring that son of mine to heel. I’m not getting any younger, and all my friends have grandchildren. I’m starting to feel left out. So hurry up, you hear?” She picked up her blouse and thrust her arms into the sleeves as I scurried downstairs.
My brain spun like a dervish. I guess the Wolf Mama approved, but she’d jumped to conclusions that I hadn’t yet reached. And God only knew what Fletch wanted. He sure wasn’t saying.
But who cared?
Weeeelll….I did, dammit.
What could she be thinking? And why? The situation between Fletch and Natalie was still in flux, and then there was that thirty page prenup. I’d deal with that later, if at all. Now, I had to get the Wolf Mama out of the door.
That would happen soon enough, since she was following me downstairs. I tried to rid myself of the sensation a fawn must have while trailed by a hungry predator.
Nat was seated at a desk next to Fletch. I asked, “Nat, what are you doing here? It’s only two o’clock.”
“They’re having a teacher training day, so we left after lunch. Hi, Veronica.” Natalie twisted in her chair to hug Fletcher’s mother around the waist.
“Hello there, honeychile.” Veronica stroked Natalie’s braid.
Huh. Nat liked Veronica, sooo…”Looks as though you get along well with Natalie, Mrs. Wolf.”
“Oh, she’s easy as pie, your niece. As I said, Natalie does you proud.”
I glanced at Fletcher to see how this pronouncement affected him.
Huh. There was that arching brow again, along with the ironic little smile that seemed to be a Wolf family characteristic. And he caught me staring. His eyes flickered with amusement before he turned to Veronica. “It’s been very nice seeing you, Mama, but Cara and I need to get back to work.” He bent to kiss her cheek. “Sam will take you to the airport. When’s your flight out?”
~*~
“So, did she talk to you about her friends’ grandkids?” Back in the loft after Veronica left, Fletch propped his hip on the edge of his desk, watching me.
I squirmed. “Uh, yeah.”
“Don’t pay any attention to her, honey.”
Yeah, right. “I guess your mother wonders why none of her three grown sons has married or borne children.”
“Uh, childbearing is a little out of my league.”
Out of his league? “What are you talking about? There’s nothing wrong with the equipment that I could see.” I sat behind the drafting table.
“Of course not. But what I’m saying, is that’s up to you.”
“Up to me? Why?” I was mystified, but then…”Oh, no!”
“Is that what you think of having a child? ‘Oh, no?’”
“I remember giving birth,” I said grimly, unpleasant memories racing through my mind. “Never again.”
“Didn’t you use anesthetics?”
“No.”
“Better living through modern chemistry, as they say. So it’s completely out of the question?”
I looked at him, and saw confusion, rare indeed on Fletcher’s face. I hesitated. This could be a relationship-changing conversation, and nothing to joke about. “Not completely, but it doesn’t appear to be likely. I have a show to put on, remember? And then I’ll need to find a, er, sperm donor.” I grinned at him, wondering how he’d take the comment.
He leaned over my drafting table, his mouth just a couple of inches away. “Any time, baby.”
“W-what?” Oops. He sounded serious, more serious than I could handle.
“You’re the one who decided that there’d be no nookie in New York. I’m just trying to be a good boy and keep Mr. Happy zipped.” He nibbled on my mouth, then straightened up.
I squirmed in my chair, trying to banish the unwelcome flush of desire coursing through my system. I failed. “I, uh…”
“Red becomes you, sweetheart.” Damn him, he was enjoying my discomfort.
“I have my reasons,” I said stiffly.
“I know you do, and I respect them. And I’m a patient man. But just tell me something. Are you happier with me, or without me?” He fiddled with my hair.
I knew what he wanted me to say and resented it. “I’m happy either way.”
“Is that so?” He stepped back.
“Well, yeah. Frankly, Fletch, Nat and I did fine before you came along.”
“Is that right?” Oops. I could tell he was getting a little pissed-off.
But so what? “Sure it is. What do you expect me to say? I wasn’t Rapunzel in the tower before I met you. I was happy and productive.”
“Happy and productive?” Okay, so he was really pissed. “You were stalked and your office was vandalized before I started working with you.”
“One thing has nothing to do with another.”
He drew back. “Have it your way, Cara.” His voice was cool, and a little smug. That wasn’t good.
What was he planning?
Chapter 21
The next day, I awakened with the insistent feeling that something was wrong. October light, dimmed by autumn clouds, filtered through the curtains, but I couldn’t sense the normal sounds and aromas of morning. What was going on?
I got up and went to investigate. The kitchen was empty and quiet, unlike most weekdays, when Fletch, an early riser, would brew coffee and make toast. I switched on a light and found a note in the middle of the table.
Cara mia,
Left early with Sam to put out a few
fires in Delaware--back later in the week.
Fletch
Just “Fletch.” Not, “Love, Fletch,” “Warmly, Fletch,” or even, “I’ll miss you, Fletch.” No goodbye k
iss and no warning.
I searched for coffee, juice, and breakfast while trying not to get annoyed. I should have seen this coming, I thought as I measured coffee, poured water, then poked the button to get the machine going.
“G’morning.” Natalie came over for a sleepy hug and kiss. “Where’s the Wolfman?”
“He went to Delaware.” I handed Natalie a glass of orange juice.
Nat sipped. “How long is he gonna be gone?”
“A few days, I guess.”
“It’ll be like old times, huh? Just you and me.” She sounded wistful.
Did Natalie prefer the old days when we’d been just two girls, alone? Hmmm. Not good for the fate of romance.
But before I could ask her about her feelings, she asked, “Did Sam drive him?”
“Yeah.”
She found a loaf of wheat bread. “Want toast?”
“Please.” I poured coffee into a mug with the Fletcher Tool and Gear logo.
She dropped two slices of bread in the toaster. “So who’s gonna take me to school?”
“We’ll get a taxi, like we used to. Hey, I wonder if I have any cash for the day.” I’d quit carrying much money since I’d returned from Europe. Fletcher always seemed to take care of everything.
Mug in hand, I went to the living room to search the satchel. Oops. I had only a ten dollar bill and some change, not nearly enough. I hurried back to the kitchen. “Nat, we have to zip along. It’s already seven-fifteen and we should find an ATM before we get a taxi.”
Natalie stuffed toast into her mouth as she scuttled down the hall to her room. I followed, leaving my toast. I figured I’d nibble on it after we caught a cab.
Forty-five minutes later, we stood on a wind-whipped corner of Fifth, vainly waving at taxis, all of which seemed to have fares. With no time to get ready, my hair hung limp and I wore tortoise-shell glasses instead of contacts.
Natalie, in her school uniform, looked a little better, but I hadn’t had time to braid her hair. She’d protested when I’d tried to put it in pigtails—too little-girl, she whined—so her wild hair, confined at her neck by only a single scrunchie, was destined to become a frizzy, tangled cloud by ten o’clock.
Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015 Page 173