Unnatural Calamities (3 page)

All those months of begging and sweet-talking loan officers and all she had to do was go out to dinner with a man who had less brains than beauty. Or so she assumed, if he was really willing to talk about backing her. She wasn’t about to tell him she was a cook and not a businesswoman.

He smiled again. She was right—he did have the most amazing smile she’d seen for years. The ends of the nicely-shaped lips crooked upwards. “I’m a venture capitalist. Yeah. But I’m strictly minor league. Going small works, even in this economy. And I like to see people get another chance.”

How’d he know about the near-disaster with Beth? These investor types must be on the ball when it came to local businesses.

He continued, “I don’t know if we are in the right economic environment to start a catering business, but I’d certainly be willing to look into it.”

“Well how-de-do,” said Janey happily. “That is just wonderful. I have scads of numbers, figures and mission statements. Business plans. Menus. Recipes. See, the idea is it’s for people who can’t afford regular caterers. I don’t use the fanciest ingredients but I take a plain old cup of chickpeas and make them something with just—”

“She really can,” interrupted Rachel.

“That’s wonderful,” said Mr. Dunham. “Really, really great.” Back to being a cheerleader. He did sound impressed.

“So when can I show you all my facts and figures?” said Janey, who wondered why chickpeas made him so happy.

“Tomorrow at breakfast. I can’t promise anything but I’d look at—”

“Perfect,” Janey interrupted gleefully. Tomorrow? She expected to be put off. Good golly, the man must be serious. “I even promise to be awake.”

Chapter Three

Unlike most coffee bars in town, no quiet jazz music saturated the air of the Crestview Cafe, though occasionally some drifted in from the upscale housewares boutique next door. The bland cafe, located in the first floor of an office building, had been built to be a white-collar hangout, a place to escape the office to get some work done. So far Starbucks hadn’t driven it out yet.

The waiter drifted over, filled Toph’s mug again and replaced the silver pitcher of half and half. At the other tables, people clicked away on laptops, or PDAs, or both as they yammered on phones. Toph was the only patron who did not fiddle with so much as a pen and pad of paper.

Instead he stared down into his mug of coffee and wondered why, every couple of years, without fail, he did it again. He opened his mouth and invited a calamity into his life.

First there was Bea, and later, her desire for steady work. Then Jack and his ability to spot what turned out to be modeling talent. Mickey and the law. True, they ended up successful despite the odds and their personalities. Toph recognized talent, or more likely he was blessed with extraordinary luck. Pure dumb luck.

Some of them, like Bea, had barged into his life. Most of them, like this Carmody woman, were his own fault. He’d invited Ms. Carmody out for pizza. And informed her he had money to throw around.

He tried telling himself he invited her because he felt sorry for the two of them, living in a tiny apartment over a garage, trying to rebuild their lives in such a conservative community.

He was lying to himself, of course. Janey Carmody had struck him as energetic and charming the night before. In jeans and a turtleneck, her appealing wrinkly hair pulled into a ponytail, Rachel’s mother looked as cute as he first thought her. And she had an air of competence, despite the tendency to stare. More than that, he’d sensed vigor fizzing off that small body. Could be sexual, could be pure talent in other matters too.

Toph drank coffee, and watched the street entrance for the attractive ex-con drug user he considered loaning money. He remembered the scent of alcohol he’d detected the day he first saw her at the pool, and reminded himself to add possible active alcoholic to her list.

She couldn’t be a complete failure. No matter what her failures in life were, Janey had done something right with Rachel. Of all of Cynthia’s friends—and the girl had dozens—Toph liked Rachel best. She had a brain.

And he enjoyed his daughter when she hung around Rachel. When the two of them got together, Cynthia ate regular food. She could go a whole evening without slapping her minuscule rear end or non-existent belly and complaining about how fat she was.

God help the child of a model.

Janey Carmody strode through the café door, a hefty black cloth briefcase slung over her shoulder. Her face lit with a smile when she caught sight of him and she waved.

She shook his hand, a surprisingly strong grip for a small woman, and sat down. After a few pleasantries, she pulled out several manila folders, fussed over them and drew out papers in a manner that declared she was now all business. The polished wood table was too small to contain their coffee and her folders, so she shoveled the papers together, leaned her elbows on them and launched into an obviously well-rehearsed report of what she’d do with the ten thousand dollars she needed.

She finished with, “Obviously since I don’t want to start out with a mountain of debt, I’d get a used van. And I think I can temporarily rent a kitchen facility from my friends at The Pickled Chug after hours.”

“You know the owners of The Chug?” He liked the strange restaurant in the center of the city. The local paper, at a loss to come up with a better description, called it “eclectic”. Bea dismissed it as too funky for any kind of business event and Bea was always correct about matters of style.

Janey nodded. “I went to the CIA with Lindy, one of the owners.”

“The Central Intelligence Agency?”

“No. The Culinary Institute of America. I’m a dropout. I had to decide between work and school and went for the work. So anyway. Well. That’s the basic idea that I wanted to talk about with you.”

She leaned back in her chair and her shoulders seemed to slide down from her ears where she’d hunched them, as if she’d steeled herself to present a plan to a board of directors of a major corporation.

He watched her over his cup, and wished he could be certain his impulsive offer to meet her was based on his weird ability to suss out talent and not the fact that he admired the shape of her body and the grin on her freckle-sprinkled face.

She picked up her coffee and drank it with both hands wrapped around the mug. She examined her carrot muffin and gingerly broke it apart with her fingers. Nothing elegant about those slightly reddened hands with the short nails, but they fascinated him.

Toph envied skilled workers’ hands. Being able to produce a delicious meal seemed far more important than making too much money betting on other people’s talents.

He watched her delicately poke at the muffin. “More food autopsies?”

She laughed, and dropped the muffin as if it were on fire. “Rachel once informed me I shouldn’t be allowed to eat in public unless I sign a form stating I’d eat like a normal human being.”

“What are you looking for?”

She bent toward him conspiratorially and murmured, “I wanted to see if they used dehydrated carrots or bananas. I think it’s a yes.”

“And you? What would you use?”

She waggled her eyebrows and gave him a wide grin. “Fresh, of course. What did you think?”

He thought that he was pretty desperate if a conversation about dehydrated food could bring him to the edge of lunging across the table and grabbing her for a kiss.

He knew he had the stirring of sexual interest in Janey, but he also felt the illogical whiff of his peculiar intuition, the one that allowed him to spot winners. The whisper that told him she could be another.

But he wasn’t going to cave in to a mere whisper. Even Toph wasn’t that rash. And speaking of careless, he reluctantly abandoned the idea of getting involved with her. He did not need any more needy people in his personal sphere.

Back to business.

He cleared his throat. “So tell me. Dropping out had nothing to do with Rachel or other circumstances?”

She blinked at him. “Oh. No. Just work.”

“I should tell you that I’m only thinking about giving you this money because of Rachel.”

“So…” She hesitated and pushed half of the muffin around her plate. “If I wasn’t Rachel’s mother you…”

“I suppose I wouldn’t consider it for a minute.”

Her startling eyes stared into his face, searching for something—one of the first times she had looked up at him that morning. Quite a change from the night before when every time he’d glanced over at her, she was goggling at him with those disconcerting blue-gray eyes.

“Why not, if it’s a good plan?” she asked.

“Well, I suppose I don’t consider you a good risk. Based upon your record.”

Her brow furrowed then she slowly said, “Oh. Wait a minute. Record?”

He met her stare squarely now, and she must have seen what he knew.

“You mean criminal record, don’t you.” She sounded as if she was talking to herself. “How did you know about that? You couldn’t have discovered that between last night and this morning.”

He sighed. “One of the swim team mothers told me you served time in prison.”

Janey slammed her hand on the table. The silverware jumped and so did Toph. The waiter twisted and gave them an inquiring glance.

Janey blushed. She shook her head at the waiter and gave him a sheepish smile. She slid down in her chair and stared gloomily at Toph. “So I bet the news is all over the school. Oh damn. You think the guidance counselor you talk to won’t say anything. You think the principal has some principles. Well damn, I thought we did such a good job. Rachel would hate everyone to know. I wouldn’t have cared, but Rachel will be mortified.”

His heart ached for her. Poor woman, trying to get on with a life, and get past her mistakes. “Listen, Janey. She’ll survive. And you can move beyond this. Let me take a look at your plans. At the very least I can offer suggestions and—”

“No. That’s not going to work yet. Not if what you said about Rachel…” Her voice trailed off.

She picked up most of the folders and shoved them back into her bag. She hesitated and handed him one folder. “Here’s the main idea, but I don’t want to waste your time with more than that. I can’t explain why. I made a promise to Rachel, but if it’s only because… Well, I am sorry. I have your card. Do you mind if Rachel calls you tonight? Will you be home? Or can she call you on your cell phone? And then I can call you, say, tomorrow?”

“Sure. Of course. Why don’t you settle down and finish your coffee?”

She slipped out of her seat. Her slightly frantic air of mystery was replaced by a more cheery, but still bustling manner. “I have to go home and make ten loaves of bread for a friend. I appreciate your time, Mr. Dunham. I look forward to talking to you tomorrow.”

They shook hands, another firm, warm grip. He watched her walk away.

Now that was an appealing body. Nicely rounded. She wore some sort of baggy, dull gray suit she probably thought made her appear professionally asexual, but the suit didn’t begin to hide her curves. She’d have to wrap herself in several thick layers, maybe a few sweatshirts several sizes too large, to hide that feminine shape. And the dark gray didn’t tone down the effect of her bright hair and full, pale lips.

She must have recognized the tall gangling man who ran the cash register because she stopped and gave the guy a huge hug. Heck, he hoped she knew the man.

Toph didn’t usually like habitual huggers. They made him uncomfortable and, more often than not, the hugging struck him as false affection. But he would not have minded having those arms around him. And holding that appealing shape in his own arms.

He sniffed in self-disgust. How many minutes ago did he tell himself he didn’t want any more wounded types in his life? Time for him to think about business, not sex. He could force his mind onto something else for ten minutes. Maybe.

He flipped open the folder. By the second page, he sensed the small surge of excitement. He detected the sweet and heady scent of a good idea.

Despite the amateur presentation, she’d made an interesting plan. She would be flexible and offer anything from catering a single big event to cooking up a month’s worth of meals as a gift to a new mother. She’d give private cooking lessons too, if people allowed her to use their kitchen. Her goals were too intimate to grow into a huge business with franchises. She’d given him the kernel of a plan for a small, creative business with one enthusiastic heart at its core.

His favorite kind of business.

Toph considered impulsiveness one of his major character flaws. He didn’t often curb this failing, however, because in the past it had served him well. Except perhaps in the case of Bea and her personal ambitions, and even that hadn’t been a complete disaster. Not when you considered the product of her ambitions, Cynthia.

So he’d go find Janey Carmody again and perhaps shove her toward her dream.

After a quick stop at his office and a short meeting with Jack, he headed over the mountain, back to West Farmbrook.

As he drove, he planned out a speech. No promises. He’d have to find out if she was a drinker. And perhaps he should have the finicky Mickey taste her cooking.

Today he’d tell Rachel’s mother that he still wanted to talk to her references, but if she could offer something as collateral or somehow reassure him she wouldn’t cut and run, he could be interested.

Huh. Maybe she’d hug him with joy. And maybe even give him a kiss. She had the most marvelous lips.

Business, he reminded himself. Strictly business.

Chapter Four

Margaret was waiting in her car when Janey drove up. She followed Janey into the kitchen and dumped two shopping bags of clothes. She sank into a chair and shoved at the bags with her foot. “For the girl.”

Janey rummaged through them, and pulled out a purple Lycra top. “Rachel’ll be in heaven.”

“You’re so lucky she tolerates used clothes. My two would rather die than wear anything that touched someone else’s skin.”

“Huh.” Janey had heard this line from Margaret before. She’d given up on pointing out that unless Rachel wanted clothes from sale time at Target or Walmart, she wasn’t going to get new. “Rach might get picky someday, but we’ll cross the fashion bridge when we get to it.”