Scarves draped over lampshades turned the walls into a rainbow. He could barely see her sofa, buried as it was beneath a mountain of pillows. And there wasn’t an inch of wall not covered with art prints and posters.
“Jack, oh,” Perry yelped from the hallway door, drawing his gaze that way. “I wasn’t expecting you yet.”
Obviously. She wasn’t wearing anything but a towel. He reached for the doorknob. “I’ll come back later.”
“No, wait.” She reached out, halting him with the hand not holding the towel to her chest. “I was going to put on the kettle for tea. Let me dress. I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
Nodding, he dropped his duffel bag at his feet. “Sure. I’ll wait.”
The look that came over her face, the light that sparkled in the dark centers of her eyes, her smile that spread until her cheeks plumped like red apples, all of it should have warned him away.
Instead, he headed into the kitchen, filled her teakettle from the spigot on the refrigerator door and set it on the stove while he waited.
She was back in minutes, toweling water from her hair and wearing a black T-shirt and a skirt with more colors than he could count. Not surprisingly, her feet were bare.
“Sorry about that. I came home to nap while Kachina handled the shop. But I couldn’t sleep—” she shrugged, tossed the towel to the countertop and shook out her hair “—and I thought a shower might help.”
He wasn’t certain if she meant it would help her sleep or help her stay awake. He wasn’t certain what to say because he hadn’t expected to find her here, and because she smelled so damn good. Like oils and incense. “I can leave, or just get a hotel room.”
“No. Stay here, please. I like the idea of the place not being empty.” The teakettle whistled, and she glanced over, the smile returning. “Thanks. Do you want a cup?”
“Sure,” he said, moving aside as she took over the small kitchen.
She lifted the kettle from the heat, and quickly grabbed two mugs from the cupboard and teabags from the pantry. Steam rose when she poured the water, deepening the color on her face. He leaned against the counter behind him, hooked his palms over the edge and watched her.
“How did things go with the reporter?” she asked as she emptied the kettle and returned it to the stove.
He shrugged. “Not so good.”
“You didn’t learn anything you can use?”
“The only thing I learned is that she doesn’t have time to give. Only to receive.”
“How so?”
“She’s got a great information flow going. All of it incoming. I’m lucky I got the time of day.”
“Well, that sucks,” Perry said, spooning sugar into her mug, offering him the same. He nodded, and she stirred before handing his mug to him. “What are you going to do now?”
“Do you have an Internet connection? Or a phone jack I can use to dial up?”
“I have cable, and this place is wired like you wouldn’t believe. The previous owners were connectivity freaks.” She pointed toward the main room. “You can set up on the desk in the living room, or on the dining room table. Either one.”
“Great. What about a subscription to the Times-Picayune? I want to dig through the archives and see if our reporter ever wrote anything on Eckton Computing or on Dayton Eckhardt before his move to Texas.”
“Here’s my login,” she said, jotting the information onto a notepad hanging on the fridge. “And I’ll be out of your way—” the ringing of the phone cut her off, and she smiled “—as soon as I get that.”
Jack left his mug on the counter, returned to the front door for the laptop case packed inside his duffel bag. He decided the dining room light would be best, and started setting the computer up on the table.
He could hear Perry’s, “Sure. No, it’s not a problem. I’ll see you tomorrow,” coming from the kitchen. And since his was the business of snooping, he listened without remorse to her side of the conversation, curious about what wasn’t a problem, and who it was she’d be seeing.
She walked into the dining room a few minutes later, bringing him the tea he’d left in the other room. He took the mug from her hand as she settled into the chair opposite the one he’d chosen. He watched her sip at her drink; she did so nervously, flexing her fingers around the mug, refusing to meet his gaze.
“What’s up?” he finally asked, when he realized she wasn’t going to come clean on her own.
She toyed with the charm at her neck. “That was Della.”
“She feeling okay?”
Perry nodded. “She’s fine. Better than fine, actually.”
“How so?”
“It’s Book’s night off. He’s going to stay over and take care of her.”
Ah. He’d wondered about that. “So you don’t have to.”
“I don’t think that’s the reason he’s staying, but no, I don’t have to go back.”
“Which means I should pack up and see about that hotel.”
“Not necessarily.”
He didn’t say anything. Just lifted his drink and waited for her to offer him exactly what he wanted.
“You’re already set up here,” she finally said, waving her hand toward his laptop. “And I’ve actually spent a lot of nights on the couch. If it’s not too short, you’re welcome to use it. Or I can sleep there, and you can have the bed.”
“I don’t have to stay, Perry. Have duffel bag, will travel, and all that. I can plug in at a coffeehouse and, if I can’t find a place, bunk in the back of the Yukon.” He’d done it often enough that it wasn’t even a hassle. “It’s not a problem. Trust me.”
“I do trust you. And I’d rather you stayed here with me.”
6
DELLA LET her hand rest on the receiver now cradled in its base, pleased that both of her calls had turned out so well. The timing had been iffy on the first; she wasn’t sure, when she finally tried to reach Book, if it would be too late to put her plan into motion.
When she’d heard Jack enter the shop to pick up Perry’s key from Kachina, Della had made her move. Still at his desk in operations, Book verified that he was off work the next day. Her only moment of panic had come after asking him if he’d like to spend the evening with her. At home. Alone.
His silence had gone on too long. She’d listened to the void, finally hearing him clear his throat and breathe before accepting. They’d talked for a few minutes more, and he’d agreed to stop by around seven. He’d even offered to pick up Chinese, a typically thoughtful gesture. She’d thanked him, certain that nerves would keep her from eating a single bite.
Months ago, she’d given him a key to the front door of the shop as a safeguard, should Perry ever be out of touch. Tonight, the key would come in handy. He could let himself in, and she could stay off her foot. Things couldn’t be coming together any better than if she’d plotted this evening for weeks.
Her conversation with Book had given Jack time to make the short drive to Court du Chaud. She’d waited a bit longer in case he’d run into traffic, made any stops or been otherwise delayed. Then she’d dialed her niece’s number and made her case. Perry hadn’t minded the change of plans at all, and that made Della smile.
As a rule, she was not a busybody—even as she recognized that was drawing a fine line between truth and fiction, considering her entire livelihood was based on what she knew about other people’s affairs. She kept her client information confidential, the same as if she were an attorney or physician.
The difference tonight was that her interference was an effort at making amends.
Hobbling around her sitting room, putting things in order, Della wondered if there had ever been another woman less suited to being a mother. The skills that it took had never been in her repertoire. She wasn’t sure when she’d first recognized that raising a family was not a lifestyle that suited her situation, but it ended up making no difference. She’d been twenty-eight when Perry had come to her as a frightened child, lost and alone, and nothing else had mattered.
They’d made their way together, Della following to the letter her late brother’s instructions for his daughter’s rearing, instead of relying on instincts that had never let her down. She hadn’t paid any heed to Perry’s wishes to be like the other kids.
The result, all these years later, was that they were both products of circumstances into which they’d been thrown, rather than the individuals, the women, they would have become had their lives not been so inexorably intertwined.
It was an interesting look at the human condition, wondering what path each would have chosen had tragic events not determined their way. Her only regret was how insular their world had become as she’d looked after Perry, and Perry, in turn, had looked after her.
And, foolish or not, Della had always put her niece’s needs above her own. Which was why she hadn’t yet allowed herself to admit her feelings to Book Franklin.
She’d always told herself that if Perry were settled, if Perry didn’t depend on her, if Perry this and that, if Perry a dozen different things, then exploring a relationship with Book would be an option.