by Beth Ciotta
“I know. Utilizing my acting skills to dupe scum artists.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of relocating to New York City or Los Angeles. Exploring Broadway or film.”
“No, thanks.”
“But if the opportunity came along—”
“It won’t. And even if it did…” I turned and returned her mascara. “It’s gone, Nic.”
“What?”
“The passion to perform on stage. I don’t feel it anymore—and I need to burn for something, otherwise I’ll shrivel up and blow away. Right now I burn for Chameleon.”
“And Arch?”
I peered up at her through newly plumped lashes. “I burn for him, too.”
“Beckett?”
“Just friends.”
“Mmm.”
I squeezed her hand. “Please support me on this, Nic. Or at least don’t fight me.”
“I just want you to be happy, Evie.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Okay.” She shook her head. “Fine. Doesn’t mean I won’t watch your back.”
For Nic, that was downright sappy. I smiled and hugged her. “I should catch up with Mom before she sends out a search party.”
“I’ll be along in a minute. I need to step outside, make a call. I promised Jayne an update.”
“What are you going to tell her?”
“As little as possible,” she said as we exited the bathroom. “At least until you’ve duped your mom’s swindler.”
I PASSED THE GAME ROOM on my way to the kitchen, caught a glimpse of Arch and Beckett shooting pool with my brother. Couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the mood seemed jovial enough. Whatever words Arch and Beckett traded in the office must’ve been brief. I couldn’t help wondering what was said. Did Arch warn Beckett to keep his distance? Did Beckett tell Arch that I’d asked him to run off Gish? I pressed a palm to my flushed cheeks, wondering if my brother had grilled Arch—or, rather, the baron—on his investments. Christopher was all about high finance.
Mind racing, I pushed through the kitchen door…and caught Mom and Dad in a lip-lock.
Oh. My. God.
I silently whisked sideways into the open pantry, skulked behind the partially closed door. Why didn’t I back out the way I came in? Head thunk. Now I was stuck with the canned cocktail fruit and jars of dill pickles, the image of my parents making out forever burned on my corneas. The fact that they were kissing was good. It meant they’d made up, right? It’s just that I’d never seen them kiss like that, all grabby-feely. Criminy.
“George, dear,” I heard Mom say in a breathless voice. “We must get hold of ourselves. What if someone walks in?”
I dropped my forehead into my hands.
“So what if they do?” he said. “No crime against kissing my wife. I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you ever since we left the jailhouse.”
Okay. That was hot. But that was my dad!
“Because of the makeover?”
“No, because you gave that photographer hell.”
“I made a scene,” she said. “You weren’t embarrassed?”
“Are you kidding? That rascal threatened to scandalize our daughter. You gave him what for.”
“I gave him a bloody nose.”
“Belted him good.”
“Pursed him good, you mean.”
They both laughed. I blinked. Did Mom just make a joke?
“Seeing you stand up for our daughter like that made me proud,” Dad said on a more serious note.
“I love Evelyn, too, George.”
I bit my lip. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
“I know you do, Marilyn.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me why you wanted to buy this place?”
“Didn’t think you’d be happy about me encouraging her musical aspirations. Also…I was going through a bit of a crisis, I guess. I needed to feel like the man of the house again. The caretaker. Guess you’d call that chauvinistic.”
“Are you saying retirement made you feel less of a man?”
“Guess I am.”
Oh, Dad.
“Oh, George.”
He cleared his throat. “I should’ve been more open about the purchase of this place.”
Mom sighed. “I should’ve been more sensitive to your’s and Evelyn’s needs.”
“We should talk more,” he said.
“So much to say.”
Tell him about the savings bonds!
“What about later tonight?”
“Your place or mine?” Mom purred.
Purred, for crying out loud.
“Sorry I’m late. How can I help?” Nic pushed through the kitchen door, then stopped in her tracks. “Oops. Sorry.”
From her reaction, Mom and Dad must’ve been going for another smooch.
“Quite all right, Nicole,” Mom said, sounding more like herself. “Grab a spatula. You can help me with the burgers. George, you go play pool with the boys. Go on now. Leave the cooking to us girls.”
I watched through the crack, saw my dad saunter out the door, noted his cocky smile. Jeez.
“Where’s Evie?” Nic asked.
“I was wondering the same,” said Mom.
I peeked around the pantry door, caught Nic’s eye and mouthed, “Help!”
She shook her head as if to say, Only you.
“What is it, dear?” Mom asked.
“Nothing, I just…” Nic palmed her forehead. “I think I feel a migraine coming on.”
“Goodness. You girls really need to eat better.”
“I’d kill for an aspirin.”
“I have some in my purse,” Mom said. “You watch the burgers. I’ll be right back.”
As soon as she left, I zipped out of the pantry. “Thanks, Nic.”
“What the hell?”
“I’ll tell you later.” I grabbed a hamburger patty and slapped it on the grill. I asked Nic about her last commercial shoot.
In the midst of her lamenting the idiosyncrasies of the director, Mom returned with a glass of water and a bottle of pills. “Evelyn, where have you been?”
“Bathroom. That time,” I said, knowing she wouldn’t press about something as intimate as my monthly.
“Ah.” She tapped two aspirin into Nic’s hands, casting me a look. “I guess you’re feeling a little under the weather then, too.”
“A little.” Not wholly a lie. The scene with Beckett had left me shaken.
Her lips twitched. “Would it make you feel better to know that your Dad and I are on the mend?”
I smiled while we flipped burgers in tandem. “It would.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
GETTING THROUGH THE rest of the night was a trial. Although I was thrilled about Mom and Dad’s good humor, I couldn’t help dwelling on Randolph Gish. As long as he was in the picture, my parents’ reunion was on shaky ground. No telling how Dad would react if he learned Mom had been bilked for six grand. What if he went after Gish himself? Then there were Mom’s feelings to consider. She thought of Gish as a friend.
The more I thought on it, the more I wanted to keep the truth from being revealed. Better to let Chameleon handle Fancy Feet. Better to get the six thousand back in Mom’s hands my way. I really needed to talk to Christopher. So far, our conversation had been limited to superficial table talk.
“You all right, Evelyn?” Dad asked as he spooned Neapolitan ice cream into everyone’s dish.
“I’m just drained,” I said honestly. I’d been in town for two days and it had been one emotional moment or physical fiasco after another. The only reason I didn’t beg off dinner sooner was because I enjoyed seeing Mom and Dad together. They were talking and laughing, and whatever was happening between them was real. Every other relationship in the room felt strained or false.
Secrets and lies weighed heavily on my heart, making me thoughtful and abnormally quiet. Plus, I hadn’t been alone with Arch since he’d caught me coming out of the office with Beckett. The fact that
he was playing the besotted baron only made me feel worse. What was he feeling on the inside? For real?
A phone rang. My brother’s. “Be right back,” he said.
Meanwhile Mom grilled Arch on the history of Broxley. Fascinating, although I had to wonder how much was fact and how much fiction.
I am the Baron of Broxley.
Was he really?
Christopher returned. “That was Sandy. Small crisis.”
“Are the kids okay?” Mom asked.
“They’re fine. But I need to go.” He said quick goodbyes, no hugs or kisses, though he did shake hands with Arch and Beckett.
When he got to me, I stood. “I’ll walk you to the door.” I registered his surprise, bit back a sad smile. Brother and sister yet strangers.
“Your friends,” he said as we walked, “they’re nice.”
I looked over my shoulder and caught all three eyeballing me. Their concern was tangible. “Yes, they are.”
“Duvall seems…attentive.”
“Yes, he is. Surprising, I know, considering younger men typically don’t find older women attractive.”
“Obviously I was unaware or I wouldn’t have said that, Evelyn.”
I flushed, feeling contrite. He’d made the comment days ago in passing, but the hurt lingered. “I know. It just…struck a nerve.”
“You’re very attractive.”
I cleared my throat, uncomfortable with the compliment. “Thanks.”
“And persuasive. I’ve never seen Mom and Dad so…clingy. What did you say to get them back together?”
“Nothing specific. We just talked.”
“Talked.”
“Had a conversation. Dad and me. Mom and me. We should try it sometime.”
He leaned against the doorjamb, brow quirked. “You and me.”
I shrugged. “Yeah.”
He pursed his lips in thought. “So…Did you find out what she spent the money on?”
“Yeah.” I frowned, wondering what to reveal. If I told him about Gish, he’d want to go to Sheriff Jaffe. “I think I know how to get the money back into Mom’s hands without embarrassing her and without Dad ever knowing what went down.”
Christopher frowned. “Sounds fishy.”
“It sort of is.”
“Illegal?”
“I—we—won’t be breaking the law, no. But it would involve a certain degree of deception.”
“In other words, we—you and I—would be lying to Mom and Dad.”
Think like Arch. Be a Chameleon. I tucked my hair behind my ears, shrugged. “There are all kinds of lies.”
“Like the kind that spare people’s feelings. White lies.”
In that moment I felt a bizarre click with my brother. Did he actually on occasion fib to be kind? If so, it definitely put him in a new, softer light. “I don’t think Mom and Dad are officially back together,” I said. “They have issues to work through. But they are on the mend and I don’t want this bond snafu to muck things up. I can come up with three thousand dollars. I was hoping you might be willing to fork in the other half.”
“Why not ask your baron? I’m sure he could afford—”
“I think it should come from family.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re determined to fix this.”
“I am.”
He looked at me differently, too, with something akin to respect. “When you’re ready, come and see me at the bank.” He pushed off the doorjamb with a small smile. “We’ll talk.”
I returned to the table more shaken than before, though I adopted my best poker face.
Arch leaned into me. “You okay?”
So much for my poker face. “I think I just bonded with my brother,” I whispered.
“You look exhausted, Evelyn,” Dad said.
“She’s under the weather,” Mom said. “Archibald, maybe you should…”
“Brilliant idea.” He pressed a hand to the small of my back. “Let’s call it a night, lass.”
I hedged at first, then acquiesced when Nic and Beckett volunteered to help Mom and Dad clean up. “Promise I’ll be in a better mood tomorrow. I just need a good night’s sleep.”
Arch drove us back to the Appleseed. It was dark and the roads were slick with rain. Thankfully he proceeded at a cautious speed, unlike earlier today when he’d zipped along this route in anger. Was it only this afternoon that I’d accused him of jealousy and he’d intimated he loved me? Just now, I was grateful for his silence, although I did wonder what was going on in that complicated brain.
By the time we reached the B and B I was more anxious than curious. I recognized his silence for what it was: the calm before the storm. I couldn’t weather another confrontation, not tonight. Plus, I’d sort of bonded with my family and I wanted to fall asleep enveloped in that warm, fuzzy feeling. “I’m really tired,” I said the moment we stepped inside.
“Meaning you want to go straight to bed.”
I nodded.
“Alone?”
I didn’t meet his gaze. “Well, Nic is here and—”
“She’ll be sleeping in the room across the hall.”
“That’s Gina’s room.”
“Gina and Tabasco are spending another night at the hotel.”
“Still, Beckett—”
“Knows we’re hooked up. No need to pretend anymore, Sunshine.” He stroked my cheek. “Just say it, yeah?”
I tensed with dread. “What?”
“You dinnae want to sleep with me tonight.”
I bit my lower lip, looked anywhere but at him. “It’s just…”
“It’s been an emotional day and you need some time alone, yeah?”
“Yeah.” He knew me so well and I didn’t know him at all. Or at least didn’t trust what I thought I knew. I blinked back tears, hoping a good night’s sleep would revitalize my inner bad girl. She’d rocked in London. My happy place. With Arch.
Just the two of us.
He took my hand and led me up the stairs. He vibrated with restrained…something. Anger? Frustration? Disappointment? I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know. Not tonight.
I expected him to leave me at my bedroom door, but he followed me inside. I tossed my Lucy tote on the rocker, toed off my Mary Janes and turned down the quilt.
He didn’t take the hint.
He leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded. My brother’s faded Indy 500 T-shirt stretched tight across his chest. The short sleeves rode up, exposing the monochrome tattoo that generally reduced me to a drooling sex monkey. Mom had commented on that tattoo—curious as to why a titled man would indulge in such a thing. He’d admitted to being a rebel in his younger days with a fascination for Celtic mythology and art. He’d said his grandfather, an artist, had sketched the design, standing alongside him as the tattoo artist made it permanent. Knowing how much Arch loved Bernard Duvall, the story had been especially poignant to me. I wondered if it was true. The line between fact and fiction with Arch was forever blurred.
“This afternoon, when you went back to your house—what happened between you and your ma, Sunshine?”
The question caught me by surprise. I’d expected him to ask about Beckett. Either the G-man had kept my ramblings in confidence or Arch wanted to hear it from me. His quiet regard intensified my guilt.
I should’ve gone to him first.
I sat on the end of my bed. A nervous rash prickled. Unsettled, I spilled everything about my dad, the purchase of the tavern, Mom’s feelings about me and her friendship with Randolph Gish.
Throughout the recounted tale we both held our ground. Me sitting on the bed. Him standing in the doorway. It felt…ominous.
“I’m glad you and your ma are talking,” he said when I finished on an exhausted sigh. “And it seems your parents are on the road to reconciliation. As far as Gish…leave it to me, yeah?”
Him. Not us. Not we. Red-faced, I met his gaze.
He arched one brow. “Or is it already being handled?”
My
stomach dropped.
“You already spoke to Beckett aboot this, yeah?”
“Is that what he told you?”
“He told me you were exhausted and overwhelmed. Said he just happened to be there when you cracked and steered you into the office so you could have a cry in private.”
Yeah. That sounded good. I was insanely relieved to know Beckett left out the part where I’d asked him to run Gish out of town. Oh, and the bit where I’d acknowledged a mutual physical awareness. And no way was I going to admit I’d assessed Beckett the wiser choice. It’s not as though I planned to play it safe.
“Other than that,” Arch said, “he was tight-lipped.”
“That’s because there’s nothing to tell.” I wasn’t lying, I told myself. I was sparing his feelings.
He dragged a hand over that sexy goatee and studied me with those devastating eyes.
I realized, with a mental curse, that I was scratching my prickly skin. A surefire indication that I was uncomfortable. My nervous tell. He knew it and he knew I knew it. I eased my hand to my lap. But too late.
Busted.
“Private stuff, yeah?” He pushed off the door frame and walked to the desk.
I watched, heart in throat, as he opened the drawer and took out my purple pen and diary. The one he’d bought me, the one he’d signed. He passed me the book, paraphrased the words my dad had uttered to me as a girl. “For when your heart and mind’s jammed up.” He kissed my forehead and left the room. “Good night, Sunshine.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“NICE TO SEE MR. AND Mrs. Parish getting along,” Milo said ten minutes into the drive home.
“Yes, it was.”
“Christopher seemed like a decent guy.”
“If by decent you mean he has a broomstick up his ass,” Nic said, “then, yeah. He’s decent.”
Milo smiled in the dark. She was right. Evie’s brother was wired tight. But he didn’t get a bad vibe off the man. As for Evie’s parents, though they weren’t as repressed as he’d expected, they were perhaps reserved and old-fashioned, and he had to wonder how Evie had become, well, Evie.