The Throwbacks (21 page)

“Leave Grace alone. She deserves someone with a life to give her.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” David said. He needed to get a life himself. But if he did, would that give him the right to pursue her?

G
RACE looked at the art deco calendar on the wall of her office and was reminded there were only five days left to solve the case—David’s case. She tried to concentrate on the catalog in front of her, but it was tough this morning. A knock at her door made it tougher.

She looked up to see Oscar in a disguise of red hair, spectacles and a David-like suit. She laughed. “Who let you in?”

“I told the receptionist I’m a potential new client just in from South America and you were recommended to me,” he said in a heavy Spanish accent.

“A red-haired South American? I bet the receptionist was too afraid to question you.”

He came around her desk to pull her from the chair into his embrace, and kissed each cheek. It reminded her of his mama’s greetings, and she felt a pang, as she had when she’d heard of the woman’s death.

“I’ll be disappearing again and I wanted to give you some parting words of wisdom.” He spoke in his quiet, deep, serious voice and sat on the edge of her desk. He took both her hands in his as if he needed to prevent her from escaping.

She braced herself.

“David is not for you,
bella mia
. He’s not only too old, but he’s trouble—in a different way than me maybe, but just as dangerous.”

He shushed her when she would have protested, and she resigned herself to hearing him out.

“I know a matchmaker we can send you to. She can fix you up with the right guy.”

“No matchmaker.” She didn’t roll her eyes but sighed. Her Antonio meant well. When she thought of him as Antonio, the man his mother named, instead of Oscar, his street persona, she felt much more tolerant. “I have to follow my heart. Circumstances are circumstances. It’ll be worth it. Life would be wonderful with David at my side.”

“How can you say this? You hardly know each other.”

“But I feel connected to him.”

“That’s because of me.”

She snorted in reaction to that explanation, but saw his look of genuine hurt.

“Maybe you’re partially right. Part of my attraction to David might be that he’s your alter ego,” she conceded.

Oscar, as usual, was not appeased. “I’m calling my matchmaker for your own good.”

Curiosity took over her tongue. “You seem to be treating me more like your…niece than your ex-girlfriend.” She shot him a questioning squint.

“I agree. That’s what I should have done all along. Then you’d be married to a nice family guy in the suburbs with four kids by now.”

She knew she could make a home out of any place, any time, but the notion of kids in her future—or more likely no kids—caused a real pain in her heart.

“No matchmaker, Oscar. Besides, I’ve already got the best matchmaker in town—Mabel,” she reminded him.

“You’ve got me there. But I bet I can find you an eligible and much younger man to take your mind off David,” he said.

She shook her head and folded her arms in front of her. “I’m going to be even more stubborn than you are on this one, Antonio.” She didn’t need to try hard to hold firm. It was simply impossible for her to put David aside and she didn’t care if Oscar’s matchmaker came up with Batman himself. David was too wonderful, too…everything for her to be remotely tempted.

He flinched slightly at her use of his given name, then squeezed her hands one last time, looked at her with that sad smile, and turned to leave. “Oh—and stay out of the murder investigation,” Oscar said over his shoulder as he walked out of her office.

After Oscar left, her office seemed less bright and her mood less calm. What happened to the happy-go-lucky decorator? Grace sat behind her blue-painted metal salvage desk and flipped through the old-fashioned Rolodex while her elbows rested on the green paper of her blotter. She forced herself to concentrate, found the number of the furniture store she’d been hunting for too long and was reaching for the phone to call when it rang. At the same moment, Pixie kicked in her door.

“Where do you want these boxes?” Pixie grunted from behind a stack. Grace jumped from her chair to help with the boxes. She waved off the ringing phone as if it would understand her gestured command to stop ringing.

Her diminutive friend stood dressed in varying shades of green with her hands on her hips.

“You actually look like a pixie today—straight from the forest of
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
,” Grace said.

“They were fairies. And since when are you a Shakespeare expert? Why didn’t you just go online and look at samples like the rest of us instead of making me drag these out of the dusty closet?” She gestured at the boxes.

Grace knew Pixie’s annoyance was shallow. “I’ve always been an expert on Shakespeare. I’ve simply never chosen to share it,” she said, even though it was a lie. The only play she knew was
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
, but it was a doozie. “The texture doesn’t come through on the screen and I want to be extra picky with my selection. I want to do the best possible job on David’s home.” She didn’t have to tell Pixie, or anyone else. They all knew she was decorating his home as if she were going to live there someday. She was hoping, but she didn’t like to admit it. But there was nothing wrong with making a special effort.

Sophia gave her an eye roll.

“Everyone knows you’re hunting him down like a cat in heat,” Pixie said.

“That’s unkind. I hope you’ve hushed them all up with your sarcastic responses.” Grace folded her arms. She was only half joking. She did not want to be the office joke, though she knew they were all fond of her. It was a very family-like office; most of them had worked together for years.

“Are you kidding? I’m the head commenter.” Pixie plopped onto the chair in front of where Grace was perched on her desk. “Can you answer me something? Your biological clock is ticking, we all know it—most of us are in the same boat. You’re dying for a big family and you’re thirty years old. You’ve had lots of potential marriage opportunities. Now you’re hung up on the least likely candidate of them all for father of the year. What gives?”

“I have time to have six or eight kids if I wanted, you know. David is very youthful for his age—I think. I actually don’t even know his age. But he’s far from old. He’s not even retirement age yet because he’s still working for Scotland Yard, technically.” She looked at the floor in front of her pointy-toed shoes rather than at Sophia’s truly concerned and puzzled face.

“Yeah, I know. He’s been exiled to Boston for bad behavior. But I’m willing to concede it was probably a bum rap. Even so…explain it to me, Grace. I want you to be happy and have all your dreams come true. You’re the only one who’s had such strong and honest and clear dreams—and you should have them all because they’re good and not crazy dreams,” her friend said.

“I’m serious. I think we will end up with a brood of children. David is quiet about what he wants, but I can sense in him the same needs, though he’s almost given up on them and he would never in a million years admit to wanting the home-hearth-brood-of-children scene. He really does,” she said. She knew it to be true deep down, but there was no way to actually explain it. “It’s a very ordinary dream, Sophia. Why is it so hard to believe that David wants it too?”

“It’s not hard to believe that he wants it—well, okay, maybe a little bit difficult—but what’s hard to believe is that he could carry it off at his age, and with you of all people. You’re opposites.” Sophia stood up.

“Yes, but even you can sense the delicious chemistry. When you mix us together something very amazing happens every single time.” She was daydreaming as she said it.

“Since when have you been mixing together?”

“Oh, we haven’t technically done any actual
mixing
,” she said. But wait until they did—oh boy! Maybe they’d get a girl too.

“All right, so David is youthful and you’re fertile and you’ll have a passel of kids. Do you realize how much work that is? You’ll have to give up decorating, at least full time, anyway. And what’s he going to do? How will he support you? As Batman? What kind of pay does Batman get, anyway? And living in a Beacon Hill townhouse is all well and good for a bachelor or a couple—but it would stink to raise a family there. Are you going to put up with him being in danger every day he goes to work?” Sophia ran out of breath as she stood there, feet spread and hands on her hips.

“Of course I’ve thought about it all. All those things are the same kind of perfectly normal, everyday decisions that every married couple in the world deals with. David is fabulous at figuring how to make things work out.” She didn’t admit to having a slight squirm about David being in danger in his job. But surely, as the chief of the exchange program he wouldn’t be in any shoot-outs.

“Talk is cheap. I know you, Grace. You’re talking brave, but you know this is a high-risk gamble with your future and that David and you and your dream family are not a sure thing,” Sophia said in a quiet voice.

“But…” Grace’s throat constricted. Pixie didn’t understand how bleak the picture looked if she didn’t at least take the chance.

“But I’m right behind you with all my fingers crossed.” Sophia threw open her arms, and Grace leaned forward into the embrace. She squeezed her eyes shut and, feeling the love of her friend, she couldn’t help the few teardrops that escaped the corners of her eyes. It would be okay. She would have a family one way or another. She couldn’t let herself forget that she had a family of sorts right now.

The phone rang again. This time she answered it.

“Hello?”

“Gracie, I’m so glad I got you,” her friend Lester Lump said in a pseudo-whisper. “Your juicy and distinguished gentleman friend David called me and left a message that he wants to come by to talk and look at some files.” He paused, and she heard a rustling sound like he was crinkling up papers.

“Lester?”

“Something is going on here—something isn’t right. I’d rather talk to you, Gracie, but not on the phone. Can you come over?”

“Of course. When did you have in mind?”

“As soon as you can get here—not to be dramatic.”

“Oh.” Grace looked at Pixie stacking the boxes of wood laminate samples. “I’ll get there as soon as I can. I’ll bring Pixie too.”

“Who? Pixie?”

“Oh, I mean Sophia.”

“Right. She does look like a pixie.” His voice brightened. “Get here as soon as you can and we’ll talk. I have some suspicions.” He hung up.

Grace didn’t know if she should be excited or worried. It sounded like Lester had a clue—or was it a lead?—for their investigation. She went over to Pixie, who watched her with a puzzled frown.

“Where are you bringing me? Don’t we have to look through these samples and pick something to order this afternoon?”

“We’ll have to do it later. That was Lester L, and we’re going over there to talk to him about a clue.”

“A clue?”

Without answering Pixie—because she didn’t know what the answer was, she was going on instinct—Grace hurried from her office to her secretary’s desk and told the startled woman they had to leave and didn’t know when they’d return. She dashed back into her office and grabbed her pink faux alligator purse.