Love in the Morning (19 page)

Nona pushed a bowl of spinach artichoke dip across the table. “You do need to eat something. You look like you're running on fumes yourself.”

Lizzy picked up a pita chip and munched, which reminded her she was, in fact, hungry. She plunged another pita chip into the dip. “That reminds me—did you tell Jolene at Menninger's who I was?”

Nona gave her a puzzled look. “Jolene? No. I haven't told anybody except for Dick and Ronnie. I told you I'd keep it quiet.”

“I know,” Lizzy said quickly. “Thanks. Jolene seems to know, though. She got me out of the store pretty quick after the ladies came in.”

Nona shook her head. “Aw, honey, lots of people around town probably know. It's not like we're living in the outback here. They might've seen the show and remember.”

Lizzy closed her eyes for a moment.
Terrific.
“I didn't realize. I thought since nobody mentioned it maybe they didn't know.”

Nona selected another chip for herself. “Just because they know doesn't mean they'll say anything about it to you. Or to anybody else. Hell, once the news got out about how good the breakfast is at Praeger House nobody gave a good goddamn what you'd done before you got here. And, of course, now you're local.”

Lizzy blinked. “I am?”

“Sure. You live here, you work here, you drink here. That makes you local. And those TV jerks aren't from around here. Makes a difference.” She popped the dip-laden chip into her mouth.

“Yeah. As long as you can refrain from poisoning anybody else, the town of Salt Box should be thoroughly on your side.” Dick took a generous swallow of his beer.

“Oh put a sock in it,” Nona snapped. “Don't be a snotty old coot for once. We may need your expertise on this.”

“As usual, Nona, you can have my expertise any time you want it.” Dick waggled his eyebrows in her direction.

Amazingly, Nona's cheeks flushed pink. “I'm not likely to want it if you keep on being an asshole,” she muttered.

Lizzy shook her head. “Even if Amber recognized me, I don't think she could track me down. She doesn't know where I work.”

“Depends on how determined she is, I guess.” Nona reached for another chip. “But on the whole, I'd say you're safe—you were just there for a minute, and they've got other things to think about now.”

“Like what?”

“If it's like it was for the other show they filmed here, the director and the writers have to figure out what they're going to do with these women and where they want to do it. Then they have to set up the shooting schedule and get permissions. It's not like they just have people follow those dames around with cameras.” Dick reached for a chip of his own.

Actually, that was pretty much what they'd done at Teresa's house, but maybe that was an unusual case. “They have writers on these shows?”

Dick nodded. “According to Paul Dewitt, who used to work for these people, God save his soul, the writers figure out how to get the people to interact. Then when said interaction has taken place, they sit down and help edit the whole thing into shape. The director figures out the continuity, the order of the episodes. Sometimes they come up with dialogue they want the poor suckers on camera to use, but not always.”

Lizzy shook her head. The whole production had seemed pretty random when she'd been at Teresa's house, but she hadn't been paying that much attention. First she'd been trying to get the food served and then she'd been trying to keep herself from sinking under the disaster.

Nona's voice cut through her musings. “I just thought of something. Would that woman at Menninger's, the one who knew your cousin, would she know your real name?”

Dick turned toward her, eyebrows raised. “Lizzy Apodaca isn't your real name?”

Lizzy sighed. “Lizzy Apodaca is absolutely my real name. Well, Annalisa Apodaca, but Lizzy was always my nickname. Teresa doesn't go by Apodaca, though. When she was an actress she was Teresa Antonio, so she asked me to be Annalisa Antonio for the show. It didn't matter to me. My business was Annalisa's Catering, so having a different last name wasn't going to keep people from knowing who I was.” Unfortunately.

“But would this Amber know you're really Lizzy Apodaca?” Nona's eyes were sharp.

“She might not,” Lizzy said slowly. “But if she tells Teresa she saw me, of course Teresa will know.” And she'd come looking. Of that, Lizzy was absolutely certain. Teresa wouldn't rest until she'd settled her scores with Lizzy, which might well involve making sure Lizzy never cooked again anywhere.

She took a large swallow of her beer. If only she hadn't turned back toward Menninger's. If only Amber hadn't recognized her. If only, if only.

“Keep your head down.” Dick shook his head as he picked up his beer. “Same advice as before—lay low until they leave town.”

“I intend to. I'm going to stay strictly in the Praeger House kitchen from now on.”

Chapter Nineteen

Clark debated heading to the Blarney Stone to find Lizzy, but he really wanted to talk to her in private. Not that he didn't appreciate Dick and Nona's help, but he wanted to make sure Lizzy didn't decide to bolt when he told her about the
Lovely Ladies of LA
at the Gala.

He stood at the side of the lobby waiting for her to come back, telling himself this didn't represent stalking. They just needed to have a conversation. Alone. Together.

From across the room, the desk clerk glanced at him curiously. Clark decided not to notice.

Finally, the front door swung open and Lizzy stepped inside, coming to a halt when she saw him standing there. “Hi. What's the problem?”

He managed a frown. “What problem?”

“The problem that was important enough that you actually came out here to wait for me.” She gave him a dry smile. “I assume it isn't the Menninger's thing since you didn't come to the Blarney Stone to hash that out.”

He thought about asking her what she was talking about, but he didn't want to get sidetracked. “I talked to Lauren today.”

Lizzy's shoulders immediately tensed. He didn't blame her—these days, nothing from Lauren was good.

“She says the
Lovely Ladies
show is going to film some scenes at the Best of the Box Gala. The women will be walking around the room sampling some of the food.” He figured if he just blurted it all out, they could move beyond it that much sooner.

Or maybe not. Lizzy's face seemed to go a few shades paler.

“We'll figure something out,” he muttered. Although, of course, he didn't have a clue about what that
something
might be.

She shook her head. “No, we won't. There's no way around this, is there? I have to be there—front and center. Desi can't run the booth by himself.”

“Maybe we can set it up so that you're back in the kitchen cooking,” he said a little desperately. “What are we serving anyway?”

She shrugged. “I haven't decided on the menu entirely. Probably mini-muffins and samples of one of the main dishes. Maybe hash.”

“Desi can handle that. You can stay back here if you want to.”

She shook her head again. “Desi's not the chef. Having him out there alone puts more on his shoulders than he should have to carry. And I should be there in case anything goes wrong.”

“We'll figure something out,” he repeated.

She put a hand on the wall to steady herself, and he moved forward almost automatically, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her close. For a moment she seemed to be digging in her heels. But then she relaxed and her head fell against his shoulder.

Without really thinking about it, he began walking up the hall toward his apartment, moving her along with him. He unlocked the door, nudging her through and then kicking it closed behind them.

Lizzy stared up at him with tired eyes. For the first time, he noticed the dark smudges beneath them. He hadn't really thought about how much sleep she was getting. Or how much sleep she wasn't. He'd had some sleepless nights himself lately—hers were probably a lot worse.

And yet she still managed to get to the kitchen every morning in time to get breakfast set up and cooked, and to get everything else set up for the next day. Lizzy Apodaca was one tough broad, but she was facing an uphill fight against some even tougher broads. Apparently, that fight was beginning to take its toll. And he, selfish bastard that he was, had been concentrating on his own hurt feelings and worries about the hotel.

“Come on.” He put his arm over her shoulders again, moving her toward the bed. “You need to get some rest.”

She blinked up at him. “Rest? Here?” Her cheeks flushed.

He nodded.
“Here.” He was done with being pissed. And he was ready to acknowledge one central fact. He wanted her. No, he
needed
her. Right here. Right now.

Maybe it was time he started thinking about what he wanted rather than what was best for Praeger House. Of course, Lizzy was right for both of them. And it was way past time for him to remember that.

He sighed. He'd screwed this up, now he needed to make it right. “I don't have any nefarious purposes here, Lizzy. Well, beyond getting you to sleep.”
And maybe to forgive me for being an asshole while you're at it.

She leaned forward to rest her forehead against his shoulder. “Sorry. This week has gotten me flustered, I guess. Sleep would be great right now.”

“Right. Sleep works for me.” He took a breath, then stared down at her again. “As long as it's with you. I need it to be with you.”

She watched him for a moment, then let her lips move into a small, exhausted smile. “I can do that.”

He nodded, once. “Good. It's been a long week.”

Her smile turned dry. “You know it's only Tuesday, right?”

Tuesday. Shit.
Somehow it already felt like Friday. “It'll get better.” It had to get better. She was back in his arms again.

She leaned back briefly to look at him. “It won't. Not really. Not until they leave.”

He ran his index finger down the slope of her nose. “But they will leave, Lizzy. And you'll still be here. They can't do anything to you in Salt Box. We won't let them.”

She dropped her forehead to his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist. “
Dios te oiga!
”

“What does that mean?”

“May God listen to you.”

“Right.” As he moved her to the bed, he found time to rap his knuckles on his old wood desk as they walked by.

*****

Lizzy wanted to believe things were looking up. She'd spent the night in Clark's arms—and she'd gotten a good night's sleep for once. She had the support of her friends. Apparently, she even had some of the citizens of Salt Box behind her. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she was still only one step away from disaster.

And she wouldn't take Praeger House down with her. She'd promised.

She stood at the side of the dining room now watching Desi make omelets. He was doing a good job. He really was. He was just so
careful.
And careful took time. Eventually, he'd get comfortable enough to pick up some speed, but right now he was slowing everything down. The whole dining room was crawling along, held up by the lengthening omelet line.

You should just take the omelet station back again.
She should. And she was about ready to—she hadn't seen anyone she recognized from the
Lovely Ladies
over the past week. None of the cast or crew was staying at the Praeger House so far as she knew. She'd checked with Colleen, who could undoubtedly have found ways to block anybody who tried to book a room. Lizzy told herself to stop being such a wuss and resume her spot at the omelet stove again.

Of course, if she did that now, she'd most likely hurt Desi's feelings. He was just beginning to find his confidence as an omelet chef. If she yanked him off the station, he might feel like she was criticizing his technique.

She sighed. The damned
Lovely Ladies
had screwed up more things than even she would have thought possible.

“He just doesn't have it, does he?”

Lizzy whirled to see Lauren standing at her shoulder. She'd been too busy with her own reflections to pay attention to the people entering the dining room.
Big mistake, Lizzy.

“He's doing fine,” she said coolly. “He just needs more practice.”

Lauren raised a skeptical eyebrow, flipping her immaculate golden hair behind her ears. “If you say so.”

“Can I help you with something?” Lizzy managed to keep her smile in place, but it was an effort.

“Actually, I have a message for you.” In her tailored suit, Lauren looked exactly like Lizzy's idea of a cutthroat executive, assuming executives wore stilettos. “From Teresa Antonio. I understand you're related.”

Lizzy felt as if her stomach had dropped into her shoes. She didn't bother with the smile anymore. “We're cousins.”

Lauren shrugged. “Whatever. She wants to talk to you. I suggested the coffee shop on Monson. It's usually not too busy in the afternoons, and I assume you'll both want privacy.”

Lizzy knew she herself wanted privacy. She couldn't answer for Teresa. “How did she find out I was here?” Her shoulders clenched tight as she avoided the question she really wanted to ask:
Did you tell her?

Lauren shrugged again. “No clue. I'm the liaison between the cast and the resort. She asked me if I knew you, and I said I did. She said you were a relative and she needed to talk to you. I told her I'd get in touch with you. I assumed you didn't want her to come over here looking for you.”

Lizzy shook her head sharply. “No. I do not want her over here looking for me.”

“So meet her at the coffee shop at two.”

Lizzy closed her eyes for a moment. She'd prefer not to have that conversation, but she might not have much choice. “What does she want?”

“She didn't say.” Lauren checked her watch. “I've got to go.” She started to turn, and then paused.

Clark stood in the kitchen doorway, frowning.

Lauren's lips moved up in a smile that was more like a smirk. “Oh look, there's your boss. Tell him I said hi.” She sauntered toward the exit, hips swaying.

Clark stepped beside Lizzy, his frown deepening as he watched Lauren disappear. “What did she want?”

Lizzy rubbed a hand across her forehead. “She brought me a message from Teresa. I'm supposed to meet her this afternoon at a coffee shop.”

Clark's frown moved into scowl territory. “Why?”

Lizzy shook her head. “I won't know until I talk to her.”

“I'll come with you.”

Oh, not a good idea!
She had a feeling whatever Teresa said should be kept between the two of them. “That's okay, I can handle Teresa on my own.”

His jaw looked like granite all of a sudden. “You probably could, but what if she brings along a camera crew?”

Lizzy closed her eyes again. “Then I'll walk out.”
And head straight for my car.

“How did Teresa find out you were here in Salt Box, anyway? Did Lauren tell her?”

“She says she didn't. And she's really got no reason to sic Teresa on me. I'm guessing Amber told her. She's the one who saw me at Menninger's.”

He sighed. “Are you sure you don't want me there?”

No, actually.
In fact, she'd love to have Clark there to lean on, but she knew she shouldn't. “I'm sure. I'll handle Teresa.”

“If you see any hint of a camera crew, turn around and head back to Praeger House. You can tell Lauren and Teresa to both take a hike.”

Lizzy nodded. “Right. I'll finish breakfast first. I'm going to take over for Desi.”

He frowned. “Are you sure?”

“I am.” She shrugged. “Teresa already knows I'm here in town. What more can happen?”

But as she headed across the room to the omelet station, she really hoped those weren't famous last words.

*****

The coffee shop on Monson wasn't one of the more popular spots in town. It wasn't even a particularly good coffee shop. Lizzy wondered if Lauren had chosen it for that reason, both to limit the number of people who might see her and to make sure the experience was crappy on a whole lot of levels.

But Lauren undoubtedly cared about bad publicity, which a screaming Teresa at a popular coffee place would provide in spades. So maybe the coffee shop wasn't such a lousy idea after all.

She stepped inside, checking carefully for cameras, but she didn't see anything more technical than a cell phone. Of course, she also didn't see Teresa.

Lizzy sighed. She should have thought this through. Of course Teresa wouldn't be on time. She'd want Lizzy to be the one who waited. Her opening power play.

Lizzy considered heading back to Praeger House. Teresa had called the meeting. If she didn't show up, it was her own fault.

But she wanted this over with. Teresa had been haunting her life long enough. She picked up a cup of coffee at the front counter, then walked resolutely toward a booth in the back.

The door to the shop swung open again a few moments later and Teresa entered with a dramatic twirl of her scarf across her jacket. She was surprisingly small for someone who'd caused so much trouble—a good two or three inches shorter than Lizzy. The five-inch heels on her boots were supposed to compensate for her shortness, but they seemed to make her even more conspicuous. Plus, of course, making it hard for her to walk through the café while staying more or less upright.

Teresa looked like she was planning some international espionage, based on her outfit. She wore sunglasses so large they hid the upper part of her face more or less completely, along with a felt slouch hat that covered her hair. Her turtleneck, slacks and boots were all black, like her leather jacket. The only punch of color was the red scarf she had wound around her neck.

She paused for a moment, surveying the tables. The people at the tables were surveying back. Teresa in full spy regalia was probably the most interesting thing they'd seen all day.

Lizzy didn't bother to wave. She watched Teresa catch sight of her, her mouth moving into a grimace. She stalked through the coffee shop toward Lizzy's booth, still watched by everyone in the place, customers and staff alike. Her sunglasses made her look a little like an enormous insect—one that probably ate its mate.

She flopped onto the bench opposite. A waitress appeared to take her order, eyes wide with curiosity.

“Get me a double-double with rice milk,” Teresa snapped.

The waitress's forehead furrowed. “We don't have rice milk. We've got soy.”

“Soy?” Teresa sounded as if the waitress had just offered her a shot of strychnine.