She was horrified. She looked back at Rick, who seemed unaffected. You mean he saw us kissing?
Yes, Rick said, chuckling softly. And the poor mans probably still in shock. Josie wanted to know what he meant by that but the waiter came by.
To say she enjoyed lunch with Rick would be the understatement of a lifetime. He was smart. His voice was gentle. He was handsome but didnt seem to be aware of his looks. It amazed Josie that she didnt feel intimidated by Rick, or worried that she was out of her league. He made her feel comfortable. He seemed to enjoy her company, too, and even stared at her approvingly when she walked back from a trip to the ladies room. It made her blush.
While they ate, Rick asked Josie to tell him about her life. She was done by the time she finished her soup.
Rick then volunteered information about himself. He said hed been a spoiled rich kid born and raised in Rhode Island. His mom died when he was at Yale getting his business degree. After school he wandered the globe trying to find himself.
Did you? Josie asked.
Ricks laugh was uncomfortable. I lost myself instead, he said.
He told Josie that his only ambition back then was to attend as many wild parties as possible, and he managed to avoid a job for six years.
With a stiff voice, he said, When I was twenty-eight, I was in a serious motorcycle accident. It woke me up fast.
Josie could tell he was skipping over a few painful details, so she just listened, nodded, and enjoyed the view as he talked. It made sense that Rick was to the manor born, as the saying went. He had a noble jaw-line and an aristocratic nose. Perfect teeth. His eyes were friendly but keen, and framed in those extraordinary lashes. She decided hed look at home in a smoking jacket, standing before the fireplace drinking champagne from fluted crystal. The image sent a shiver of excitement through her, since she was more accustomed to men in boxer shorts who drank beer from a can while watching cable.
I came out here about six years ago, after my father passed away. He left me some money and property, which I liquidated, and I moved here to start my business. Rick smiled at Josie, and she saw a touch of embarrassment in his expression.
So you started over.
You could say that.
Josie sat back into the booth and cocked her head at Rick. It certainly was a lot to absorb. The fact that he had a colorful past wasnt a shockmost people in their mid-thirties had done some wild living. Except for her, of course.
She smiled at him. So, let me see if I understand this fully.
Okay. His left eye squinted.
Josie leaned forward. Youre a smoking-hot reformed bad boy with a fabulous sense of humor, his own corporate empire, and mad kissing skills.
Ricks lips parted but nothing came out.
Im sorry, but Im not sure youre my type.
This time when Rick laughed it was full-bodied, loud, and genuine. Josie could see Teeny lean back on his stool to make sure all was well. She looked over the back of the high booth and gave him a salute.
I like you, Josie, Rick said. Id like to do this again.
Sure. Or maybe I could cook for you sometime.
His eyes widened. Or I could cook for you.
With that, Josie silently checked off another item from the list. She was about to ask him how, in the name of all that was holy, he hadnt been snatched up by some woman a long time ago, but the waiter chose that moment to bring their check.
Rick asked if Josie had time to take a walk before she went back to the office. After a quick call to the newsroom and a check of her voice mail, she joined Rick on the sidewalk.
Mind if we walk up Market Street to the Ferry? he asked.
Josie grinned up at him, hoisted her bag on her shoulder, and said shed love it.
It was a pleasant May afternoon in San Francisco, with a sharp breeze and a bright blue sky. Market Street was packed with the working crowd, everyone on a mission to get somewhere quick. By contrast, the two of them were simply taking a stroll.
It surprised Josie when Rick reached for her hand and gave her fingers a squeeze. She had to laughhere she was, light-years away from listless Lloyd, strolling down the street hand in hand with a man custom-made for her by the universe, on a date so enjoyable it was scary. If it werent for Teeny observing them from a distance of about twenty paces, the moment would have been perfect.
Bennett Cummings believed this was a private matter, a wrong that could be righted by his hand alone, with the utmost of discretion. The criminal justice system had failed him spectacularly. His civil case could be tied up in the courts for decades. Hed known for some time that if he wanted justice, hed have to go out and get it himself.
He glanced over at his wife, sound asleep beside him despite the glare of his reading lamp. Shed aged so much in the last seven years. Grief would do that to a woman. He removed his eyeglasses, rubbed the bony bridge of his nose, and sighed. Years ago, hed decided not to involve Julia in the details. It would be easier for her if she remained oblivious. Julia wanted it done, of course, but she had no interest in how he planned to do it. Shed suffered enough.
Cummings turned out the light and curled up on his side in the darkness, pulling the satin comforter close. He didnt know why he bothered. He hadnt slept well in seven years. And since that morning two weeks agowhen Margot slipped away from them foreverhis mind had not stopped its weaving and churning, not for a second.
Richard Rousseau was no dullard. The young man was as thorough and cautious a businessman as his father had been, and Cummings had to admire how hed gone about keeping himself and his assets safe. Both his hillside home in San Francisco and his wine country retreat were sewn up tight as a virgindigital motion sensors, heat sensors, automatic lights, and a small army of highly trained security staff. Unfortunately, Cummings hadnt yet found a way to get to any of themthey were well paid, had great benefits, and were loyal to Rousseau. And because the whole Rousseau family was gone and the young man appeared to have no social life whatsoever, there was no one to use as leverage against him.
Rousseau also had taken advantage of every stateside loophole and every offshore safe haven that would protect his inheritance from civil litigation. In fact, Cummings had to admit that Rousseau had gone the route he himself would have taken had he found himself in a similar predicamentif hed murdered an innocent girl, got off with a slap on the wrist, and fled across the country to hide like a coward.
Cummings shut his eyes tight, the rage pummeling his insides. He was well aware that Rousseau had turned over a new leaf as it was so blithely called, but it was for naught. A lifestyle of celibacy, good deeds, and hard work on the West Coast would never erase the devastation hed left behind on the East Coast. A hundred anonymous charitable foundations and a thousand spiritual awakenings couldnt bring Margot back.
Cummings turned his face into the pillow and gritted his teeth against the pain. Rousseau had stolen his daughters life and destroyed the lives of those whod loved her. Rousseau had killed his baby girl, his precious, golden, happy daughter, the only child hed ever had. The young man had suffered physically, but hed survived. Hed healed. And it wasnt right. It would never be right until Rick Rousseau was dead.
Cummings allowed flashes of memory to pass through his mind. Holding Margots hand on the beach. Teaching her how to drive a stick shift.
Watching her walk down the center staircase that October morning, when he suddenly realized his little girl had grown into a beautiful woman, almost overnight.
Cummings cried freely. He knew Julia was so heavily medicated that hed wake the dead before hed ever wake her.
CHAPTER 7
Josie talked on the telephone headset while her fingers clicked at the keyboard. The leisurely lunch had left her short on time, and she had exactly twenty minutes to get her Tuesday obit feature to the city desk, and it was a big one. Paulie Patrakis, sixty-four, beloved owner of San Franciscos Olympia Kitchen restaurant, had keeled over that morning while taking a tray of baklava from the oven.
Josie tried to remain objective during the telephone interview with Paulies eldest daughter, but the truth was, news of Paulies death hit her hard. He had been a kind and sweet man, and he made the best baklava this side of the Aegean Sea. Up until very recently, a triangle of his honey-oozing melt-in-the-mouth phyllo had been Josies sensual thrill of choice. But that was before she met Rick.
He worked hard and he loved his family and friends, Paulies daughter, Issy, was saying. He never needed anything fancy to be happy. He woke up every day happy.
Josies fingers flew across the keys, relieved that shed found her lead.
Just then, Gingers head appeared in Josies cubicle doorway. Beas head popped over Gingers shoulder soon after. Josie glanced their way, still typing, when they approached her desk. Since it looked like her friends were parking instead of merely passing by, Josie held up a finger to indicate shed be a minute.
Paulie Patrakis died, Josie mouthed to them.
Gingers face fell. Oh, how sad. He was such a nice man! she whispered.
Then panic hit her expression. What am I going to do for baklava?
Josie returned her attention to the phone call, trying to wrap up the interview. Issy, I appreciate you taking the time to talk with me today.
We received the photo, so were set to run the article tomorrow. Again, I am so sorry for your familys loss. Well all miss him. After a few more thank yous and youre welcomes, Josie ended the call.
This is really depressing, Bea said. He wasnt very old, was he?
Sixty-four, Josie said.
I wont survive menopause, Ginger said, blinking. Im sure of it now.
Josie grinned at her friends. She couldnt help it. She was in love. Just forty minutes ago, she was in Ricks arms, his lips on hers and his hands in her hair, right in front of hundreds of tourists. And Teeny. Hed agreed to come to Josies for dinner Thursday. The other reason she was smiling was because she knew something Bea and Ginger didntIssy Patrakis had just informed her that Paulie had had the decency to place the large tray of freshly baked desserts on the counter before he collapsed, and the restaurant was open for customers to pay their respects.
You look awful perky for a girl whos just lost her baklava, Bea said, crossing her arms over her chest. Been meditating again?
Give me twenty minutes, Josie said, holding up her palm. Well get a taxi. Call Roxie and tell her to meet us there.
Ginger placed her fingers flat upon the center of her brow, intercepting the frown before it could cause any damage. Where are we going?
Olympia Kitchen. Paulies last tray. Josie turned back to her computer.
Meet me by the elevators in twenty.
Josie made her deadline with a whole minute and a half to spare, hitting the send key with that rush of accomplishment that always reminded her how much she loved her job. Shed managed to paint a picture of a persons life in under twenty minutesfather of six, grandfather of fourteen, a regular guy with an unusual work ethic, a restaurateur who for decades dished up spanikopita and moussaka with a story and a smile. Josie grabbed her purse and headed for the lobby, stopping by the city desk on the way.
Its in, she told Kenny, the city editor. Ill be on my cell if you have questions.
Thanks, kid, he said, not even looking up from his computer screen.
She raced down the main aisle of the newsroom and waved to the receptionist as she reached the lobby, where Bea and Ginger waited. Just as Bea hit the down key, the receptionists voice called, Hold up, Josie!
She spun around. Denise, the newsroom receptionist, was gesturing to a small figure perched on the edge of the lobby couch. I just left you a voice mailtheres someone here to see you.
You coming? Ginger held the elevator door.
Josie stared at the gray-haired lady with the unmistakable piercing eyes. She hadnt spoken to Mrs. Needleman since the day her husbands obit was published.
In ten years on the dead beat, Josie had known family members to stop by the newsroom for only two reasonsto retrieve a personal photo lent to the paper or to complain about an inaccuracy, and Josie knew shed long ago returned the North Pole photo to Mrs. Needleman.
Was there an error in the story? Josie took a step toward the old lady, her stomach sinking at the thought of running a correction.
Oh, no. It was lovely. Mrs. Needleman smiled up at her, as if there were nothing odd about her visit.
With an understanding nod, Josie remembered a third reason why someone might stop byloneliness. Mothers whod lost their soldier sons. Siblings or children of the deceased. Neighbors. Grieving friends. About three years ago, a widower arrived in the newsroom in a suit and fedora and offered to take Josie out for a beer, explaining that he needed to talk about his wife, and Josie had already proven to be an excellent listener.
Beas voice sounded impatient. I guess well just bring you back a piece.
Make it two! Thanks! Josie shrugged at her friends and sat down next to the widow, dropping her bag on the floor by her feet. How have you been, Mrs. Needleman?
Im getting along, she said in that wavering voice. Its a little too quiet for my taste, of course. Ira was such a talker. He always had something to say to the TV people, especially that Bill OReilly fellow.
He never cared for him.
Josie nodded.
I hate to say it, but if Ira werent already dead, last nights Fox News lineup would have done him in for sure.
I see.
Im thinking about selling the house.
Josie glanced at Denise in a silent plea for help. The receptionist smiled.
Conference Room A is open. Would you like me to send in coffee?
Josie nodded at Denise in gratitude. That would be fabulous.
Id prefer tea, Mrs. Needleman said, pushing herself from the sofa with little difficulty. Shed come to the paper dressed in a blue wool jumper over a beige polyester blouse tied in a bow at the neck. She had on pearl clip earrings, and carried a stiff patent leather bag with a huge snap closure, an accessory so ancient it had become ultrachic again. Her hair had been recently permed and styled. She wore an old-fashioned, flowery perfume. Josie watched her march toward Conference Room A as if shed been there before, then flick the light switch inside the doorway.
The fluorescent bulbs blinked on.
This will be lovely. Mrs. Needleman motioned toward one of the swivel chairs. Have a seat, Miss Sheehan, and you can tell me all about your progress over a nice cup of tea.
Gwen Anders slammed down the phone and paced in her office. Why had Rick distanced himself so? Was it Margots death? Of course not. Hed started limiting his contact with Gwen long before that, as if he wanted their relationship to be less casual, less personal. Shed cried several months back when he told her, from that point forward, to make an appointment before stopping by the Celestial Pet offices. He said it was about keeping his corporation and his foundation separate. She knew it had nothing to do with any of that nonsense. He was trying to push her away.
He was trying to avoid her.
Did he think she didnt notice? Did he think it was acceptable?
Gwen brought both hands to her chest and tried to steady her breathing.
Now was not the time to panic. She couldnt allow emotions to cause her to be sloppy. Now was the time for precision and focus. With concentration, she could bring it all together. It was taking longer than she expected, but it could still go according to plan. If she could just hang on a little longer, Rick would wake up and see that Gwen was what he needed and wanted.
Shed done everything right. Shed been patient as a saint. Chaste as a nun. Discreet as a priest. Above reproach in her management of the foundation and in all her personal affairs. There was nothing/nothing/that Rick could find objectionable about her lifestyle.
Even Teeny Worrell hadnt found anything on her. Shed made sure of it.
Gwen had been loyal to Rick in the extreme. Shed turned down several outstanding job offers and a very generous proposal from Ricks nemesis, Bennett Cummings,
who was perpetually looking for a chink in Ricks armor. Of course she was above such bribery. She ignored Cummings.
Was it her looks?
Gwen smiled to herself, breathing easier now. She was flawless. That was the only word for it, really. Her weight and muscle tone were perfect.
Her hair, skin, and teeth were in top form, radiant with health. Her clothing, shoes, bags, accessoriesall impeccable. Nothing overstated.
Nothing that screamed money or status, which, of course, indicated she had both and needed neither.
So what had she missed in this equation? Why on earth had Rick Rousseau never once shown a flicker of interest, in all these years? She was well aware of his tragic pastin fact, it was an essential ingredient to his overall appealbut /please/. The man was only flesh and blood. This couldnt go on much longer, could it?
Of course not. That would mean shed miscalculated horribly. And Gwen Anders didnt miscalculate.
One by one, the senior managers of Celestial Pet Superstores rose from their buckwheat-hull sitting cushions and headed toward the rear entrance of the office building. It had been a productive staff meeting, as their outdoor gatherings under the ginkgo tree usually were. On the days agenda were revising inventory, postponing construction plans for their fifteenth store, and brainstorming on whether they should offer a line of in-house organic pet care products. Rick also approved the months broadcast, print, Internet, and direct-mail marketing plans and okayed a jump in the warehouse-to-retail delivery budget. As a last order of business, Rick agreed they had no choice but to fire a groomer at the newest store, a young woman whose lack of enthusiasm had drawn dozens of customer complaints. Ricks policy was to personally approve all employee firings, at all levels.
Only Teeny remained under the shade of the ginkgo tree. Rick watched him pile several of the cushions together to create a supersized chaise longue for himself. He stretched out his legs with a groan. Bad news, Teeny said, folding his hands on his solid belly. Cummings leased a private jet last week in Providenceput it on twenty-four-seven retainer.
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