Can't Buy Me Love (13 page)

“
Sign here, Mr. Caldwell.” The middle-aged delivery man held out his clip board as he offered Blake a pen.

Anthony walked around the car, cautiously nudging the tires.
“That’s one pink car.”

“
I’m not signing for that,” Blake replied, ignoring his chauffeur’s comment. That—” he pointed toward the car, “—is not what I ordered.”

“
Says here you did.” The delivery man, Sal, whose name was embroidered just above the pocket of his coveralls, tapped the yellow invoice on his clip board as if it were the supreme law.

“
I don’t care what it says. I ordered a blue Mercedes and that—” he pointed to the car once again, “—is not blue.”

Anthony leaned down and peered closely at the paint job.
“It’s metallic.” His voice was an awed whisper.

“
Says here that I’m supposed to deliver this here car to a Mr. Blake Caldwell. You Blake Caldwell?”

“
Yes.”

“
Sign here, please.”

“
I ordered a
blue
car,” Blake repeated, his patience slipping. “Blue is not a difficult color.”

“
I don’t paint ‘em, sir. I just deliver ‘em.”

“
Then deliver this one somewhere else. I ordered my wife a
blue
Mercedes. Not a God-awful pink one.”

“
It’s not God-awful pink,” Anthony interjected. “It’s Razzle Dazzle Rose. My best girl wears this color on her nails.”

Blake turned back to the delivery man.
“I will not let my wife drive around town in a car painted
Razzle Dazzle Rose
. It ought to be against the law for a car to be that color.”

“
Yeah,” Anthony agreed. “I wouldn’t even
steal
this car.”

“
It’s for me?” Paige stepped out of the house and toward the monstrosity in pink.

“
Yes,” said the delivery man.

“
No,” Blake countered.

Sal turned to Blake.
“You said it was for your wife. Women like colors like that. Dontcha, honey?”

Paige hesitated.
“It certainly is pink.”

“
Exactly.” Sal nodded as if satisfied with her brilliant observation.

Blake threw his arms into the air.
He would get nowhere with Sal. “Anthony, my breakfast is getting cold. Would you take care of our friend?”

“
Yes, sir.”

Sal looked even more satisfied than before.

“And the car,” Blake said over his shoulder as he steered Paige back toward the house. “I don’t want to see either of them again.”

Anthony smiled, and Sal
’s expression fell, but Blake’s only concern was the half of ham and cheese omelet he had left on his plate. When he returned to the table, his breakfast was missing.

“
Dancy must have cleaned up while you were talking with the delivery man.”

“
Yes,” Blake said, mourning the omelet. He didn’t have time to eat the remainder anyway. He had spent so long arguing with the delivery man that now if he didn’t hurry he was going to be late.

“
Why did you order me that car?” Paige’s voice followed him to the door.

“
I didn’t order you that car. I ordered you a blue one,” he evaded.

“
Why?”

“
For your birthday?”

Paige held up the wrist the sported her new diamond bracelet.
“I already have a birthday present. And I won’t be bribed into working for Caldwell.”

Her voice rang in Blake
’s ears all the way to his office and to his desk piled high with things that needed to be done—today. He needed to have Catherine book Devin’s flights. In a few days Blake was sending his brother on a three week buying trip to India and Mexico. Caldwell needed new fabric, something different for the spring line. Something that would grab the world of fashion by the ear and say, “Pay attention. We’re on to something here.” And he needed to hire a new designer, someone who could create the style to go with the demanding fabric. He needed to save Caldwell Manufacturing. Just another day at the office.

Blake was late for his first appointment.
It was with a designer who didn’t have a fraction of the talent Paige possessed, who couldn’t help him save the day. Deep down Blake knew that it wasn’t someone of Paige’s abilities that he sought, but Paige herself. He wanted
her
to work for him, to work by his side as he fought to save the family business. No one else.

He canceled his last three interviews and spent the time devising a plan that would convince Paige to accept his offer.
By the end of the afternoon he was no closer to a solution than when he had started. She was shrewd beneath that benign exterior, and she would neatly see through any tactic he could devise. But dammit, he wasn’t used to people who couldn’t be swayed by money.

His stomach rumbled.
Nervous energy, he thought as he downed an Alka-Seltzer. Nervous energy and worry and a shocking pink Mercedes.

****

Paige glanced at the clock once more, willing Blake to come home just as she wished time to slow. He had said that he might be working late, but still this was a special dinner. She had borrowed Julie’s car and gone to the store, and now thanks to her newly acquired culinary efforts, she had a meat-filled feast laid out for Blake. The ever-faithful cookbook had rendered a recipe for traditional sausage and hamburger lasagna, a dish she was sure that Blake would eat this time. She had to admit, even if she did cook it, the lasagna smelled good. But not good enough for her to actually eat it. Just the thought of eating dead animal flesh.... She shuddered, then heard Blake’s car in the drive.

“
Holmes,” she said as the butler passed the open dining room door on his way to let “Master Blake” in.

He turned at her summons.

“Please tell Blake that dinner is ready and waiting.”

“
As you wish, madam,” he replied with his Wisconsin-goes-British accent and continued toward the door.

Paige had to wait another half an hour before Blake finally appeared at the table, his rich brown hair still damp from his shower.
His cheeks were flushed and his eyes slightly glassy as if he had been drinking, but his step was sure, even careful, as if each one was more painful than the last.

“
Are you feeling okay?” Paige asked as he gingerly seated himself, and Dancy began to serve the lasagna and salads.

“
No need to be concerned,” he said with a wan smile. “It’s probably just one of those twenty-four hour bugs. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“
Do you feel like eating? I made your favorite.”

He looked at the plate Dancy sat in front of him and back up to Paige.
“It looks good,” he said and with a gallant effort picked up his fork.

Paige ate her salad and watched Blake.
His skin was almost green and each bite he swallowed looked harder than the last to tolerate. More than anything else he pushed the food around on his plate.

“
Are you sure you’re all right? You’re not eating.”

“
Neither are you.”

“
Yes, I am. I’m having a salad.”

“
You’re not on one of those lettuce diets, are you?”

“
No.”

“
Then you should eat more than a salad. Why did you make this big pan of lasagna if you weren’t going to eat any?”

Once again Paige shuddered at the thought of eating the dead cows and pigs that haunted the main course.
“I was expecting Devin to be here, otherwise I wouldn’t have made so much.”

“
Yes, well, Devin likes the night life almost as much as he likes money.”

Just then Dancy came in with the refill pitcher of regular orange pekoe tea that Blake had enjoyed during Sylvia
’s reign in the Caldwell’s kitchen.

“
I’m sorry, Blake,” Dancy said in her whiskey-dark voice. “I forgot to leave this for you.” She trailed her fingers over his shoulder then refilled his glass. Over Blake’s head she shot Paige one of her infamously wicked glances. “You don’t look like you feel well, Blake.”

He moved out of her reach.
“It’s just a bug or perhaps something I ate...” He turned his hazel eyes from Dancy back to Paige, then focused them on his own plate where his half-eaten lasagna sat.

“
I don’t feel so good,” he mumbled.

Before Paige could move, he dropped his napkin over his dinner and hurried from the room.

Chapter Twelve

Despite the pounding in his head Blake weaved straight to the nearest phone. The Louis XVI chair and Chippendale occasional table in the hall swam dizzily before him. Small squiggles of white-blue neon pinpointed his vision as he dialed the familiar number. The shrill ring sounded forever before the phone on the other end was finally answered.

“
Anderson.”

“
Noah,” he choked. “You’ve got to help me.”

“
Blake? What’s the matter?”

Blake took a deep breath and forced down the nausea.
Or maybe it was good to feel sick. Perhaps he should allow himself the freedom, let loose, and just vomit on the Persian runner beneath his feet. The rug was priceless; he swallowed hard.

“
Blake?”

“
She poisoned me.”

“
What are you talking about?”

“
Paige.”

“
Paige?”

Blake swallowed again.
“She poisoned me. This morning, I think. At breakfast. She fixed me a ham and cheese omelet and—”

“
Ham? A vegetarian fed you ham, and you ate it?”

“
Well, yes.” Blake nodded his head and immediately regretted the movement. The sparks of light became daggers stabbing at his brain. He waited for the pain to subside. “She said it was a peace offering.”

“
You can’t have a peace offering without war. What did you do to make her mad?”

“
I offered her a job.”

“
And in the process you insulted her. You can’t insult the cook without some repercussions.”

“
I’m dying. Don’t shout.”

“
I’m not shouting. Have you called the Poison Control Center?”

“
I don’t need Poison Control. I need the police.”

“
Blake, how much of the omelet did you eat?”

“
Only about half. Then the pink Mercedes came.”

“
A pink Mercedes? You are ill.”

“
It wasn’t really pink. It was Razzle Dazzle Rose.”

“
Put Devin on the phone.”

He heard the worry in Noah
’s tone, but couldn’t summon the words to ease his friend’s concern. “It’s been her all along. First the sewing machine. Then the car. Noah, she’s trying to kill me for my inheritance. If I die, she gets it all.”

“
Blake, put Devin on the phone.”

“
Devin’s not here.” He sighed. “I’m all alone with my homicidal wife.”

“
Then let me talk to someone else—anybody but Paige.”

“
It’s for you,” Blake said as Holmes passed in the hallway. He handed the receiver to the butler. “Never insult the cook,” he solemnly warned and closed his eyes. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

When he opened his eyes once again, the blurry images above him were shouting.
What were they saying? Why were they shouting? Where the hell was he?

He blinked.
Suddenly Paige’s face loomed before him.

“
Ahhh!” he yelled.

“
Ahhh!” she yelled

“
Good to see you’re still alive, sir,” Holmes said as he hoisted Blake to his feet.

Paige seemed distressed, almost frantic, fluttering around them as Holmes half-dragged, half-carried Blake to the car.

What was she so worried about? He was the one dying. Isn’t this what she wanted?

The ride to the hospital was a blur of bright lights and punishing sound.
The squeal of the brakes, the honking of a car horn, and the wail of the sirens pierced Blake’s nausea as Paige pulled the land cruising Cadillac into the Emergency Room entrance.

He laughed a little as the medics wheeled him in.
His life had been taken over by the color pink. The juicy pink ham, the bright pink Mercedes, nurses in dusty pink scrubs. Paige’s pink dress. Paige’s hot pink dress. Paige’s just plain
hot
dress. Now that really sent his head spinning.

“
Hold on just a moment, Mr. Caldwell. The doctor will be here shortly. If you feel ill, you may vomit in here.” The nurse handed him a tiny plastic dish. It was pink.

She turned to leave, but Blake weakly clutched her arm.

“My wife,” he said in a choked voice.

“
Your wife is right outside crying and worrying herself sick. She wants you to get better. That’s what you should concentrate on too, Mr. Caldwell.”

“
My wife,” Blake croaked again, increasing his grip on the nurse’s mauve colored sleeve. Didn’t she understand? Paige was responsible. He looked into the nurse’s eyes. No, she didn’t understand, and he couldn’t explain. He just didn’t have the strength. He was too sick, and Paige was responsible.

The nurse disengaged herself from his grasp and left the cubicle.

Eons later, the doctor entered, followed by the same nurse who pulled the curtain closed behind them. The young doctor was wearing street clothes—blues and browns—and a white lab coat. At last an anchor in his churning pink world.

“
Looks like food poisoning,” the nurse said as the doctor thumbed through the pages of Blake’s file.

Blake wanted to scream, shout, yell, and jump up and down until they listened to him, but his head swam like a drunken fish
, and his stomach rolled like a cheap rubber ball.

“
My wife,” he whispered as loudly as he dared, hoping that the doctor would listen to him.

“
She’s in the waiting area worrying about you,” the doctor replied absently, pulling a small flashlight from the pocket of his lab coat. He pried open Blake’s squinted eyes and shined the light in first one and then the other.

Blake sat half doubled over holding his stomach and trying not to throw up as the doctor continued the examination.

“Have you eaten any mushrooms in the last twenty-four hours, Mr. Caldwell?”

Blake tried to clear the disorientation that surrounded him.
A color came to mind. That sweet, piercing color of pink. The color of succulent, juicy ham.

“
Ham. This morning she fixed me ham. She did it. My wife. You’ve got to...”

“
Just relax, Mr. Caldwell. I’ll tell your wife. In the meantime, you rest. There’s not much we can do, but I’d like to keep you overnight for observation. You have the worst case of salmonella poisoning I’ve ever seen.”

****

Paige stood. Then sat. Then stood again. She would have paced the length of the long narrow waiting area, but the majority of the area was filled with bikers. Huge, bearded bikers. Two clubs of them to be exact, rival gangs who after a mishap at the Wild World of Motorcycle Games came to participate in the Wild World of Sutures in the ER. The atmosphere in the room had been relatively calm, if not tense, that was, until the pizzas arrived. All two dozen of them called in from the same ER waiting area phone to the same all night pizza delivery service—by two separate calls—then delivered by the same confused delivery boy who apparently couldn’t distinguish between Canadian bacon and pepperoni.

Paige sat again, trying to block out the shouts and grunts that naturally occur when rival bikers gangs with rival tastes have orders confused in the middle of a busy hospital.
She thought of Blake. He had been so sick when they had taken him away. His face looked like a bleached-out lime, and his eyes blazed with fever and accusation. He had mumbled incoherently that she had “done it” as he’d pointed a trembling finger at her. His testimony disturbed her; she could think of nothing she had “done.” One of the nurses assured her that most likely Blake’s words were the product of the fever and this strange illness that infected him. What had made him so sick?

Paige stood, wishing she had the room to pace, but what square footage of the waiting area that wasn
’t claimed by Giant Bikers with the munchies had been staked out for the Little family reunion. The entire clan wore their colors with honor, not much different than the bikers. The sea of canary yellow T-shirts that proudly proclaimed, “A LITTLE Goes A Long Way” flowed through the waiting area like the ebb of the tide. A few would leave, more would come in and the story of how Little Tommy Little had stumbled into a not-so-little nest of hornets and had been stung over a dozen times before he was doused with a ten gallon cooler of grape Kool-Aid would be recounted—again. Paige had heard the story at least twice as many times as Little Tommy had been stung. She knew how it ended. Tommy’s mother would recount—again—how Little Tommy’s ankles and face had swelled up and how they pushed him into the nearest car and raced to the hospital, the rest of the Littles following close behind.

“
And,” Tommy’s mother concluded for the eighth time with the eighth loud wail into her handkerchief. “I’ll never be able to get the purple stains off his reunion shirt. It’s ruined.”

A balding man
—perhaps an uncle—in one of those bright yellow T-shirts patted her on the back and reassured her that someone would get Little Tommy another shirt to replace his soiled one.

Paige glanced at the doors wanting to escape from the smell of garlic, sunscreen, and hospital antiseptic, but she was reluctant to leave the waiting area.
Surely she would hear how Blake was soon. She could wait for a breath of fresh air, at least a few minutes longer.

Unable to plot an avenue of escape, Paige was contemplating the merits of sitting once again when a young dark
-haired doctor entered the waiting area via a set of swinging doors. He pushed his way through the crowd of bikers and yellow-shirted Littles and stepped over and around boxes of pizza until he reached her side.

“
Mrs. Caldwell?”

Paige nodded, barely aware that for the first time she had let someone call her by Blake
’s name.

“
I’m Dr. Mills. Your husband will be fine. The best we can determine he has a very severe case of salmonella poisoning.”

The noise around her faded to a faint hum.
“Poisoning?”

“
He’s very ill right now, but he’ll be fine.”

“
Poisoning?”

“
It’s not as bad as it sounds, Mrs. Caldwell. The contaminant was most likely contained in something he ate during the last twenty-four hours. Meat that had been left out too long or perhaps not properly cooked. Your husband mentioned that he’d had ham for breakfast this morning.”

“
Ham?”

“
If you have any left, I would advise you to dispose of it.”

“
I almost killed him.” Paige sank back into the seat behind her, her head swimming with the dizziness that Blake must have been experiencing. She had almost killed the man she loved.

“
It was an accident.” Dr. Mills crouched down in front of her.

“
I haven’t cooked like that in so long. I...I...”

“
Mrs. Caldwell, we see things like this happen all the time. They’re accidents, and you can’t blame yourself. Your husband’s ill now, but he should recover by the morning. Food poisoning is an inexact ailment, but I’d to keep him overnight for observation. Go home and rest. You can take your husband home tomorrow.”

****

“Noah, get Masters on the phone,” Blake ordered the following Monday morning.

It had been a helluva weekend.
After coming home from the hospital, Blake had locked himself in his room and studied his options. He couldn’t call the police and have his wife arrested for attempted murder. They would cart her off to jail, and he would be in violation of his aunt’s will. He couldn’t come out of the room for fear that the next time Paige tried to make him dead she would succeed.

Late Saturday afternoon Paige stopped apologizing through the door.
It took two days of sending Dancy out for his meals before she stopped asking him downstairs to eat. Yesterday afternoon she had called through the door that she was placing an ad for live-in cook. Like that was supposed to make him feel better.

During the course of his long weekend of self-imposed exile, Blake
’s fear had turned into anger. He had followed the terms of the will; he had chosen a bride and had lived with her for almost two months. It wasn’t his fault that she was greedy and wanted all of his inheritance. He wanted it too. He
deserved
it with all that he had been through. Masters was going to let him have it whether Paige lived with him for the rest of the year or not.

“
Blake,” Noah started. “Don’t you want to talk about this first?”

“
No. You’ll try to tell me that she’s innocent, and I’ll want to believe you, then next week she’ll be wearing widow’s black. Now dial.”