Challenging Matt

by Julianna Morris

  The phone on the bedside table rang and Layne’s heart jumped. She grabbed the receiver, hoping it was Uncle Rob. He had called a couple days before and left a message, so she’d sent him another email, giving him her work hours and asking him to phone again, no matter what the hour.

  “Uncle Rob?”

  “No, it’s me,” Matt said. “I thought it would be all right to call since your lights are on.”

  “You’re outside my house?”

  “I’m parked in your driveway. I have that updated list of addresses and phone numbers. Connor gave it to me this afternoon, but I was in the middle of a negotiation and couldn’t get away earlier.”

  Layne got up and went to the front bedroom window and scowled. Matt’s red Mercedes-Benz was in her driveway; she should have heard him arrive—practically every other car driving down the street had gotten her attention.

  “I’ll be right there.”

  She ran downstairs and opened the door when she saw Matt coming up the walkway. He looked triumphant and to her surprise, gave her a swift, very thorough kiss.

  “Uh...what was that for?”

  “Ever hear of Remy Saunders?”

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  “Well, he’s a leading medical researcher and has signed a contract to head a new project on amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. I took him to a late dinner and then dropped him at the airport.”

  “ALS? That’s a dreadful disease.”

  A flicker of emotion darkened Matt’s expression. “Yes. And usually fatal in two to five years. There are exceptions, like the physicist Stephen Hawking, but not many.”

  “A friend’s great uncle died of ALS a few years ago. It’s weird—apparently several members of his high school graduating class have had ALS, too.”

  “Really?” Matt looked genuinely interested. “How many in the class?”

  “I don’t know, but it couldn’t have been that many. He grew up in small California town.”

  “Can you get the details? We’re interested in disease clusters to help look for common factors.”

  “I’ll talk to Annette and find out anything she knows.”

  “Appreciate it.” Matt held up an envelope. “Here’s the information on the employee names that Emma Farnon gave you.”

  Layne took out the pages. The information was in a bold, no-frills font, which fit the little she knew about Matt’s security chief. She wasn’t looking forward to making the calls—from her conversations with Emma and the others, she knew the embezzlement case was a touchy subject.

  “Thanks. It’s too late to call anyone now, but I’ll start tomorrow.” Layne glanced at Matt. “You look tired. Was it that exhausting getting a research director to sign a contract?”

  “No, but my dad called again last night at two in the morning.”

  “Again?”

  “Yeah. He phoned Saturday night, too. Or rather, Sunday morning as his party was ending in Jamaica. His kind of party doesn’t end until after the sun is up.”

  “But it’s nice, isn’t it, that he wants to talk?”

  Matt shrugged. “Dad only calls when he wants something. In this case, when his twenty-four-year-old girlfriend goes to bed before he does. He gets bored easily.”

  “Twenty-four?”

  “Yeah, and a Fulbright scholar.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. I’ve never been sure how he does it. One minute he’s talking to a woman while waiting for a flight, the next she’s off to Rio or Montego Bay or the Mediterranean with him.”

  Layne raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never picked up a woman that quickly?”

  “Not exactly. And we’re talking about my father, the aging Lothario with more ex-wives than he can count. I don’t think it’s just his money attracting them, though he’s paid out several fortunes in divorce settlements.”

  “I understand he’s charming and attractive.”

  “Looking for an introduction so you can be the next ex-Mrs. S. S. Hollister?”

  “Me? I’d need to grow five inches and several bra sizes to appeal to your father. Being blonde, blue-eyed and drop-dead beautiful wouldn’t hurt, either. Do you want some ice cream?”

  Matt’s faint scowl disappeared. “What do you think?”

  They went into the kitchen and she took bowls from the cupboard, while he got a carton from the freezer. She’d done her best to ignore the remaining pints of Cherry Garcia in the house, but it hadn’t been easy. At stressful moments they positively called her name.

  Matt spooned out generous portions and they sat at the kitchen table.

  “I called the Carrollton police station several times today,” he said after swallowing a bite of ice cream. “Detective Rivera is working a homicide, at least that’s what the dispatcher says, but I’ll keep trying to reach him. What about your idea of consulting an attorney?”

  “I’m not ready to go that route yet.” Layne licked her spoon methodically and suddenly became aware of Matt’s attentive gaze. She was too old to blush, but she felt warm. Worse, did he think she was trying to be provocative? Trying to act that way would make her feel ridiculous and he’d probably just roll his eyes.

  “I’m glad you don’t want to meet my dad,” he said. “I’ve already had two stepmothers younger than me. It’s weird, even though I don’t see his wives that often. Not that any of his marriages last—Spence divorced one of his wives before anyone in the family met her.”

  Layne dug out a chunk of fudge from her ice cream and ate it. “It doesn’t matter, I’m not his type.”

  “Spence doesn’t have a type.”

  She snickered. “If you think that, you’re blind. His women are all tall, long-legged and well endowed. He likes them bright, but will tolerate dumb-as-a-fence-post if they’re gorgeous, eager and built like a Playboy magazine centerfold. Right?”

  Matt groaned.

  “That’s your type, too,” she added.

  “Certainly not.” Now he sounded annoyed. “If I have a ‘type,’ it’s intelligent women with a nice laugh and zero interest in getting married and having children.”

  “Who are also supermodels.”

  “How would you know?”

  Layne tucked a leg beneath her. “I looked you up online. My favorite photo is of you in the hot tub, holding the champagne flute.”

  “Oh, dear God. Can’t anybody let me live that down? I’m more than a guy in a Jacuzzi.”

  Matt looked grumpy, so she dumped the remainder of her Cherry Garcia into his bowl. Luckily the prospect of more ice cream seemed to brighten his mood. It was strange having this half friendship with Matt Hollister. He was the guy you read about in tabloids, not someone you ate ice cream with in your kitchen. It just went to prove she was the original buddy magnet, though she was sure that once they’d finished their investigation, she’d never see him again.

  “I’m not a PR expert, but I wouldn’t let anyone know those photos and stories bother you,” Layne said thoughtfully. “Show a sense of humor about your old reputation and use it to get people to listen to what you’re doing now, like the ALS research project.”

  “A sense of humor, huh?”

  “Why not? You seem to be hoping everyone will forget about the constant women and parties and extreme sports, but I don’t think it’s working.”

  “You may be right.”

  Looking sinfully handsome, he ate the ice cream she’d given him, and Layne squirmed at the traitorous heat in her abdomen. If she wasn’t careful, she could fall under the Hollister spell herself, and that would be a disaster. It wasn’t just that Matt was opposed to marriage and fatherhood—it would be like falling for the prince in a movie. Cinderella might get her Prince Charming, but women like Layne McGraw didn’t.

  “So...you were really exci
ted about this Remy Saunders guy agreeing to head the ALS project. What’s so special about him?” she asked as a distraction.

  “Remy thinks independently. He explores radical ideas without discounting traditional research. You never know where an answer will be found to a problem. I’ve read about high school science projects that have resulted in amazing discoveries.”

  “Me, too. Maybe it’s because kids haven’t learned that certain things aren’t supposed to be possible. It could almost make someone reconsider having children.”

  Lord, her mouth had a wild and free life of its own.

  Matt glared. “Don’t you start that. My grandmother is making noises about great-grandchildren. I told her to adopt an exhibit at the zoo and leave me alone.”

  “It’s hard to dandle a lone wolf on your knee.”

  “She isn’t the dandling type.”

  “Yeah, and you take after a laughing hyena so much more.” Layne tried to keep sounding tongue-in-cheek, but having him mentally leap from her to his grandmother was another blow to her feminine ego. “Um...how about offering an annual scholarship for the best high school science projects on ALS?”

  Matt brightened. “I’ll mention it to Remy the next time we talk.” He put his bowl on the table and stretched, sending another twinge of awareness through Layne. “I’d better get going. I have appointments early in the morning.”

  “Okay.”

  Layne locked the door behind him and wished her body was more cooperative. Wanting to rip Matt’s clothes off wasn’t conducive to getting anything done, and he’d just think she was pathetic if she tried it.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  LAYNE’S CELL PHONE rang the next afternoon in the middle of a meeting with Carl Abernathy and the rest of the staff. She winced as Carl’s eyebrows shot upward. One of his rules was no cell phones in meetings.

  “Sorry,” she said, fumbling as she turned it off.

  “No, please, don’t let us interrupt your social life.”

  “It’s not... Sorry,” she apologized again. Layne had gotten a good enough look at the display to know it was Matt calling, and while she was dying of curiosity, talking to him would have to wait. It must be about something good. Matt didn’t call her during work hours, probably for fear that someone at the Babbitt might discover she was in contact with him.

  It wasn’t impossible. Layne glanced across the table at Noah Wilkie. He’d love to hear what Matt had said the previous night about his father—S. S. Hollister didn’t live in the Seattle area, but he was always good for filler copy since one of his ex-wives lived here. And farther down the table sat Karl Withers, their medical writer—he’d practically kill for an inside scoop about a new Eisley Foundation research project.

  After the meeting, Annette Wade handed her a sheet of paper. “It’s the information you asked for about my great-uncle,” she explained. “It’s where he went to high school in California, also the dates he served in the air force and the reserves.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Any special reason you asked?”

  “Oh, just some research on ALS,” Layne said guiltily. “I want to see if your great uncle’s high school class has been identified as a disease cluster.”

  “What do you think about Phillip getting married next month?” Regina asked, coming up behind them. “Isn’t it great?”

  Phillip Stanton was the Babbitt’s obituary writer and had announced he was engaged at the prior week’s meeting.

  “Mmm, yes,” Annette agreed dreamily. She wrote the nuptials column for the Babbitt and was the worst romantic. “Layne, Regina and I are throwing an office wedding shower for Phil and his fiancée. Will you help us shop for it?”

  “Sure, when are you going?”

  “We need more information from Phil before we can make plans,” Regina said practically. “You know, where they’re going to register, when his fiancée will be available to come to a wedding shower...that kind of thing.”

  “By the way, my sister is getting married, too,” Layne told them. “Stephanie is engaged to Owen Fitzsimmons.”

  “Oh my God,” Annette exclaimed. “The author? Is he just as handsome in person as on his book covers?”

  “More.”

  Regina fanned herself. “He’s delicious. I met him once at a book signing. Have they set a date yet?”

  “Next May.” Layne dropped the information from Annette into her purse. “Owen has a book tour this fall, and Steffie says she wants a spring wedding, anyhow.”

  “She’s the nice one, isn’t she?” asked Annette.

  Layne squirmed. She loved both of her sisters and they were both nice people at heart, but it hadn’t kept her from regularly complaining to her friends about Jeannie. “They’re both okay. Jeannie just can’t help interfering—she has that big-sister-knows-best attitude when it comes to me.”

  “I’m never doing a column on her wedding. I bet she’ll be the worst bridezilla.”

  Layne suspected the same thing, but didn’t want to admit it. Annette was popular with brides and received dozens of wedding invitations weekly, from Centralia to Bellingham. If a wedding received Annette’s stamp of approval she wrote beautifully about it, getting just the right pictures and making it sound like a magical event.

  “I’ll let you know when I have a firm date for Steffie’s wedding,” Layne assured her friend. “But they said something about a small ceremony, so I’m not sure it’s something you’ll be interested in covering.”

  “That’s what most couples say, then it turns into a three-ring circus,” Regina scoffed.

  Layne bit her lip so she wouldn’t smile. Both Regina and Annette were romantics, but Regina tried to hide it, being ambitious to become a big-name reporter. Layne checked the clock on the wall. “Quitting time,” she pointed out brightly. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

  She gathered her belongings and headed for the parking lot. Once inside her Mustang, she turned her phone back on and called Matt.

  “Hey, it’s me,” she said, still breathless. “I was in the middle of a meeting when you called. What’s up?”

  “I just talked with Detective Rivera. He’s willing to see us Saturday morning at eight—he implied he might have something he’ll let you read, but didn’t promise copies or anything.”

  “It’s better than nothing.”

  They agreed to meet at her house and drive to the station together. Layne was thrilled at Matt’s success in getting the detective to see her again. Maybe he had more political clout than she’d thought.

  * * *

  LAYNE RACED OUT to her car after nine that evening, so excited she could hardly stand it. She drove to her aunt’s house, wanting to tell her the news in person. She called out as she let herself in and turned off the security system, resetting it behind her—the peculiar events at her own house were making her very careful.

  “Hey, Aunt Dee, it’s me.”

  “I’m in the kitchen. What are you doing here so late?”

  “It isn’t that late—it’s still light outside. But never mind that, I’m filled with information.” Layne grinned. “Uncle Rob just called. I didn’t tell you, but I found a phone message in the boxes sent over from Hudson & Davidson. It was in texting shorthand and indicated that an ‘RD’ asked if Uncle Will was coming that night. I thought it might have been from Uncle Rob.”

  Aunt Dee’s face had gone white and Layne hastily guided her to one of the bar stools at the counter, realizing she’d been too abrupt. “It’s okay. I mean, it may not help the investigation, but you’ll like what he said.”

  “You didn’t tell him that I wondered whether William was having an affair, did you?”

  “No, of course not. That’s between us. I just mentioned that I was trying to establish if Uncle Will had an alibi for any of the nigh
ts a theft occurred, and that I’d found a phone message suggesting he might have gone to Aberdeen while Rob was staying there with a friend.”

  “Did he?”

  Layne nodded. “Yup. They talked often on the phone and Uncle Will went to Aberdeen to visit several times while you were in Mount Vernon with Grandma Adele. Unfortunately Uncle Rob can’t verify the dates, but it was always on Thursday nights when you were out of town.”

  “Wait, Lani, back up,” Dee said. “Why wouldn’t William tell me he was visiting my brother?”

  “It’s complicated. You know how Uncle Rob was hurt in that roadside bombing?”

  “Of course. He almost died.”

  “Well, he was having a rough time recovering, but with the family worrying about Grandma Adele, he didn’t want anyone to know and worry about him, as well. Uncle Rob wasn’t specific, but I’m guessing he’s had post-traumatic stress and being able to talk to Uncle Will helped him deal with it.”

  “That makes sense,” Dorothy said slowly. “William was former navy, so they had a common language.”

  “Exactly.” Layne took her aunt’s hand. “It didn’t occur to Uncle Rob to tell you about it after everything happened. He said it was almost funny the way Uncle Will would get off the phone whenever you came around. Apparently he was trying to respect Uncle Rob’s wishes, but he was such a lousy liar and thought if you realized he was talking to your brother, you’d want to know why.”

  Some of the tension in Dee’s face began to ease. “You’re right. It sounds silly now.”

  “I’ve been thinking about how easy it is to read meaning into things after the fact,” Layne said. “I’ll never forget my neighbor swearing her dog predicted that big earthquake we had a few years ago. She said Ranger was leaping at the fence and barking, which meant he knew a big quake was on the way and was trying to warn her.”

  “And you told her that Ranger had leaped at the fence and barked every day since you moved in, so unless he was predicting earthquakes in China and Guatemala and Timbuktu, he was no more psychic than your pet rock.”