by Lisa Hendrix
*
“They were what?” Miranda gaped at her mother across the breakfast table. “You actually walked in on them?”
“They were asleep,” Tish said. “But it was evident what had happened. There were clothes clear out on the terrace, for the Goddess’ sake. Silly me, I thought actually getting them to bed separately was enough to ensure this didn’t happen. I should have camped in front of her door.”
“I doubt it would have done any good,” said Miranda. She drummed her fingers on the table, her long nails clicking against the lacquered mahogany. “So, big brother stripped down with his girlfriend on the terrace in the middle of the night.”
“Really, darling, you could take this more seriously.”
“I’m taking it quite seriously. But you have to admit, this fling with Raine has loosened him up a bit.”
“I don’t think I can stand things any looser,” said Tish with a sigh. “Speaking of which, if that abominable Todd Dennison is floating around upstairs, I want him gone before Samantha gets here.”
“Todd? Why would he be here?”
“I heard that you were with him last night. The implication—”
“From Mason, naturally.”
“Of course. The implication was that you might be rekindling things with Todd, and since you’re here this morning I thought that perhaps you’d…”
“Brought him home? What a perfectly loathsome idea.” Miranda’s light tone disguised the revulsion she felt over last night’s behavior—both Todd’s and hers. The only one who had behaved with any class at all was Paul. “I considered it, but Todd’s still Todd, only more so. I have my sights set higher.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that,” said Tish. “You never were very sensible about him.”
“Well, I’m being sensible now.” Which was why she decided to change the topic. “What did you end up doing with Angus last night?”
“Oh, we went to dinner.”
Miranda rolled her eyes. “How was it?”
“Most pleasant, as a matter of fact. Don’t look so stunned.”
“Oh, come on, Tish. He’s so … Texas.”
“I know, dear, but that’s just surface. He’s actually quite charming and interesting.”
“So, where did you go?”
“The oddest place down by Kent. Caveman Barbecue, I believe it was called. There were dozens of long tables outside, like some great huge picnic with strangers, and we ate ribs with our fingers. Very peculiar.”
“He took you to a rib joint in a Dior gown? Whatever possessed him?”
“It was the story I told him to get him out of the Four Seasons. I said the lights were giving me a headache, so he took me someplace with no artificial lights.” Tish nibbled at her dry toast.
“Anyway, someone had told him about it, and he claimed he hadn’t had good barbecue since he moved his offices to Seattle. As it turned out, the food was excellent, if a bit blue-collar.”
“Well, good.” Miranda wasn’t sure what else to say.
“You know, your father used to take me to strange little places like that before you children came along.” Tish closed her eyes and saw Malcolm’s face in her mind, so much like Mason’s except never quite so intense, and sadness fluttered through her chest. “Someone in the office would mention a place, or he’d overhear one of the workers at the plant talking about their favorite restaurant, and off we’d go. Sometimes it would be terrible, but other times we’d have the most divine meal.”
“It sounds so romantic,” Miranda said. Her eyes widened. “Are you and Angus…?”
“Oh, no, darling.” Tish got up abruptly to pour herself some more orange juice. “We just had a nice leisurely dinner, stopped for dessert and drinks at the Sorrento, and then came home. We were having another drink when you called.”
Miranda thought she caught a wash of color in her mother’s cheeks, but maybe it was a reflection from her pink dress. “Well, all right. So we’re both being sensible, which is why I’m going to go upstairs, take an incredibly hot shower, and try to be fit for human company by the time Samantha gets here. I don’t do as well on five hours of sleep as I used to.”
*
The little house was too quiet and Raine too disgusted with herself to sleep, despite the exhaustion that made her bones ache. She couldn’t just sit, either, so she changed into a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt, grabbed a rain jacket, tossed a couple of boxes in the back of the truck, and headed downhill toward the Fremont Sunday market. The parking lot behind the Red Door bustled with vendors, mostly already set up. Raine found a temporary parking spot, got out, and grabbed a box.
She found Brynn and her flowers near the end of a row. As she dumped the box at the back of the stall, Brynn put her hands on her hips.
“I thought you weren’t coming today.”
“I wasn’t,” said Raine. She sounded more curt than she intended.
“So, it’s like that.”
“Like nothing. It’s just a change in plans. Of course, if you don’t want me here—”
“Nice try. I always sell more with your bugs flitting around in the flowers. And I know you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to be real bad.”
“Fine, then. I’ll go get the other box.”
“Just two boxes today?”
“Yeah, I decided to come down at the last minute, so I just brought the little critters.”
“That’s okay. Mama Brynn’s magic big toe and a good look at the sky says we’re not going to have a ton of customers today.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. Be right back.”
“I’ll be here. And you’ll have lots of time to tell me what has made you so sour on the world this morning.”
Yeah, right.
*
Mason watched Samantha and her aunt Randi, as Miranda had been christened back in Sam’s baby days. They were a pair, engrossed in talk of the great birthday extravaganza as soon as her grandmother had given official permission. Their scheming provided him with the perfect opportunity to take care of unfinished business. He motioned his mother aside.
“Where’s Raine?”
“I don’t know. I would assume she either went back to sleep or decided to wait for you someplace out of the public eye.”
Mason eyed his mother. “Did you say something to her?”
“I haven’t even seen her, darling, and if I had, I assure you, I wouldn’t have said a word to hurt her. I may not approve, but I’m not deliberately cruel.”
“Of course not. I should know better. She’s probably still asleep in my room. Keep Samantha occupied for a little while, okay?”
“Whatever you say, darling. But please use sound judgment on this.”
Mason took a deep breath and headed for his suite. It was a little too late for that.
She wasn’t in bed, or in the shower, although her gown still lay in a rainbow puddle on the floor next to his dress pants. He scooped both up, and as he hung them in his closet, he noticed that his robe was gone.
Her room, of course. Carrying her dress on a hanger, he went up the back stairs and through the pink room to the guest room. A soft knock produced no answer. He pushed the door open.
She was gone. He could tell as soon as he glanced around the room, even before the diamond bracelet and earrings winked at him from the nightstand. He checked to see if her things were in the drawers or the closet. Her overnight bag was gone, as were her clothes, but she’d left behind the dresses he’d bought her, and on the floor of the closet lay a minuscule pair of silk panties that must have belonged under the gown, the ones she’d been in too big a hurry for last night.
Damn it.
He hung the gown in the closet and stepped out to the hall phone to dial the carriage house. Paul picked up after a few rings.
“Yes, sir,” he answered in response to Mason’s question. “Miss Hobart asked me to take her home, and I did so.”
“Was she upset?”
“I think one cou
ld safely say that.”
“Damn it.”
“Is there a problem, sir?”
“Nothing for you to concern yourself about. Thank you for taking care of her, Paul. Sorry to disturb your day off.”
“It’s all right, sir.”
Mason hung up and dialed Raine’s number. The phone rang and rang.
Damn it. She wasn’t answering.
She thought he’d done this on purpose, taken her to bed and used her to make the ultimate point to his mother and sister over that damned love potion. He knew that’s what she thought, because it had occurred to him, after the fact, that his mother’s arrival had been as fortuitous as it was embarrassing. He’d just been hoping Raine gave him more credit than that.
But why should she? He might not have set out to use her, but it had worked out that way.
Jackass.
He punched the wall.
*
“Hey, what are you doing here?”
Raine turned from a middle-aged gay couple she was helping to see Zoe standing at the side of the stall. “I’m just helping these folks out. Hang on a minute.”
The pair had some money and an interest in something bigger than a copper dragonfly, so she dragged her portfolio over on the table. “Here are pictures of some of my larger pieces, but I do commission work, too. Look through here and see if there’s anything you like, and if not we can work together to design what you want. I’ll be right back.”
“That could be a nice sale,” said Zoe under her breath as Raine stepped over to the side. “Good thing. You look like hell.”
“Thanks, Zo. Lovely to see you, too.”
“Hey, if you can’t get honesty from a friend, who can you get it from?”
“Who, indeed?”
“So, why are you here?” Zoe repeated. “I figured you’d be up at the Alexanders’ until late.”
“She’s not answering those questions,” said Brynn as she grabbed a sheet of florist paper and twisted it around a bouquet. “I’ve been listening to her sigh all day, but it’s all I’ve gotten out of her.”
“Let’s just say I’m available evenings again and leave it at that.”
Zoe studied her for a minute, then shrugged. “Okay. Well, then, want to come over and do laundry with me tonight?”
“Laundry. That’s about my speed. Why not?”
“Okay, swing by after you get off. I’ll do vegetable soup and some garlic bread.”
“I’ll bring a half gallon of butter-brickle.”
“Nasty.” Zoe waved goodbye and left Raine to her customers.
Unfortunately, the prediction of Brynn’s big toe held—no sale. Raine moped through the rest of the drizzly day, then packed up her stuff and went home. The phone started ringing almost as soon as she walked in the door, but she didn’t answer it. A quick check under the bed for stray socks, and she was back out the door with her dirty clothes and laundry soap in under two minutes. The phone was still ringing.
*
Good food, ice cream, and the numbing sound of laundry tumbling in a machine: it was a perfect evening from Raine’s point of view. Zoe talked just enough to keep her from thinking, but refrained from asking the Big Question even though it must have been driving her nuts.
“I hadn’t realized how much I missed doing laundry,” Raine said as she dumped the last of four loads into her big wicker basket to haul home. “The little stuff is so satisfying. Tell Bob thanks again.”
Zoe’s laundry room was nominally for apartment residents only, but the manager, Bob, turned a blind eye in exchange for a dish of whatever the ice cream flavor of the night happened to be.
Zoe held the door open for her and they started for the parking lot. “Are you up to talking about FUSE real quick?”
“I guess. What’s up?”
“A bunch of us ran into each other at the Dubliner last night. Fred and a couple of the others are wondering why we haven’t done anything since the Wall. I told them you were working under deep cover.”
“Oh, great, Zoe. Look, I didn’t accomplish anything at all with Mason.”
“All the more reason to get things going again, before we lose our momentum.”
“But we don’t have anything planned.”
“Oh, that’s easy. I’ll just call everybody and tell them we need a really hot idea ASAP. They’ll come through. Especially if I can tell them you’ll make lasagna for whoever is brilliant.”
“You should be Fearless Leader. I’m a loss these days.”
“You’re just temporarily off your mark. We can set a meeting for, say, Tuesday night?”
“Okay. No, wait. The neighborhood softball game is that night. Make it Wednesday.”
“Wednesday’s out for me,” said Zoe. “Hey. What about Wednesday morning? We can meet for bagels. I bet John B. would open an hour early for us.”
“Perfect. The final permits for Canal Place
are going to come through any day now. If we’re going to even bother at this point, it’s going to have to be good, something that will get the neighborhood so riled up that the Alexanders and the planning board can’t ignore it anymore.”
“Even better than the Wall,” agreed Zoe. “Look, this is a brilliant group—well, except Arne, maybe. They’ll come through.”
“I hope so.” Raine thought of the monstrosity of a building and the man behind it, and her anger flared. “I want to stick it to him big time.”
“So, just what did Moneybags do?” asked Zoe quietly.
“He set me up.” She banged her fist into the side of the truck. “His mother walked in on us this morning.”
“Walked in on… Ohmigod. You slept with him?”
“Do you have a bullhorn? We can announce it so everybody hears.”
“Sorry.” Zoe dropped her voice. “It’s just hard to believe that Miss Love-and-Sex-Can’t-Be-Separated slept with some guy just because he paid her five thousand… Ohmigod. You wouldn’t do it because of the money. You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
“Oh, Zoe.” The anger burned off like a puff of hydrogen, leaving a hollow feeling, and Raine sagged against the side of her truck, the tears streaming, hot and salty, down her cheeks. “I don’t understand it. There’s no reason I should feel this way about him. He’s not in love with me. We’ve just been pretending so well that, I don’t know, I lost track or something. I wanted him so much. The incredibly stupid thing is, I still do, in spite of the way he used me.”
“Oh, man. I understand.” Zoe hugged her, patting her shoulder like a baby. “I was like that with Chris, remember? He was such a schmoo, and yet there I was, every time he called. It’s like you’re under a spell or something.”
Raine looked up sharply. “What made you say that?”
“It’s just a way to describe the feeling. Why, do you think somebody cast a spell on—”
“No. Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no such thing as a love spell.” Raine swiped tears off her cheeks with the back of her hand and straightened up.
“I don’t know about that. A lot of people believe in witchcraft and voodoo and all that stuff.”
“No, Zoe. This is ridiculous. You were just making an analogy, like you said.” She ripped open her truck door and pushed the basket of laundry inside, then gave Zoe a quick hug. “I’m not under a spell, and I’ve got to get home and get some sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow or something.”
She got in her truck, turned the key, and stomped the gas pedal. The old piece of junk roared to life, just like it had done for the past one hundred and sixty thousand miles, and she pushed it, whining, up the steep hills toward her house.
No. Not the love potion. That was just too farfetched. It couldn’t be. Mason had sworn they weren’t real witches.
But what if they were? What if their silly potion had actually worked?
She was so appalled by the possibility that she almost didn’t spot the low-slung carriage of Mason’s Jag before she made that last corner.
&nb
sp; She stopped quickly, doused her lights, backed up, and eased on past the street at a dead crawl so the muffler—maybe—wouldn’t give her away. She circled the block and found a parking space on Bowdoin, then dragged the basket out and used the tiny flashlight on her key chain to pick her way around the block and down the alley to slip into her house the back way.
For fear Mason would spot the house lights from the street, she brushed her teeth and washed her face in the pitch black of her windowless bathroom, then felt her way into the bedroom and made up the bed in the dark with the sheets she’d just washed. She stripped down to her T-shirt and panties. The sheets were cool and welcoming.
A few minutes later, as she lay there worrying over the love spell like a terrier at a rat, she heard footsteps on the stoop and a knock at the door. She by in the dark, silent and unmoving, her heart pounding in her ears as though Mason were a burglar trying to break in, instead of the man she’d spent the night loving.
He knocked again, then spoke to Bugsy as she lay there, and the sound of his voice made the tears start streaming all over. After a time, she heard him again, first on the step, then moving away on the back walk. She lay there a long while, waiting, the words to a dumb old country-western song running through her head: I have tears in my ears from lying on my back in bed, crying over you.
He didn’t come back, and eventually she got up and let Bugsy inside.
*
Fourteen
« ^ »
There was something going on.
Samantha wasn’t sure what, but she intended to find out. She loved mysteries, and being a big fan of Harriet the Spy, she knew just how to go about solving them.
So, first thing Monday morning, when she wasn’t so fuzzy-brained from the plane ride, she got a notebook from Aunt Randi, who was always good for things like really nice notebooks with stiff covers and graph-paper pages. Of course, if she’d been a truly great detective, she’d have remembered a notebook of her own, but hers didn’t have graph paper, so this was better, anyway. Aunt Randi also had great pencils. They were made by some Indian tribe, and they came in a wooden box made like a little crate. They smelled of cedar and wrote really well. Sam got a couple of those, too.
Back in her room, she sharpened her pencils and curled up in the rocker to list out what she knew on the first page of her notebook: One, Dad was distracted and kept going off to try to make phone calls that never got answered. Two, Gran and Aunt Randi whispered to each other a lot and stopped talking whenever she came in the room. Three, Dad had gone off alone after she went to bed. Four, he didn’t come back very soon, and Five, Aunt Randi kept staring out the windows toward the carriage house. Weird.
