Lime Ricky (Romantic Suspense)

by Jill Winters

  Brett's exuberant response—i.e. smiling, saying, "No problem, Mist!" and scattering winks all around—did nothing to blot out the lingering feeling Gretchen had of being slapped in the face. Why had Misty blatantly snubbed her like that? That was twice now. Swallowing a lump of discomfort, she felt warm color creep into her face. As dumb as it was, she was sort of embarrassed. Sure, Misty was the one who'd been rude, but still... Gretchen had been openly dismissed in front of her boss and Brett.

  Then, as Brett hoisted Misty's bags and Gretchen turned away, she realized that she'd been openly dismissed in front of someone else, as well. An elusive figure standing in the living room. Someone who didn't have the decency to look away—to pretend he hadn't just witnessed that. Damn it! Could she catch a break? It so figured that Rick would appear at this exact moment.

  Averting her eyes, Gretchen started walking back toward the breakfast area, determined not to acknowledge him at all. But that required Rick to step back and let her pass comfortably since he was half shielding her path. Between his solid, imposing frame and the hard edge of the decorative table, Gretchen was left with only a narrow strip of space to walk through—which was why Rick should have automatically moved back or to the side, making sure his body didn't touch hers when she passed. But he didn't budge. He just stood there, eyeing her as she tried to shimmy by and avoid his searing gaze.

  Willfully, she fought the surge of nervousness that swelled in her chest and forced her head and her eyes straight ahead, even as she could feel Rick looking down, watching her. But the space was so tight that she had to turn sideways to get by. So she did, giving Rick her back—but it didn't do anything to lessen her acute awareness of him. In fact, his presence and closeness were visceral, overwhelming. Still, he didn't move away. For pete's sake, this didn't even require Rick to be a gentleman—it was just common sense! Did he want her rubbing up on him?

  "Excuse me," she murmured with unmistakable annoyance. Finally he stepped back—but barely.

  Just then Ellie Galistette came flying out of the breakfast area and jogged toward her boss. "Yay! You made it!" she squealed with delight and gave Misty a quick hug. Overcompensate much? Add the big plastic grin to the fact that Ellie was sleeping with Misty's ex, and you had a pretty disingenuous picture.

  Misty froze momentarily on the stairs, casting her violet eyes downward, on a cautious slant. Then she said, "Ellie. We need to talk." Her voice, as cool and as hard as steel, left no room for negotiation.

  "Okay... uh... sure," Ellie managed, though understandably her smile had faltered. Either she knew why Misty was pissed and she was scared, or she didn't know why Misty was pissed and she was scared. Either way, Brett led the two women up the stairs.

  Much later, Susanna would ask him what he'd overheard that day. And Brett would just offer a lighthearted shrug, and that affable smile he wore so well.

  * * *

  Several hours later, the bluish glow of late afternoon covered the clouds like a gauzy blanket. Faint puddles of light spilled onto the snow.

  Gretchen had gone inside to call Dana. She'd managed to avoid Rick all day, and now she sat cross-legged on the bed in her guest room, silver cell in hand, anxious to hear how the callback had gone.

  Just as she flipped open her phone, she heard a clattering in the hallway. Startled, Gretchen looked up. A second later, Ray Jarian creeped past her doorway, furtively looking from side to side, and the instant he spotted Gretchen sitting in her room, he nearly jumped. Flustered he stopped and paused. Then, tipping his cowboy hat, he said, "Oh—I, uh—well howdy, there, li'l lady. I reckon I overslept..." A smile briefly touched his lips, but he appeared distracted.

  "Hi, Ray," Gretchen said brightly. "I didn't realize you were still here. I thought someone mentioned that you'd left." Around noon, shortly after Misty Allbright's inauspicious arrival, Cady had told Gretchen that she'd seen Ray through a window, crossing the side of Brett's house and heading up to the driveway where his car was parked. At the time, Cady had remarked that it was odd Ray hadn't left by the front door, nor had he said good-bye. Gretchen figured that perhaps he was embarrassed by how drunk he'd gotten the night before, or maybe he was just heading down to the Brass Lion Inn where he was staying to get cleaned up.

  Seeing him now seemed to confirm that latter theory. Except... why was he acting like he just woke up?

  "Well, ah... left?" he echoed, confused, then gave a hearty chuckle. "No, no... not at all. But if you'll 'scuse me, I'm just gonna grab my spurs, so to speak, and ride on out. Must be near time for sunset, and here I am just getting outta bed."

  Just then Gretchen noticed the bulkiness of Ray's jacket, especially at his elbows. That was one lumpy coat. He must've seen her drop her gaze, because he hesitated. Then said, "Actually... to tell the truth now..." He chuckled again—an artificial-sounding cough-laugh this time. "I had gone on my way earlier, but I came back 'cause I forgot somethin' and didn't want a make a fuss, there."

  "Oh, I see," Gretchen said for lack of anything else. Hey, whatever. She didn't care what he did, but she didn't know why he was acting so weird about it. With another quick smile, she said, "Well, it was nice meeting you this weekend," then looked back down at her cell phone and started texting Dana instead. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ray's form disappear from sight.

  She'd just pressed "send" when Susanna burst in front of her open doorway. "Good, there you are!" she said.

  "Hi, what's up? Do you need something?" Gretchen asked.

  "I just talked to Ed. It turns out he's coming home from his business trip early. He'll be home tonight after all. But he has to fly out tomorrow again, so I want to get back now. What can I say? I miss my hubby. Do you mind?"

  "No, no, not at all." Actually Gretchen was relieved; originally the plan had been Friday to Sunday morning, but it was only Saturday and already this whole ski weekend felt played out. Plus, Gretchen couldn't imagine twenty-four more hours of successfully avoiding Rick.

  But she was a little surprised that Susanna wanted to ditch the festivities a day early, especially since Gretchen still hadn't gotten to talk to Brett alone about "her" guest-spot idea. She'd looked for an opportunity, of course, but she hadn't been able to find Brett anywhere for the past two hours. "Let me just get my stuff together," Gretchen said, going for her half-packed bag that sat on the floor, across the room.

  "Great! I'll just get Shawnee and we'll go," Susanna said, sounding almost urgent to leave. Speaking of Shawnee, Gretchen hadn't seen her around for a while, either... In fact, the last time might have been the night before? Hmm, now she couldn't recall. In any case, once Gretchen got to the entry foyer, she found Susanna waiting for her, tapping her foot restlessly, Louis Vuitton bags at her side. "Oh, good! Come on," she said, motioning with her head and leading the way to the front door. "Shawnee's outside already—"

  "But is your driver even here yet?" Gretchen asked, surprised.

  Shaking her head, Susanna struggled to drag both her bags; Gretchen quickly took one off her hands. "I called a taxi."

  "We're going to take a taxi all the way to the city?" Gretchen said. She didn't mean to question, but it seemed an odd way to go about it, especially for Susanna.

  But her boss simply waved her hand and said, "Sure. Ed will take care of it."

  It must be nice, Gretchen thought with a sudden flash of envy. While Ed Tate might be a corporate mogul who was rarely home, the upside was, he was loaded. But if Susanna were really as callous as that, why would she be so anxious to spend whatever time with him she could?

  Still... you'd expect her to grandstand a good-bye for everyone, but she was apparently in too much of a rush. As Susanna hurriedly approached the yellow taxi idling outside the house, Shawnee tossed the cigarette she'd been smoking into the snow. Suddenly Gretchen patted her pocket and realized she didn't have her keys. She must have left them in her room. "I'll be right back!" she said, turning back toward the house.

  "Hurry!" Susanna called from the
backseat of the taxi.

  "I promise!" Gretchen called back.

  She hopped up the stairs and as she reached the third-floor landing, she heard Brett say, "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

  But he wasn't talking to her.

  "I—I'll be okay," a woman replied. "I just, I'm sorry, Brett... I think I'll feel better if I'm home in my own place."

  Curiously, Gretchen peered over; Misty, Brett, and Ellie were standing at the far end of the hall. Ellie seemed to be helping Misty stand up, kind of propping her up for support as Brett patted her shoulder with concern. Misty had a dire look on her face, which Gretchen had noticed being pale before. Now it was more greenish. Well, yellow-green. She didn't look good, and she was holding her forehead, clutching it as though she could use her fingers to constrict her pain away. Dear God, was she okay?

  Gretchen recalled that Misty had gotten there late that morning, complaining about being exhausted. Maybe it was really a bad bug that she didn't know she had. In fact, that was exactly what it looked like. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "I've got to get home and... rest. It must be some bug I picked up; it's just hitting me now."

  She leaned into Ellie a little, who pressed the back of her hand to Misty's forehead. "Wow, she's really got a temperature," she said to Brett, speaking softly.

  "I don't understand," Brett said, sounding both confused and concerned. "What the hell happened?"

  Helplessly, Ellie shrugged. "I just came to check on her, because, you know, she'd been lying down since she got here, but when I went to her room..." Again, she shrugged. "I found her like this—burning up and in pain. I think she's just exhausted. You've been working too hard, Mist," Ellie said gently.

  At that, Misty tipped her head up and slanted a strange gaze at her assistant.

  "Um, is there anything I can do?" Gretchen blurted, coming a few steps closer. She didn't know what she could actually offer here, but she would feel guilty if she just stood there gaping, instead of trying to be useful in a crisis.

  When Brett looked over, he managed a smile but shook his head. "Thanks, Gretchen, but—"

  "We've got it covered," Ellie told her, returning her attention to Misty. Just then Gretchen remembered that Susanna was waiting in the taxi. She'd better not keep her waiting too long. After finding her keys on the bedside table in her guest room, she darted back down the stairs. She wanted to tell Brett good-bye and thank you, but it seemed gauche to interrupt someone else's suffering with trivial pleasantries.

  Yet, as she stepped outside, Gretchen regretted it. Trivial or not, it was rude not to have thanked Brett, who'd not only invited her but put her up in his home. Unfortunately she couldn't go back. Susanna was motioning wildly, her arm now this flailing thing sticking out of the open taxi door.

  "Hurry!" she said.

  As Gretchen slid in beside her, guilt niggled at her for skipping out. It wasn't that Brett or anyone else would notice or care that she'd left. It was just rude, that was all. Obviously Susanna didn't have the same qualms. The woman couldn't get home fast enough.

  Chapter 15

  A few days later, it was Wednesday and Gretchen was about to miss the elevator. But then the doors that had started to close miraculously sprung back open. Abe was inside the elevator already; he smiled at her. "Hi, I saw you coming," he said.

  "Thanks!" she said brightly. The seldom done "door open" move—a bit of chivalry, which, like all other traces, faced imminent decline.

  They exchanged pleasantries as they rode up to the eighth floor. As soon as they stepped off the elevator a phone began to ring. It wasn't Gretchen's; Dana had teasingly changed that ring to the I Dream of Jeannie theme song to annoy her, and Gretchen hadn't changed it back yet. "Oh, excuse me," Abe said, taking his cell out of his suit pocket, glancing briefly at the number on the display screen before answering. "Hi." Then he gave a wave and turned to continue down the hall. But Gretchen was going in the same direction.

  Tapping her fingers on her bag, Gretchen trailed behind Abe, acting oblivious even though you could always hear other people's conversations on their cell phones, and this one was no different. A woman was on the other end, talking loudly and frantically about Misty and how violently ill she was. It had to be Ellie. "Shh, calm down," Abe said gently. "Calm down. I'm sure she'll be okay. Has she been to the doctor?"

  "Not since Monday, but she was getting better by then!" Ellie said. "Her fever had started to break and the doctor said it sounded like a bad flu, but... all of a sudden... I mean... she said she'd be in the office today, so when she didn't come in and didn't answer her phone, I went over to check on her. And I found her on the floor, Abe! She was burning up—she was delirious."

  "Oh my God," Abe said, sounding stunned and genuinely concerned. "Where is she now?"

  "Lying down. I was able to help her up onto the sofa. I called the doctor. He's going to come over. I just don't understand what's wrong with her! She was getting better!" Ellie repeated, her voice bordering on hysterical. Obviously this was the point in a crisis at which Ellie became unglued; everyone had that point. Meanwhile Gretchen struggled to stay stone-faced, to act like she wasn't overhearing this whole alarming, disturbing conversation, as she walked two steps behind Abe. What was the etiquette in a situation like this? "I just don't know what to do."

  "There's nothing you can do, sweetheart," he said softly. "You're doing everything you can for her." His voice had a calming effect, at least on Gretchen, who'd gone from tapping her bag restlessly to digging her fingers into it. "But I do think you should take her to the emergency room instead of waiting for a house call," he added.

  "Oh. The emergency room... I hadn't thought of that," Gretchen heard Ellie say. What was she, an idiot? Sorry to be mean, but "emergency room" seemed redundant and obvious in the presence of an emergency. "I just thought it was a bad flu or stomach virus or something!" Ellie shrilled, suddenly sounding defensive. "She was sick at Brett's house, but by Monday—I told you—her fever was breaking. The doctor said whatever it was, it was passing. And now—"

  "Sweetheart," Abe said more firmly. "Don't waste time telling me this now. Take her to the emergency room. I'm sure it's just some kind of, I don't know, infection or something. But whatever it is, let them help her. I'm sure they'll know what to do."

  "O—okay," she said, "I will. Thanks, I feel better."

  "I'll call you soon," he added and disconnected.

  Uncomfortably, Gretchen glanced at him. She waited for some kind of encouragement to acknowledge what she'd just overheard, but when Abe glanced back, he offered a brief, polite smile and said nothing. So he obviously didn't know about the whole loud cell phone thing. Considering that he turned to make a pit stop at the men's room, now was apparently not the time to tell him.

  Later that afternoon, during one of her tapings, Susanna stumbled over the cue cards again. Call it frazzled nerves, call it lack of concentration, call it being slightly nearsighted. Susanna preferred to call it illegible chicken scratch.

  "Cut!" she yelled. "What the hell is that supposed to say?" she called out, over the homey facade of her kitchen to the director and crew. Gretchen stood on the side with her requisite clipboard, where she had a checked sheet of all the things that were supposed to be ready and done for the taping. When Susanna garbled her words it was very rarely the fault of the show's scriptwriters. Stepping forward, Gretchen angled her head so she could see the offending cue card in question. Depending on the show, TCN normally used a teleprompter or a large-screen flat monitor, but Susanna was old-school and that meant she liked things written in big black marker. (Also known as nearsighted.)

  "Stop tape," Kit said, probably to retain some semblance of authority as director.

  "Radio him? Wha—?" Susanna went on, squinting to make sense of the cue card. " 'It's like radio him'?" She let out a short humorless laugh and looked around the room. "Okay, it can't possibly just be me here..."

  "Radicchio," Shawnee corrected with a bored sigh. "Aunt Suz, can't you rea
d?" Shawnee didn't just hold the cue cards (crookedly), she also wrote them up, so she would know if Susanna were supposed to radio someone while making slaw.

  Still, the girl was hardly a model intern. God, this was such an easy gig for her; Gretchen didn't know why she couldn't just enjoy it. But she seemed to prefer pushing her aunt's buttons. Surly and antisocial, yes—but Gretchen had a feeling that the girl was also incredibly spoiled. Perhaps now that her mom—Susanna's sister—had remarried and had a new baby, things were harder for Shawnee at home? Whatever the reason, Shawnee's attitude problem showed no signs of decline any time soon.

  Now she flipped her hair, with the longer side of the lopsided mushroom do flopping away from her face, as she shifted her stance, her hefty men's shoes scuffing against the cement floor.

  "Give me a break! That's totally illegible!" Susanna argued.

  "It is not," Shawnee said. "Anyway, the radicchio's right there on the counter; you do the math."

  Gretchen almost laughed at that, but she didn't dare. In fact, right now, the set went quiet. Glaring at her niece, Susanna gave the evil-eye for a good thirty seconds, before she turned it on her director. "What's the point of this if I'm going to have to stop every two minutes because the cue cards are in Greek?"

  Quickly Gretchen intervened. Might as well try to avoid a family feud. With Shawnee being such an unapologetic brat, it could turn into a bloodbath. "You know what? I can go through the cards right now, if you want. I'll make sure they're all legible, no problem, okay?"

  Susanna exhaled an overblown sigh of relief. "Thanks, Gretchen. You really shouldn't have to do that—but I appreciate it."

  "That's five, everyone," Kit said, her voice weary with frustration, as though she'd been beaten down, as though she'd been promised more from life than this. (The tone was familiar by now.) On the sidelines, Abe offered her a sympathetic glance.