Triple Trouble

by Lois Faye Dyer

  “Maybe you’re right,” he said with a slight shrug, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “Have you heard anything new about the note Patrick got at the New Year’s Eve party? Or about the ones Dad and Cindy received?”

  “No.” Darr didn’t appear thrown by Nick’s abrupt change of subject. “That’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to Dad and J.R.—to ask if they’ve learned anything more.”

  The Fortune family had gone through a series of mysterious events over the last few months, starting with the cryptic note left in Patrick Fortune’s jacket pocket during a New Year’s Eve party. The strange message—“One of the Fortunes is not who you think”—baffled the family, even more so when they learned the same message had been left anonymously with Cindy Fortune and William, Nick and Darr’s father.

  Patrick had called a family conference at Lily Fortune’s home on the Double Crown Ranch in February, on the very day Red Rock had been hit with a freak snowstorm.

  Darr hadn’t been present at the gathering, since he’d been snowed-in with Bethany in her little house. But Nick had brought him up to speed on everything that happened, including the family’s assumption the notes were the precursor to a blackmail demand. So far, however, no such demand had been made. But two subsequent fires—one that burned down the local Red Restaurant, and a second that destroyed a barn at the Double Crown—were suspicious. And potentially connected to the mysterious and vaguely threatening notes.

  “Let me know if you reach Dad and J.R.,” Nick said. “Meanwhile, I had a message from Ross Fortune when I got back to the office today. We set up a meeting to discuss the notes and fires. Has he contacted you?” Nick and Darr’s cousin was a private investigator with an agency in San Antonio. His mother, Cindy, had convinced the family they should hire him to check into the cryptic threats.

  “Not yet,” Darr said, “but I heard he’s in town. The Chief said he called and asked for copies of the department’s report on the fire at Red.” Darr pushed his empty plate aside and leaned his elbows on the tabletop, his voice lowering. “This isn’t for public knowledge, but I’m sure my boss agrees with us—he has serious reservations as to whether the fire was accidental.”

  “What about the barn that burned at the Double Crown?”

  “He didn’t want to talk about that one—I suspect he believes I’m too close to the subject, since it happened on Lily’s ranch.”

  “Do you have a gut feeling as to his opinion?”

  “Yeah. I’m convinced he believes the Double Crown fire wasn’t an accident, either.”

  “I hope to hell Ross’s investigation gets some answers,” Nick said grimly. “You or someone else could have died in those fires.”

  “Bethany damn near did,” Darr said darkly, his features hardening. “She was barely conscious when I found her on the bathroom floor at the restaurant. She could have died of smoke inhalation.”

  “We have to find out who’s behind these threats to the family before someone loses their life,” Nick said. “I hope Ross is good at his job.”

  “When are you talking to him?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon at one.” Nick glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting in a half hour. Gotta get back to the office.”

  Darr nodded and both men dropped money on top of the check.

  “Thanks, guys,” their waitress called after them as they left the booth and headed for the exit.

  Nick shrugged into his jacket as he stepped outside, a brisk breeze cooling the air, although the sun beamed down, warm against his face.

  “Let me know what Ross has to say tomorrow,” Darr said, pausing on the sidewalk. “I have the day off, but I’m not sure what Bethany’s plans are or if I’ll be home, so call my cell phone.”

  “Sure.” Nick stepped off the curb. “Tell Bethany hello from me.”

  “Will do.” Darr headed down the block to his vehicle.

  Nick climbed into his Porsche, the powerful engine turning over with a throaty, muted roar when he twisted the key. The low-slung car had only two seats—room for the driver and one passenger.

  “Too small,” Nick murmured as he backed out of the slot. “I need to get an SUV.” Or a minivan. He shuddered. He didn’t think he could bring himself to drive a minivan—even for the triplets. Minivans were mommy cars. For a guy who loved fast cars and powerful engines, a minivan was a step too far, vehicle-wise.

  He made a mental note to go SUV shopping on his lunch hour tomorrow. Charlene could use it to drive the babies during the week and he’d use it on the weekends if he needed to take the little girls anywhere.

  If anyone had told him two weeks ago that he’d be contemplating buying a vehicle to transport babies, he would have laughed at the sheer insanity of the idea.

  He didn’t do kids. Never had. And kids hadn’t been part of his plans for the future.

  There was some kind of cosmic karma at work here. Nick couldn’t help but wonder what fate planned to hit him with next.

  Chapter Four

  N ick returned to the office, where he forced himself to concentrate on meetings. By the time he reached home that evening, he’d almost convinced himself he’d overreacted that morning.

  Surely he’d overestimated the power of his attraction to Charlene.

  The neighborhood was quiet, the street lamps casting pools of light in the early darkness when he slotted the car into the garage and got out, tapping the panel next to the inner door to close the garage door smoothly behind him. He unlocked the door leading from the garage into the utility room and passed through, stopping abruptly in the open doorway to the kitchen when he saw Charlene. She stood at the stove across the room, her back to him as she poured steaming water from the stainless steel teakettle into a mug. A box of tea sat on the counter next to the cup. Her hair was caught up in a ponytail, leaving her nape bare above a short-sleeved green T-shirt tucked into the waistband of faded jeans. She wore thick black socks and she looked comfortable and relaxed, as if the kitchen were her own.

  Coming home after a long day at work and finding a pretty woman in my kitchen is kind of nice.

  The thought surprised him. He’d never really understood married friends when they insisted that walking into a house that wasn’t empty was one of the great things about being married. He liked his privacy and didn’t mind living alone. In fact, he thoroughly appreciated the solitude of his quiet house after a day spent in meetings.

  But finding Charlene in his kitchen, clearly comfortable and making herself at home, felt good.

  Of course, he thought wryly, maybe I’d feel differently if she was a girlfriend with marriage on her mind and not the nanny. Maybe her employee status erased the natural wariness of a bachelor when confronted with an unmarried, attractive woman puttering in his kitchen.

  Whatever’s going on here, Nick thought, I’m definitely glad to see her.

  Before he could say hello, Rufus bounded in from the living room, his nails clicking against the tile floor. Woofing happily, he charged. Nick quickly lowered his leather computer bag to the tile and braced himself. The big dog skidded to a halt, reared onto his back legs, planted his front paws on Nick’s shoulders and tried to lick his face.

  “Hey, stop that.” Nick caught Rufus’s head in his palms and rubbed his ears.

  “Hi.” Charlene looked over her shoulder at him. She set the kettle on the range and carried her mug to the island where a notebook lay open beside her laptop computer. “I thought I heard your car pull into the garage. How was your day?”

  “Busy,” he said, releasing Rufus and bending to pick up his computer bag. The big dog followed Nick to the island and flopped down next to Charlene’s chair. “How was yours?”

  “Busy.”

  He laughed at her dry, one-word response. “Yeah, I bet it was. How did it go with the girls?”

  “Fine.” Charlene spooned sugar into her tea and stirred. “Jackie bonked her chin on a chair rung and has a new little bruise. Jessie smeared oatmeal in her hair and had to ha
ve a second bath this morning barely an hour after her first one. And Jenny…” She paused, her eyes narrowing in thought. “Come to think of it, Jenny had a fairly quiet day.”

  “That doesn’t sound possible.”

  “I know,” she laughed. “But she doesn’t seem ill, so I’m happy—but surprised—to report that although I’ve only known them for three days, there’s a possibility that maybe one of them has an uneventful day on occasion.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.”

  “Did you talk to the employment agency today?”

  “Yeah, they might have three candidates for me to interview soon. They’re running background checks and verifying references for each of the women.” Nick turned on the tap and washed his hands, turning to lean against the counter as he dried them. “What did Melissa make for dinner?”

  “Lasagne, french bread and salad—she left a plate for you in the fridge and the bread is in the pantry.” Charlene set down her mug and shifted to stand.

  Nick waved her back. “Stay where you are, I’ll get it.” The stainless steel, double-door refrigerator was only a step away. He located the plate and salad bowl, took a bottle of dressing from the inner-door shelf and let the door swing closed behind him as he walked back to the counter. He peeled the plastic wrap off the lasagne and slid it into the microwave to heat, tapping the timer before closing the door.

  “What do you want to drink?”

  He glanced around to see Charlene at the fridge, glass in hand.

  “Ice water sounds good, thanks.”

  He heard the clink of ice and the splash of water behind him as he walked to the island and pulled out one of the low-backed stools. The microwave pinged just as he finished pouring vinegar and oil dressing on his salad and he returned to the counter, grabbing a knife and fork from the cutlery drawer. Charlene set his glass of water down next to his salad bowl and returned to her seat as he carried his steaming plate back to the island. He sat across from Charlene and folded his shirt cuffs back, loosening and tugging off his tie.

  “Tell me about the triplets,” he said. “How did Melissa survive the day?”

  “She said she’s going to cancel her gym membership. Evidently, lifting and carrying three babies for eight hours is more fun than weight lifting with her trainer.” Charlene laughed. “Seriously, she’s great with them, and they seem to like her as much as she likes them.”

  “I thought they would,” Nick commented. “She’s good with Rufus, and dealing with him seems to be a lot like having a toddler in the house—he makes messes, demands food regularly, requires massive amounts of attention and sometimes wakes me up in the middle of the night.”

  “So, what you’re saying,” Charlene said dryly, arching one eyebrow as she eyed him, “is that three little girls can cause as much havoc as a hundred-and-twenty-five-pound dog?”

  “Pretty much,” Nick agreed, grinning as she shook her head and frowned at him. The effect was ruined by the small smile that tugged her lips upward at the corners. “As a matter of fact, I can pick him up. I doubt I could juggle all three of the girls at the same time.”

  “You could, if you had a baby carrier,” she said promptly.

  “What’s a baby carrier?”

  “It’s sort of a canvas backpack that an adult wears over their shoulders. The child is buckled into it so you can carry them on your chest or your back. Some are made for younger babies, but you can also get one to use for toddlers.”

  “Ah!” he said, nodding. “Remind me to get one of those. Then, if either of us ever has to take all three of the girls somewhere alone, we won’t risk dropping one of them.”

  “That sounds like an excellent plan,” Charlene agreed. “I met your neighbor LouAnn today.”

  “Did you?” Nick grinned and lifted an eyebrow. “What did you think of her?”

  “She’s a very interesting woman.”

  He laughed outright. “Got that right. She’s a character. I hope I have that much energy when I’m seventy-something.”

  “Me too,” Charlene agreed, smiling as she remembered LouAnn playing on the floor with the triplets. “She’s wonderful with the babies. I’m not sure who had more fun playing peekaboo, her or the girls.”

  Nick chuckled, the sound sending shivers of awareness through Charlene’s midsection. As he ate, they discussed the wisdom of keeping all three girls in the same bedroom.

  Charlene sipped her tea, staring with fascination as Nick tipped his head back slightly and drank from the water glass. He’d unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt when he removed his tie earlier, and the strong, tanned muscles of his throat moved rhythmically as he swallowed. There was something oddly intimate about sitting in the cozy kitchen with him as he ate and they discussed his children.

  “…What do you think?”

  “Hmm?” She realized with a start that he’d been speaking while she’d stared at him, mesmerized, and felt embarrassed heat flood her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. What do I think about…?”

  His expression was quizzical. She suspected he noticed her pink cheeks, but she was determined not to become flustered. So she met his gaze with what she hoped was a serene look.

  “I asked if you thought it was a good idea to give the girls a week or so together before we decide if they need to sleep in separate bedrooms.”

  “I think it makes sense to see whether they continue to wake each other, as they did last night.” Charlene didn’t want to remember the intimacy of the babies’ darkened bedroom and the mental image of Nick wearing navy boxers and nothing else. Resolutely, she focused on the other bedrooms she’d seen during the tour of the house Melissa had given her that afternoon. “There’s certainly plenty of room if you decide to have them sleep apart. Do you know if their parents had their cribs in separate bedrooms or if they all slept in the same room?”

  Nick paused, his expression arrested. “The foster mother had the beds in two small bedrooms but I never thought to ask what the arrangements were at Stan and Amy’s.” He put down his fork with a thunk. “I should have asked,” he said with disgust. “It never even occurred to me.”

  “If you have a phone number, I can try to reach her tomorrow,” Charlene offered, touched by the sheer frustration on his face as he thrust his fingers through his hair and raked it back off his forehead.

  “I’d appreciate that. I have her contact information in my desk in the den. Remind me to look it up before I leave for the office in the morning, will you?”

  “Of course.” Charlene sipped her tea and considered what she knew about the triplets’ situation while Nick ate the last few bites of his lasagne. “Did the attorney have any estimate as to how long it might take to locate the babies’ aunt?”

  “No.” Nick rose to carry his empty china and dirty cutlery to the sink. He turned on the tap. “He asked me to let him know if I remembered anything Stan or Amy may have said that would help find her. So far, all I’ve come up with is going through the photographs.”

  “Photographs? Does the investigator need a picture?”

  “No, he has one.” Nick slotted his rinsed dishes and utensils into the rack of the dishwasher and closed the door. “But Amy loved taking photographs—so did Stan—and Amy almost always jotted little notes on the back of the pictures. I’m sure some of the holiday photos they sent included her sister. I’m hoping there might be something in one of Amy’s notes that will help locate Lana.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Charlene said, encouraged at the possibility of finding a clue.

  “I hope it’s a productive one, but who knows whether I’ll learn anything new.” He shrugged. “Still, it’s one place we haven’t looked yet, and given how little information the investigator has, any small piece might make a difference. When I moved in, I shoved the photo boxes into the back of a closet upstairs. I thought I’d bring one downstairs tomorrow night and start looking.”

  “I’d be glad to help you search through them,” she offered.
>
  “Thanks, but I should warn you, I’ve never organized the pictures. All the photos I have are tossed in a couple of boxes, and the ones from Stan and Amy are mixed in with all the rest. There might be hundreds of pictures to look at. My mom divided family photos a few years ago and gave me a carton full.”

  “I’ll still volunteer,” she said. “Did the attorney search the triplets’ house for an address book? I keep a notebook with family and friends’ addresses and phone numbers in a drawer by the phone. And in a computer file too,” she added as an afterthought.

  “Sanchez and the investigator both checked Amy’s home computer but didn’t find anything helpful. They also looked for an address book at the house,” Nick said. “They didn’t find one. Whether she carried one with her is unknown because they didn’t find her purse at the accident scene. They’re assuming it was probably lost or destroyed, if she even had it with her.”

  “What about old letters from her sister? Didn’t Amy keep correspondence?”

  “Yes, but the last letter Amy received from Lana was several months ago—just after Thanksgiving. The investigator tried contacting her using the phone number at that residence, but she’s no longer living there. The landlord didn’t have any forwarding information.”

  “So, what will he do now? Surely she just didn’t disappear?”

  “I’m guessing the agency will send someone to Africa to interview the landlord in person, talk to her former employer, et cetera. It’s hard to investigate someone’s whereabouts from halfway around the world—on another continent,” Nick said grimly.

  “Yes, I’m sure it is. Who knew it could be so difficult to locate someone?” she murmured. “This is a real wake-up call for me. I should think about what personal files and paperwork to organize in the remote chance I might suddenly disappear. I’ve never given any thought to the subject before now.”

  “Most people don’t,” Nick said, a slightly gravelly edge to his deep voice.

  “Of course,” she agreed, her tone softening. “It must have been a shock to get that phone call. Had you known each other a long time?”