The Signature (A Perfect Forever Novel)

by Ward, Susan

  Krystal frowned. Why did it always sound as if Rosa were making fun of her? Was it simply that her efforts were as pathetic as they felt? What must these people think of her, hounding a man who clearly didn’t want to be hounded?

  “I suppose it’s too much to hope that he’s there?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Howard isn’t available. Do you want to leave him another message?”

  “Did he get the others, Rosa?”

  “Every one.”

  So much for the fleeting hope that Devon hadn’t gotten them. “Will he even be back today?”

  “No. He’s out for the day.”

  More silence. “I’m sure you’re busy. I won’t take up your time with another message.”

  Rosa, as it was, wasn’t busy. The day had been slow. And she’d come to be amused by this Krystal Stafford, for the simple reason that she was the last of them who continued to call.

  A devilish idea came to Rosa. “As a matter of fact, I’m bored out of my skull. I wasn’t able to get a ticket to your concert tonight. And since I feel like we’re practically old friends, with all these calls, any chance you could messenger one over to me? They’re going for upwards of six hundred dollars on the street today.”

  “Six hundred?” Krystal choked in disbelief. “I can get a backstage pass. What’s your last name, Rosa? I’ll have someone drop it off.”

  Rosa covered the received to block out her laughter. Oh, she was good. An all-out certifiable nut.

  “Lopez. Rosa Lopez. That would be terrific. But just in case you can’t pull it off, how about singing something for me. I’m a really big fan.”

  Krys stared at the phone for a moment, wondering at that odd note in Rosa’s voice. Fans were mysterious beings!

  Laughter laced Rosa’s voice. “How about that new one on the radio. The quiet one you do without Morgan.”

  Misery bit at Krystal’s stomach.

  “Just a little bit, please,” Rosa cajoled.

  “I’m sorry. Not today,” Krystal said softly and hung up the phone.

  Jason heard Krystal crying softly in her bedroom. Dropping down cross-legged in front of her, he held out a handkerchief.

  “I’m sorry, Krys. This is all my fault. I’m the one who told you to call, when I should have minded my own business. Damn, Devon. If I’d a known he could be this big of a jerk I would...”

  Furiously she brushed at her tears.

  “It’s not your fault, Jason. You were right to tell me to call. It’s always better to try to fix things instead of sitting back, afraid of trying.”

  He ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair. “I still can’t imagine why Devon wouldn’t even return a call.”

  But Krystal could. She had the memory of his face that last night to remind her.

  Angry now, Jason thumbed through the phone book and looked up the number of Jerrot Howard, whom Krystal had mentioned in passing was Devon’s brother.

  “What are you doing?” Krystal inquired nervously.

  “I’m going to give him a piece of my mind!”

  “No, Jason, let it go. Please. If the man doesn’t want to see me, what’s the point?”

  Jason help up the phone book. “Look, his number may be unlisted, but his family’s isn’t. This is his brother, right?”

  Krystal nodded.

  He was dialing the phone anyway. Over her protests, into the receiver he barked, “Hey, is this Jerrot Howard? Devon’s brother? My name is Jason Mathews. I met Devon in Coos Bay and I’m in LA. I was wondering if you could give me his home number and his address since it doesn’t seem to be listed.”

  There was silence for a moment. “Coos Bay? You’re not that kid from the band Devon wrote about, are you?”

  Through clenched teeth, Jason said, “Yeah, that’s me. I’ve been in town two months and I thought I’d look him up.”

  Recalling the fondness in Devon’s voice when he talked about these kids, Jerrot gave out the information that was well guarded among only family and friends. Taking the pen from the floor, Jason jotted it down quickly, said a curt thank you, and began dialing again.

  “Jason, no!”

  He held the phone out to her. “Come on, Krys. Then you do it. Give him a piece of your mind. Tell him what you think! Darn it, if nothing else, it should make you feel better.”

  She took the phone pressed into her hands, with no intention of giving Devon a piece of her mind. Jason wasn’t quite a man yet, it seemed. She smiled sadly as Jason watched her, eyes flaming.

  The voice that answered wasn’t familiar to her. “I’m sorry. I think I’ve got the wrong number,” she said.

  A friendly laugh. “How unfortunate for my brother.”

  “Your brother...” Krystal paused in confusion. “Would this be Devon’s house then?”

  “Yes it is. But I’m afraid he isn’t home. Would you like to leave a message?”

  A message. What was the point?

  Feeling frustration building inside, she said, “Tell him that I won’t call again. I won’t bother him again. Tell him I got the message loud and clear.”

  Another laugh. “How unfortunate for Devon. Do you have a name to go with that message?”

  “Krystal. Krystal Stafford.”

  She held out the phone to Jason. The laughter on the other end bordered on uproarious. Frowning at each other, she lifted the phone back up between their ears in time to hear the voice on the other end say, before hanging up the phone, “Someone had better tell Devon that the kooks have his home number again. How the heck do they keep getting it?”

  The pieces flew together in her mind. That laughter. Rose’s poorly concealed amusement every time she called. No one took it seriously that it was really her! Was that why Devon hadn’t called her? Did Rosa think those messages hadn’t been left by her, either? Had he even gotten them?

  “Kook? What the hell did he mean by that?” Jason asked, glaring.

  Krystal suddenly felt buoyant inside. It meant there was every chance that Devon didn’t know she had tried to reach him!

  What if the past three months of misery had just been a series of missed communications because of the complicated circumstances of their lives now?

  She was laughing as she dropped to the ground and she ripped the page from the book that Jason had written Devon’s address on.

  “I need your help, Jason,” Krystal said suddenly.

  She was shoving her hair up into Jason’s Portland Trail Blazers cap before he could respond.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I need the keys to your car and to get out through the gate without anyone following me. Give me your jacket. Here, put this on.”

  She shoved down on his head the wide brimmed, white Panama hat she had set out for tonight.

  “Krys, what are you doing? Damn it. I’m not wearing this. I look like an idiot!”

  She was smiling, her thoughts turning rapidly in her head.

  “You’re going to put on my hat and glasses and coat and run into the car waiting out front, before anyone can tell it isn’t me. Hopefully, the vultures will follow you. And a little later, I’m going to go through those gates in your car and pray that no one follows me!”

  “Why, Krys? Why!”

  There wasn’t time to explain it all to Jason.

  “You wanted me to give Devon a piece of my mind. Well, that’s what I’m going to do. Go to his house and tell him exactly what I think.”

  What she didn’t tell Jason was she was going there to tell Devon she loved him.

  Krystal had been gone from Los Angeles for two years and was grateful that Jason had a map in the glove box. Sitting low in the seat, fearful that someone would recognize her, she pulled his cap lower, with her free hand.

  She had made it through the front gate without incident. Why hadn’t this thought come to her before? She should have gone to Devon’s office—even if it was a newspaper—and had it out with him long before this!

  Looking at the clock in the da
sh, she tried to estimate how much time she had. It was four, and on a good day it took thirty minutes from her house to the beach. But today was Friday. Blah. Rush hour Friday traffic. An hour, at least.

  She tried not to imagine the fit Colin would have if he found out what she was doing, or the more terrible consequence that she might arrive late to her own concert.

  It would be another hour back into downtown LA. And then the added complication of how to get into the facilities, as she remembered the entrance was marked Authorized Personnel and would be guarded like a fortress tonight.

  What would the press’s reaction be to Krystal Stafford driving into her LA comeback debut in a beat-up ’67 Mustang that spewed more smoke than a factory? Would she even get near enough to the security line to risk telling someone who she was?

  She’d sent Jason out in her car with instructions to drive around LA until nine, and not to breathe a word to anyone about what she was doing. She should have asked him to come to Devon’s to get her.

  The car, as if sensing her thoughts, made an ugly cough. Why was she laughing so hard? It wasn’t funny at all. Colin and Morgan would have her head for this. She’d promised them no more trouble. But it felt good. The freedom. The feeling of doing something she wanted to do. The glorious possibility that at the end of this crazy journey would be Devon.

  She felt so wonderfully alive. She hadn’t felt this way since coming back to LA. She wanted to lock this feeling inside of her. It made her feel bold, like she could do anything.

  Slowing down to scan the neatly painted numbers on the curb, she did a quick check against Jason’s note, then continued to scan. She parked in front of a beach house crowded with cars. Devon’s house.

  His house seemed to smile down at her in quiet charm. Like Devon. Yes, this suited him, the quiet, the beach where she imagined he ran every day, isolated from the craziness of downtown.

  Not bothering to lock Jason’s car—it may be Los Angeles instead of Coos Bay, but who the devil would steal the darn thing—she hurried up the front walk, feeling a touch vulnerable being alone in public.

  She knocked twice on the door and waited, trying to pull herself as far under Jason’s hat as possible. When the door opened, it wasn’t Devon, but she knew she had the right house.

  The face that smiled down at her was strikingly familiar, but older, with gemmed eyes a rich shade of blue instead of green.

  “Can I help you?” the man asked with naked curiosity.

  Krystal smiled, rummaging through the memories. Which brother was this?

  “You’re Jordan, aren’t you? Jordan Howard.”

  Mild surprise filtered across his face. “Yes, I am. Now that we know who I am, would you like to tell me who you are and what you want?”

  It was a pleasant voice, spiced with humor, just like Devon’s. She laughed. Hiding nervousness behind a bright, teasing voice, she stated, “I’m the kook someone just hung up on. I’m Krystal Stafford. Could I possible come in and speak with Devon for a moment?” What could she say that wouldn’t sound pathetic? “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by.”

  Krys Stafford? Jordan tried to get a better look at her. Blond hair peeking out from beneath a cap. Big glasses. Very nice body. Oh, definitely better than nice, he amended in his mind, thankful Kara couldn’t read his mind.

  He looked past her to that beat-up car and took a moment to notice that she was dressed very simply. Torn jeans. Sketchers. A short, black t-shirt beneath a scarred leather jacket several sizes too big. This had to be a joke. What the devil was his little brother Danny up to this time?

  Cursing under his breath, he asked, “Did Danny put you up to this? Is this one of his stupid jokes? What are you, a look-alike stripper or something?” Her face flamed, and before she could say anything, Jordan turned back from the door and shouted, “Danny. Get out here now!”

  “No, really...” Krystal tried to explain, but it seemed an impossibility in the way the brothers quickly talked among themselves.

  Another Howard brother stood in front of her. Danny. Yes, the one with the long hair, who was known for doing the outrageous.

  “...are you out of your mind,” she heard Jordan say, “Devon is apt to deck you for this. He won’t think it’s at all funny, and the house is full of kids. I can’t imagine what Kara...”

  “No, it isn’t me...Jerrot! Marc!”

  “Please, excuse me,” Krystal exclaimed more forcefully. “There seems to be a misunderstanding here!”

  No one heard her. They were arguing. And there were four of them now in front of her.

  She pulled off Jason’s hat and her glasses and tried for the life of her to get one of them to look at her.

  “Hello! Do any of you remember me? The stripper! Can you just look at my face for a moment, please?”

  For an anxious moment she stood there. When silence replaced laughter, she smiled.

  “I am Krystal Stafford. Can we all come to an agreement on that? And since I know you weren’t expecting me, I’ll forgive the stripper comment, Jordan, but really…may I come in before I’m noticed? The sidewalk is packed with people.”

  Someone, Marc she guessed, lightly took her arm and pulled her into the front hall. When the door closed behind her, she realized that there were more Howards than just these four in Devon’s house.

  Spouses, children, and parents to be exact. The walls seemed to bulge with the sheer number of them.

  Standing in the center of a sea of curious eyes, Krystal suddenly felt very awkward and stupid. Especially since Devon didn’t even seem to be among them. What must they think, having her turn up on his doorstep this way?

  Perhaps she’d feel less uneasy if someone simply said something. Well, heck...she stepped forward and decided to introduce herself one by one, by age rank.

  “Mr. Howard, it’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Krystal Stafford. Mrs. Howard.” She looked to the oldest of the brothers. “You would be Marc, right? The lawyer? And you’re Jordan?” Her smile deepened. He was the one who most strongly resembled Devon, except for the eye color. “You’re the one who hit Devon in the face with a baseball bat when he was seven and caused—” her finger trailed her chin. “—that little scar. And you would be Danny, the one with itchy feet. You’re Jerrot, aren’t you? The artist?”

  She continued to make her way among them.

  “Kara, right? You’re Jordan’s wife? And you’re Erica, Marc’s wife? And you’re Mia, Jerrot’s wife. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you all.”

  A young girl of about thirteen was staring at Krystal with dazed eyes. “How do you know so much about us?”

  Krystal laughed softly. “Because when your uncle interviewed me, Tracy Howard, I made a deal with him. A story from him for each story about me. I think I got the better end of the deal, though. His stories were happy and full of love.”

  The little girl beamed at that, and suddenly the rest of the children were around her, staring up at Krystal with big eyes, as though she were a mirage.

  They were busy bombarding her with questions, when she heard Jordan say, “Mrs. Stafford?”

  “Krystal, please,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him, as she fought to keep track of Jenny Howard’s racing chatter.

  “Are you famous, really? The lady from the TV? The one uncle Devon went to jail for? Do you really sing on stage?”

  Krys nodded and crinkled her nose. “I’m afraid so. You won’t hold that against me, will you? I didn’t want your uncle to go to jail. I came home so they would let him out.”

  Jordan was still talking to her through the children’s racing chatter: “Krystal, Devon isn’t here. He had to run out to the paper. Some sort of problem with his copy, but he should be home shortly, if you’d like to wait. He didn’t expect to be gone more than an hour. Would you like something to drink? Or maybe go someplace quiet, away from the kids, to wait. He has an office downstairs.”

  “No, I’d rather stay here,” she said.

&nb
sp; She let the kids lead her into the living room and sat with them on the floor, cross-legged, in front of an enormous window which overlooked the Pacific Ocean.

  How she had missed being surrounded by children, missed her carefree days with the tiny tots. And these ones were special. So dear to her. Devon’s SUV of nieces.

  Kara hung back in the doorway and watched. She hadn’t had the best of thoughts about Krystal Stafford. She wasn’t prepared to like her, but this woman sitting on the floor didn’t match with the image in her mind. This woman smiled at the kids with honest affection, affection she knew was the natural reflection of her feelings for Devon.

  Jordan stopped beside his wife, on his way from the kitchen, and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “What do you make of this? Krystal Stafford showing up at Devon’s door. Is there something going on that I don’t know about?”

  Kara shrugged and smiled. “We’ll soon find out, won’t we? Devon said to expect him back at six and its quarter ‘til.”

  Jordan smiled. “She’s not at all what I expected her to be like. She doesn’t seem the least bit notorious. She ought to fire whoever does her press. This woman is much more appealing than her media image.”

  “Appealing, huh? That wouldn’t have anything to do with her having a perfectly fabulous body and a knock-out face?”

  “Those things don’t hurt,” he teased, smiling into his wife’s eyes. “I admit that men can be very shallow creatures. But I think our Mrs. Stafford also happens to be a nice woman. A woman may be able to fool a man, Kara, but she can’t fool a child. Pull in your claws, sweetheart. Whatever Krystal Stafford wants with Devon isn’t any of our business. You also seem to have forgotten that Devon isn’t like the rest of us thick-skulled brutes. If all she had was a pretty face, I don’t think whatever happened between them in Coos Bay would have brought her here now!”

  Devon stared at his blank computer screen in frustration. He’d been forced to return to the office to fix his copy and still hadn’t managed to catch his stride.

  When he had first returned to work, he had thought the interference of the notoriety and furor of his battle with the courts had been the only thing undermining his ability to strike a comfortable key in this once comfortable setting.