Bouquet of Lies (3 page)

Three

CHICKEN KIEV. DAN looked at his aunt and uncle, knives and forks poised above their plates, and knew what they were thinking. Would this dish be a disaster?

“One of Sally’s favorites?” Aunt Helen asked.

“Yes.” Dan took a bite. The chicken was dry and a little too salty. He could never quite duplicate Sally’s cooking.

“Well.” Uncle Carrick cut into the chicken and forked a small bite into his mouth. He shook his head. “Better. Better. But how about you come to our house next Sunday and let Helen cook?”

He saw Aunt Helen place a hand on his uncle’s brawny arm. Uncle Carrick knew how to say it like it was while his aunt always chose diplomacy.
Don’t beat around the bush
, his uncle often bellowed. Sometimes they seemed like a mismatched pair, but their marriage worked and they were clearly devoted to each other.

Dan took another bite. It wasn’t so bad, but it wasn’t so good either. Sally loved to cook. Usually gourmet. Always with a glass of wine. Sunday night was when she tried something new, and they had started asking Aunt Helen and Uncle Carrick to eat with them once a month. He wasn’t ready to give up the ritual.

“If you don’t want to do that, how about just barbequing some plain old steak? I know you can do that.” Uncle Carrick took a sip of Chardonnay.

Aunt Helen tried the rice and her face said it all. She swallowed and didn’t go back for more. Dan took a forkful. It was gritty and he spit it into his napkin.

His uncle laughed. “Thanks for the warning.”

“It’s probably just old.” His aunt waved her hand.

“Or I didn’t follow the recipe.” Dan wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Next time try minute rice. You can’t go wrong.” She cut into the chicken.

“Meat and potatoes.” Uncle Carrick shook his fork at Dan.

Sally was gone fifteen months now, longer than their marriage had lasted, and he hadn’t cooked rice in all that time. Once in a while he got the meal right or his aunt and uncle probably would have foregone his invitations long ago. He was certain, once they got home tonight, they would eat again.

“Look.” His uncle shoved the plate away.

Dan glanced at him and then his aunt. Concern etched her face. Evidently she knew what her husband was going to say and agreed it needed to be said. “I’m looking,” Dan replied.

“I know you’ve been through a lot. Seen more than your share of death serving in Afghanistan and all. There’s no question you’ve handled it. And there’s no doubt you’ve coped with Sally’s death. To lose her to a drunk driver. Especially hard when you’re a traffic cop.”

No. Just losing her was the bad part.
But he knew what his uncle meant. Like if Helen was murdered with him being a homicide detective.

Aunt Helen’s eyes filled with affection. “You loved her. That’s clear to everyone who knows you. But, honey, you’re only twenty-five.”

“You won’t be young forever.” Uncle Carrick tapped a finger.

Dan stirred the rice with his fork. “I know.”

His uncle came to the point. “You’ve mourned her. It’s time to move on.”

Silence. Dan stared at his plate.
Move on. How did one do that exactly?

As if she heard his question, Aunt Helen jumped in. “You still have all her toiletries on the counter in the bathroom. And if I were a betting woman, I’d say her clothes are still in the closet. Sweetheart, it’s okay to let go of those things. That’s not being disloyal. It doesn’t mean you didn’t love her or that you’ve forgotten her.”

“It means you’re still above ground, alive and kicking.” Uncle Carrick’s expression was sympathetic but serious.

Dan rubbed his face with both hands. He knew they were right. He just wasn’t able to do it because every time he thought about tossing out her things, it felt like he was throwing her away. “I suppose I could stop using her recipes to make you dinner.”

“Or take some lessons and invite us more often.” Uncle Carrick stretched and pulled on the snug belt surrounding his rotund belly. “Can we order a pizza? Everything on it.”

The tension broke and something inside Dan shifted. He laughed. How comical was it—him trying to be a gourmet cook when he burnt toast in the morning? Aunt Helen must have muzzled Uncle Carrick for as long as she could. “Okay.” He took out his cell and checked for Pizza Hut.

“It’ll be here in twenty minutes,” he said when he finished calling.

“Well. Now that we’ve come this far.” Uncle Carrick nudged his wife. “You tell him. It’s your idea.”

Aunt Helen took a breath. “I have a friend. She has a daughter . . .”

Okay. How did he nip this in the bud? He didn’t want to be rude to his aunt, but this was taking things too far. He held up a hand while he searched for the right words.

“She’s a pretty thing,” Uncle Carrick said with conviction. “You could do worse.”

Stalling, Dan gathered the plates with the uneaten chicken and carried them into the kitchen. He came back with clean ones for the pizza. “I appreciate this little intervention, but—”

“I brought a picture along.” Aunt Helen stretched out her arm.

Dan took the photo she held in her hand and perused it. “I don’t like red hair.”

His uncle jerked with surprise. “Sally had red hair!”

“Exactly. I’m not replacing her with a duplicate.”

“Maybe she could dye her hair?” Aunt Helen’s eyes narrowed in thought.

Dan’s jaw slacked. She wasn’t kidding. Didn’t she know how ridiculous that sounded? Suddenly she waved a hand indicating she did. Still. He could see the wheels spinning in her head. If the redhead wouldn’t do, she would come up with someone else.

“I’ve already met a girl.” The words spilled without warning. His aunt and uncle looked dumbfounded as their eyes searched his for more information. They had made their case for him to get on with his life and now he was telling them he already had?

He hadn’t really. He had ventured out last night only because he hadn’t been out in so long . . .

He shook his head. No, that wasn’t true. He was attracted to this girl. A twenty-year-old. A spoiled, silver-spooned, hedonistic party girl.
So
not his type. And yet he had gone to the Roxy based upon an invitation from her. The Roxy. A place he and Sally haunted a few times before he went off to war and his entire outlook on life had changed.

“Do we know her?” Aunt Helen asked.

“No.”

“Tell us. Who is she?”

Dan stared at them. What should he say? “Her name’s Lacey.”

“Pretty name. Is she a pretty girl?”

“Beautiful.”

His aunt smiled and his uncle grinned.

“She’s like a breath of fresh air.” Where did that come from? His own words sent a shockwave through him.

“Really?”

Yeah. Really.
Her carefree attitude lifted his spirits and for a while last night he forgot about the ills of his life. He pictured Lacey laughing with her friends and remembered the teasing remarks she made trying to draw him into their conversation. Her smile was infectious and her hair smelled like Hawaii.

How could hair smell like Hawaii?

“Dan?”

“Hmm?”

There was more to her than met the eye. She was good at playing the never-down partier, but occasionally she got this faraway look that said something was going on below the surface. Then before he knew it, she was begging him to order her a glass of champagne when she knew darn well he wouldn’t.

He looked down at his hand. She’d written her phone number on his skin and he’d washed it away.

“Dan?”

She intrigued him. She made him feel good. But he’d decided not to see her again. Why? Because of Sally? Because it wasn’t okay to be okay? Because she was obviously rich and he wasn’t?

“Dan! What is going on in your head?”

“What?”

“I think he’s smitten.” His aunt beamed.

Smitten? No. He wasn’t going to see her again.

But he had to. Otherwise he had just lied to two people who meant the world to him. To the people who had raised him after his dad died and his mother became incapacitated by drink.

He would go out with Lacey once more. An official date this time. Yeah, he could do that. And then his lie wouldn’t be a lie. He wouldn’t see her again after that, and everything would be just as it was.

Just as it was. A depressing thought. Is that what he really wanted?

Dan rinsed the plates and put them in the dishwasher. What had happened tonight? He’d let himself be cornered into having to ask Lacey on a date. Where was he supposed to take a girl who drove a one-hundred-and-seventy-thousand-dollar sports car? Taco Bell?

He laughed. He could do better than that. Perhaps his favorite restaurant in Malibu would work. For lunch. A casual thing. They could talk about the weather or the ocean. Sea life. Nothing personal.

Or music. They could talk about that. They both liked what they’d heard at the Roxy. They had that in common. What else might they both enjoy?

He wiped down the counter and washed his hands. Then he pulled Lacey’s fake ID out of the junk drawer. The birth year might be phony but he had no doubt the address was real. It went with the car.

Oh, man. Was this the right thing to do? An image of her swaying those hips filled his brain. He closed his eyes and began to sway his—just for a second. Then his eyes popped back open. He returned the ID to the drawer and slammed it, as if caging something wild that just might sink its teeth into him.

One date when he was ready. Just the one.

Four

EARLY MONDAY MORNING Lacey squeezed into the black mini skirt she’d bought on Saturday and wondered if she had gained weight on Sunday. There were other black skirts in the closet, but none as skimpy as this. Tightening her stomach muscles, the zipper closed without too much struggle and she decided it was fine. She would have to be careful how she moved because it barely covered her ass.

She gave the hem a tug. Casting had said
short short
. She’d certainly followed the directive. She snatched a metallic tube top from a shopping bag and pulled it over her head before securing a five-inch wide, steel-studded belt around her waist.

The movie was low budget so she had to do her own hair and makeup. Using the bathroom mirror, she applied too much of everything: rouge, lipstick, eyeliner. Then she ratted her hair into a cheap, hot mess. 

Back in the bedroom she stepped into a pair of six-inch stilettos, buckled the straps around her ankles, and flew out into the hall. It was close to seven and she was supposed to be at the shoot by eight. Rush hour traffic in Los Angeles was always predictable; it would be slow.

Halfway down the stairs she spotted her father at the front door and stalled. J. Harper Bouquet looked up and did a double take. Blood rushed in Lacey’s ears and her heart started to pound. She hadn’t expected a run-in. She loved to shock him. It was the only way she could get him to interact with her, but it always came with a price. He would hate how she looked and have something hurtful to say. Preplanned run-ins were better. She could have a thick skin at the ready.

Harper’s eyes narrowed. “You look like a ten-dollar hooker.”

She put on a bravado smile, fluttered her eyes, and turned a shoulder like a vamp. “You don’t like? I always dress to impress.”

He scrutinized her for a long moment and she felt her blood run cold. Did he really think she was heading out to troll for johns? All games aside, didn’t he know her at all? The smile faltered and she plastered it back on.

“Whatever you’re up to, I don’t want to know about it.” He opened the door and shouted, “Henry! Help me with my clubs.”

The family chauffeur stepped in from outside. “Of course, sir.” In his late fifties, Henry was as trim as an athlete. He kept what was left of his gray hair nearly razored. Spotless in his uniform, he tipped his hat to her. “Good morning, Miss Lacey.”

“Never mind her,” Harper said. “I’m running late.”

Henry grabbed a set of golf clubs from the closet. “Mixing business with pleasure today, sir?” Harper was dressed for the office, not the green.

“Egan’s in town.” Without looking at Lacey, he went out the door. She nearly ran after him to explain about the clothes, but instead clutched the railing and explained to Henry.

“It’s a costume. I’m an extra in a movie.”

Henry smiled. “I had no doubt.” Clubs over his shoulder, he closed the door behind him. She sighed. Henry acted more like a loving parent than her own father did.

“You look like a tart.” Another male voice snarled, this time from behind. Along with it came the clink of ice in a glass.

Edward.

She glanced over her shoulder. Her grandfather, dressed for an office he didn’t have, glared at her from the landing, a scotch neat in one hand, his version of breakfast. When Henry returned from taking Father, he would drive Edward to the men’s club where the old man would put back several more. He was a mean drunk, but he was also a mean “sober.” Alcohol made no difference in his personality.

Edward’s words grew louder. “A two-bit whore!” The bags under his eyes were especially evident today.

“Ten-dollar hooker,” Lacey countered. “Ask Daddy.” She started down the stairs.

He growled with contempt and added, “You’re just like your mother. A no-good slut.”

Lacey whirled around. “Why do you always talk bad about her? Daddy loved her or he wouldn’t have married her.”

“She trapped him.”

“Oh, I see. He was putty in her hands.”

“Yes, he was.”

“Well. She’s been dead a long time. You should be happy.”

A sneer emerged on his face. “I am. I’m very happy.” He took a swig from his glass.

Nothing really made him happy. If it wasn’t for his toxic nature, she might have felt sorry for him. He’d had an absent father and a wealthy mother who’d never loved him. Had he become the person he was because of that? Or had his mother not loved him because his nature was venomous to begin with?

“The chicken or the egg?” she murmured.

“What are you mumbling about?” He took another swig.

Lacey bit her lip. He was pitiable, really. His wife had deserted him early on leaving him to raise their young son, J. Harper. Harper became the apple of his grandmother’s eye, the apple Edward never was, and she never hid her feelings about who mattered.

Lacey had a vague memory of sitting on Great Grandmama Harriet’s lap, the old woman brushing her hair, telling her never to trust Edward. “He was bad as a boy and he’s bad now. I’m leaving everything to Harper and you girls.”

“What are you staring at?” Edward narrowed his eyes.

“Why did Grandmama hate you?” Lacey had never asked him the question before. She’d asked Harper once, and he’d blown her off.

Edward gnashed his teeth. He glared at her and then in a flash, threw his glass. It missed her head by inches and shattered on the foyer floor. Crouched low, she watched him turn and head for his room.

Secrets. The mansion was old and full of them. If Great Grandmama Harriet had lived longer, Lacey might know why things were the way they were. As it was, the old woman had died when Lacey was five.

She stared at the shattered wet mess and thought of her mother because her name was Crystal and Edward had just referred to her in that hateful way of his. She had died young. Too young. And it occurred to Lacey, secrets the house held might have really killed her, not childbirth. Maybe Crystal had shattered just like glass.

She sighed and moved around the broken shards. The housekeeper would clean it up as soon as she noticed it.

She put thoughts of Edward and her mother behind her and rushed outside. Moving across the motor court, she found her Spyder, spotless and gleaming outside the seven-car garage. That wasn’t where she’d left it. Telltale water tinted the concrete dark gray. Henry never washed cars so early in the morning, but he must have.

She hopped in and discovered that the mirrors were all wrong. As she set to work adjusting them, a big, strong hand knocked on the window.

“How are you?”

She jerked with a start.

“I don’t remember you being so jumpy,” the voice belonging to the hand said.

She followed the voice’s arm up to the striking dark eyes of an unsmiling hunk of male she sort of recognized, but didn’t. A bit of stubble covered his jaw. A well-trimmed, medium brown moustache just cleared his upper lip. Arched brows gave him a serious face. He was tall and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Abs, chest, and pecs looked like they’d been chiseled from suntanned stone. “Do I know you?”

“I’m the man who just washed this topless sexpot of a car.”

“You?”

He shrugged with his hands. “It was filthy and I have to earn my keep. Had to take her for a test drive, too.”

“You drove my car?”

“She begged me to, Miss Priss.”

It took only a second to register and Lacey broke into a big grin. She couldn’t believe it. She rolled down the window.

“Ahh, she remembers.”

“Nobody calls me Miss Priss. You’ve changed!” 

“So have you.”

He lifted a brow that said he questioned her taste in clothes and makeup. She’d forgotten how she looked. She scrunched her nose at him and didn’t explain. Let him wonder.

He bent down so his butt rested on his heels and his face was level with hers.

“How are you?” she said.

“I asked you first.”

“So. I asked you second.” She laughed. This was how they’d bantered as kids. “Right now I’m late. But we’ll catch up when I get home. You did say, earn your keep? You’ll be here?”

“All summer.” He rose and took a step back from the car.

She nodded at him. The surprise of finding thirteen-year-old Jake, now a man, back at the house left her short on words.

“Love the car.” He motioned with a finger. “The hair and clothes? Not so much.”

She chuckled and started the engine. “Well, who asked you?”

He laughed. “There’s the Miss Priss I know and love.”

She waved as she drove toward the street, her mind racing. Jake was back. She could hardly believe it. They’d been three peas in a pod: Herself, Darla and Jake. When he’d left, both she and Darla had cried their eyes out. For whatever reason, he went to live with his mother in another state, out of reach. It felt like a betrayal at the time, never occurring to her young soul that he was in the same position as she and Darla were—children at the mercy of their parents’ disorderly lives.

Did Harper know Jake was back? He wouldn’t care, but Edward would. She paused at the end of the driveway and watched a couple of cars shoot past.

Things could get very interesting this summer. Jake was back. Good pal Jake. Hadn’t he turned out well?

And there was the cop who had given her a ticket and then joined her at the Roxy. Dan-the-Man. Well, maybe Dan-the-Man. He had yet to call.

She pulled into the street and pressed the accelerator.

Motorcycle cop. All around stick-in-the-mud. Hottie on the dance floor. Officer Daniel O’Donnell. Yum.

But hadn’t she decided that he wasn’t going to call? She pushed him from her thoughts and he bounced back again.
Stop it! Stay in the present. Pay attention to your driving.
She punctuated the thought with a sharp nod. She wouldn’t think about Dan anymore. Nope, not for a second.

Unless of course, she did.