Luck Be a Lady

by Cathie Linz

  “That’s right.”

  “So the divorce wasn’t his fault. Which means the problem isn’t that he’s divorced. It’s the fact that he’s a cop, right?”

  Megan nodded. “You know why I feel that way.”

  “What happened with Wendy wasn’t your fault.”

  “That’s what Logan said.”

  Faith’s expression reflected her surprise. “You told him about Wendy?”

  “I had to. We were stuck together in a motel room.”

  “Whoa, stop right there.” Faith put her hands out. “You and Logan shared a motel room? That must have involved more than just kissing. Am I right? I am! I’m right. I can tell by looking at your face. I can’t believe you were going to leave that part out.” She tossed a crumpled paper napkin at Megan. “What else did you leave out?”

  “The shotgun wedding part.”

  “OMG, you and Logan are married?!”

  “Stop squealing. We are not married. We refused to be participate in the extortion plan.”

  “Extortion? This is getting juicy. I think you better start at the beginning. How did you and Logan hook up in the first place?”

  “At the reception I overheard Dad talking to Uncle Jeff, who said my mother was still alive. I was so freaked I confronted my dad, who said it was true. I ran out of the room and bumped into Logan a few minutes later. I couldn’t breathe. There was no air ...” She shook off the upsetting memory. “To calm me down, he took me to get pancakes in Lucille.”

  Faith’s face reflected her confusion. “Lucille?”

  “A blue 1957 Chevy Bel Air that’s really aqua.”

  “Right.”

  “A friend loaned it to him.”

  “And the pancakes?”

  “Logan thought they’d make me feel better.”

  “That was sweet of him.”

  “So he did a database search on his iPhone and didn’t get much aside from the fact that my mother was at Woodstock.”

  “Really? How cool is that!”

  “Yeah. Someone blogged about going with my mom to Woodstock. And it turned out, this person didn’t live that far away, so we went to go speak to her. We couldn’t call or e-mail. The only contact was her address.”

  “What about the blog?”

  “She hadn’t posted for weeks. So we went to the brothel.”

  “Whoa! The brothel?”

  “She owns a brothel. The Butterfly Ranch. But she’s smart and nice.”

  “Hey, I don’t judge. But a brothel?”

  “I know, it was a little strange at first. Not that we really went inside. Just to Fiona’s office in a trailer by itself. She had the neatest French country furnishings. Anyway, she gave me two photos of my mom. Well, they’re copies, but still I thought that was nice of her.” She took them from a nearby table and showed them to Faith.

  “Fiona and my mom went to high school together,” Megan continued. “After Woodstock, they both promised to keep their mud-spattered bell-bottom jeans. Fiona kept hers. I don’t know if my mom did.”

  “Did you ask your dad?”

  Megan shook her head. “I couldn’t. If I said I knew about her being at Woodstock, then he’d know that I’d been investigating her myself. And I don’t want him to know that in case he or your dad try to sabotage my search.”

  “Right.”

  “So after we left Butterfly Ranch, we headed back to Vegas but had car trouble. So we stopped in this teeny-tiny town of Last Resort. That’s where the Queen of Hearts Motel was. And Pepper Dior. She did Marilyn Monroe impersonations and was a Vegas showgirl. And she had the neatest vintage clothes. I bought a bunch of them from her. Not her Marilyn costumes, of course.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re the mad bad blonde. I’m not.”

  “You’re the big bad brunette.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m the optimist in the family. The girl next door. But I’m getting tired of that.”

  “Trust me, the girl next door would not be shacking up with a guy at the Queen of Hearts Motel. Why didn’t you take separate rooms?”

  “They only had one room. There was a king-sized bed. Can we please get back to the subject of my mother?”

  “If you insist.”

  “I do.”

  They spent the next hour going over the information Megan did have on her mom.

  “We’ll find her,” Faith said. “But are you prepared for what might happen when we do? You might not like what we discover.”

  “I realize that,” Megan said. “But I have to know. I have to find her.”

  Logan sat across the table from his grandfather in one of Chicago’s many South Side Irish bars. This one happened to be Buddy’s favorite. Something to do with the way they pulled the Guinness on tap.

  Logan was wiping the froth from his upper lip from his first sip of Guinness when out of the blue Buddy said, “How are the nightmares going?”

  “Who said anything about nightmares? Have you been talking to Megan about me?”

  “Whoa there, boy-o. Paranoid much?”

  “You didn’t answer the question. Who told you about the nightmares?”

  “You did, by your reaction. And you need to see someone about that. What made you think Megan had spilled the beans?”

  “She was present when I had one of my nightmares,” Logan said gruffly.

  “Present, huh?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So you two are . . . ?”

  “No, we’re not,” Logan said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because she has a thing against cops.”

  “What kind of a thing?”

  “You should ask her.”

  “Believe me, I will.”

  “No, on second thought, don’t do that,” Logan said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because talking about it upsets her.”

  Buddy’s face darkened. “Was she attacked by a cop or something?”

  “No.”

  “Was her heart broken by a two-timing cop?”

  “No.”

  “Well, whatever it was, she shouldn’t hold it against you. You didn’t have anything to do with it, did you?”

  “No.”

  “Are you buddies with any of the perpetrators?”

  “No.”

  “Then tell her that.”

  “She knows. Besides, she’s got enough on her plate right now.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Buddy demanded.

  “Nothing.”

  “Is this bad cop causing her trouble?”

  Logan shook his head.

  “Then what’s her problem?”

  “It’s personal.”

  “Is it about her grandmother? Is something wrong with Ingrid?”

  “No. Paranoid much?” he asked, repeating Buddy’s earlier comment.

  Buddy heaved a sigh of relief before taking a sip of his beer. “Did I tell you the one time I spoke to Ingrid, she had the nerve to accuse me of deliberately trying to delay our nuptials by not getting the annulment?”

  “Is she right?”

  “What do you mean, is she right? Of course not.”

  Logan raised an eyebrow. “Do you regret asking Ingrid to marry you?”

  “No,” Buddy said emphatically.

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “Danged if I know. I can’t believe this woman is so hard to track down.”

  “The one you married in Vegas?”

  “Right. I’m a seasoned pro at finding people. It’s what I do, which is why Ingrid is finding it hard to believe I’m having trouble.”

  “I can see her point.”

  “You’re a lot of help.”

  “I’m just saying ...”

  Buddy held up his hand. “Don’t be saying.”

  “Okay.”

  “So when are you going to talk to Megan about my situation?”

  “Uh, never,” Logan said.

  “Come on. I need some help here. I
ngrid loves Megan and would take whatever she says seriously. I need you to tell Megan that I am doing everything I can to clear up this situation so I can be with Ingrid. Will you talk to her?” Buddy paused before adding, “Please. I don’t ask you for much.”

  Logan gave in. His grandfather’s hangdog expression was too pitiful to resist, which is why Buddy used it in the first place. “Fine. I’ll talk to her. But don’t expect miracles.”

  “Thanks.” Buddy whacked him on the back with enough force to make Logan wince.

  “You still pack quite a punch there,” Logan said.

  “I’m glad something still works the way it should.”

  Logan wasn’t sure he wanted to hear his granddad’s shortcomings or, God forbid, a Viagra confession but wasn’t sure how to stop him without being rude.

  “I just don’t seem to have the energy I used to have,” Buddy said. “And don’t you be telling me to go to the doctor.”

  “Why not? You just told me to see someone for my nightmares.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Is it now?” Logan mocked Buddy’s brogue.

  “Don’t you be making fun of my accent. I’m Irish born and bred.”

  “Until you came to this country with your parents when you were five.”

  “Speaking of parents, how’s that dad of yours doing?” Buddy asked.

  “He’s dating a girl younger than me.”

  “He’s afraid of growing old.”

  Logan shrugged. He’d never been able to figure out his dad and he doubted that would ever change.

  “Have you told him about the nightmares?” Buddy asked.

  “Are we back to that again?”

  “Yes, we are. You haven’t told him.”

  “He’s the last person I’d tell.”

  “You should tell someone before they eat you up inside.”

  Logan shrugged. “I’m fine.”

  “Sure you are. Come on, boy-o. You haven’t been fine since your partner died in the line of duty.”

  “Will was more than a partner. He was like a brother to me.”

  “Which made losing him all the harder.”

  What made it harder was that Will’s death had been Logan’s fault. Not that he could say that to anyone, even his granddad. Buddy was right about one thing: Keeping quiet was eating him up inside. But that was pittance compared to what Will had gone through.

  “You wouldn’t be feeling guilty now, would you?” Buddy asked.

  Logan made no reply.

  “Because that would be a silly thing to do and nothing that Will would be approving of.” Buddy’s Irish brogue got a little thicker when he was emotional.

  Logan didn’t say a word.

  “So that’s what the nightmares are about.” Buddy nodded as if proud he’d solved some complicated mystery.

  There was no mystery as far as Logan was concerned. Sure, he’d been cleared of any wrongdoing, but that didn’t erase the guilt in his heart. He should have done more—been more aware, been faster.

  “You’re replaying that scene again in your head, like some video that won’t turn off.”

  Logan remained silent.

  “Fine. Don’t say anything. It’s better if I do all the talking anyway. Not that you’ll listen. I can see you’re not there yet. Not ready. But you will be. And it had better be soon, boy-o, because you don’t want those nightmares to win. You don’t want them taking over, spilling into your waking hours. You think I don’t know what you’re going through? I lost friends in the course of my thirty years with the police department.”

  “It’s not the same,” Logan muttered.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because . . .”

  “Can’t come up with a reason, can you?”

  “I know it’s hard for anyone to lose someone. But ...” Logan shook his head, unable to continue.

  “After all this time, you still can’t deal with it. It’s been a year. That’s not a good sign.”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  “So what are you going to do about it?”

  “What do you propose I do? See some shrink and get tied to desk duty for the rest of my life?”

  “Nothing that dramatic. Talk to me, just me—your granddad who knows you like I know my own self. If you don’t want to talk here, we can go to my place or yours. But we need to talk. Youneed to talk. So what’s it going to be? Your place or mine?”

  “I’m not ready.”

  “Then get ready. Because time is running out. Don’t wait until it completely eats you up inside and something bad happens.”

  Logan didn’t have the heart to tell him that something bad had already happened. Not only was he lusting after Megan, he was finding it harder and harder to resist her.

  “Thanks for meeting me,” Logan told Megan the next evening. She’d suggested the Comfort Café and he’d agreed. It was near her condo and one of her favorite places to eat. They served comfort food with a twist, like the mac and cheese with shallots, Gruyere and mascarpone cheese she ordered. Logan ordered the pot roast.

  “You said it was important.”

  “It is. It’s about my granddad.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “No. He’s pining for your grandmother. And he needs your help.”

  “What does he expect me to do?”

  “To talk to her,” Logan said. “Help her forgive him.”

  “He would have done better to just tell the truth in the beginning. He could have avoided all this.”

  “He didn’t realize the papers weren’t signed,” Logan said.

  “It’s just hard when that trust has been broken ...”

  “Are we still talking about my granddad or about your situation with your dad?”

  “It’s hard not to find similarities.”

  “You mean your dad didn’t realize your mom was still alive?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’m sorry, but I don’t see the similarities.”

  “Because you’re a guy.”

  He frowned at her. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “You’re not as in touch with your emotional side.”

  “Talk about a sexist comment.”

  “But true. Some guys are in touch with their ...”

  “Feminine side,” he mocked.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s not me,” Logan said.

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “So are you going to help or not?”

  She sighed. “What exactly can I do?”

  “Talk to her. You’re good at that.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “What I said. You’re good at talking to people.”

  “So are you.”

  “What?” He pressed his hand to his heart in mocking disbelief. “Did you just give me a compliment?”

  “Come on. That is not the first time I’ve complimented you.”

  “Really? Name one other time.”

  She paused to think about it.

  “See?” he said. “This is the first time.”

  “It is not. Give me a minute to think.”

  “Take all the time you want. You’re not gonna come up with anything.”

  She decided it was time to change the subject. Opening her large tote bag, she handed him a check.

  “What’s this?” he said.

  “It’s my portion of the hotel fee. In Last Resort.”

  “It was a motel, not a hotel. A motel with a dogs-playing-poker painting over the bed.”

  Logan talking about the bed got her hot and bothered. This was the first time she’d seen him since he’d dropped by her apartment and they’d ended up on her couch and almost made love. That had been a week ago, and she hadn’t heard a word from him until today. She should be totally aggravated with him. The truth was, she’d welcomed that week to try and figure out what was going on. Would they have had sex had he not been called into work? Did she ha
ve that little self-control where he was concerned?

  Megan didn’t know the answer to those questions. The bottom line was that Logan had called and she dropped everything to meet him. Not that she had plans for tonight, but still . . .

  “Talk to your grandmother,” Logan said. “She listens to you.”

  “She’s one of the few people who does,” Megan muttered.

  “Hey, I listen to you.”

  “And ignore half of what I say.”

  “I act on the important stuff.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you saying, ‘I need immediate help finding my mom.’ You would never have known that your mom was at Woodstock if it wasn’t for me.”

  “I would never have gone to the Butterfly Ranch either.”

  He grinned at her. “Another plus.”

  “Or stopped in Last Resort.”

  “Did you have to bring that place up?”

  “I checked their website, did I tell you? Chuck’s nephew has done a pretty impressive job with it,” she said.

  “To this day, I don’t know if Cappy really exists or how many people actually live in Last Resort.”

  “The population is listed as ...”

  “Not many. Yes, I know. I saw the sign.”

  “They’ve started a blog about turning obstacles into opportunities.”

  “Bully for them.”

  “You’re still holding that shotgun thing against them, aren’t you?”

  “Damn right I am,” he said.

  “It must have been a blow to your ego.”

  “Leave my ego out of it. I wasn’t the one who offered to pay a thousand dollars not to get married.”

  “Another blow to your ego, no doubt.”

  “My ego is doing just fine, thank you. What are you smiling about?”

  “It’s nice to push your buttons for a change,” she said. “I mean, you’re so good at pushing mine.”

  “Really? And is that all I’m good at?”

  “No,” she admitted softly. She leaned closer. “You’re also good at rehabbing cars. Or so I hear.”

  “And you’re surprisingly good at flirting.”

  She sat up straight. “You didn’t expect me to be a good flirt because I’m a librarian?”

  “A hot librarian I want to kiss again. Does that surprises you?”

  “I ... uh ... uhm.”

  “Apparently it does. It shouldn’t.”

  She reached for her water, but instead of reaching her glass, her fingers encountered his. He traced the top of her hand with his index finger. “I know I didn’t call you,” he said. He looked her in the eye and she couldn’t speak.