For The Love Of Laurel (3 page)

Chapter 3

“Dr. Gunderson will see you now,” a cute twenty-something receptionist said. Laurel followed her down a narrow hallway. She stopped at a partially open door and pushed it open, standing aside so Laurel could enter. “Please have a seat.” She indicated a brown leather chair beside an oak desk. “He’ll be right in,” she said as she left the room, closing the door behind her.

File cabinets sat against one wall. She wondered what secrets they contained. Who might she know whose boob jobs and face lifts were but a few feet away? A framed certificate on one wall assured Dr. Gunderson’s patients he was eminently qualified to cut them up. She leaned forward and could just see his computer monitor was on, but from the side, she couldn’t tell what it showed.

Dr. Gunderson walked in swiftly and sat down behind his desk. Laurel tried to keep the astonishment off her face. His hair was totally white, and the wrinkles in his face told her he had never consulted a doctor in his own line of work. He had to be about her father’s age.

So Gloria was a trophy wife.

It figured. What didn’t figure was why Gloria thought he was unfaithful. He didn’t look like he would attract women. Still, if he was loaded, some women would put up with a lot.

But the biggest shock was that she had seen him before. He was one of those business associates of her father’s who had come to his funeral. She remembered seeing him at the house a few times as well.

She waited while he read the form she had filled out. “You want breast augmentation?” he said, glancing at her chest.

She almost blushed. As if she would ever have that done, but it was as good an excuse as she could come up with on short notice. She knew there was nothing wrong with her face to warrant plastic surgery. “I’m thinking about it,” she said.

“Hm.” She wondered what that was supposed to mean. “You’re Gerald Avidon’s daughter,” he said.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry about his passing.”

“Thank you for coming to the funeral. How do you happen to know him?”

“He was a patient of mine many years ago.”

Now she was really curious. “He was? I never knew that.”

“No reason you should.”

She was dying to ask what he had done for her father but doubted he’d tell her. Doctor-patient privilege and all. Did it still apply now that her dad was gone? She wasn’t sure.

“Why would my father need a plastic surgeon?” It didn’t make sense. Gerald wasn’t a vain man.

The doctor went to a new screen. “You’re lucky I can tell you. He gave permission to release his records to you upon his death. He had a couple of scars he wanted to get rid of,” Dr. Gunderson said glibly. She thought of Dylan and wondered why he’d never had his scar taken care of.

“I see.”

It seemed there was a lot her father had kept from her. He’d never introduced her to the people he did business with. When she’d asked him why, he said he intended to keep his private life separate from his business life.

“I thought maybe you were here because seeing me at the funeral reminded you of my occupation.”

“Afraid not. It is strictly coincidence that I chose you out of the phone book. I never knew anything about my father’s business associates.”

“Fair enough. My receptionist will give you some literature on breast augmentation you can take home. It’s not something you want to do without giving it a lot of thought and knowing the risks involved. After you’ve had a chance to read it, give me a call and we’ll discuss it. I don’t mean to rush you, but I do have surgery in half an hour. I worked you in because of who you are.”

He stood and held out his hand. She rose also, and gave his hand a quick shake. “Thank you for seeing me, Doctor. After I read the material, if I’m still interested, I’ll be in touch.”

As she left the office, she glanced back at the lock on the door. She would sure like to get in his office after hours and see the file on her father. It amazed her she would even think such a thing. She knew it would be underhanded and illegal, but she didn’t believe what he’d told her. Gunderson had been to their home several times. Laurel was pretty sure her father and the doctor hadn’t been friends. So that left business. The question was, What kind of business would Gerald
have had with a plastic surgeon that would bring the doctor to the house?

She’d have to think about whether or not it was worth the risk of breaking into Gunderson’s office to see what she could find, not only about her father, but also something that might give her a clue as to who he was two-timing Gloria with. Worth the risk or not, she was already planning how to do it.

Chapter 4

When Laurel got home, she saw a shiny new SUV parked in front of Dylan’s apartment. It was dark blue, but she couldn’t tell the make. They all looked alike anyway. She was gratified he had done as she asked, even if she had been thinking more along the lines of a smaller, less ostentatious vehicle. At least she was the boss now and he knew it. All he had left to do was take care of the tracking device on her car.

“It’s me, Mari,” she called as she opened the front door.

“Hi, Laurel.” Mari sounded far away, probably upstairs.

Laurel kicked off her shoes and grabbed the mail off the side table in the foyer where Mari always put it. Three cards, most likely sympathy, four bills, and the inevitable ads. She tossed the ads—one of which she saw was from Dr. Gunderson’s office—in a recycle can inside the foyer closet.

She opened one of the cards as she came to the living room. She glanced in, somehow expecting to see her father pacing the thick, white carpet like he had done a thousand times before. No one was there, of course, but she shivered. The room still held so much of him, including the lingering scent of his aftershave. Would she always be able to smell it in this room? She took a deep breath and pretended he was here with her.

She walked across the hallway into the formal dining room to close the drapes. Her father had always insisted it be done before the late afternoon sun shone on the Persian rug and caused it to fade. Turning back, she took in what was probably the most expensive room in the entire house. She saw it every day, but without her father to point out what he loved about it, the room just seemed cold and pretentious. It contained a twelve-foot-long oak table with twelve high-backed chairs upholstered in gold brocade. A matching buffet stood along one wall. Candles sitting atop a dainty white doily gave no clue to what the cupboards and drawers held.

“Mari, can you come into the dining room?” Laurel called out.

Mari came into the room a couple of minutes later. “What is it?”

Laurel sighed. “I need to figure out what I’m going to do with all this stuff.” She pointed at the buffet.

Mari opened a drawer and Laurel peered in at the silverware. “Isn’t this just the ugliest pattern you’ve ever seen?”

“It’s difficult to polish,” Mari said.

“I can’t imagine my mother, or any woman, picking out something this horrible.”

She opened a cupboard filled with complete table settings for twelve of Royal Copenhagen Flora Danica fine china. Laurel found a dozen settings too much since Gerald had never had that many people over for dinner ever, never mind all at one time. There were also sugar bowls, a cake plate, serving trays, gravy boats and other items to complete a set of china—each piece costing in the thousands. Two shelves contained Waterford crystal goblets and water glasses. “This stuff is worth a small fortune. I wonder if it was his rainy day stash, or if he was just a compulsive collector.”

Mari took out a plate and ran her hand over it. “I like the pattern.”

“Would you like to have the set of china?”

Mari was so startled, she nearly dropped the plate. Quickly, she put it back in the cupboard. “What would I do with it? Maybe you’ll want to start having parties here.”

“I’d rather you had it. Think about it,” she said.

Mari promised she would and left the dining room. Laurel hoped she hadn’t made her uncomfortable.

Laurel herself preferred the everyday dishes. When she was allowed to have a friend over, even though most of them were wealthy, they would either gush over her father’s possessions or make fun of them. She heard the words
garish
and
ugly
enough from her honest friends, she began to see her father’s things in the same light. When he wasn’t home, she toned down her wardrobe and everything else. It was the only way she could rebel against him successfully.

She followed Mari, and went into the kitchen. She got a wineglass from her drugstore collection. She bet the wine didn’t taste any better in Waterford than it did in her cheapo glass. After filling her glass, she sat in the breakfast nook and picked up the cordless phone. She punched in ‘4’ and listened to it ring.

“Kraft,” said a deep voice on the other end. Laurel’s heart beat faster.

“Dylan, it’s Laurel. Could you come over for dinner? I have something I need to discuss with you.” There was a silence on the line. “Uh, no quiche, I promise,” she said.

“In that case, how can I say no? What time?”

She looked at her watch. It was already five-thirty. “Seven?”

“I’ll be there.”

After Laurel hung up, she sat sipping her wine. Dylan’s voice was still in her head
. I must
really be losing it.
She’d never given him a thought in all the years she’d known him. Now it seemed she was thinking of him in ways her father wouldn’t have liked and that weren’t particularly comfortable to her—the hired help, for heaven’s sake. But just because he worked for her didn’t mean he wasn’t great looking, kind and . . . or
did
he work for her, she wondered, remembering Gerald’s letter.

“Oh, go away,” she commanded her thoughts. She went to find Mari and tell her there would be an extra person for dinner.

At seven on the dot, the doorbell rang. Mari answered it.

“Dylan! You’ve never bothered to ring before.”

“I’ve never been invited to dinner by the mistress of the house before,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“I decided on T-bone steaks. I know you like them.”

“My mouth is watering already.” He went into the living room, stopping briefly to pick up a flyer off the floor. In the living room, his glance went to the pictures of Laurel on the mantel.

Mari followed his gaze. “She has always been pretty.”

Dylan shrugged. “I guess so.”

“She should be right down.” Mari left him standing in the middle of the living room, alone among pictures of Laurel. He looked down at the flyer he’d picked up. It was from Dr. Miles Gunderson’s office.
What on earth is this doing here
? He had a momentary touch of panic. Before he could think about it any further, Laurel walked into the room. Her dark green dress clung to her curves and complemented her auburn hair and green eyes. He gulped.

“What can I get you to drink?”

“Scotch,” he managed to croak, forcing himself to look away.

“Okay. I don’t do mixed drinks, so if you want ice, help yourself. Then, come into the breakfast nook if you don’t mind.” She slipped out of the room.

He smiled. She thought she was so worldly, yet she didn’t even know Scotch rocks would hardly be considered a mixed drink. He poured himself a generous portion of Macallan 30 and shot back more than a sip. He savored the slight aromatic orange scent and the incredible smoothness when he swallowed. He had Gerald to thank for introducing him to the best.
Ice indeed.
No self-respecting person would have Macallan any way but neat.

When Dylan made his way into the kitchen nook, he found Laurel at the table, finishing a glass of Perrier. He sat opposite her, put his glass on the table, and held out the brochure. She took it, and her face reddened.

“Where’d you get this?” she said.

“It was on the floor in the foyer.”

“Oh. I must have missed the recycle can. It came in the mail,” she said. She crushed the brochure between her hands and tossed it toward the trashcan on the other side of the nook. It landed inside the can.

“Two points,” she and Dylan said at the same time. They looked at each other and laughed.

Mari brought in plates and flatware from the buffet.

“Why are you using these?” Laurel said. “It seems kind of incongruous in the nook.”

Mari shrugged. “A dinner date should be special.”

“But this isn’t—”

Dylan interrupted her. “It’s perfect, Mari. A fitting tribute to Gerald.”

Mari agreed and went back into the kitchen. She reappeared with a platter that held two perfectly cooked steaks. She put the platter on the table and retraced her steps. She came back with a bowl of coleslaw and four ears of corn.

“Smells wonderful,” Laurel said.

“You two enjoy.”

“We will, definitely,” Dylan said, helping himself to a steak.

They ate without speaking. Dylan didn’t have anything to say to Laurel, and if she had something to say to him, she was being coy. Finally, when they were both full, they looked at each other wondering what was next.

“More scotch?” Laurel said.

Dylan shook his head. “I’ve had plenty.”

“Well, I’m having a glass of wine. Would you like some?”

“Sure, why not? What are you drinking?”

“Chardonnay, but I can get you any kind you want.”

“Chardonnay is fine.”

Her hips swayed as she went to the refrigerator and poured two glasses. He turned away when she came back to the table.

“So why are we here?” he said after taking a drink of wine and wishing he’d stuck with scotch.

“I want to ask you something, but I’m not quite sure how to do it without raising red flags.”

“I’m sure you didn’t invite me to seduce me, much as I might like that. It sounds like you already think I’ll be suspicious, so just get to the point.” He could have kicked himself for saying that and hoped he had covered it so she didn’t notice. When he glanced at her, he could see she had caught it all right.

“You’re right. Seduction is out of the question,” she teased.

“One can always hope,” he said, keeping his tone light.

“Yes, one can,” she agreed. Her expression became serious. “Do you know how to pick a lock?”

Dylan was stunned. That was the last thing he expected. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Yes, but I can’t believe what I heard. How did we get from sex to larceny?”

“I prefer larceny.”

“I don’t,” he said.

“Oh, really?”

“Really. Where is this going? Unless you think I’m up to no good, steeped in illicitness—or . . . or what?”

She put her elbows on the table and leaned forward, cupping her chin in the palms of her hands. “Time to come clean, Kraft,” she said, her tone firm.

“Clever girl. Ply me with food and drink, then stick the knife in when I’m off guard. Fortunately for me, you don’t know how to play the game like I do, but I’ll give you some rope, see where it goes.”

“That’s big of you. So?”

He raised his hands, palms toward her. “I don’t know what you mean.

“Why are you really here?”

“You invited me. Are you sorry you did? I hope not because that wouldn’t be fair to Mari. She made a great dinner and it’s going to churn around in my stomach all because of you.”

She rose and went to a drawer in the kitchen. When she returned, she tossed a bottle of antacids to him. He caught it before it hit the table.

She sat back down. “Why are you really here, Dylan Kraft?” she repeated, more firmly.

“You read your father’s letter.”

“Yes, and therein lies the problem. What are you supposed to protect me from?”

“That’s not what the letter said. I believe Gerald’s words were ‘watch over her’.”

Laurel let out a sigh. “Answer the question.”

“Bad guys.”

She looked incredulous. “That’s all? Just bad guys?”

“Yep.”

“Which bad guys might those be?”

“The ones you need protection from.”

“God, I feel like a hamster on an exercise wheel, going round and round but getting nowhere.”

“Maybe we should return to the subject of picking locks,” he said.

“Oh, we will, trust me. But if there’s some danger, wouldn’t I be better off knowing what it is? I’m a black belt. I’m a steady shot. I can take care of myself, but only if I know what to look for.”

The look in her eyes was part fire, part pleading. “You’re right,” he said, feeling as if he had made some kind of peace with himself.

Laurel looked wary. “You agree?”

“Unfortunately, you make perfect sense.”

“So why don’t you tell me about the bad guys.”

“Because I promised your father I’d keep you out of it.”

“Out of what?”

“It.”

She picked up her wineglass and stood. “Let’s go into the living room. It’s getting chilly in here.”

“I’ll be right there.” He stopped to pour his wine down the drain before following her into the living room, where he helped himself to another scotch.

“Sit.” She indicated an overstuffed sofa.

She sat in a straight-backed chair, no doubt feeling superior to him as he was surrounded by plump cushions. He felt off-balance and foolish.

“Okay, continuing where we left off, who are the bad guys?”

The expression on his face was meant to convey that he wasn’t going to give her an advantage. He heaved himself off the couch and stood in front of her, trying to be as intimidating as possible. She smirked.
She knows exactly what I’m doing.

“I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you,” he said.

She groaned. “How cliché. Okay. How about this. You do martial arts?”

“Several.”

“Tae Kwon Do?”

He nodded.

Her face lit up. “Black belt? I’m a second degree.”

“Sixth degree.”

“I challenge you to a match. If I win, you tell all.”

Dylan raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “Can’t do it.”

“Why not? Scared?”

“Quaking in my boots.”

“I can tell. The real reason, please.”

“You’re only a second degree.”