Gilt (20 page)

"Are you ready for a snack?" my mother asked from the hallway.

I whirled. She and Dan stood near the door, peering into my room. John was gone. I set the picture back on the desk. "Sure," I said, almost bolting past them.

Dan peered into the room, frowning. "I thought I saw someone." He shrugged. "Nothing."

I led the way down the stairs, not daring to glance back lest I see John standing there. Dan walked with my mother, both of them meandering along. I think Dan was keeping pace with her, and when we reached the lower set of stairs, he confirmed this by moving quicker to catch up to me. "Are you okay?" he asked in a low voice. "You look pale."

"I'm fine." I waited at the bottom of the steps for Mom. "I'm surprised they didn't transfer Portia to Mankato," I said, more to divert my mind from John's appearance than to discuss my aunt's hospital options. "That has the nearest big hospital."

"I think her doctor felt it would be better to have her in town, where her friends can visit. We're lucky to have such a good hospital here," Penny said over her shoulder as we went through the hall to the kitchen.

Dan and I took seats at the square maple table in the middle of the room. Three black coffee mugs sat in the middle near a plate holding what appeared to be donut-holes-on-a-stick. "What are these?" I picked up one and examined it.

"Donut hole pops," Penny said with a laugh. "I saw the recipe in a magazine. All my friends love them."

Dan picked up a chocolate-covered donut and took a bite. "Wow. Spicy."

"That's the Mexican chocolate one," Penny said over her shoulder. "It's got cayenne in the frosting."

I bit into a swirly one that looked like a chocolate-and-peanut-butter miniature planet. "I want this recipe," I said around a bite.

She came to the table, coffee pot in hand. "I already made a copy. I thought you'd like it." After pouring us each a cup of coffee, she sat across from me, with Dan between us at the end of the table. She nudged the small tray holding sugar and cream toward me. "I'm so glad you came. I know Portia's anxious to see you and Amy. I think she's feeling her mortality."

Mortality? I almost choked on my swallow of coffee. I had not really considered what John's appearance meant about a life after death, but Mom's words made me wonder. Where was John when he wasn't with me? Could he get in touch with Dan's wife? I sipped my coffee, my brain reeling with the idea that Dan's late wife and my late husband might be gossiping about us in the afterlife, maybe with an angel or two hovering nearby and laughing.

"...by now, so she'll be ready." My mother regarded me over the brim of her mug.

"What?" I couldn't shake the mental image of John, tsking over my behavior.

"I said Portia is already getting bored with the hospital, so she'll be ready for company. We should probably go to her house this afternoon and get a room ready for Amy. Portia is Amy's only living blood relative in town," Penny explained to Dan in an aside. "I was thinking you and Genny might want to stay at the farm. There's a lot more room there."

"No," I said.

"Yes," Dan said. I started to protest and he said, "Your sister-in-law might like the company. I'm sure it's lonely, with neighbors so far away." His eyes met mine and his intent stare told me...what? I wasn't sure why, but I could tell he wanted to be there.

"Well, maybe until Portia comes home," I conceded. "We'll keep Amy company."

He nodded slightly. "We can go there this afternoon and get the rooms ready. I'd like to earn my keep somehow."

"Well, that would be nice." Penny beamed at him. "I wanted to do a spot of baking this afternoon, maybe make a cake for card club tomorrow. I've got the usual group--Becky Bennington, Claire Johnson, and Delores Packer."

"Bennington?" Dan put on a suitably innocent expression as he looked from me to Mom. "Is she related to that man I met? Michael Bennington?"

"Yep." I turned to Penny, knowing I couldn't meet Dan's gaze while he talked about Michael. My face would give away our suspicions immediately. "Mom, I talked to Michael last night. He said he was coming home for a visit."

"Will wonders never cease?" Penny murmured dryly. "I thought Michael had shaken off the dust of Tangle Butte. Becky constantly complains that he never comes home for visits. I have to admit, I don't really care for Michael." Penny held up the coffee pot, which was sitting on a lumpy red and blue crocheted trivet that appeared suspiciously like one I made in junior high. "More coffee?"

Dan held out his mug. "Thanks. Why do you think you feel that way?"

Clever
, I thought.
He's asking her to analyze her suspicions. He'll get a ton more information that way
. I filed away that little technique for use later.

My mother filled his coffee mug before setting down the pot and picking up her own mug, staring thoughtfully into its steam. "Michael was always sly," she finally said. "He was clever. You know how some children are very straightforward and open." Her eyes went to me. "Sam is like that. It's a charming trait. And some children appear open but they're a tiny bit sly. Jimmy is like that. And some children appear open and they're very sly. Michael was like that. I always had the feeling that if you poked at Michael, you'd see the real him behind the gloss, do you know what I mean? You needed to scratch the surface to see what was underneath."

"That's true of a lot of people, though, isn't it?" Dan asked, regarding me over his mug of coffee. "We all hide part of ourselves, don't we? To protect ourselves?"

I didn't want to analyze that statement. "I always think of Michael as one of those gilt angels you see in a shop on Valentine's Day. Chip at the gilt and you'll see there's only cardboard underneath. Where did I fall on the Slyness Spectrum?" I asked around a bite of donut.

Penny smiled sweetly at me. "You're in the try-and-fail category, Eugenia."

Dan coughed. "Eugenia?"

I ignored his amusement at my given name. "What do you mean? I can be as sly as the next guy."

Penny raised her eyebrows to indicate her disbelief. "Not unless the next guy is a bunny rabbit. You don't have a duplicitous bone in your body." When I started to protest, she continued, her voice overriding my words. "Unlike Michael Bennington. He's been married three times, and each time was a bigger disaster than the last." She sipped her coffee demurely. "Of course, that's according to his mother, but I do tend to believe her, even though Becky Bennington acts like she doesn't have the brains that God gave a goose." She tipped her head toward Dan. "Becky and I play cards together quite often and I can tell you, that dumb blonde routine of hers is an act. She's as sharp as a tack and twice as hard."

"Cards? Bridge?" he asked.

"And poker. Every Saturday at the Senior Activity Center. I suppose Michael gets his acting ability from her."

I was quite familiar with my mother's cut-throat poker antics but they appeared to take Dan by surprise. He gaped at her but she ignored it. "And there's the business of that investment club," Penny said. "That was bad."

"What happened?" I considered another donut but restrained myself when I remembered how good Dan looked in his exercise clothes in contrast to me. I needed to watch those calories and if I wasn't careful, I'd be watching those calories land on my butt.

Penny tapped one heavily veined hand on the polished maple of the tabletop. Arthritis was starting to take its toll and I felt a pang at seeing how knobby two of her knuckles were. How long would it be before she had to quit knitting, a hobby she pursued with style and passion? I hoped it would be a long, long time. "Michael formed a club with Rob Shaffer from the bank, Portia, Ike Bernstein from the newspaper, David Howland who has a farm west of town, and a couple of other people."

"Ike?" My hand was inching toward the donut pops. I resolutely picked up my coffee instead. "He's not rich."

"None of them are really rich, not in a city-way, but they're well enough off to toss in a few thousand dollars into a pot." Penny sipped her coffee, her amused eyes telling me she had seen my aborted foray toward the food. "I got the story from both Ike and Portia."

"What happened?" Dan asked. "It must not have been illegal since Mr. Bennington is still walking around, a free man."

"Well, maybe it was and maybe it wasn't." Penny nodded, looking like a wise Buddha with a smug smile. She was enjoying her little spot of gossip. "The way both Ike and Portia describe it, Michael suggested they invest in a business that was not strictly legal."

I almost dropped my coffee mug. "What?"

"I can tell you, I'm glad I didn't join that club. There's nothing wrong with a few good bonds and solid stocks." Penny regarded Dan with polite curiosity. "I suppose your retirement funds are managed by a pension group?"

I almost rolled my eyes. Trust my mother to try to evaluate Dan's financial stability.

"Part pension, part investment," Dan said. His lips twitched and I could tell he had seen through her politeness. After all, he was a parent, too. He probably knew all the tricks a parent used to evaluate a potential mate.

Mate? My eyes bugged open slightly. Where did
that
thought come from? Dan and I exchanged a kiss and nothing more. I wasn't going to climb into bed with the guy no matter how sexy he was.

My eyes bugged open even wider. Where did
that
thought come from? Sexy? I mean, okay, he had a great body. The leg...I hadn't even thought about it much in the last day. I suppose a lost leg didn't mean a man couldn't--it might be awkward, but--when were his kids born? I frowned in thought. No, they were already born when he was injured, so I couldn't take their existence as proof that he could, well, he could, you know...

I sat back in my chair, stunned at the turn my brain had taken. Good Lord, if this is what menopause did to a woman, why weren't middle-aged women running around having sex with all and sundry?
Probably because not everyone wants to have sex with them,
I decided
. After all, as I told Dan, it's not as though--

"Earth calling Genny," Dan said with a laugh, his hand covering mine on the table. He squeezed gently and a rush of warmth went through me.

"Sorry," I said, my face getting hot. "I was daydreaming."

He regarded me with his head tilted to one side, his reddish brown hair curling slightly around his temples. Once again I was struck by his luxurious eyelashes, framing his warm brown eyes, eyes that regarded me with speculation.

I pulled my gaze away from his and turned my attention to my mother. "Hmm?"

Penny continued, her eyes straying to my hand. "As I was saying, Michael suggested they invest in a company that appeared to be fine on the surface. But you know Portia. She decided to do her homework."

"What did she do?" I asked.

Dan's index finger slowly stroked the back of my hand, running over the bones in a faint, tantalizing touch. It was one of the most delicate sensations I've ever felt, like a warm, soft, feather playing with my skin or a little caterpillar gently nudging his way along my skin.

"She googled them," Penny said.

Dan's stroking continued, the very tip of his fingernail running in between my fingers as though questing, probing. "What did she find when she googled?" His voice seemed lower, more husky than usual.

I swallowed hard again. Unaccustomed warmth was starting to make me tingle in places that hadn't tingled for a long, long time.

"At first she thought it was a legitimate company, but she found a few old news articles about it." Penny glanced at my hand being fondled by Dan and one gray eyebrow quirked upward. "The articles suggested that one of those awful motorcycle gang had ties to a man on the board of directors of the company. The man resigned from the board, but Portia still didn't feel comfortable investing with a company that might have ties to organized crime."

Dan's hand had stilled on mine. "Really? Do you recall when this happened?"

Penny looked thoughtfully at the window where sunlight was starting to inch into the room, shadows dancing on the floor from the trees outside. "It was a few years ago. They disbanded the club four years ago, I think." She frowned. "Yes, about four years. It was the same year Amy's son, poor Mark Nimmer, died."

Dan resumed his delicate touching. The calluses on his palm rasped on my hand and I shivered suddenly as I thought of how his hands would feel on my body. "Is that why you wouldn't trust Mr. Bennington?" he asked. "Because of the club?"

"No, I tend to be charitable about such things. I don't think he deliberately tried to fool the investors. I don't trust Michael because I don't trust anyone who forgets where they come from. He and John grew up middle-class, and John never forgot it. But Michael loves to flaunt his fancy car and his pretty house. I don't trust Michael because appearances are so very important to him. Anyone who cares that much about what someone else thinks is unstable." She raised one finger when I started to interrupt. "Perhaps unstable is the incorrect word. I think Michael would be prone to do anything to preserve the image he presents to the world."

I started to scoff but I remembered Michael's hard, cold stare the previous night when he talked about Aunt Portia's land. "I heard a developer is interested in Portia's farm."