by Joanne Fluke
“Donny?” She used her pet name for him deliberately. It was short for Adonis, and he reminded her of a Greek god. “That accident she was in. You didn’t have anything to do with . . . ?”
“Don’t you trust me?!”
There was hurt in his eyes, and she wished she could take back her impulsive words. “I’m sorry, Donny. I didn’t mean anything. It’s just that . . .”
He silenced her with a kiss and she almost forgot her earlier question. Almost, but not quite. And she was glad he’d stopped her before the fateful words could be spoken. A woman didn’t ask her lover a question like that, especially when she didn’t really want to know the answer.
“Maybe I should be the one to ask you.” He pulled back and stared into her eyes. “You’ve never liked her that much.”
She blinked and stared at him, hard. “Donny! You’re joking . . . aren’t you?”
“Yes . . . and no. You couldn’t stand Grant. Everyone knows that. And you had a lot to gain. You told me you used to run with some pretty rough characters. You could have called one of them, and . . .”
“Don’t even say it!” She cut him off before he could go any further. “Look, Donny . . . there’s no way I’d ever . . .”
“I know.” He cut her off with a kiss. “I trust you. And you trust me. Right?”
She nodded, and then she smiled in pleasure as he moved over to cover her body with his. Their embrace was practiced, but it was still fresh and exciting. She could feel her body begin to respond and she gave a shuddering sigh. Her pulse raced, her breathing quickened, and she felt a tingle of arousal spread from her toes all the way up to the very top of her head. He always had this effect on her. It was why they were so good together. She’d do anything if they could stay like this, locked in each other’s arms forever.
“I love you, Donny.” She opened her eyes and stared into his, searching for love, and desire, and some kind of wonderful commitment.
“I love you, too. And I’ll give you everything you deserve someday. I promise.”
He smiled down at her and that was enough. She melted and clung to him, taking him deeply inside her. Their passion drove all thoughts from her mind for a few breathless minutes . . . until it was over and he was stretched out beside her, asleep.
That was when her tears welled up, filling her eyes and spilling over to run down her cheeks. How could he give her what she deserved, when he had nothing? People like the bitch had it all, living in her fancy house, with her fancy family, and her fancy shop, and her fancy clothes. To make matters worse, the bitch wasn’t even really a bitch. She was just an ordinary woman who didn’t realize how good she had it.
Her pillow was wet, and she flopped it over. And then she wiped her eyes. She really shouldn’t let things get to her this way, but just thinking about all the breaks the bitch had gotten made her feel sorry for herself.
There hadn’t been any breaks for her. She’d married early, halfway through her junior year in high school, and she’d picked a real loser. He’d looked good at the time, but he’d almost succeeded in ruining her life. Thank God she’d wised up and divorced him. He was in prison now, where he belonged, but she was still paying the price of her mistake. Things could still turn very nasty for her, if she didn’t do exactly what they asked.
Life wasn’t fair. Everything would have been so simple if there had been two fatalities. But there hadn’t been, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it now.
She sighed and rolled over close to him, taking comfort in the fact that they were together, nestled up closely, making their own little world. And then she smiled as she thought of that old phrase her mother used to say: two spoons in a drawer, front to back, fitting perfectly together. It was so comforting to sleep like this, but they only had a few minutes left before they had to get up.
He moved slightly, turning toward her. And she reached out to make sure he was awake to appreciate what she was about to do. They didn’t have much time like this anymore, and she had to make every second count.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The road past the country club had been very pretty, but not interesting enough to run every day. To her surprise, Maura had managed to keep up with Jan and she hadn’t even been breathing hard when they’d finished their run. It was clear that her body was in a lot better shape than her mind. Despite Maura’s high hopes, nothing she’d seen along the way had jogged her recalcitrant memory.
There had been another benefit to running, a bonus that Maura hadn’t anticipated. She’d been as hungry as a bear when she’d come back to the house, and she’d managed to eat a full stack of Nita’s excellent pancakes.
Now that breakfast was over, they were sitting at the table with an uneasy silence between them. Maura had just dropped her bombshell. She’d told Jan and Nita that she wasn’t going in to the boutique today.
“But why, Miss Maura?” Nita looked puzzled.
“I thought we’d do something else instead. You said I had a capable staff. Can’t they handle it for a few more days?”
“Sure.” Jan nodded. “But you always go to the boutique!”
“Then maybe it’s time to change my habits. I thought we could do something else instead. We could . . . uh . . . drive up to the mountains and go skiing.”
“But you don’t know how to ski.” Jan looked very concerned. “And you always told me you didn’t want to learn.”
“Oh. I guess skiing’s out then.” Maura filed that information away for future reference. What she thought she’d remembered last night couldn’t possibly have happened if she couldn’t ski. “How about the movies? I’d really love to see a film.”
“Which film would you like to see, Miss Maura?” Nita stared at her intently.
“Actually . . . anything from the past twenty years will do. It doesn’t matter if I’ve seen it before. I won’t remember anyway.”
“Mom!” Jan looked shocked. And then she began to laugh. “I guess that’s true, but I’m not sure you should joke about it.”
Nita didn’t seem to find this amusing. She was frowning as she leaned close to peer at Maura. “You are giving excuses, Miss Maura. I think there is some reason you do not want to go to the boutique.”
“Is that true, Mom?” Jan looked concerned. “Whatever it is, I think we should talk about it. Maybe I overstepped my authority here, but I told them you were coming and everybody’s waiting for you. They’re going to be really disappointed if you don’t show.”
Maura sighed. She wasn’t sure she could explain it to Jan and Maura, but she really didn’t want to go. Just mentioning the boutique made her nervous, and she had no idea why. “Did I . . . uh . . . like to go there, before the accident?”
“Of course you did.” Nita looked shocked. “You love the boutique. You told me that your happiest hours are spent there.”
Jan nodded. “It’s true. I used to have to drag you out of there to keep your tennis appointments.”
“Tennis?” Maura was glad to be sidetracked. “I play tennis?”
Nita looked proud as she nodded. “You learned a year ago, Miss Maura. You have a coach at the country club, and he says that you are doing very well.”
“Then let’s play tennis instead of going to the boutique. I don’t remember my tennis lessons, and I want to see if it comes back to me.”
“You have to book a court, Mom.” Jan shook her head. “And you usually have to call a day in advance. I can call for tomorrow, if you want to play then. But I really think we ought to go to the boutique today. I know you’re not looking forward to facing more strangers, but the longer you put it off, the more nervous you’re going to be.”
Maura sighed, and then she nodded. She’d run out of excuses and she supposed she had to go. But she wasn’t going alone. She’d make Jan go with her. “Jan? You’ll come with me, won’t you?”
“Of course I will! And I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
“How many . . . employees do I have?” Maura held he
r breath. She hoped it wasn’t too many.
“Only five. And that’s not counting your partner. She’s out of town for the week.”
“Partner?” Maura swallowed hard. She was beginning to feel nervous again. Perhaps her anxiety about the boutique had something to do with her partner. “I don’t understand, Jan. I thought the boutique was mine.”
“It is. Liz Webber’s only a junior partner. And that’s just on paper. She draws a salary as manager of your shop.”
The moment Jan said Liz’s name, Maura began to feel very uneasy. Was there some secret about Liz Webber that she could no longer remember? “Liz Webber manages my boutique?”
Jan shook her head. “No, she manages your shop. That’s where you manufacture your clothes.”
“Oh. I see. I design the clothes and Liz sews them?”
“Well . . . yes. At least that’s the way it started. Aunt Donna hired Liz as your pattern maker and she worked her way up. And when she wanted to go into business for herself, you convinced her to stay by offering her a junior partnership.”
“Do I like her?”
Jan was silent for a moment and the she nodded. “I think so. She’s not a close friend or anything like that, but you always say you couldn’t get along without her.”
“What do you think, Nita? Do I like her?”
Nita shrugged. “Miss Webber is not a friend, no. But you are pleased with her work. You taught her how to choose fabric, and you trust her to go out to buy from the factories.”
“Trust is very important.” Maura nodded. “And I guess it’s not that important whether I like her or not, as long as she does a good job.”
As she sipped her coffee, Maura began to feel better. She wasn’t sure why, but just knowing that Liz wouldn’t be at the boutique was a huge relief. “Jan? Are you sure my employees will be disappointed if I don’t come in today?”
“I’m sure, Mom. They’re all looking forward to seeing you again. And I made everyone promise that they would ask questions about your memory.”
“Well . . . all right. I’ll go.” Maura put down her coffee cup and stood up. “But only if Nita promises to go to the market while we’re gone. There’s something special I’d like to have.”
Nita nodded. “Of course, Miss Maura. What is it?”
“Gjetost.”
Jan looked startled. “Gjetost? What’s that?”
“It’s a kind of brown goat cheese that tastes like peanut butter. It’s usually spread on black bread and eaten as a snack. Do you think you can find it, Nita?”
Nita nodded. “Of course. I will go to the Beverly Hills Cheese Store. They have everything. But you never mentioned that you liked goat cheese before.”
“That’s because I don’t know whether I do, or not.” Maura laughed at their puzzled expressions and did her best to explain. “I’m not sure if I just read about it, or actually tasted it, but I seem to remember eating it. And I’d really like to try some when we get home.”
Nita looked very determined as she nodded again. “I’ll find it, Miss Maura. And I will find black bread, too. We will have it when you get home from the boutique, and perhaps it will help you remember.”
As Maura followed Jan out to the car she couldn’t help feeling a bit apprehensive. Would the gjetost and black bread really bring back a part of her memory? And did she really want to recall the painful emotions she’d experienced last night, when she’d relived that scene at the snow-covered graveyard?
* * *
The boutique was impressive, no doubt about it. Maura had been almost awestruck when Jan had pulled up in front of the dusty pink covered awning on Rodeo Drive. And she’d smiled when she’d realized that she had named her boutique after Jan. Fille Janelle wasn’t a large boutique, but it had all the amenities, including valet parking. And the moment Maura had stepped through the door, her employees had rushed up to hug her and welcome her back.
Jan had been as good as her word. There had been no questions about her lost memory, although Maura could tell that Sylvia, her stylish, middle-aged boutique manager, was dying to ask what she remembered and what she didn’t. Jan must have been very firm in her instructions to the staff, because the only question Sylvia had asked was whether she felt strong enough to take a tour through the boutique.
Sylvia had reintroduced Maura to Heather, a young, blond U.C.L.A. student who was one of their best saleswomen. She’d told Maura that Heather and Bonnie, a dark-haired senior at Cal Arts, had been very successful in bringing the younger crowd to Fille Janelle.
Maura had met Diane, a lovely, brown-haired Englishwoman with a charming accent and impeccable taste in clothing, and Cherise, a stunning black woman in her early thirties, who had spent two years in France studying design. Maura was pleased that her employees seemed to love the boutique, and from their warm smiles and genuine concern for her, she was convinced that she’d been a good boss.
“And this is one of your most successful designs.” Sylvia pulled an outfit from the glass closets that lined the walls of the small shop, and turned to Maura with a smile.
Maura was surprised as she examined the outfit, loose-fitting pants made of boldly printed cotton, with a bib that was attached like overalls. It reminded her of something, but she couldn’t quite remember what.
“Sylvia?” Maura was puzzled as she turned to her manager. “Do you know when I designed this outfit?”
“Last year. You were going through some of Jan’s old baby clothes, and you . . .”
“Rompers!” Maura gave a delighted smile. “Jan used to have rompers just like this! And when I remembered how she loved them, I decided to dress them up a little, make them more feminine, and do them in adult sizes.”
“They’re one of your hottest items, Mom. And they still look good on me.” Jan was smiling as she took the rompers and held them up to show her mother how they’d look on her. “They’re really popular with the college crowd. Heather and Bonnie wore theirs on campus, and all the girls asked where they could buy them.”
Sylvia nodded. “They were so popular with the college girls, we couldn’t keep up with the demand. When they came in, we gave them a swatch book and asked them to choose the fabric they wanted. The girls really liked the idea of having something made, especially for them.”
“We put their names on a waiting list.” Heather continued the story. “And then Bonnie came up with the idea of personalizing their rompers.”
Maura turned to Bonnie with a smile. “How did we accomplish that?”
Bonnie pointed to the front of the bib. “See this patch? It’s made of washable suede, and we embroidered it with the girl’s initials, right here in the shop. The girls really loved ordering something that was monogrammed.”
“That was a very good idea.” Maura smiled at Bonnie. “I hope I gave you a bonus.”
Bonnie grinned back. “You did. You always give us bonuses when we come up with an idea you use.”
“We have another bonus which no one has mentioned.” Diane smiled at Maura. “You choose the particular outfits that will look best on us, and give them to us for our personal use.”
Cherise nodded. “It’s a great perk and it makes sense. My whole closet is filled with your clothes, and every time I wear a new outfit, people ask me where I bought it. That’s one of the ways Fille Janelle attracts new customers. You’re a very smart businesswoman, Mrs. Bennett.”
Maura smiled at the compliment, but she made a mental note. Cherise had called her Mrs. Bennett, not Mrs. Thomas. Did that mean that she didn’t use her married name at work? But perhaps Cherise had been working for her before she’d married Keith and she was in the habit of calling her Mrs. Bennett. She’d have to check the personnel file to find out if that was true.
There was just time for a quick tour through the boutique before they opened their doors at eleven. Maura was amazed at how beautifully her boutique was decorated, especially when she found out that she’d done it all herself. The showroom floor was covered w
ith a deep pile carpet in a lovely shade of mauve which matched the color in the thin pinstripe on the deep gray fabric walls. There were two settees, several cushioned chairs, and a low coffee table, forming a conversational group in the far corner of the room. The furniture was made of light ash and it looked very comfortable, cushioned in the same shade of mauve.
Maura had already seen the closets that lined two of the walls, a section for each size she carried. There was a huge, beveled glass mirror in one of the corners, oval shaped and framed in the same shade of light ash wood. The mirror was on a stand and it tilted, providing a head-to-toe view. And it was flanked by two light ash hat trees, one filled with hats and the other with costume jewelry and scarves.
“Do we sell leather goods?” Maura turned to Sylvia. She was sure she remembered carrying luggage and purses in her boutique.
Sylvia nodded. “Of course. Come with me and I’ll show you.”
Maura gasped as Sylvia let her through a small archway and into another, smaller room, lined with light ash shelves. There were leather purses of every conceivable size and shape, the same buttery soft luggage Jan had brought her at the hospital, and a gorgeous array of shoes, especially chosen to complement the outfits she had designed.
“You do all the buying.” Sylvia answered Maura’s unspoken question. “A small shoe factory in Italy makes our line of shoes and handbags, and you just contracted with them for our luggage.”
“Ammante’s?” Maura held her breath until Sylvia nodded. She’d remembered the name of one of their suppliers. “How about the hats? Who makes those?”
“A firm in France. You design some of them. And our costume jewelry comes from Germany. You also buy some from Switzerland, but they only deal in semiprecious stones.”
“How about the scarves? They’re lovely.”
“It took you a while to find a place to make those.” Sylvia smiled. “You finalized the contract just last year. There’s a wonderful textile firm in Helsinki that does the sheers, and a Swedish plant makes all the woven belts.”
