Amazing Gracie (7 page)

“Five races, that’s it,” he said, as he handed her the
Racing Form
. “I’m not letting you wager your life savings today.”

“What if I win? Do we stay longer?”

“We’ll discuss that when—
no, if
—it happens.”

“Then keep quiet and let me do my handicapping in peace,” she said, snapping open the paper to the day’s races in New York.

Kevin sat back and sipped his beer. For a weekday, the Riverboat had a modest crowd, including a few locals and quite a few unfamiliar faces in town just for the chance to bet on races at tracks across the country. Some of them would be here until the last race ran in California hours from now.

He wondered how Gracie would react to this simple place out over the water with its basic menu, plain tables, and noisy patrons. He’d lay odds if she’d ever placed a wager it had been in some elegant casino in Europe. She’d probably been wearing diamonds and satin at the time, looking all slinky and sophisticated. An image of Grace Kelly in
Philadelphia Story
came to mind.

“Is it hot in here?” he asked suddenly.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Aunt Delia mumbled.

She barely glanced up from her papers. A little furrow of concentration lined her brow. Her reading glasses had slipped to the tip of her nose. Kevin observed her with tolerant amusement, laughing out loud when he noticed that she’d worn her fancy white sneakers with the rhinestones on them in honor of their outing. She was such a joy. It truly was a shame no man had seen that and dared to take her on for a lifetime.

“It’s four minutes till post time,” Kevin reminded her. “Have you made up your mind?”

She nabbed a little slip of paper from the pile beside her and jotted down some numbers. “A trifecta,” she announced. “In this order. Don’t mess it up. I’ve put a lot of thought into getting it right.”

“I won’t mess it up.”

“What about you? You planning to bet?”

“I thought I’d put a little down on that number eight.”

Aunt Delia hurriedly glanced at her notes, scribbled all over the past performance listings. “Eight? That horse will go off at fifty-to-one. Why that one?”

“The name reminds me of someone,” he said, and walked away.

“Scottish Lass,” she murmured.

The sound of her laughter followed him over to the betting window.

“I just don’t understand it,” Aunt Delia complained after Kevin finally managed to drag her away after the eighth race. “That three horse was sired by a distance runner. His mama had speed. He should have blasted past every other horse on the track.”

“Maybe he was a little too taken with that mare swishing her tail in his face in the homestretch. Hormones will distract a male.”

“So I’ve noticed,” his aunt retorted. “Are you planning to swing by the house?”

“I wasn’t. Why?”

“There’s something I left in that old bureau upstairs. I’d like to get it, as long as we’re already in the vicinity.”

“I thought you cleaned out every bureau and closet before you moved in with me.”

“Well, I forgot this. Sue me.”

“Okay, okay. We’ll go by the house.”

“Thank you,” she said with a bite of sarcasm.

“You’re welcome,” he replied with the same edge.

Kevin knew there was something more going on with his aunt than some forgotten personal item she couldn’t do without. He had walked through every inch of that house with her a dozen times to be sure nothing of real or sentimental value had been left behind. No, she was up to something, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what.

He began to get a worrisome idea when he noticed that the wrought-iron gate was unlatched. But how had Aunt Delia guessed that there might be a trespasser on the property, particularly the trespasser Kevin’s gut told him was at this very moment trampling down weeds?

“Looks like someone’s here, doesn’t it?” his aunt said, not sounding especially surprised or worried by that fact.

“Probably kids,” Kevin retorted, though he didn’t believe any such thing. More than likely it was Ms. Gracie MacDougal, up to no good. Kids were scared to death of the place. He’d planted several hints that the old house was crawling with ghosts. Kids hadn’t been near it since, according to the neighbors who kept an eye on it for him. They huddled outside the gate, occasionally slipped inside and went as far as the front step on a dare. But at the first creak of the old, rotting wood, they dashed for safety.

No, the only person with the curiosity and the pure gall to be sneaking around was Gracie.

“Go visit Mrs. Johnson,” he instructed his aunt.

“Why on earth would I want to do that? You know she hates people dropping by unexpectedly.”

“Not as much as I hate the prospect of both of us
getting clobbered over the head with something if we’re wrong about what’s going on here. Please, just apologize and stay with her until I come for you.”

“You think it’s that MacDougal girl, don’t you? And you don’t want me to meet her.”

“Okay, yes. I think it’s probably Gracie. And I don’t want you to meet her. What puzzles me is how the heck you knew she’d be sneaking around here.”

“Me?” she protested. “I’ve been with you all day. How could I know anything? I resent you thinking I would do something sneaky and lowdown like luring you over here just so you could bump into her again.”

Which, of course, was a little too emphatic and detailed a denial not to be the exact opposite of the truth.

“We’ll discuss your scheming later,” he said. “Just go see Mrs. Johnson and stay there.”

“Fine,” she said with an indignant little huff and headed off toward her longtime neighbor’s house.

Kevin watched her departure with admiration. She was quite an actress. The local theater group could have used her skills in their recent production of
Arsenic and Old Lace.

Once he saw that Mrs. Johnson was, indeed, home and had invited his aunt inside, he stepped through the open gate into Aunt Delia’s yard. It really was a disgrace, he conceded, though at the moment the tall grass, dandelions, and buttercups allowed him to pinpoint exactly which was the intruder had gone. He turned to the left and followed the trampled weeds.

He’d give Gracie MacDougal credit for being brazen. She’d probably found a way inside and was already measuring for curtains.

The path she’d left took him around the back of the
house. Sure enough, it stopped right beside the steps to the glassed-in back porch, which his aunt alternately described as her sunroom or her garden room. Once it had been filled with pots of blooming plants, but now those very same plants were decorating her parlor at his place. He’d had to knock out a whole damned wall practically and replace it with windows until the lighting suited her and her philodendrons, or whatever the hell they were.

Of course, at the moment, that was neither here nor there. At the moment, he needed to figure out exactly where his quarry had slipped off to. It didn’t look as though she’d broken in. Every window was intact and the door was firmly closed. He tested the lock and it held. So where the dickens was she? Surely she hadn’t vanished into thin air.

Suddenly his eye caught a glimpse of bright yellow where it had no business being, right on the bottom branch of the oak tree shading the side of the house. He shimmied up the tree and reached for the scrap of cloth. Silk, either from a blouse or a scarf. It was a nice, sunny shade, too, perfect for Ms. MacDougal’s coloring. He’d bet she looked like a million bucks when she’d left home. He wondered if she looked half as good now that she’d scaled a tree and shredded her clothing.

He glanced up a little higher and saw what had attracted her. The second-floor window was wide open. He had left it cracked himself, to allow some air to stir in the place and keep it from getting musty. It had never occurred to him that anyone, not even the neighborhood kids, would spot it and break in. But, then, he hadn’t known about Gracie MacDougal a few months ago.

Kevin considered scrambling down and using his key to go in the back door, but concluded that would be a
tactical mistake. Though she probably didn’t know it yet, Gracie was trapped inside. All the doors had deadbolt locks requiring keys to open them from inside or out. If he entered the same way she had, he could corner her and scare the living daylights out of her. Or he could save himself the trouble and just wait for her under the tree. Either way, he hoped it would be a good lesson.

After a few minutes waiting, he opted for joining her inside. Grateful that he’d worn sneakers, he climbed the rest of the way up the tree, stepped onto the porch roof, then tiptoed over to the open window. Whether she’d heard the commotion outside and decided to beat a hasty retreat or whether she’d simply completed her unauthorized tour, Gracie picked that precise moment to try to back out of the window.

Kevin paused and enjoyed the view for several seconds before asking quietly, “Going someplace?”

She rose up too fast and whacked her back on the edge of the window, let out a muffled exclamation, then hesitated as if torn between going back inside or completing her ignominious exit. He heard her heavy sigh of resignation. Then she backed the rest of the way out.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Kevin said when she was standing toe to toe with him, her expression defiant, the bottom edge of her yellow blouse ragged where she’d snagged it.

“You scared me half to death,” she retorted. “How dare you creep up on a person like that!”

“Excuse me? You’re not exactly in the best position to be hurling accusations at anybody.”

“I saw the window was open and I thought someone might have broken in,” she said.

Kevin was impressed. She hadn’t wasted a single
second coming up with an explanation, even though on close examination it defied logic. “You’re quick on your feet, I’ll give you that. Did you consider calling the cops?”

Color crept up in her cheeks. “Not exactly.”

“Or shouting for Mrs. Johnson to call the cops?”

“No.”

“No, you decided to investigate all on your own.”

“It seemed like the neighborly thing to do,” she insisted, her expression daring him to question her motives. “Besides, you didn’t call the cops or tell Mrs. Johnson to call them, did you? No. You did exactly what I did.”

“Because I was just about one hundred percent sure who was inside,” he said.

“It’s the tiny one percent of uncertainty that will get you killed,” she pointed out.

“A fact you’d do well to remember,” he retorted. “Honestly, Gracie, if you wanted a tour of the place, all you had to do was ask.”

She regarded him skeptically. “Would you have taken me through the house?”

“No. What would be the point, when the owner’s not prepared to sell?”

“If I liked what I saw, maybe I’d up my offer so it would be irresistible.”

“You can’t go that high.”

“You know absolutely nothing about my financial situation.”

“Want to bet?”

“Meaning?”

“We live in the computer age, Gracie. It isn’t hard to get a line on someone’s credit rating.”

She stared at him with stunned disbelief. “You investigated me?”

“Of course.”

“Why, you no good, rotten scum. How could you? You don’t even know me.”

“Precisely the point of an investigation, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh, go to hell.”

“Darlin’, that’s no way to win over an adversary.”

She sighed and looked at him with those huge, golden-flecked eyes. “Is that what you are, an adversary?”

“When it comes to selling you this house, yes. On the other hand,” he began and allowed a fascinated gaze to slide over her, “I can think of all sorts of other subjects about which we could get downright friendly. Care to discuss them over supper?”

“You’re inviting me to dinner?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“But you won’t discuss the house with me?”

“That’s right. The topic’s off limits.”

“Then I can’t imagine what we’d have left to discuss.”

“Use your obviously fertile imagination. I’m sure you’ll think of something. Call me when you do.”

With that, Kevin stepped to the edge of the porch roof and lowered himself to the ground. When he glanced up, he saw Gracie staring after him incredulously.

“You’re leaving me up here?”

“You got up there all by yourself. Surely, you know the way down. Call me when you’ve decided about supper.”

“Kevin Patrick Daniels, don’t you dare walk away and leave me up here.”

“Later, darlin’.”

“Kevin, dammit! Come back here.”

He waited around the corner of the house until he heard the rustle of leaves and the creak of branches in the oak tree. When he heard her thud to the ground with a muttered curse, he grinned, then hightailed it between the hedges and into Mrs. Johnson’s yard.

Safely hidden by the high boxwoods, he was still chuckling to himself when Gracie stormed off down the sidewalk as if someone had lit a fire under her. Since he knew perfectly well that his aunt and Mrs. Johnson had watched the entire drama unfold, he could hardly wait to hear how the local gossips would manage to twist the story.

5

“O
f all of the lousy, rotten, lowdown things to do,” Gracie muttered as she charged down the street toward her own house. “I could have broken my stupid neck getting down from there, but did he care? Oh, no. And whoever heard of putting deadbolts on all the doors? That’s the first thing that’ll go when the house is mine. I can’t have a houseful of guests all trapped inside. Didn’t he ever stop to think what could happen in a fire?”

Of course not, she thought, answering her own question. He obviously wasn’t the kind of man to put a lot of thought into anything. Otherwise he’d never have left her up on that roof, where she could slip, break her neck, and then sue the pants off him.

She ignored the fact that she was the one who’d climbed up on that roof to sneak into the house in the first place. He hadn’t lured her up there. Even so, a gentleman would have helped her get down. Kevin Patrick Daniels was the lowest form of pond scum, an insensitive, inconsiderate jerk. She wouldn’t have supper with the man if he promised to fly it in from Paris.