Love, Lust, and The Lassiters

by Merrill, McKenna

  Finally Pat had stopped and asked her what she thought. She smiled at him frankly. “Oh, Pat, I think it’s absolutely ridiculous,” she said, her voice calm and friendly. “I’m surrounded by romantics, and I’m afraid I don’t have a romantic bone in my body.”

  Pat looked unperturbed. “I’d disagree with that, darlin. You seemed very romantic last night when we were dancing, and I whispered in your ear, and your face got so pink and lovely. I think you hide it down deep inside. I think you felt something from the first, as I did, and you’re lying to yourself because you think the world wants you to be practical.” It was a long speech for Pat, who normally kept himself to himself. His eyes stayed on hers, and she was the first to look away.

  “I don’t care what the world thinks.”

  “If you don’t, then why not marry me?” he asked.

  Suzie wanted to laugh, but nothing came out of her mouth except a croaking sound. She stood up, her chocolate forgotten.

  “That’s too much. I’ve enjoyed this, Pat, up to a point, but it’s gone too far. I’m a fifty-eight-year-old woman. I’ve gone through menopause. I’m not a silly girl with stars in her eyes. Your . . . attention has been sweet, and you’re a very attractive man, but—I can’t allow you to say those things to me.” She began to walk away.

  She heard him talking to the waitress, heard him pay the bill. And then, unbelievably, he was behind her, like the puppy that wouldn’t go home. “You’re just frightened, Suzie. I understand. It takes strength, and some faith, to believe in the Lassiter history, and I know you have both of those, deep down, as well as courage. It takes a brave woman to say I love you. It takes a braver woman to say yes.”

  She stopped. They were in the middle of a quaint downtown street. She barely noticed the bite of cold in the air, fresh as the apple cider she’d drunk that morning. “Don’t you talk down to me, Pat Lassiter. Don’t you tell me what brave is. I watched my husband die. I sat with him day after day, watched the cancer steal the flesh from his bones, and I kept a smile on my face, for his sake. He was smiling when he died, because I was brave for him. It was the most courageous thing I’ve ever done, and the saddest. And you talk to me about silly things like love and romance, and tell me I should marry you just because that’s the way it’s done in your family. Well, I’m not a Lassiter, and I’m not in love.”

  “Suzie—” Pat called, but she was already stalking down the street. For once, Pat thought, he’d make the right decision with her and let her walk it off. He’d follow in a while, when she’d calmed down. In the meantime he’d have to think of a way to convince Suzie James that he was in earnest, that he thought she was beautiful, that fifty-eight wasn’t old, and that even practical people could fall in love.

  Simon waited and waited. Nine o’clock. Nine thirty. God, how long was the woman going to keep him in limbo? He paced around in his pajamas, holding a book that he hadn’t the concentration to read. He liked her family. Her sister was sweet and pretty, and her mother was still a beautiful woman, and the three of them together were a sight for sore eyes. But he wanted them to go away, maybe for another two years, so that he could be alone with her. He was starting to phrase the letter in his mind, asking them politely to leave the premises, when she slipped through the door.

  She was wearing a nightgown. A black nightgown. For a moment, he forgot to breathe.

  She smiled. “It was very cloak and dagger, sneaking across the hall. I’m getting good at it. Juli helped me pick this out. She said it would slay you.”

  Simon grabbed her, pulled her close. “God, Beauty, you take my breath away.”

  “Mmmm. It’s too bright in here. I want to lie with you in the dark and do bad things.”

  Simon ran around switching off lamps. He was back in five seconds. “Better? What kind of bad things did you have in mind? Bad in a good way?”

  “A very good way. Let’s get you out of this hot shirt. Ah. That’s nice.” She ran her hands over his chest. “So nice, Simon. Such a broad, beautiful man.” She kissed him on his naked breast, flicking her tongue lightly over his nipple. He whimpered. She laughed. “Baby, I missed you so much,” she said, moving her mouth on him. “Now let’s get those pants off you. Aren’t you hot, Simon?”

  “So hot,” he said.

  “There. That’s better.”

  “Let me take off your night—”

  “Not yet, boy. I’m not done with you. Didn’t I say you earned a big reward? A big reward for a big, big man.” She fondled him as she said it, and he closed his eyes.

  “What’s gotten into you, Beauty?”

  “Simon,” she whispered. For a moment she stood on tiptoe and put her mouth against his ear. “I love you.” Then she was touching him, with her hands, her lips, her tongue, silkily, all over, until she knelt in front of him.

  She leaned in, flicked her tongue across his hardness. “You might want to sit down for this,” she warned him sweetly.

  With a groan of pure pleasure, Simon obeyed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lilah met the cat General in the side garden the next morning. She’d been feeding him milk, along with the food that Grandpa put out for him. No one knew where the cat had come from, but he’d been unofficially adopted by the Inn. Grandpa had put a collar with a bell on him, because he said General had killed too many of God’s creatures already. Lilah forgave the cat for his predatory instincts; she loved his regal bearing and his yellow and white fur, and she stroked him while she talked about all sorts of things, the people she’d met, the fun she was having at the Inn, how nice her room was, how great her father was, how pretty Veronica was. She spoke of school, and her mother who was married now, and how she missed her teacher, but how Daddy had called her and explained things, and would make sure she didn’t miss anything before he set up her tutoring schedule. She noticed the man only when he came and sat at one of the wrought iron patio tables that were spaced intermittently throughout the side yard of the Inn.

  “Hello,” he said. “That’s a pretty cat you have there.”

  “Oh, he’s not mine. He just lives here,” she said, studying him.

  “I heard you mention the name Veronica. Is she here today?”

  “Oh, yes. Are you a friend of hers?” asked Lilah curiously. “I didn’t think she knew anyone around here.”

  The man smiled, but Lilah didn’t like his smile very much. Something about him reminded her of the men on the soap operas, the ones Bindy called “Creepos.” She stood up, ready to go back inside. “Yes, I know Veronica. In fact, I was supposed to meet her, but now I find I have to break our appointment. Could you give her a note for me?” he asked, reaching into his pocket.

  Now Lilah was curious. The man held out the paper, and she reached out to get it. For a moment he held her hand in his and wouldn’t let it go. “You look like her, you know. You could be her daughter.”

  Lilah tugged at her hand, and he released it. “I’ll give this to her,” Lilah said. She felt the overwhelming urge to leave, and yet she felt torn by a desire to be polite and represent her father’s Inn. General, she noticed, had already made his retreat, and was licking his paw on the roof of Daddy’s shed. Lilah took her cue from him; she ran as fast as she could back to the front of the building.

  * *

  Simon viewed Veronica across the lobby. She was calm, elegant, chatting with her mother and sister in the plump upholstered chairs in the conversation nook. He still got the chills when he thought of the ways she’d made love to him the night before. He couldn’t believe she could be so normal. Personally, he felt he’d never be the same again. He continued to watch her, hungrily, seemingly looking over the check-ins scheduled for the day. Peter was on duty this morning, and he handled the customer that walked up to the desk, allowing Simon to continue to stare at his woman.

  Lilah wandered in; Simon switched his attention to her, and noticed right awa
y that she seemed frightened. In that instant, that frozen instant that he spied her and his fatherly instinct kicked in, he also saw that she held an envelope in her hand. She’d been playing in the garden, playing with the cat . . . .

  He came quickly from behind the counter; Lilah spied him and ran to hug him. “Are you okay, Honey?” he asked.

  “Yes. I have to go see Veronica—”

  “Lilah. Who gave you this?” he said, taking the envelope from her.

  “A man. He said he knew Veronica, and he asked me to—”

  “Peter!” Simon called softly over his shoulder. “Get John O’Malley on the phone.”

  He turned back to her, spoke quietly, looked around to make sure he hadn’t attracted attention. “The man asked you to give it to her. Is the man in here now?”

  “No. I didn’t like him, Daddy; he wouldn’t let go of my hand.”

  Simon felt a wave of nausea come over him as he led her to a little couch by the main entrance. He sat her on his lap, and he opened the envelope. “Veronica won’t mind,” he told his daughter.

  He removed the paper with shaking hands and read the sentence that made him tremble with anger and fear: “See how close I am?”

  God, he thought, the man had touched his daughter, he’d held her hand. What if he’d led her somewhere, lured her away, what if he’d gotten her into a car? Simon tasted bile in his throat.

  It wasn’t Lilah the stranger wanted, though, Simon realized. It was Veronica. He was close, he’d proven it; he’d been on their very lawn, and he was playing with them, playing with her.

  “Simon, what is it?”

  Veronica stood in front of him, her eyes anxious. Obviously she’d seen him read it and noted his reaction.

  His first instinct was to hide it, but that was ridiculous; she had to know.

  Peter approached him. He spoke discreetly. “I have O’Malley on the phone. Should I ask him to come out?”

  “Immediately,” said Simon, and he heard Veronica’s sharp intake of breath. Then her mother was there with them, and her sister.

  “Simon,” said Suzie James, looking from her daughter to him, and adding, in her wonderfully direct way, “I think you need to tell me just what’s going on here.”

  The important thing was not to frighten Lilah, and Simon made this clear to them all in low tones as they huddled near the office. Lilah still sat on the couch, waiting for Simon to call her. Peter was sent back to the phone to give O’Malley the gist of the message and to ask for a sketch artist to accompany him.

  Simon enlisted Logan, and they ran outside to look for the man Lilah had described, but found no one in the vicinity. Logan promised to handle things while Simon spoke with Veronica’s family in the office.

  “We’ll need Lilah when O’Malley gets here,” Simon said in a low voice. “But we don’t want her to understand just what she was facing out there. Logan, maybe you could buy her a glass of chocolate milk and have a chat—”

  “Here’s Sally. She’ll go with me. She’s good at this.” He waved down his fiancée and spoke to her briefly. Sally strolled to Lilah and began to talk to her, showing her the butterfly pin from Logan. Simon and Logan joined them.

  “Daddy, Sally wants to tell me about her butterfly collection and have milk and cookies with me. Can I go?” Lilah asked.

  “Sure, sweetie. And then in a little while maybe you can come back. We’ll have an artist here who wants to draw some pictures of the man you saw today.”

  “Why?”

  Simon sighed. “The truth is, he’s bothering Veronica, and he could get arrested for bothering her that way. So we want to know what he looks like, and then Mr. O’Malley will get him, and that will be that. He’ll go to jail and learn his lesson.”

  Lilah nodded. “I knew he wasn’t nice,” she said.

  Simon hugged her to him. “You keep those good instincts, sweetie. Go ahead now; I’ll see you in a little while.”

  “I love you, Daddy.”

  “I love you, Angel.” Simon felt a lump in his throat as he watched her skip away holding Sally’s hand. Logan was bending down and telling her some sort of elaborate joke. Suddenly he was grateful for friends. He was even more grateful for his daughter. He turned and gravely prepared to face Veronica.

  * *

  She held the note in her hands, said nothing, and handed it to her mother. Juliana looked, too, and the women, for once, were quiet. “Mom, I have no idea who this could be. How he knows my name. How he could know that I’m here. I keep thinking this must be some mistake.” Veronica sighed, on the verge of nervous tears. “And now he’s involved Lilah, and Simon. God, I should just leave here.”

  Simon felt immediate, defensive anger. “What good would that do? If he’s crazy he’ll follow you, and if he’s harmless you’ll break my heart and Lilah’s for no good reason. No one’s going to touch my daughter again, Veronica, and no one is going to touch you.”

  Suzie gazed at him, studying his face. She nodded, finally. Veronica wondered if she’d decided she could trust that Simon’s feelings were genuine. She knew her mother was suspicious, of Simon and Pat and the whole Lassiter phenomenon. “What do you plan to do, Simon?” her mother asked.

  “John is bringing a sketch artist. Lilah will describe this man. She’s a very visual child; I think she’ll do a good job. With luck, the sketch will give Veronica an idea who we’re dealing with, and that will be the end of it. They’ll track him down. They’ll catch him. Finis.”

  Simon sounded very grim. Veronica began to hope it was the police that caught this person, and not her angry lover.

  Juliana spoke out, thoughtfully. “Ronnie, was there ever a guy who asked you out, and you rejected him? Maybe he sees himself as a scorned lover, even if you barely remember him.”

  Simon jumped. “The man in the airport! Lilah said there was a man in the airport, who asked you out. She said he was very handsome.”

  Veronica stared blankly. “No one asked me out in the airport. We didn’t talk to anyone, except to ask the man in the seat next to me if Lilah could sit there. He said yes.”

  They all stared at each other. Finally Veronica ventured, “I think Lilah was doing a spot of match-making.” She had a small, nervous smile on her face.

  Simon shrugged. “So you spoke to no one on the plane, no one in the airport?”

  “Just you,” Veronica said, looking at him so intimately that she saw her mother shift uncomfortably. “You were the only handsome man I talked to. On the phone.”

  Juliana spoke again. “But who else, Ronnie? I know guys have asked you out. They always asked you out, ever since eighth grade. It’s just that you always said no.”

  “I’m choosy,” Veronica said, still looking at Simon.

  Simon smiled. “She’s right. You have to think back. Who was there? You should be able to remember, especially if it made you uncomfortable.”

  Veronica thought. There had been boys, men even, she supposed, who’d asked her on dates now and then. Usually she hadn’t noticed it much, because she was in the habit of saying no, of making up excuses, and most of them went away with their tails between their legs. Even Bob, her co-worker at St. William, had wanted to date her, but she’d felt it was unprofessional, and had told him so. She’d given his name to John O’Malley already. There were more, of course there were more, but she couldn’t remember . . . .

  John arrived then, looked at the note, and exchanged a glance with Simon. He shook hands with the James women, admiring them openly, then introduced Daria Schalk, the woman who would sketch their suspect. Daria, he said, was something of a local celebrity for her drawings, which had helped bring in several criminals, and had even appeared on America’s Most Wanted.

  Daria smiled at them, shook their hands, then swung her long red braid behind her and got out her pad and pencils.

  Simon stood, brie
fly touching Veronica’s hand. It was time to get Lilah.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “He was not that tall,” Lilah said. “Not as tall as Daddy or Logan, and not fat, but sort of, you know—”

  “Plump?” offered Daria. She hadn’t started drawing yet; she was just talking to Lilah. She’d asked to be alone with the girl, at least at first, so that she could put Lilah at ease.

  “Yeah, I guess. I didn’t really notice everything, because I was mostly looking at his face, but his face was sort of round.”

  “That’s excellent!” Daria told her. “Now we have the shape of a face. You’re very good at this. It’s like a memory game, really, isn’t it? Tell me about his hair. What color was it?”

  Lilah was pleased with Daria’s praise, and she had relaxed slightly. “It was dark. brown, but darker than Veronica’s.”

  “More like—”

  ”Like kids’ hair on Halloween.”

  Daria paused. “You mean—it looked like he’d altered it, put something in it?”

  Lilah thought. “Yeah. Because it wasn’t a real-looking color, and some of it smeared on his face. He had a smudge, a black smudge. Here.” She pointed above her eyebrow.

  “And you said he wore glasses?”

  “Yes. But I think those were real.”

  “Why?” Daria had started to sketch.

  “Because they made his eyes look bigger.”

  This girl was bright, Daria thought. She was going to get a picture, a very good picture.

  “Let me draw something, Lilah, and then you tell me what’s right about it and what’s wrong, okay?”

  “Okay,” Lilah said, her legs swinging back and forth as she perched on the edge of her chair. “But I have to be done by dinnertime. Daddy’s going to take me out for pizza.”