Finding Isadora

by Fox, Susan

  I had just saved two thousand dollars to put toward paying off my student loan, which would have meant six thousand left to go. Now I’d have to use the money to hire a lawyer. I could only pray the police would soon discover they’d arrested the wrong person, or else legal fees would eat up my next pay checks.

  How were we going to find a top-notch criminal defense lawyer? Jimmy Lee usually relied on duty counsel. Well, except for the time Gabriel DeLuca had represented him… And Gabriel respected my dad. He wouldn’t treat Jimmy Lee like a flake, as many lawyers did. He’d be fair with his fees, too. But could I bring myself to call him?

  It was absurd to avoid him. The man was going to be my father-in-law. Besides, right now all I should be concerned about was getting the best representation for Jimmy Lee. “Grace? I have an idea. Let me see what I can do.”

  It was past six o’clock. Would Gabriel still be at his office? I had to find someone to represent Jimmy Lee because my dad would have to appear before a judge tomorrow. Would a duty counsel be able to get him out on bail? Growing up with my parents, I had a fair bit of experience with the court system, but arson was more serious than anything either of them had been charged with before.

  Gabriel would know what to do. I squared my shoulders, turned on my laptop, and went on the Internet to find his work phone number. Expecting either a receptionist or an answering machine, I almost dropped the phone when a male voice snarled, “DeLuca.”

  “Uh, G-Gabriel?” Terrific. Now I was stuttering.

  There was a pause and then, “Isadora?”

  Again I almost dropped the phone. “You recognized my voice?”

  Another pause, even longer, then he said, “Lucky guess.”

  There was a roughness in his voice that made me wonder, for the tiniest moment, if I’d been on his mind, just the way he’d been on mine. But no, that was absurd.

  “Well, I’m calling because, uh…” Belatedly, I realized I owed him an apology for cutting out immediately after his speech, and dragging Richard away. “Look, I’m sorry I had to leave early on Saturday night, but I had a splitting headache and Richard insisted on driving me home. Anyhow, I wanted to tell you your speech was wonderful. I could see the fundraiser was an incredible success, and I’m sure you deserve a lot of the credit.”

  “You called to apologize?” Now he sounded confused.

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Then get to the point.” Now he sounded utterly frustrated. He really was a panther. At least he snarled like one.

  Except I could have handled a panther more easily than I could deal with this man. I tried to tell myself he must be having a bad day. “I’m sorry, I guess you’re busy and—”

  “Isadora! Why did you call?”

  I gathered my wits and cleared my throat. “It’s Jimmy Lee. He’s been charged with arson and I wondered, uh…”

  “You want me to represent him?”

  “I was hoping that—”

  “Damn it, Isadora, just come out and say it. You want me to represent your father.”

  What was this man’s problem? On Saturday he’d seemed so in control. I hardly recognized this impatient, angry voice. I was so upset I was tempted to tell him to forget it. But Jimmy Lee really did need his help. “Yes,” I said firmly. “I do. I have some money saved and—”

  “I thought Jimmy Lee figured I was a sadistic bastard.” His tone was hard to read.

  Was that the reason he was being so negative? “Uh, well, he was just joking. I’m sure he really appreciated what you did for him. Anyhow, about your fees—”

  “Arson?” he broke in. “What’s the deal? He’s been charged? You mean, this just happened?”

  “Today.” Belatedly, I realized I should have gotten more details from Grace. “My mother says they arrested him and he’s in jail, and I guess he’ll be in court in the morning.”

  “They didn’t release him?”

  “No. They usually do, on an appearance notice or a recognizance.” When he was charged with disturbing the peace, the police always let him go on his own promise to appear in court at the appointed time. “But not this time,” I said slowly, again realizing the seriousness of the charge.

  “Hmm. He’s been a royal pain in the cops’ asses for a long time, but I wouldn’t have thought they’d detain him. What the hell do they say he burned?” His tone was almost normal now and I sensed he’d already taken on the case.

  I let out a quick sigh of relief. “A cosmetics lab. They use animals and—”

  “Got it. Okay, I’ll talk to the cops and go see Jimmy Lee. Is Grace involved?”

  “She hasn’t been charged but she says they were picketing there last week.”

  “I’ll talk to her, too. Give me her number.”

  I did, then he said, “Fine,” and the phone clunked down.

  Gabriel was going to do it. That was all that mattered. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been nice—not even polite—to me. He was going to help Jimmy Lee. I pressed a trembling hand to my throat and felt my pulse thudding. It had been his abruptness that had set my nerves to jangling. That’s all it had been.

  What was it that had put him so on edge?

  I dialed my mom’s number. “Gabriel DeLuca will represent him. Remember, he’s the lawyer who got Jimmy Lee that tree-planting gig the summer you and I were in Boston?”

  “Oh yeah, I’ve heard lots about him though I’ve never met him. He’s one of the good ones.”

  And he was Richard’s father, a fact I’d yet to tell my parents. In fact, I’d never even told them that my fiancé’s dad was an activist lawyer. I’d wanted them to like Richard for who he was, not lament that he wasn’t more like his father. “He may want to talk to you. I gave him your number.”

  “Okay. Hey, Isadora, can you come over to the apartment? I’m stressing over this.”

  “You ought to be used to it by now.”

  “I never get used to it. Jail isn’t a safe place.”

  When my parents were in university in Boston, they and a bunch of other peaceniks had been arrested at an anti-war demonstration. By then, jail was almost a habit for their group, in fact kids boasted about their arrests as if they were badges of honor. But this time was different. Another prisoner, a Vietnam vet, no doubt suffering from PTSD, killed one of their friends.

  In the decades since my parents had moved to Canada, Jimmy Lee had only been in jail a couple of times. The police here were more inclined to release on a promise to appear in court.

  I remembered how worried Grace had been that time she and I were in Boston and Jimmy Lee’d been held in jail in Vancouver after chaining himself to a logging truck. Afraid that someone with a gripe against tree-huggers might go after him, Grace had been all set to fly home, then he called to say his lawyer had sprung him from jail. Gabriel. And he’d do it again.

  But not until morning. Truth to tell, Grace’s anxiety was contagious. “Yes, I’ll come over.”

  “I have a pot of lentil stew simmering. I’ll make cornbread. Can you pick up some wine?”

  A dinner party in honor of my father’s arrest. You had to love my family. For the first time since I’d answered Grace’s call, I found a smile. “Sure, and I’ll bring along the salad I was making.”

  Before I left, I called Richard. When I got voice-mail, I left a message filling him in on what had happened, and saying I’d be at my parents’ place. I imagined him shaking his head as he listened. He wouldn’t like the idea of his future father-in-law being a jailbird, and he probably wouldn’t be thrilled about me enlisting his dad to help out, but hopefully he’d understand.

  On the way to the bus stop, I popped into a liquor store. My parents didn’t believe in wasting money on wine that came with a cork, so I picked up a box of Sawmill Creek merlot.

  A couple of hours later, Grace and I had made significant inroads on the wine. Gabriel hadn’t called, and I’d procrastinated about telling Grace that Jimmy Lee’s new lawyer was Richard’s father. My mother
and I had passed the time reminiscing companionably about old arrests.

  Grace sat in lotus position on a big cushion on the floor, a thick silver-streaked blond braid dangling over one shoulder of her multi-colored Guatemalan tunic. I was curled up in a corner of the faded couch stroking Woodstock, a one-eyed cat I’d persuaded my parents to take in a few months ago. The battered stray had adapted surprisingly well to domesticity, and also to Martin and Jack, the abandoned kittens I’d given my parents a couple of years ago. They—a jumble of black and white fur—had spent the evening sleeping in a scruffy easy chair.

  The entrance door buzzer rang and Grace started, then hurried to answer it. “Yes, come in.” She punched the button and said to me, “That’s Gabriel DeLuca, downstairs.”

  Chapter 4

  “Here?” I leaped up. Damn him, he’d said he would phone. If I’d known he was going to come in person I’d have stayed home.

  “Let him in, honey,” Grace said, heading toward the kitchen.

  Wait a minute. Why would I have stayed home? There was no reason to avoid the man. Besides, likely that whole chemistry thing on Saturday night had been the product of nerves. When I saw him tonight, he’d be just another middle-aged man. No, he’d still be Richard’s father and Jimmy Lee’s lawyer. I wanted to make a good impression.

  I ran my hands through hair that hadn’t been combed since morning, and glanced down at my old jeans and long sweater. The sweater was a knitting project that, typically, hadn’t turned out like the picture on the pattern. I loved the nubbly beige cotton and the basket-weave pattern, but the neckline was too loose. Damn it, I should have worn a bra. My breasts were small and firm, so I didn’t really need one, but the sweater had drifted down, baring a shoulder like I was trying to look seductive. I tugged it straight. I hadn’t thought twice about wearing the sweater on the bus, but now I was self-conscious. This made twice I’d been unprepared for Gabriel, and I didn’t appreciate it.

  When he knocked, I flung open the door, mad at him and at myself. “I thought you were going to phone Grace. You said—”

  “Isadora? What the hell are you doing here?” he growled, sounding just as annoyed.

  But his words barely registered. I was too busy staring at him. If my problem on Saturday had been nerves, then I must have a double dose of them tonight. The tuxedo-clad man had been dangerous to my peace of mind, but this one was deadly. His dark hair was loose and wavy, slightly tangled, falling to his shoulders. His jaw sported a day’s worth of stubble. His chocolate truffle eyes were even more rich and sinful than I remembered. A black cotton turtleneck hugged his torso and ancient jeans clung to his hips, thighs, legs, and everything in between.

  I was checking out my fiancé’s father’s package—and liking what I saw. Feeling telltale heat rise to my cheeks, I dragged my gaze up to his face.

  He was staring at me. At my face, not farther south. Had he seen where I was looking? Could I feel any more embarrassed?

  “Jimmy Lee and I decided it was better for me to talk to your mother in person.” His scowl was as dark as his tone had been earlier on the phone. Clearly he was no more pleased to see me than I was to see him. Except… I couldn’t exactly say I wasn’t pleased, just desperately unsettled.

  Unsettled. Was that how Gabriel had sounded on the phone? Not so much angry as unsettled? Belatedly, I realized we were still staring at each other and I hadn’t answered his question. “Grace wanted company and asked me over.”

  I backed away from the door so he could come in without brushing against me. He strode in quickly and I felt as if an energy field had passed by. How could he look so damned virile? It was almost ten at night and he must have worked a full day, then spent hours dealing with Jimmy Lee’s problems.

  “Gabriel DeLuca?” Grace said, and we both turned toward her. Walking gracefully across the room, she wiped damp hands on her own faded jeans, then held out her right hand.

  They shook firmly. “Grace Dean,” he said. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you.”

  “You too. You’ve done some good work.”

  “As have you. And Jimmy Lee.”

  “Thanks for agreeing to help him.”

  Their hands were still clasped and they seemed to have forgotten me. I watched them curiously, noting their immediate rapport. Though Gabriel was more than fifteen years younger, he and my mom were, in a way, veterans of the same war.

  “Have you had dinner, Gabriel?” she asked.

  “Haven’t had time.” He flashed her a grin that, had it been aimed in my direction, would likely have knocked me off my feet.

  She gave an understanding nod. “I gather you know Isadora?”

  How stupid to have procrastinated about telling her. Now she and Gabriel would give my omission too much importance.

  He shot me a glance that virtually smoldered with some emotion I couldn’t decipher, then turned back to Grace. “Yeah, we’ve met.”

  I found my voice again. “He’s Richard’s father.”

  “You are?” Her brows rose. “But Richard’s name is Bracken.”

  “That’s his stepfather’s name. He took it when his mother remarried.” Gabriel’s voice was gruff and I detected a note that could be pain. Interesting. So the hurt between Richard and his father might run both ways.

  Grace nodded slowly and I knew she’d had the same thought. Too bad. My parents were already too critical of Richard. She crossed to the kitchen, saying over her shoulder, “I turned on the heat under the stew. We also have quinoa salad and cornbread.”

  “The stew’s vegetarian,” I said, “but the food’s not vegan. In case it makes any difference.”

  His little bonding act with Grace seemed to have mellowed his mood. His tone, too, was pleasant. “Sounds good to me. I don’t eat meat, but I eat everything else. Like you, Saturday night.”

  So while I’d been noticing what he was eating, he’d been watching me, too. Nervously, I said, “Yes, that pretty much describes me. I can’t understand how a vet can, in all good conscience, eat meat.”

  “You became a vegetarian because you’re a vet?”

  “No, I’ve always been one, like Grace and Jimmy Lee, and I’ve always loved animals, so—” I broke off, realizing I was, again, sounding like an idiot.

  “Richard eats meat.”

  “Yes. Uh, we manage.”

  “Sure.” He turned away and studied the apartment. I guessed he wasn’t surprised by its smallness, the threadbare nature of the comfortable furniture, or the many ethnic knickknacks and items of folk art. In his line of work, he’d probably seen a lot of apartments like this.

  His gaze skimmed and stopped, skimmed some more, then returned to mine. “Cats,” he commented.

  “You’re not allergic?”

  “Nope.”

  I pointed, identifying the three animals. “I found Martin and Jack in a dumpster. Woodstock’s a stray someone dropped off at the clinic.”

  “Jack and Martin? Kennedy and Luther King Jr.?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Your names or your parents’?”

  “Grace named them. Jack’s the black one.”

  He chuckled. “Of course he is. Walk a mile in the other guy’s shoes.”

  He was obviously on the same wavelength as my mother. For some reason that fact irked me.

  “Gabriel, would you like some wine?” Grace called from the kitchen.

  “On an empty stomach?” That devastating smile flashed again, even though my mom couldn’t see it. “Hell, why not?”

  “I’ll get it,” I said. Glad for an excuse to move away from him, I went to the kitchen and reached over Grace’s head to find a clean wine glass.

  She planted an elbow in my ribs. “You never told me Richard’s father was a hottie.”

  “Grace! He’s…” I could hardly say Gabriel wasn’t a hottie. “He’s your lawyer. Have a little respect.” I thumbed the spout on the cardboard box and let wine slosh into the glass.

  “I’ve always respected
a hottie, honey. Why’d you think I stuck with your daddy for so long?”

  “Jesus. I don’t want to hear this.” I stalked into the living area, where Gabriel was petting a purring Woodstock. I thrust the glass toward him. “Wine.”

  He gave the cat a final pat and reached out to take the glass. Cocking an eyebrow, he said dryly, “Thanks for your gracious hospitality.”

  I gave a frustrated snort.

  “And you’re mad at me because…?”

  Because he hadn’t looked happy to see me. Because he was a hottie. And because I was acting like a hormone-driven teen. Normally, I was a reasonably mature adult, but Gabriel—the man I was supposed to impress with my sterling daughter-in-law qualities—brought out the worst in me. “Because I’m temporarily insane,” I said grimly. “I’m sorry, Gabriel. I’m really grateful you’ve taken Jimmy Lee’s case and I’m worried about him. And I’ve had far too much to drink. Ignore me. Please.”

  He shot me a long, intense look that threatened to melt my bones, then growled, “Do my best,” turned his back on me, and started stroking the cat again.

  Woodstock arched and curved her body against Gabriel’s hand and I tried not to envision what those long fingers would feel like, stroking my own neck. I’d probably purr as enthusiastically as the stupid cat. He had the hands of a masseur, a pianist, a surgeon—graceful, yet strong.

  Grace came out of the kitchen and put a bowl of stew and a plate of salad and cornbread on the dinette table. “Come sit down, Gabriel.”

  He obeyed, and Grace sat in the chair across from him. I went over to lean against the counter that divided the kitchen from the dining area.

  Gabriel tore off a piece of bread, swiped it into the stew, then popped it into his mouth. “Delicious.” He gave Grace an appreciative smile, then his face took on a serious expression. “Okay, obviously I talked to Jimmy Lee.”

  Grace held up a hand in a stop gesture. “Have dinner first. Relax. Then we’ll discuss it.”

  I wanted to know everything about this crazy charge against Jimmy Lee, and I knew she did, too. But, after a couple of hours of wine and reminiscing, we’d both convinced ourselves the charge was purely bogus and Gabriel would soon deal with it. The least we could do was let him eat in peace, then we’d deal with the details of getting my father out of jail.