“Does it have anything to do with Mike’s death?” Fritz sent him a pointed look.
“Yeah, it does. I’d like to wait before I reveal any of my personal finances. I want to let things simmer a bit. See what plays out, see what happens.”
“And if she finds out?” Fritz gestured, inclining his head toward the ceiling where the bath was located above them. “Then what?” He unscrewed the cap from the soy sauce and sprinkled more on the vegetables.
“I’ll tell her the truth. Hell, I’ll tell her now, if that’s what you want.”
“Tell me what?” Elise asked and stepped into the kitchen from the hall. She was barefoot, dressed in an aqua sweat suit, and her hair fell loosely around her shoulders.
“I’m rich,” Lucas admitted stonily, “but I’m trying to keep a low profile, so I can stay incognito. Sort of like a James Bond image, only in reverse.”
“Yeah, right, cut me a break.” She went to an overhead cupboard beside the refrigerator and rummaged on the shelf. “And I’m going to be one of your super sleuth babes who gets to wear those slinky clothes with all that electronic paraphernalia strapped to my body.” She removed a bottle of ibuprofen and shook out three tablets. “Are you guys into the booze again?”
Lucas shrugged, raising his hands in defeat as he shot Fritz an I told you so glance.
Elise filled a glass of water, swallowed the tablets, and chugged down the water.
Fritz turned from the stove. “You okay?” A worried expression marred his normally comic face.
She yawned. “I have a dull nagging headache. Jet lag finally caught up with me. I know Winston and Sanders have, too. Sometimes I feel like I’m working with two loose screws rather than accomplished architects. Mother used to say if you want a job done right, do it yourself.” She sighed, her eyes following the steam rising from the pan. “When are we going to eat? I’m tired, but not too tired to miss this gourmet treat. It smells fabulous, Fritz.”
“Take five on the couch,” Fritz instructed. “I’ll give a yell when we’re ready to eat.” The two men watched her walk wearily away.
“What’s on your menu for dessert, Iron Chef?” Lucas asked.
“Chocolate cake, what else?” He grinned. “It’s made from Mom’s old recipe. Fit for the likes of Lady Godiva. One of Elise’s favorites, too.”
“There’s only one slight problem,” Lucas drawled. “Lady Godiva lived in the second century, and chocolate was introduced into England in the eighteenth century.”
“Get out, how’d you know that?” Fritz raised a questioning eyebrow.
“I have a minor in history.”
“Holy Fright! Why history, dude?”
Lucas shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess I found it fascinating.” He looked through the archway into the living room where Elise was stretched out, eyes closed, in a recliner.
“You know Elise has a meeting with Pedmo tomorrow morning.” Lucas rubbed at the tension in the back of his neck. The dilemma with Children and Youth Services was wearing on him like a heavy coat of armor, slowly weighing him down hour by hour. He prayed Elise was up for the challenge.
Fritz snorted. “Pedmo is about to go down like a rock sinking in the Lackawanna River, pal. Lizzie has done a lot of legwork on your case. When she sets out to win, no one in his right mind should mess with her. You’ve never seen her go on a twenty-four hour bout of insanity when she gets passionate over an issue.”
“What should I do?”
“Absolutely nothing if you value your life.” Fritz smiled broadly. “Just step aside and wait for the fireworks to begin.”
****
It was late when Lucas arrived home from seeing Todd at the Johnsons’. Elise was watching the news, cuddled up on the couch with a fluffy afghan. Although Todd was disappointed Elise hadn’t accompanied him, she did insist Lucas take her smartphone. Todd had spent most of the time punching the Johnsons’ number into it and listening to the phone ring endlessly. Lucas wondered how many minutes they had used up on her account as a result of their antics. He hoped she had unlimited. But he had to admit, it had been a brilliant idea. Todd had the time of his life with one small rectangular piece of electronics.
He moved to the couch and dangled her watch before her eyes.
“You got it fixed?” Yawning, she raised up on an elbow to take it from him. A smile spread across her face. She searched through the covers, found the remote, and snapped the television off.
“Yes, it only needed a new battery. How are you feeling?” He sat down at the end of the couch, put her pillow on his thigh, and watched her strap on the watch. Her wrists were delicate, her fingers long and nimble.
She yawned. “Fine, how much do I owe you for the watch?”
He tugged her down until her cheek was on the pillow. His left hand rested naturally on her shoulder. “Nothing, it was the least I could do for a few minutes of in-car, off-the-cuff entertainment.”
“Bet it’s not the kind you usually have in that shiny package you tool around in.”
His hand moved to her hair. It was silky soft, and he pushed it from the side of her face and stroked her temple lightly. “Are you implying I lead a less than respectable life?”
She rolled to her back and stared up at him. Her eyes were so bright blue, it almost hurt to look at them.
“Have you?” she asked.
“To be honest, Elise, I’ve known a few women. The last one I thought might be real, but I guess I underestimated my talents in selecting the right one.” He toyed with the hair at her forehead, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger.
“What happened?”
He shrugged. “She was a busy model who worked out of New York and L.A.”
“She must have been beautiful.”
Not as beautiful as you and only on the outside, he wanted to say. “Yes, she was lovely, but as soon as she got an inkling I wanted to raise Mike’s kid, she flew the coop.”
“Oh, Lucas, I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged again. “What about you?”
She rubbed a hand over her eyes and took his hand, resting it comfortably at her waist as she investigated his Seiko, checking the time against her newly repaired watch. Only Elise Springer would want to synchronize watches, he thought. It made him smile.
“New Seiko? Solar driven. Never needs winding. Nice,” she commented, running her fingers over the band.
“Yes, I just got it a few weeks ago. I thought my Rolex was a bit too much with my flannel shirts.”
“I know the feeling,” she said with cynical sarcasm he was beginning to enjoy. “I decided it was best not to wear my diamond necklace when I pulled on these sweats tonight.”
“So what about you?” he asked again.
“Me? Oh, yes, I’ve had a few men in my life.” Her face clouded, and she hesitated as her stiff German breeding kicked in, refusing to reveal too much information. “Most of them couldn’t hack my long hours, and the others didn’t like my no-nonsense personality.”
He stroked her forehead. “You always play the little tough girl role.”
“Yeah, it’s part of the job, but it’s getting old and it’s mighty tiring.”
“Did you ever consider giving it all up and coming home? Set up your own firm here on the East Coast?”
“I considered it, but Winston and Sanders are renowned. I was hoping to get in on the ground floor, work my way up, and garner some of their reputation first. It helps when you want to go out on your own.”
He stared at her, his thoughts in turmoil. It would be so easy to fall in love with her, he thought. He drew in a sharp breath. And get hurt all over again. She would leave, just like Monique. But it bothered him even more to think some other man might get the chance.
“Something the matter?” she asked.
“No, nothing. Your brother thinks I’m not shooting straight with you.” He blew out a breath, hoping to gather his wandering thoughts. How do you tell a woman you’re rich? He had never been in a pos
ition where he’d had to convince someone.
“So tell me what I’m supposed to know.” She arched an eyebrow.
“When I snapped at you at the cottage, it wasn’t because I didn’t want you to know my finances. It was because I have more than sufficient funds to cover whatever you might plan to do.” He picked up her hand and brought the back of it to his lips, kissing it softly. “Do you understand? Money isn’t a problem for renovating the place. I set aside an account just for cottage expenses.”
“Yes, I guess so.” She yawned and pulled her hand free, then turned on her side. “So you want the whole works, including all major renovations and new, updated appliances, and all new furniture? Oh, and a new slate roof, too?”
“Whatever you think best. Don’t let money get in your way.”
“Okay. You got it.” She closed her eyes. “If I fall asleep here, be sure I’m up by eight.”
Within minutes she was out cold. He sat there stroking her hair, enjoying the solitude of the quiet, empty house, and her soft breathing. He would have stayed there all night, but he also knew there’d be hell to pay in the morning if he didn’t set an alarm, and they overslept.
He stood, lowered the pillow with her sleeping head onto the couch and covered her with an afghan, then bent down and kissed her lightly on her forehead before turning off the lights and heading upstairs.
****
“I must say, Miss Springer, I was really surprised when I heard you wanted to speak with me. I thought Todd Fisher was in a very warm, loving home.”
Elise smoothed the wrinkles from her pale blue suit and studied Twila Pedmo as she sorted through some paperwork on her desk. A stocky woman in her early sixties, Twila Pedmo had the quick, earnest, and sober demeanor of an army drill sergeant. Her tight, curly, but thinning red hair, verging on shades of pink, came straight from the bottle.
Before Elise had left the house with Lucas hovering over her as if she was headed for the gallows, she had phoned Thomas. Mrs. Pedmo’s youngest son had graduated a grade before him. She learned he had become a prominent lawyer for some political faction in the D.C. area. If the mother and son were chipped from the same block of marble, Thomas told her, she’d better be ready for battle. With that piece of advice in mind, Elise had frantically phoned the hospital. Tough, her father had agreed, with a skin as thick as a black walnut, but fair. The woman was devoted to the kids in her care.
“I have no doubt the Johnsons are very capable foster parents,” Elise said, “but the boy is young and is still grieving for his father. He needs to be united with his uncle. With family. He needs a place to run and play. The Johnsons aren’t physically able to be chasing an energetic child. My dad has taken a real shine to the child. He has had him at the farm. Todd loves the outdoors, and he’s especially fond of Dad’s Dalmatian.”
“Anton? How is he? I heard he had an unfortunate accident.”
“He’s doing well. He sends his regards. We’re hoping he’ll be out of the hospital next week.”
Mrs. Pedmo crossed her hands on her desk. “You have to understand, there are other ramifications here. The Johnsons are not wealthy people. What little they get from foster care helps to supplement their Social Security.”
Elise had thought about that the other night as she played out the entire scenario with Pedmo a thousand times in her mind. “I know, and since they’re such a generous, loving couple, I’m sure you’ll be able to find them another suitable child soon. We’re prepared to continue to reimburse them until you can get another child for them. We’d be most happy to have Mrs. Johnson come over and babysit as well.”
“It’s certainly generous of you, but you must also know it’s a huge undertaking being responsible for a child.”
“I’m prepared to do whatever is necessary.” Elise smiled with what she hoped looked like a genuine smile despite the worried feelings jabbing at her.
Mrs. Pedro pursed her lips and looked her squarely in the eyes. “So tell me, what part will Lucas Fisher play in all this?” she asked bluntly.
“Play?” Elise repeated, thinking the woman had missed her true calling. She should have been a police detective. Interrogation was mere child’s play for Twila Pedro. However, it was as natural as breathing to Elise. She could spar with the best of them. Architects, like artists and writers, were adept at defending and exalting their creations.
“Yes, I can’t believe he’s hanging around Scranton for any other reason than the child,” Pedmo admitted.
“I don’t disagree.” Elise saw something flicker in the woman’s eyes. “Lucas is hoping to eventually get custody of Todd. For now he wants the child not only in a home in which he feels comfortable, but also as close to him as possible until he can have his own house ready for occupancy. He’ll petition the court for custody if a will isn’t found soon.”
“I gather he has since obtained a home here in the area?”
“Of course. He’s renovating his grandmother’s cottage.”
This time Mrs. Pedmo made no effort to hide her surprise. Her eyebrows, penciled red to match her hair, lifted. “I’m sure you also know there are all types of rumors flying around the area about Lucas Fisher.”
Elise settled back in her chair. “Not any I’m aware of.”
“You should know, my dear, according to word around town, seventy-five thousand dollars was transferred into an account in Atlanta for Lucas Fisher before his brother died. Now, I’m not making accusations, and I’m sure the police will investigate and straighten it out, but it does seem rather bizarre, don’t you think? Especially when a hundred thousand dollars of undercover money was never recovered after Mike’s death?”
Elise gripped her handbag and struggled to steady her hands. She felt her body go numb. Why hadn’t Lucas mentioned this to her? Surely he knew about the rumors. He had told her money was not a problem. He had more than sufficient funds. She wondered whether Thomas and Fritz were aware of this little glitch in his life.
“No, I don’t. To be frank, Lucas Fisher’s finances are none of my business. You would be entrusting the child to my father and me, not to Lucas.” Her mind whirling, she forced herself not to panic. Instinctively, she changed tactics, going on the offensive. “Would you like to talk about my finances? Or my father’s? I’d be willing to supply all necessary documents you might need.”
Mrs. Pedmo waved a hand. “No, no, of course not.”
“Then please tell me, what other complications stand in our way?”
“The stepmother for one. I’m sure you’re aware she is claiming she has a close bond with the child.”
Elise scoffed. “I’m sure even the courts would question Clarisse’s relationship and her motives.”
“She moved here, I’m told.”
This time Elise waited a moment, then spoke carefully. “It’s a free country, Mrs. Pedmo. She can do as she pleases. Just tell me what I need to do.”
“You’ll have to have an acceptable room for the child, agree to an inspection of your home, have the proper paperwork in order, and get approval before a transfer can be made. Oh, you’ll need a criminal background check and a 151 Form, but I suppose in your work you have those documents. I have Anton’s criminal background check and his 151 child abuse history clearance already on file.”
“I do.” Elise pulled out a note pad from her purse. “How long will this paperwork take?”
“Only the time to fill out the office forms.” Mrs. Pedmo handed her a packet over the desk.
“Do you have a number where I can fax this back? Or can I scan it through the computer and send it to your e-mail?”
“Either way is fine.” Mrs. Pedmo’s pink hair bobbed as she cracked a thin smile. “I personally do the home inspections, so we can set it up for any day. However, the paperwork usually takes a few weeks after it’s submitted for approval.”
“Not good enough.” Elise shook her head, lips pursed. “Can we get it by the end of this week if I fill out the papers today?”
/> “Oh, heavens, no. The system doesn’t work that fast.”
Elise leaned forward. “Mrs. Pedmo,” she said in a sweet, low whisper, “you and I both know we don’t need the Governor to approve something like this. Give me a name or names, and I’ll personally get the signatures.”
The hackles all but rose on Twila Pedmo’s neck as she shot Elise a hostile glare. “Ms. Springer, I resent—”
“—intervention and opposition, I assume,” Elise finished and reached in her purse for her phone. She held it out in front of her, punched in a ten-digit number and positioned her thumb over the send key. “Now I get a name of someone who’ll push this through, or I call Senator Billings. State legislators love little dilemmas like these to solve for their constituency. It makes for good press when campaign time rolls around. Poor orphaned child, police officer father dead, unable to be relocated with the people he’s most fond of—his family. A child who’s crying himself to sleep at night. Local foster agency unwilling to cooperate, stalling the paperwork. You know, all the heart-wrenching stuff the public loves to hear?”
The color drained from Mrs. Pedmo’s face. “Heart-wrenching stuff? You’re a bold, tenacious one, aren’t you, Miss Springer? You must really want this child.”
“You’re pretty tough yourself,” Elise admitted.
“Oh, all right,” Mrs. Pedmo conceded. “If you give me the papers today, I’ll try to have them signed before Friday. It’s the very best I can do!” She stood, obviously a signal she was ending the meeting.
Elise sprang from her chair, almost dropping her phone. She extended her hand across the desk and pumped the woman’s enthusiastically. “Thank you, Mrs. Pedmo, thank you. You don’t know how much I appreciate your help.”
“Tell me, Ms. Springer, would you really have placed the call?”
Elise laughed. “Unfortunately, not that particular one. I would have had to call directory assistance and locate the right number first.”
The woman’s face held a conspiratorial smile. “You are certainly a credit to Anton Springer, my dear.” She picked up a file from her desk and gestured to the waiting room. “You’re welcome to stay, fill out this packet of paperwork, and leave it on my clerical assistant’s desk.”
Key to Love Page 8
