In the Midnight Rain (5 page)

"I know that picture." Rosemary smiled. "She was something else, all right. My father used to tell stories about her—he never really got over . . . it." She glanced down, plucked an imaginary bit of lint from her skirt. "He kept every letter she ever wrote him, which you're welcome to look at, as I said. My sister Florence said there were some journals, too, but I haven't a clue where they are."

Journals. Ellie kept her face expressionless with effort. The letters and photos would be an enormous help, but she hadn't even known any journals existed. "All right," she said, tamping down her excitement. "But. . . well, journals are an excellent source. If you could ask around a little, see if someone might know where they are, it would be an enormous help."

"I will."

Blue came in, carrying a thick paperback novel he'd obviously stopped to examine. Curious, Ellie tilted her head to see the cover.
The Nero Wolfe Omnibus.

"Sounds like you two didn't need my introduction at all," he commented.

"No, sir, we did not," Rosemary said. "In my experience, two women very rarely need a man for anything."

Blue held up the can of lubricant. "Except for the odd lock trouble." His hair, streaky like a lion's mane, fell over his forehead, and his eyes lit with the quick mischief that gave such an appealing aspect to his beautiful face.

Looking at him, Ellie suddenly realized there couldn't be many women who didn't give at least passing thought to the idea of him in their beds. It was an aura some men had, something that promised he knew where to linger and what to do.

Her gaze fell to his hands.

"You better watch out for this one, Ellie," Rosemary said, her voice only partly teasing. "Anybody tell you that yet?"

Ellie looked up at Blue. "I already figured it out."

Last night, Ellie had seen that he was attracted to her. Even when they thought they were being sly, men were not particularly subtle. It had made her nervous and she'd pretended not to notice. And then, when he'd been going through her CDs, she'd picked up a distinct sense of dismay or disappointment or something. He had walls. The charming Southern boy, the flirt and the tease, those were the man he put on show.

Looking at him now, she caught a hint of the other man. The one who drank late at night and found companionship in newsgroups. Lost, maybe. Definitely alone.

She sighed inwardly. Of course he was lost. Ellie had a brilliant knack for finding doomed and beautiful men, men who'd suffered every conceivable kind of abuse and disaster, men condemned to early graves from drink or hopelessness or an inability to bear one more thing. She didn't know what Blue's story was, but it was so obviously the same type that she felt a bite of annoyance at herself. The signs had all been there if she'd had bothered to take three seconds to see them.

After her last crash and burn—with a bass violinist with the Cincinnati Orchestra—she'd taken the oath:
I, Ellie Connor, do solemnly vow to date only sane, stable men from now on.
It was a vow she intended to keep.

She turned to Rosemary. "Would it be possible to set up a time when I might start reviewing those letters and pictures? It may take me several weeks. Will you be comfortable having me take them to my cottage, or shall I plan to work with them where they are?"

Rosemary looked troubled. "I would rather you didn't take them off anywhere," she said.

"Not a problem. I understand completely. When would be a good time?"

"I reckon you can work up there most any day. They're up in my attic. How about tomorrow? Meet me about seven, and I'll get you set up and you can work as long as you need to. My housekeeper will be there if you need anything."

"That would be wonderful." Ellie stood up and held out her hand. "I am so delighted I can't tell you."

Rosemary took her hand and inclined her head and smiled. "There are some others who might have stories about Mabel to tell. Why don't you come over here tomorrow night? We have a book group. I'm sure they'd love to talk to a writer, and there might be a couple of people who'll have some ideas and insights for you.

Ellie hesitated. She had a lot of work to do and evenings were prime time for her creative side. She had rules about keeping evenings to herself.

But then she thought of the women who would gather at such a meeting. Rosemary was of an age to remember the summer Ellie was conceived. There were probably others—and such an informal setting would be an excellent way to gather information without revealing anything of herself. "Okay," she said. "What time and where?"

"Seven. Right here." Rosemary turned and pulled a book off the shelf. "This is the book we're discussing this week. Take a look if you have time."

Ellie glanced at the cover, which had an attractive strip painting between the title and the author's name. "I'll try."

"That's all any of us can ask, now isn't it?

3

O
utside, Blue still stung a teeny bit from Ellie's nonverbal but very definite rejection. Rejection of what? He scowled. Wasn't like he was making a play for her. Wasn't planning to, either. He liked women and they liked him back, and he didn't see anything wrong with a little light flirtation.

A nerve jumped under his eye and he blinked against it just as a voice sailed out a door as they passed. "Blue Reynard, if you walk by and don't stop to say hello, I'll butcher that hair of yours next time."

Tugged back to the normal world, he cocked his head and grinned through the screen. Connie was a balm for his wounded ego, and he found himself wanting to show Ellie there were women who didn't look at him like a cricket in the kitchen—nice music and all, but too much like a cockroach to bear inside.

"Well now, darlin'," he drawled through the screen door, "I was just lost in thought there for a minute. You know I'd never miss a chance to visit with my favorite hairdresser."

On the other side of a screen door, Connie Ewing braced a comb in a customer's hair and put a hand on her hip. "That's more like it."

Ellie had stopped beside him, and he touched her elbow in a directive gesture, opening the screen to let her go ahead of him into the shop.

The girl in Connie's chair squealed and covered her face. "Mother! You do this to me every time! Men should not be allowed in a beauty parlor!"

"Salon,
girl," Connie said with the air of having said something a million times.

Blue chuckled and swung into the empty chair beside Connie's daughter. Shauna, not quite seventeen, pressed the plastic cape up to her face with a mortified groan. He tugged it down to uncover one green eye. "Boo."

She kicked at him and he swung away easily, laughing. On the other side of him was Alisha Williams. "Ellie," he said, holding out his hand to draw her over, "come meet Marcus's wife."

To her credit, Ellie didn't show even a flicker of surprise as she held out her hand to the tall, slim black woman with hair in braids to her waist—who was much younger than Marcus. "How do you do?" Ellie said.

"Nice to meet you," Alisha said. "Marcus told me you were coming to do a biography on Mabel Beauvais. I think that's real nice."

The woman sitting in Alisha's chair, an elderly black woman Blue didn't know well, whirled around. "Is that right?" she asked eagerly.

Ellie smiled. "Yes. Did you know her, by any chance?"

"Girl, I went to school with her!"

"That's terrific." Ellie shot Blue an open-eyed look, questioning, and he nodded. "Would you be willing to let me interview you?"

Blue, sitting to one side, saw the woman's face close. Instantly. Completely. "Oh, heavens, it's been such a long time and my memory isn't what it used to be. I don't think you'd find out anything from me that you couldn't get better from just about anybody in town."

"You might be surprised what you remember," Ellie said, her posture easy and unthreatening. "I'd buy you lunch at your favorite place in town if you'd just talk to me for an hour."

"Oh, let her take you to that little English tea place up in Tyler," Alisha said. "Have some of those little biscuits you like so much."

The old woman pursed her lips. "Well, I don't know. It's been a million years since Mabel left us. Don't know as I recall that much that would help." Cannily she added, "Do you like tea rooms?"

Ellie grinned, and Blue found himself noticing her lips again. A mouth in a million. He looked away, hearing her say, "Love them. Can I call you? Is it a date?"

"Let me think about it a day or two, sugar."

"All right. I'm staying at Blue's cottage, so you can reach me any time."

Connie made a purring noise. "Ooh, honey, you come on over here and tell me all about it." She gave a coy wiggle of her shoulders, a gesture she knew displayed her considerable bosom to good advantage. Blue grinned appreciatively and she winked at him.

"Does he leave his window shades open?"

Ellie laughed and lifted one eyebrow, leaning in close to say in a low voice, "I'll let you know."

"Good girl."

Blue shook his head, knowing Connie never meant a word of it. Although widowed three years before, she remained true thus far to her husband's memory. Not that the single men of Gideon weren't trying. Connie had been a bombshell every minute of her years on the planet. "Darlin'," he said now, "I keep telling you I'd be glad to give you a private viewing. You just say the word."

From beneath the plastic apron, Shauna Ewing moaned. "Will y'all stop it, please? My virgin ears are burning."

Blue lightly kicked her foot. She'd had a massive crush on him the year before, but had suddenly and abruptly gotten over it. Connie told him she thought Shauna had transferred the crush to somebody she met at camp, but the teenager wasn't talking.

Alisha spoke. "You ought to bring Ellie on down for dinner some night soon, Blue."

"I can do that."

Blue realized he was leaning back in the chair, watching Ellie. He found himself admiring the line of her cheek again, and frowned. It was one thing for a man to like the look of a mouth—natural to imagine all kinds of things in relation to mouths. Quite another ball game to start thinking a cheek was sweet. He jumped up. "I've gotta get myself to work, ladies. You can talk to Ellie tomorrow—she'll be at your book group."

"Will you?" Alisha asked. "I'm going. I'll pick you up if you want. It's on my way."

"Terrific. I'll look forward to it." She smiled in an open way. "It was nice to meet all of you."

Connie frowned suddenly. "You have any kin around here, Ellie? You sure look familiar."

Blue almost missed the flicker of alarm that passed over Ellie's face. In the next second it was gone, and she was shaking her head firmly. "Not that I know of." She lifted a hand. "See you all tomorrow night."

Ellie had a secret. Interesting.

* * *

Blue was quiet as they started back to Fox's Creek. Ellie picked up the fat paperback between them on the seat. "Isn't Rex Stout a mystery writer from the fifties or something?"

"Thirties." He paused at a stop sign and let an eighteen wheeler lumber by. "Have you ever read any Nero Wolfe?"

She turned the book over to read the back. "I've heard of him. A detective, right?"

A nod as he waited for traffic from the other direction. "Very colorful fella. He was my daddy's favorite, and I found a whole stack of them in his study when I was about eleven or twelve. Read them all, back to back." The road cleared. Blue shifted and gunned the truck across the narrow two-lane highway. "I thought Nero Wolfe was the greatest guy on the planet."

Ellie found herself loving the sound of his voice again, so musical, with its deep notes and slow pace. "Why?"

For a minute he was silent, and Ellie had the sense that he was deciding what was safe and what wasn't. "He's this really fat guy who sends out his people to collect facts about his cases, and he has a gourmet chef. He's kind of a beer connoisseur"—he shot her a sideways grin—"but the thing I loved was that he collected orchids. He has a plant room at the top of his house, and he spends two hours every morning and two hours every evening taking care of them."

She thought of the greenhouses. "What's the Ph.D. in, Doctor?" she asked. "Horticulture?"

"Close. Botany."

Ellie laughed, unable to help herself. "Really?"

A reluctant lift of one side of his mouth, a sidelong glance. "I know, I know. Geeky, huh? Everybody around here thinks it's a big joke, too. I just never got the hang of idleness."

"So are those greenhouses full of orchids, like Nero Wolfe's?"

He looked straight at her, the blue glittering. "Guess you'll just have to meander over and find out, won't you, Miz Connor?"

Now why did that sound so dangerous? She put the book down. "Guess I will."

If asked, Ellie would have guessed his degrees were in something esoteric and essentially useless—philosophy or history, perhaps. His posts had been brilliant and sometimes arcane in that way. She also would have guessed he made an art form of idleness, simply from the huge amount of time he seemed to spend in the newsgroups.