Full House

by Janet Evanovich

  Billie gaped at her. "Are you sure?"

  "Yes, I'm sure. I was surprised because I know what a stickler you are about locking up before bedtime."

  Billie tried to think back. She was certain she had locked the doors. "Tell me something. Did you come into my room last night?"

  "No, why?"

  "Are you sure? Maybe you had too much to drink and ended up in the wrong room."

  "I seldom drink anything except diet tonic with a slice of lime. What's going on?"

  "I must be getting paranoid," Billie said. "I had a bad dream last night, that's all." Even as she said it she wondered how it was possible when she had distinctly smelled a woman's perfume. Had that been part of her dream as well?

  "I'm sorry for accusing you," she said, leaving the room. She went downstairs and poured a cup of coffee. She paced the kitchen. Her eyes caught the key rack beside the door and she froze. The spare keys that she always kept on hand were gone. A chill raced down her back.

  She told herself to calm down. There had to be a reasonable explanation. Had one of the kids lost their keys and taken the extra ones? Or could Deedee or Frankie have taken it?

  She hurried upstairs to Christie's room. The girl opened her eyes. "What?"

  "Do you have your house keys?"

  "Of course I do. Why?"

  "Someone took the spare set off the key rack."

  "Don't look at me. Ask Joel."

  Billie found the boy sleeping soundly. She hated to wake him, but she had to know what was going on. "Joel?"

  "Yeah?"

  She went through the same spiel she had with Christie.

  "My keys are in my book bag," he said. "They're in the side pocket."

  Billie found the keys. "Go back to sleep, honey."

  She thought about waking Deedee again to see if she'd taken the spare set and decided it could wait. She didn't want to wake her again. With the hours she kept, the poor woman needed her sleep.

  Billie bumped into Christie on her way downstairs. The girl was headed for the bathroom.

  "I'm going out for a walk," Billie said, hoping the fresh air would clear her head. Her foot was too sore for her usual morning jog, but she could walk and think and maybe lower her stress level over the missing keys. "I'll be back in half an hour."

  Christie looked skeptical. "Why would you walk when we have a perfectly good minivan?"

  "For the exercise. Usually, I jog."

  "At your age? Did you check it out with a doctor first?"

  Billie rolled her eyes. "For goodness' sake, I'm only thirty-eight."

  "You're no spring chicken, Mom, and you're the perfect candidate for shin splints."

  Some people were really good at taking the wind out of one's sails, Billie thought. "Yes, but the exercise helps my rheumatism and arthritis so I just have to take my chances. Thanks for your concern."

  Billie returned to her room. She no longer smelled the scent. She must've dreamed it. She slipped into her slinky black running shorts and dropped a cutoff T-shirt over her head. She laced up her running shoes. The swelling in her foot had gone down, and it wasn't as sore, but her skin was still tinged a light purple. She let herself out the front door a few minutes later.

  It was a beautiful morning; sun shining, blue skies, birds singing. Billie stretched, took a deep breath, and started down the driveway, taking care with her foot. No matter what, she wanted to get out and enjoy the day.

  She wondered if she should call the police.

  Of course, they would probably assume someone in the house had forgotten to lock up before going to bed. Was it possible she had forgotten? It wasn't like she didn't have a lot on her mind these days. Maybe she had forgotten. She would hold off notifying the authorities and calling in a locksmith for now. Tonight she'd make a point to check the windows and see that they were securely locked, and she would double-check the doors before going to bed. And she'd hunt for the missing keys. They'd probably turn up—after all, in a house as hectic as hers, her kids and their friends coming in and out all the time, she was accustomed to items being misplaced on a regular basis.

  Billie pushed these worries aside and thought of Nick. She had no idea what she was going to do about him. All she knew for certain was that she loved him.

  Thirty minutes later, Billie returned home and smiled to find Nick's truck in the driveway. She opened the front door and gave a sigh of pleasure at the aroma of coffee brewing. Only Nick would think of doing something so thoughtful. She paused. He was having a conversation with the dog.

  "Just one more piece of muffin," he said to Buffy, "as long as you don't cough up a fur ball like the cat did."

  Billie entered the kitchen. "The cat coughed up a fur ball?"

  Nick smiled when he saw her. "I thought the dang thing was having a seizure. Don't worry, I cleaned it up." He studied the slim woman standing in front of him, and the grin got broader. She was a sight to behold, and his heart seemed to beat faster just looking at her, cheeks flushed pink under her tan, the hair around her face curled in damp ringlets. She wore the standard fare in running shorts, but Nick thought they looked incredibly sexy on her, as did the cutoff T-shirt that displayed a tantalizing swath of midriff.

  "Cat got your tongue?" Billie asked when he didn't answer.

  His smile suddenly became wolfish and his eyes heavy-lidded as his hands reached out for her. "I like looking at you. I definitely like this little shirt."

  All the tiredness of her sleepless night disappeared. Billie wondered if she should tell Nick about her fears of the night before but decided against it. Nick had enough problems of his own at the moment. He reached for her, and she forgot about all her worries, even the missing keys.

  It seemed right that he should be in her kitchen making coffee.

  "I made breakfast," Nick said.

  "Oh, yeah?"

  Nick opened the door to the microwave, releasing the sweet, homey smell of cinnamon buns. He took the coffeepot to the table and filled two mugs, and Billie brought the buns.

  "What are you doing here?" Billie asked. "Did you come over just to make me breakfast?"

  Nick sipped his coffee. "Max needed a ride. I caught him going down the driveway on an old go-cart he rebuilt last night using parts from my car engine."

  "The Mercedes? You're kidding. Please tell me you're kidding."

  Nick shook his head. "He was going to drive over here on the go-cart, but I told him he would get pulled off the road by the first cop who saw him. Just because Max's IQ is out of sight doesn't mean he always thinks things through. He just found your name in the phone book and decided to head over."

  "What are you going to do about your car?" she asked, unable to believe the boy had actually taken parts from beneath the hood of a brand-new Mercedes 550 SL.

  "Oh, he's going to fix it or I'm sending him home. I've had enough of his nonsense." He paused. "Besides, how can I take my girl on a date if I don't have a car?"

  Billie suddenly thought of her minivan sitting out front, unprotected. "Where is he now?"

  "In the garage pouring gas and oil in your lawn mower. You must've scared the bejesus out of him because he plans to mow your grass before he starts on his other chores."

  "The lawn mower doesn't work."

  She'd barely gotten the words out of her mouth before she heard the engine of her antique lawn mower roar to life.

  Nick grinned. "It does now." He paused and studied her face. "I adore you, Billie Pearce."

  She stopped chewing. "Yeah?"

  He nodded. "So, do you think we should get married? For real?"

  She couldn't hide her surprise. "What brought that on?"

  "Fear of losing the best thing in my life."

  She was touched by his sincerity. "That's very sweet, Nick." Sweet, but not enough. You didn't marry a person because you feared losing them. You married out of love, plain and simple.

  "It makes sense when you think about it. We're together most of the time anyway."

&n
bsp; His reasons probably sounded good in his own ears, but for Billie it wasn't enough. "I've never just jumped into anything," she confessed. "I've always taken my time and thought things over carefully."

  Nick saw the unease in her eyes. "Do you trust me, Billie?"

  Oddly, enough, she did trust him, although there was a time she'd thought she would never trust another man as long as she lived. "Yes."

  "There's your answer." He stroked her cheek. "We'll be good together."

  Billie felt her throat fill with emotion. She turned away so he couldn't see how close to tears she was. He simply couldn't bring himself to say the words. "I need more time."

  "We don't have much time if we're going to be in Deedee and Frankie's wedding."

  "Is that what you want? A double wedding?"

  He shrugged. "It's a little unconventional, but it might be fun."

  Fun. Nick thought it sounded fun. Billie didn't respond.

  Four feet thumped on the stairs and Christie and Joel burst into the kitchen. "I told you I smelled fresh rolls down here!" Joel shouted triumphantly to Christie. "I could smell it all the way in my bedroom. Wow, what is it?" He looked at the plate of steaming buns. "Cinnamon rolls! I knew it!" He became more subdued. "Are they for all of us?"

  Nick held the plate out to him. "Absolutely."

  Joel held the bun in one hand and opened the refrigerator door with the other, reaching for orange juice. The heavy glass bottle slipped through his fingers and smashed on the floor. "Oh, crumb!" he shouted.

  "Gross," Christie shrieked. "I've got orange juice on my feet. I'm going to be all sticky, and its probably going to attract more spiders. Why can't you watch what you're doing?"

  "Don't move," Billie said, "or you'll cut your feet."

  Nick noted the red flush on the boy's face as he picked him up and set him at a safe distance. "It's okay," he said, putting Christie down next to him. "I spilled a half-gallon of milk this morning."

  "You did?" Joel looked relieved.

  Billie suspected it was a lie, but she appreciated Nick doing what he could to make Joel feel better. The boy seemed to be going through a clumsy stage, and it was all she could do to remain patient with him. She began picking up glass, even as the orange juice spread across the vinyl floor.

  Joel looked at his bun. "It's all soggy."

  Nick patted him on the head. "We have lots more." He tiptoed around the juice and glass and grabbed a wad of paper towels. He wet them in warm water and handed them to Christie and Joel who immediately began wiping their feet. "What's this I hear about spiders?"

  "We're having a small problem with them," Billie said, "but my pest control man is working on it."

  Deedee staggered into the kitchen. "What's all the yelling about?"

  "A little accident," Nick said. "No big deal."

  "I can't live in a house that has accidents before noon. What are all you people doing up, anyway? It's indecent to be up at this hour. And who is the idiot that just came by my bedroom window with a lawn mower?"

  "Max is cutting the grass," Nick said.

  Deedee's eyes widened. "Max is on the premises? No wonder I feel a migraine coming on."

  Billie reached out with her broom. "Watch out for the glass, Deedee."

  "Eeyeuuw, why is there orange juice on the floor?"

  "Do you want some coffee or a cinnamon bun?" Nick asked, trying to get Deedee's mind off the spilled juice and save Joel further embarrassment.

  "Ohmigod. You mean that's what you people are doing? You're eating! How can you possibly put anything in your mouth at this hour?" She gave an involuntary shiver. "I'm going back to bed. I can feel bags forming under my eyes." She looked at herself in the hall mirror and groaned. "I do have bags under my eyes!"

  Joel helped himself to a new bun. "What does she do all night? And how come there was so much yelling after I went to bed last night?"

  "She and Frankie had a fight," Christie said, having cleaned her feet and dispensed with the paper towel. "Something about French provincial furniture."

  "It was just a silly disagreement," Billie said, intent on getting up even the tiniest sliver of glass. "They made up right away."

  Nick stood with his hands in the pockets of his Levi's. "This is all my fault. I never should have forced her on you, but I was afraid to leave her in my house with crazy Max blowing up the geraniums. Now that Max has calmed down I can move Deedee back with me."

  Billie wet her mop and began cleaning the orange juice. She continued to avoid looking at him. "I really don't mind her staying here for the rest of the week."

  "We'll see." Nick looked at his watch. "I have a ten o'clock meeting at the newspaper office, and I need to go home and change. Do you think you'll be okay with Max around?"

  "Don't worry, I can handle Max. I'm going to keep him so busy he won't have time to get into trouble."

  Nick looked doubtful. "You don't have any gunpowder in the house, right?" He grinned at the look she shot him. "Just kidding. Have him call the barn when you're ready to send him home. One of the stable hands will come get him. Oh, and by the way, I dumped the fertilizer on your garden while you were out. You might want to look at it. I'm not known for my green thumb."

  Billie followed him to the front door. "Thank you for breakfast and for the fertilizer."

  He kissed her on the tip of her nose. "Anytime. I'm going to be busy today and tonight, but tomorrow is free, and I have the whole day planned. I'll pick you and the kids up at seven-thirty a.m. Wear shorts."

  "Where are we going?"

  "It's a surprise. Someplace romantic." He started for the truck, only to make a quick detour and say something to Max, obviously in a stern voice, because the boy nodded soberly. Billie stood there with a smile frozen to her face as Nick pulled away. She sighed. What to do, what to do? Finally, she motioned for Max. He cut off the lawn mower, wiped sweat from his face, and came her way.

  "Have you had breakfast?" Billie asked. When he shook his head no, she opened the door wider. "Take a break and join us."

  Max followed Billie inside where Joel and Christie were on their second cinnamon buns. Christie looked startled to see him.

  "Are you armed and dangerous?"

  Max looked at her. "I have a Swiss Army knife in my pocket."

  "Keep it there," Billie said, and then pointed to a short hallway off the kitchen that led to the garage. "There's a small bathroom off the hall. Wash up, and I'll fix your plate."

  Max did as she said. When he returned, Billie was setting a plate with two buns on it. "What would you like to drink?"

  "Black coffee is fine."

  "Aren't you a little young for coffee?" she asked.

  "I've been drinking it since I was three years old. Our cook used to sneak it to me."

  "Coffee it is." Billie poured him a cup and brought it to the table, then joined him and her children. "I didn't expect you to mow the grass, Max, but I appreciate it."

  "I figured it was the least I could do. Besides, Nick laid down the law to me last night. One more screwup, and he sends me home."

  "You don't sound thrilled about it."

  "I hate that place. It's like a mausoleum. The servants are old and crotchety."

  "What about your parents?"

  "They're never around, and when they are it's one social gathering after another. I'm expected to attend, of course. In my tux," he added grimly. "I'm not big on socializing."

  "Imagine that," Christie said.

  Billie shot her daughter a don't-be-rude look. "How are you at repairing toilets?"

  "I've never done it, but I'm sure I could learn." He tried the coffee, put it down, and stood. "Mind if I grab an ice cube?"

  "Help yourself."

  Max opened the freezer. "Your ice bin is empty."

  "Oh, the ice maker doesn't work. Get the ice from one of the trays."

  He popped a cube from a tray, dropped it in his coffee, and rejoined them. "What's wrong with the ice maker?"

  "I boug
ht the refrigerator used a couple of years ago. The previous owner said the ice maker never worked properly, even though the manufacturer tried to fix it several times. Finally, it just died."

  "I'll have a look at it."

  Billie opened her mouth to tell him it wasn't necessary, then decided against it. If the boy wanted to tinker with the ice maker, fine. At least it would keep him busy and out of trouble.

  "So tell me a little about yourself, Max," she said. "Where do you go to college?"

  "Right now I'm at MIT. I got kicked out of my last school because I made a big, um, fuss about the science lab using mice for experimentation."

  "Oh, gross!" Christie said and slid her chair from the table.

  "My sentiments exactly," Max said. "I'm an animal rights activist. Mice have feelings, too. I threw out half of Deedee's cosmetics for that very reason."

  Billie chuckled. "I would have paid money to see that."

  "So, did you bomb the school after they kicked you out?" Joel asked.

  Max shook his head. "I took a more mature approach. I rewired the building. You should have seen the commotion it created. The computer lab was closed for a week. Naturally I was expelled. Again," he added.

  "I think it's good to have causes that are important," Billie said.

  "My parents don't agree. I managed to organize a boycott against a major cosmetic manufacturer, although it took an entire summer to do it. They lost millions, but in the end they agreed to stop experimenting with animals."

  Billie couldn't hide her astonishment. "You did that? I remember that. It was in all the newspapers. Why, your parents should be proud."

  Max shrugged. "Nah. They don't like the fact they have to bail me out of jail a lot because I manage to get myself into trouble quite often over my, um, causes."

  "What's it like in jail?" Joel asked, eyes bright with interest.

  Max started to say something, glanced at Billie, then shifted in his seat. "It's bad, Joel. Believe me, you don't want to go there."

  Billie smiled at Max for not encouraging her son. "I'm sorry you were locked up for what you did," she said, "but I, for one, am proud to see young people taking a stand against injustice of any kind. Perhaps if you came up with a more diplomatic way of handling the situations ..."