Meeting at Midnight (7 page)

“It wasn't so bad. And maybe I learned a few things.” I'd had about all the serious talk I could take. “What kind of teenager were you? Wild or studious? Not shy,” I said definitely.

She chuckled and dipped her brush again. “Not studious, either. Though I wouldn't say I was wild, exactly—I couldn't bear to worry Daisy, so I didn't go too far. But I didn't have much sense. Is there anyone in the world as sure of themselves as eighteen-year-olds?”

We traded stories of our teenage days for a while. It looked as if she'd be able to finish up today, which wasn't bad for someone who'd never painted a room before. Of course, I'd helped a little. It didn't hurt my shoulder or my knee for me to sit on the floor and paint the strip next to the baseboards. Seely had argued some about that, but eventually she'd seen reason.

She was on the stepladder tackling the section next to the crown moldings by the time I figured out what was nagging at me.

Seely seemed open and outgoing. She swapped funny stories about growing up and spoke cheerfully about her eccentric mother. She'd told me about Steven, who I guess had been the one big love of her life.

But she'd never said which of them had preferred living together to marriage. She hadn't said anything about why she'd moved out, either, just that it happened two years ago. Yesterday she'd admitted to being angry with her father, but hadn't told me the man's name, or anything else about him. And she'd implied that anything weird I'd seen that night on the mountain must have been the product of shock.

Slippery.

Seely Jones was a much more private woman than she seemed. I could respect that, and yet…I glanced uneasily at the unopened box beside the couch.

Last year I'd gone wireless when I got a new laptop. It didn't have to be hooked up to anything to connect to the Internet. So, on my first night home from the hospital I'd ordered several books on-line, paying to have them overnighted. I probably could have gotten them, or something similar, from the bookstore on Fremont Street. Susannah would have boxed up my order and dropped them off, if I'd asked.

Or I could have gotten books from the library for nothing. I'd known the head librarian since I was five. Muriel would have looked up my card number, checked the books out to me and brought them by.

But anyone who knew me would have been startled by my current choice of reading material. I didn't want to explain. I didn't want anyone speculating about my sanity, either. I was doing enough of that.

Finding myself in the company of Harold Meckle, M.D., was a nasty shock, but like I said, he wasn't really an idiot. Just a jerk. Some of the things that happened on that mountain didn't add up, not using any of the normal ways of calculating reality.

“That bracelet you wear,” I mentioned as I finished the last bit I could reach. “Did Blois give it to you?”

She didn't turn around. “Why do you ask?”

“You said the little stones were for, uh, chakras. And that Blois was into New Age stuff.”

“Daisy gave it to me—her version of a ‘sweet sixteen' present.”

“She's into chakras?”

“Among other things.”

I decided not to press for more. Not now. I'd gotten one solid answer—Blois hadn't given her the bracelet she never seemed to remove. That was something. Far from all I needed to know, though. Maybe I'm too stubborn for my own good. I've been told that more than once.

I wondered what Duncan would say about the request I planned to make the next time I saw him.

“L
ook, if you don't want to do it, just say so.”

“I don't want to do it.”

I sighed.

Duncan and I were sitting at the kitchen table with some of Seely's excellent coffee. She was upstairs getting ready.

Not that she needed to. We were just going to drop by the office—though I hadn't mentioned that part yet—then head to the building-supply center. And she already looked great. She always did.

But women have rules for that sort of thing. Not the same rules, mind—they vary from one woman to the next in some sort of changeable code. It seems to make sense to other women.

Setting has something to do with it. When Annie was doing handyman work, she'd run all over town in paint-splattered jeans or coveralls, her face bare of makeup and her hair tucked
up in a cap. Dealing with clients or stopping at the gas station dressed that way was okay; going to the grocery store was not. I know this because she used to kick up a fuss if I asked her to pick up something while she was out. “I can't go to the grocery store looking like this!” she'd say, even though plenty of people had seen her looking like that already.

Apparently, building-supply centers belonged in the “get fixed up first” category for Seely. I didn't try to understand it.

I collected my walking stick and mug and lifted my left foot off the extra chair. My knee was a lot better, but I still kept that leg propped up much of the time. I limped over to the coffeepot. “Want some more?”

Duncan shook his head. He was looking tired, I thought. Night shifts didn't agree with him. Then, too, he'd pulled a double in order to free up time for the camping trip with Zach—a trip the weather had cut short. We'd had our first good freeze Saturday night, accompanied by a light dusting of snow.

Duncan's gaze held steady on me as I refilled my mug. “Maybe you should tell me why you asked. If you suspect Seely has a criminal background—”

“Nothing like that,” I said quickly. “There's something she's not telling me, that's all.”

His mouth crooked up. “More than one thing, probably. Women have been failing to tell men everything for a few thousand years. Police departments don't generally consider that a good reason to run a background check.”

He made my curiosity sound like a man-woman thing, not employer-employee. Which was accurate but annoying. “I didn't want you to do it as a cop.”

“Well, as your brother I'm advising you to drop the idea.” He put the mug down. “Nosing around will just get you in
trouble. Though if you really have to know something, you could hire a P.I.”

No way. I'd thought maybe Duncan could find out a few things discreetly. Her father's name, for example. Some hint of why she was working at jobs way below her skill level. But I didn't want some stranger snooping around in her life. “Never mind.”

“You know, this is weird.”

“What?”

“You. You're acting different.” He nodded toward the front of the house. “The living room. It's always been white.”

“You don't like it green?”

“It looks fine. Felt weird when I walked in and saw it, though.” One corner of his mouth kicked up, as if he were reluctantly amused. “Sort of like a kid who goes away to college, comes home and finds out mom and dad redecorated without telling him.”

Dammit, I should have thought about how he'd feel. Charlie and Annie, too. This house was their heritage every bit as much as it was mine. “I ought to have said something. It's your house, too, and you—”

“No, it isn't.”

“Of course it is. Mom and Dad left it to all of us.”

“Twenty years ago, yes. But you're the one who has lived here all these years, taken care of the place. This is your home.” He took a deep breath. “Gwen and I have talked about this. We want to deed my share of the house over to you.”

I slammed my mug down, ignoring the coffee that slopped over the rim. “Forget it.”

“There might be some tax liability for you, but she thinks we can minimize that.”

“Aren't you listening?” I demanded. “Just because your wife could buy and sell this house ten times over doesn't oblige me to accept a handout.”

Duncan shoved to his feet. “This has nothing to do with Gwen's money! Dammit, you hard-headed son of a bitch, will you listen a minute?”

“I'm not hearing anything worth listening to. If you don't—”

“Whoa!”

That came from Seely. Startled, I looked at the doorway.

She stood there, shaking her head. “Good grief. I can't be accused of eavesdropping with Ben bellowing like a wounded moose. I heard him from the stairs. Ben.” She fixed me with a firm stare. “Do you really think Duncan offered to give you his share of this house because he enjoys flinging Gwen's money around?”

I flushed. “No. But—”

“Not your turn.” She sauntered on into the kitchen, stopping in front of Duncan. “And did you really think Ben would take your inheritance from you?”

“That's not what this is about.”

“It is to him.” She put her hands on her hips and looked from one to the other of us. “This is none of my business, of course. But it seems pretty simple. Ben lives here. Duncan doesn't. Ben, I don't know how you're fixed financially, but could you buy Duncan's share?”

“Sure.” I turned some numbers over in my head. The business had done well the past few years, and I wasn't exactly extravagant. “We'll need to get the place appraised, but I've got a pretty good idea of its current market value.”

Duncan shook his head. “We don't want to use the current market value. It's worth three times what it was twenty years
ago, and none of us are going to make a profit off you. Charlie suggested—”

“You talked to Charlie about this? What is this, some kind of conspiracy?”

“Exactly. Annie, too. The plan was to wait until we could all be home at the same time and tackle you together. I, uh, jumped the gun.”

Seely chuckled. “Safety in numbers. A legitimate military tactic.”

I glanced at her. Did she know that Duncan had been in the Army until a few months ago? Probably. If Duncan hadn't mentioned it, Gwen would have. People told her things.

“If you're all in this together,” I told my brother, “you need to drop this notion of giving up your shares in the house for little or nothing. Charlie won't take a fair price for his share if you and Annie don't. The two of you may not need the money, but he does.” He'd just sunk every cent he had or could borrow into a partnership in a landscaping business. I'd already tried to give him a loan. Twice.

Duncan frowned. I decided to let him chew on that a while and turned to Seely. “Looks like you're ready to go.”

She looked a damned sight better than “ready to go.” All that gorgeous hair spilled over her shoulders and down her back, and I could tell she'd fussed with makeup, turning her eyes sultry and her lips scarlet. She wore dark jeans and a sweater with geometric shapes in red, purple and yellow.

That sweater fit more snugly than anything I'd seen her wear before. My body took notice of this. Of course, my body had been on yellow alert almost constantly for the past three days.

“Just let me get my jacket and purse,” she said, and headed for the hall.

“I'd better be going, too,” Duncan said, carrying his mug
over to the sink. “What are you getting at the building supply store?”

“We're going to put up some shelves in my office here.”

“I take it the ‘we' means you're supervising?”

“All right,
she's
going to put them up. I'm not taking advantage of her. She's keen on all this home fixup and decorating stuff.”

“Hmm.” He stuck his mug in the dishwasher. “I owe Seely a thank-you.”

“I'll tell her you enjoyed the coffee.”

He slanted me an amused glance. “I didn't mean for the coffee.”

 

It felt weird to sit in the passenger seat of my own car.

The Chevy was backup transportation, nearly ten years old but in good shape. Power windows, doors and steering; bench seats and a big back seat…big enough to give me some impractical ideas. Sexual frustration was bringing out the adolescent in me.

Seely drove with the same unrushed efficiency she did everything else. “I still don't know how I let you talk me into taking you by the office. You aren't supposed to be working yet.”

I pointed out that I hadn't worked—I'd just checked on the work others were doing. I hadn't even insisted on going to the Pearson site.

She grinned. “I suppose you think you get Brownie points for that.”

“I ought to.” If sexual frustration was robbing her of sleep and nudging stupid ideas into her head, it didn't show.

“You're staring at me.”

“I like looking at you.”

The faintest flush mounted her cheeks. Maybe I shouldn't
have said anything. I'd been careful not to since letting her know my intentions. That was the right thing to do. Sexual innuendos were out of place while she was working for me. Besides, self-preservation called for restraint. I had to keep my eye on the line I'd drawn, or I'd find myself tumbling off another edge.

But I liked seeing that flush.

I'd spent too much time the past three days trying to figure out what was going on in her head. We had something strong and hot flowing between us. I knew that much because I'd caught her looking at me a few times, too. At twenty, I'd have assumed that meant she agreed with me, that she wanted to have an affair as soon as the employer-employee thing was out of the way.

At forty, I knew better.

At least she hadn't told me to forget it. I figured she was still making up her mind about me. I didn't say anything else until she'd shut off the engine, hoping she'd spend the time thinking about the heat between us.

I pushed open my door. “You sure you want to tackle this? Putting up shelves isn't easy. Goes a lot better with two people, and I won't be able to help much.”

“You won't be helping at all,” she retorted, coming around the car.

I made a noncommittal noise. No point in mentioning that there would be parts of the job where two pairs of hands would be necessary.

She matched her pace to mine—which was slow. I didn't limp anymore as long as I didn't try to outrace a snail. “This is my chance to learn from an expert,” she said. “I'm not about to pass that up.”

“Well, the expert suggests we get red oak. It's not easy to
work with, but it should look great.” I paused, considering the state of my office. “Eventually.”

“It is a bit of a mess in there.”

I grunted. The doors opened for us and I crept along to the left, where the lumber was stacked. I'd pick out the wood myself, that being the reason for this trip. Well, that and a bad case of cabin fever. We wouldn't be able to take it home today, obviously, since I didn't have a truck.

And we wouldn't be able to do much with the wood until we'd cleared the place out. The room I used for a home office used to be a bedroom—my parents' bedroom, actually. I'd taken their bed out about a month after they died, unable to stand seeing it there, all made up and waiting for them. Eventually Annie had claimed their dresser. Somehow I'd never gotten around to clearing everything else out, though.

My two favorite spots in the store were the tool aisles and the lumber section. Tools are always interesting, and being surrounded by all that wood hits me viscerally. I think it's the smell—cut wood, sawdust, a whiff of sap.

Ed noticed my sling and the walking stick, so of course he had to hear the whole story, then felt obligated to spend some time assuring me I was lucky to be alive before he could put my order together. I arranged to have it picked up in a couple days. “That will give me a chance to clear the room out,” I told Seely as we headed for the front of the store with the ticket. Our slow speed wasn't just due to my pace this time—she kept stopping to look at paint chips and light fixtures.

“Us,” she said. “It's not as if I have much else to do. And we don't have to remove everything. You have some good pieces in there, like that occasional table with the Queen Anne legs.”

“Yeah?” I smiled, pleased. “I made that when I was sixteen.”

“You're kidding!”

“Shop class. It was a Christmas gift for my mom. I was trying to copy a picture I found in a magazine. Put in a lot of extra hours on it…had a lot of help, too.” As I spoke I saw Mr. Nelson's face. He'd been the soul of patience, often staying late so I could work in the shop. “Lord, I hadn't thought of Mr. Nelson in years.”

“Your teacher?”

“Yeah. He retired while I was away at college, moved to Albuquerque to be near his sister. He was an old bachelor, you see. I stopped in to see him once when I was there on business…” My voice trailed away as I remembered that visit. How sorry I'd felt for the old man, living alone, no one but a sister nearby. All of a sudden I could see my own future, and it didn't look much different.

I had Zach, I reminded myself. Some of the time, at least.

“What's the matter?”

“Nothing.” We'd reached the front of the store. I headed for the nearest checkout. “I'm amazed that you let me get up here without buying anything else. Why is someone who calls herself a wanderer so interested in everything to do with houses?”

She shrugged. “The fascination of the exotic, perhaps. I've never rooted anywhere long enough to do much in the way of home improvement, so it seems novel and exciting. Does your interest in construction go back to that woodworking class?”

“Partly. Do you do that on purpose?”

“What?”

“Turn the conversation away from yourself and back on me. Annie tells me that all a woman has to do to appear fascinating to a man is to get him to talk about himself. Maybe that's true. But I'd like to hear about you sometimes.”