by Vicki Hinze
“Cinderella?” A woman shouted from the crowd. “I’m right here, gorgeous.”
The light landed on an elderly woman and the crowd parted to let her advance toward Mark. Bright-eyed and spry, the silver-haired senior lifted the hem of her ball gown and moved toward the stage. “Well, get down here, boy, and let’s heat up this dance floor.”
Peeking around heavily padded shoulders, even I grinned.
Mark laughed, met the capricious woman on the dance floor, then signaled the band to start playing.
The woman stepped into Mark’s arms. She looked an awful lot like Emily. Emily! It was, which meant . . . Lester? Scared to death he was here, I anxiously scanned the crowd.
A man whispered near my ear. “You ain’t gonna find me out there, Daisy girl.”
I spun to face him—Abraham Lincoln, that is, complete with stovepipe hat. “What are you doing here?” I couldn’t hide my upset.
He hushed his voice. “I might be asking you the same thing.” He elevated his whisper. “This ain’t Dixie.”
“I know.” Swallowing hard, I confessed. “I didn’t go there because I didn’t want someone to figure out you knew where I’d gone. They’d beat it out of you, for pity’s sake.”
“And knock my friend, Paul, around, too. I’m sure as spit you thought of that.” Lester shook his head. His hat wobbled, and he reached up to seat it on his head. “You shoulda known better, but there ain’t no help for it now.” His expression sobered and resignation had the lines running nose to chin alongside his mouth deepening to shadowy creases. “You gotta fly, girl. They know you’re here.”
That much I knew. “How did you find me?”
“Wasn’t hard, I’m sorry to say. Put the pieces together same as they did. Just had to get myself arrested and then keep my ears open. If you want my advice, girl, you best be doing better at staying dead next time than last time or you’re really gonna be toes up, pushing up daisies.”
“Don’t you think if I could do better I would? My neck’s on the line here. Worse, Jackson’s neck is on the line.” What could happen to him petrified me. “What did I do wrong?” I had no idea what had messed up my death, which meant I could repeat my mistakes and mess up again. Even a cat only had nine lives. I couldn’t afford any more missteps.
“Your stash on the beach. Why didn’t you go back and get it?”
“I drifted too far, swimming to shore. Somehow—I don’t know how it happened—I ended up in Gulfport.”
“Well, Detective Keller found your stash. From there it wasn’t a puny frog’s jump to finding you. I expect he and that FBI agent, Johnson, will be here directly.”
I didn’t mention Edward Marcello’s dad, Victor, had already been to Jameson Court. It’d just make Lester worry more and he looked plenty worried already. “Great.” My rotten luck. The mob and the authorities after me again. Couldn’t I catch at least one break from them? Just one?
“We got us a disaster in the making here. Even Emily with no eyes sees it clear as day. We figured we’d best come haul you out of here or else we’d be burying you.”
I waited for two jailbirds to pass us, then whispered, “No, you can’t get involved. It’s too dangerous.” No way could I run with him and Emily in tow. I honestly wasn’t sure I could do it alone.
Clearly bent on blistering my ears, Lester sucked in a heavy breath. I touched his upper arm to spare us both. “It’s arranged. I’m leaving in a little bit. If you two could just help me not get waylaid before then, everything will be under control.” I spotted Rachel and smiled, letting her know all was well.
“You’re set on protecting me again.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Ordinarily, I wouldn’t stand for it, but Emily and me probably would slow you down, and right now you need wings.” Pausing a long moment, he added, “Well, all right, then. So be it. But you get your backside to Dixie this time, Daisy girl. I done lost everybody else in my life, and I ain’t hankering to lose you, too. I won’t stand for it, I’m telling you true. You’re a good soul, but you got the street smarts of a gnat. You need Paul to stay in your skin, and that’s all there is to it.”
I did. And it was exceedingly apparent I was incapable of pulling off anything like this on my own. I would go to Dixie to Paul Perini, but I would not admit it to Lester. He couldn’t be forced to tell what he didn’t know. I lifted a hand and cupped his weathered face. “Thank you for coming to rescue me.”
“You’ve pulled my fat out of the fire plenty of times.” His eyes shimmered. “Go dance with your young man before Emily stomps his toes right off his feet. Woman’s a wonder, but she can’t see a thing or dance a lick.”
“I love you, Lester.” He’d done more for me than anyone else in my whole life.
“Course.” He nodded. “I’ll be expecting me a post card from Rose Green now and then—so I know you’re okay.”
Rose Green. I committed it to memory. “All right.”
“Do your best to stay dead this time, you hear me? I don’t know many more flower names that suit you.”
He tried to look disappointed but all I sensed was fear. Bone deep, chilling fear. “I will,” I promised, forcing a cheery look on my face. It took a fair bit of effort because I felt more fearful than he looked, and that’s saying something.
Spotting Rachel laughing with two people dressed as pretzels, I stepped away and walked over to Mark and Emily, then lightly tapped Emily’s shoulder. “May I cut in?”
“I suppose, since we’re sister Cinderellas.” Emily showed no signs of recognizing me. “Thanks for the dance, Mark. Cinderella and the Pirate. We could start a new trend. Maybe Disney could make us a movie.” Emily smiled. “Oh, and I’m sorry about your toes, boy. They should be good as new in a day or two.” She released Mark and stepped away.
Still smiling, Mark turned to me. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Sorry.” I smiled, seeing Emily hook up with Lester then dissolve into the crowd. “But I’m here now.”
“Dance with me?” Mark lifted his hand.
I smiled. “Can your toes stand it?”
“To hold you in my arms? Absolutely.”
I stepped into Mark’s waiting arms and my troubles melted away. We circled the floor and when the music changed to a waltz, he whispered, “You’re a good dancer, Lily.”
His breath warmed my face. “Mr. Granger taught me. He loved to dance and Mrs. Granger hated it, so we danced a lot. He said I had a knack for it.”
“I’d agree.”
“You’d be wrong,” I confessed. “I struggled to remember every step. I didn’t like it, which made it harder, though at the moment, I’m seeing its merits.”
“Why didn’t you tell Mr. Granger you didn’t care to dance?”
“I wanted them to like me so they wouldn’t send me back.”
“Ah, I see. The Grangers were more of your foster parents.”
I nodded. “Good ones. I was happy there almost seven months. It was a new record for me being in one place.”
“You didn’t want it to end.”
Every night for a week, after the others had gone to bed, she’d locked herself in the bathroom, stuffed a towel to her face and cried her heart out. “No, I didn’t want it to end. But, like most things, it ended anyway.”
“What happened?”
I swallowed a lump that had risen in my throat. “Mr. Granger and I planted a garden. One day, we were weeding it and he was telling me stories about growing up in Illinois. He had a house on a lake there and they’d fish in the summer and in the winter, when the lake would freeze over, all the neighborhood kids would gather and play ice-hockey.” Vivid flashes of memories burned in my mind. “He started laughing—he liked sharing his stories and Mrs. Granger had heard them all a million times—then he had a heart attack, dropped dead on the green onions, and that was that.” I paused to let my emotions settle. The horror of that day, losing him so suddenly like that, and then the trauma that came afterward. When I could,
I added, “After the funeral, Mrs. Granger moved to Birmingham to be close to her sister. All they had left was each other.” Oh, how those words had cut me to the quick.
“All she had?” Mark looked confused. “But she had you.”
Bittersweet, I smiled. “How like you to think of that.” Touched, tender, I leaned in and kissed him. “Thank you, Mark.”
“I take it Mrs. Granger didn’t think of that.”
“No. No, she didn’t.”
“I’m sorry, Lily.”
“Me, too.” The music shifted to a lovely ballad. “But it was a very good seven months. I got to see my brother nearly every weekend, and they treated me well. It wasn’t a real home, but it was the best I’d ever had, and I was grateful for it.”
He pulled me closer, and looked down into my upturned face, then whispered close to my ear. “If I could, I’d take all of the hurt and every bad memory away.”
Sunny fields of daisies and rainbows only happen in the movies , the pot-growing-in-his-attic, Mr. Venier, had told me. I had to agree that it seemed that way so far, but that Mark wanted a happy life with sweet memories for me touched me deeply. I nuzzled his neck. “One of many reasons you’re so special to me. You’re a good ally, Mark.”
He kissed me again. This time, longer, deeper, and with more tenderness than I believed a woman could be kissed. It emptied and filled my senses all at once.
We danced three more dances, then Rachel motioned to me. My stomach clenched. This wonderful man finally had come into my life, and now the time had come for me to walk away and leave him. I had no choice, yet knowing what leaving him would do to Mark . . . everything inside me rebelled. It took every atom of strength in me to not grab hold of him and hang on for dear life.
You could get him killed. You want him dead?
I didn’t. Above all, I wanted him safe and happy. I pulled back. “I have a surprise for you.”
He smiled.
“Your website is ready,” I said softly. “I wanted to add a few more bells and whistles, but . . . well, I hope you’ll like it. It’s up on the screen in your office, if you want to sneak away for a look.” Before he could say anything, I passed him my Grant half-dollar. “And I hate to ask, Mark, but this ally needs another favor.” I put a lilt in my voice to tone down how important this favor was to me. Jackson needed to know I was okay. He’d have his stomach acting up again and pouring acid. He didn’t need another ulcer. “Would you give this to Craig Parker for me?”
“Your Grant?” Mark’s expression turned solemn. “Of course, I will. But why?”
I shook my head, signaling I didn’t want to answer. “It’s important. Craig will understand what it means.”
Something akin to jealousy lit in Mark’s eyes. “I’d like to understand, if you’ll give me the chance.”
Rachel lifted a staying finger at me. Now wasn’t the time to depart, after all. The relief of a reprieve and a few more minutes slid through me, eager for whatever time with Mark I could get.
“Lily?” Ruth from the boutique joined us, sparing me from having to answer Mark—or from having to refuse to answer Mark. “Excuse us for a moment, will you?” Ruth asked him. “I’ve got to consult Lily on a website problem.”
“Okay. He seemed torn, and I expect he was torn and wanting me to explain why I couldn’t give Craig the Grant myself. “I’ll grab us something to drink,” he said, then warned me, “We are going to finish this conversation.”
“Of course.” I nodded, knowing we wouldn’t. Ruth led me through the French doors onto a veranda at the east end of the ball room. “I’ve been looking for you in here for an hour.”
Not good. That kind of hunt had to signal more trouble. “What for?”
“The guy that mugged you. I saw him on TV.” Ruth leaned in close. “His name’s Lou Boudin.”
One of Edward’s shooters. “That explains a lot.”
“He’s a goon for the Adriano family, Lily. This is serious. They pegged you being here and sent him after you. Jason says Victor Marcello followed them. You’re in a heap of trouble, woman.”
Tell me something I don’t know. “You know about me, too?”
“Jason and I watch the news. How could we not know?”
Great. I messed up my old life, my death, my new life, and I dragged a lot of others into the mess with me. Batting a thousand.
“You realize that jerk didn’t mean to mug you, he meant to kill you, right? It scares me half to death to think of what could have happened if I hadn’t interrupted. Calling attention to him saved your neck. That’s why he took off.”
“Thank you for that,” I said. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“I don’t need to be right. I need to know you understand what all this means.”
“What?” I couldn’t track the path of her mind. It was a whacky, gel-spiked maze.
“It means Adriano isn’t happy that Boudin didn’t kill you in the mugging. Tony’s still on the hook for Edward’s murder. That leaves Boudin in a situation. He’ll have to try again. The fact is, either he takes you out or the Adrianos take him out—unless Victor finds him first.” Her pink-tipped black Mohawk warbled. “Then, Lou’s pretty much dead.”
Ruth clearly had street smarts. “So you came here to tell me this?”
“Well, yeah.” She shrugged. “You needed to know he’ll be back. You gotta run, Lily. Now, before Boudin finds you again. It won’t take him long—not with both families coming down on him, locked and loaded.”
It wouldn’t. Actually, I was surprised I hadn’t run into him already. I squeezed Ruth’s hand. “Thank you. You’ve been a good friend to me.”
“Hey, we look out for each other down here.” She darted her gaze. “I’ve got to get back to work. You leave now, Lily, and don’t come back to the city. These people you’re messing with are all business, and they’re mean.”
That much I knew. Especially when protecting their sons. There was nothing Victor wouldn’t do for revenge for Edward’s murder, and nothing Adriano wouldn’t do to keep his Tony out of jail for murdering the man. Frustrated and scared out of my wits, I made myself a promise. From now on, I know nothing and see nothing and report nothing—ever again.
Wouldn’t help me much this time, but I’d learned a lesson I’d never forget. “Rachel’s going to bring you some clothes and stuff. Maybe someone can get some good out of them.”
“That’s thoughtful, thanks. There’s always someone who needs a few things.”
I’d been one of them. “Thanks, Ruth.”
“Take care of you.” She nodded, then disappeared into the crowd.
Mark had lingered to speak to a few more guests. Now he returned to me holding two wine glasses. “It’s water,” he said. “We both need clear heads for the conversation we’re going to have.”
“What conversation?” I tried playing stupid. It could work.
It didn’t. “The one where you explain to me why you’re sending Craig the Grant half-dollar.”
“It’s a signal that I’m okay.”
“Is Craig your brother?”
“No, he’s not.” He was a terrific guy, a good friend to Jackson, an excellent chef and the African American son of two now-deceased African American parents, which of course Mark knew since he’d been at their funerals. A pang of regret that I hadn’t been able to scrape together the airfare to get both Jackson and me there when Craig needed us settled heavy in my heart. “You know he isn’t my brother.”
“I do.” He frowned, shoved a hand in his pants’ pocket. “Are you two in some way involved?”
“No, Mark—not like you’re apparently thinking.”
Relief washed over his face, flooded me with guilt. He didn’t push, just looked at me and waited. Finally, I said, “He’ll know what to do with the coin. It’s important.”
“You’re my refugee buddy. I’m your ally. I should do the things important to you.”
Possessive. Any other time and my knees would be weak for a c
ouple days over that remark. I might even gush. But right now, being attached in any way to me could be bad for him. “I’m grateful to you for that. More than I can put into words. But Craig has to do this thing.” I sipped from my glass. My hand wasn’t steady.
Mark noticed. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
My voice didn’t want to work. I took a long sip of water and tried again. “I have a bit of an emergency.”
“So you’ll be back.” Less worried, he cocked his head. I paused, and he added, “Oh. Oh, I see that you won’t.” He read the truth in my eyes. “Lily, you’re welcome to take whatever time you need but I want you to come back. You’re . . . special to me.”
“I know, and I feel the same way. It’s beautiful and rare, this thing between us. I’ve never felt anything like it.” I wanted to cave. Wanted it so badly I wasn’t sure I had the will not to cave. An image of Edward getting shot ripped through my mind, and for once, the vivid reminder happened at just the right time. I stiffened my shoulders and did the right thing. “The problem is, this isn’t something time can fix. I wish it were. You have no idea how much I wish it were.”
Hurt warred with confusion in his expression, in his eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“I know you don’t, and I am sorry about that.” I stopped talking until a couple brushed past us, then added, “But I’m not free to explain.”
“You can’t explain, or you won’t?”
I shrugged. “What’s the difference, Mark? I’m not going to do it.”
He studied my face a long, tense moment. “This is what you were talking about when you said, ‘Lying not to be dishonest but to protect.’”
Could he read my mind? I recoiled and started to back away.
He clasped my hand and held me in place. “Don’t protect me, Lily. I’ve waited a long time to find you and I can’t let you just walk out of my life because you’re afraid I’ll get hurt. Let me answer that question for you. If you leave, I will be hurt.”
I wanted to cry, to scream. “You’re the most amazing man I’ve ever known, but this . . . us . . . it’s just the wrong time.” I don’t want you to die with me. I don’t want them chasing you and for you to give up your life and Jameson Court and all you’ve built—not for me. I thought it all, but had the luxury of saying none of it. “You’re going to have to trust me, that I know best. I know how hard trust is, but I’m asking you for it.”
