by Jacie Floyd
And all the therapy in the world hadn’t gotten her back on her feet. She wouldn’t discuss it with Gabe, so they both always pretended he didn’t know that all of her therapists combined—psycho and physical—believed her paralysis was psychosomatic.
Maybe so, maybe not. He wouldn’t judge. But one thing he knew for sure was that she’d walk again someday. When she could. When she was ready. Whenever she got over the unnamed fear that controlled her.
“Hey,” she said breezily. “I carry a lot of baggage these days. What with being a psychic-paraplegic-single mom, and all.” A beautiful smile lit her face with humor, making her look like her old self for just a moment. But it dimmed all too quickly. “What’s your excuse?”
“Too broke,” he said, going for the easy answer. “I’ll start dating again when you do. Until then, I’ll stick to my computers. At least I understand them.” He rubbed the back of his neck, refocusing on the mess in front of him. “Let’s get back to work on Quigley, okay? See if we can get this garbage straightened out before midnight.”
“It won’t take that long,” she said. “I about had it figured out when you got here.”
“Really? Then why were you so glad to see me?”
“Well, uh—You know I’m not the scaredy-cat type, but I did hear someone trying the handle on the front door earlier. There were shadows skulking away when I went up to the front.”
“Skulking? Did you really just use the word skulking? Who was it?”
She crossed her eyes at him. “I don’t know. If I knew I wouldn’t have worried.”
“Skulking issues aside, could it have been someone from Pete’s Painters next door?”
“Could have been, I guess, but Pete and his wife are out of town, and none of the painters come to the office this late.”
He searched for a rational explanation, but all he came up with was another twinge of uneasiness. He added it to the list of the other twinges he’d felt a few times in the last few days and couldn’t explain. Even though the most likely explanation had to do with sinister interest in the Sleeping Lotus. “One of the other tenants then.”
“Maybe.” Sierra voiced the agreement, but didn’t sound convinced.
“Just be careful.” He drummed his fingers on the desk. “Keep the doors locked, especially when you’re here at night.”
“Always do.”
His cell phone rang and they both looked at it. He intended to let it go to voicemail, but Sierra smiled.
“You should answer that. It’s your new lady. I’m getting vibes.”
“There are no vibes.” His pulse leaped into double time as Molly’s name appeared on the screen. “And I don’t have a new lady.”
“Not yet.” Sierra wheeled out the door, throwing him a smile over her shoulder. “Just answer it.”
He hesitated, then picked up. “Contract Communications, Gabe Shaw speaking.”
“Gabe! I found Nonna’s scrapbook on Bella.” He could feel Molly’s bubbling excitement over the phone. “It’s all the provenance we need.”
In the name of caution, Molly took a circuitous route to Contract Communications the next day after school. As she hooked a left onto the side street that ran next to the building, she couldn’t shake the creepy fingernails-on-the-blackboard feeling that she was being followed.
A nondescript small, plain, boxy gray car turned onto the street behind her, but didn’t follow her into the parking lot. She strained to see the driver, but tinted windows blocked her view. After a brief hesitation, the vehicle sped down the street.
She made note of an Ohio State sticker on the rear bumper. Nothing extraordinary about that. Buckeye fans were rampant in the Cincinnati area.
For some reason, the extreme ordinariness of the vehicle was what made it stick out. It was the kind of car no one would notice, unless someone overly cautious spotted it behind her at every traffic light and intersection. If Molly saw it again, she swore she’d pay more attention to the make of the car. And the license plate number. Sheesh, why had she noticed the bumper sticker and not the plate number?
She slumped down in the seat of the VW to see if the gray box would circle around. After ten minutes of watching and waiting, she started feeling hot and silly.
Shaking off her paranoia, she stepped out of her car and studied the place where Gabe spent a big part of each day. The standard square office building on Reading Road probably contained ten or twelve businesses. The metal and glass structure typified solid, unpretentious medium-priced real estate.
Grabbing her purse, she also lifted her tote containing the scrapbook off the passenger seat. His Harley parked at the end of the row reassured her of his presence.
She repeated the little pep talk she’d been reciting on the drive over. She hadn’t ventured over here simply to invade his privacy and spy on him. Not at all. She was doing him a favor by stopping by to share information he had an interest in seeing. Information that was pivotal to the eventual disposition of their joint property.
Yeah, right, that’s why I’m here.
Stepping onto the walkway that led to the front door, she caught sight of a shiny bit glinting beside her tire. She stooped to pick it up. Even before she had it in hand, she could see that it was a brass button. Darn. Probably six gazillion U.S. pennies in circulation, so why couldn’t she luck into one when she needed to?
Because you don’t find good luck, it finds you.
Inside the lobby, she checked the business listings on a black directory against Gabe’s card. She looked left and right and spotted the office, three doors down. Contract Communications occupied a nice corner location.
Now that she was here, the feeling that she really shouldn’t be dropping in on him at work increased. She wanted to see Gabe in his natural habitat, but her feelings for him—about him--were mixed. The need to see the real Gabe took her to his door. Black stenciling detailed the company name on the frosted glass.
For a shot of courage, Molly touched her fingertips to the crystal hanging on a chain around her neck. Summoning up positive energy and her sunniest smile, she opened the door to a neatly decorated reception area of geometric prints, glass and lacquer tables, and industrial style chairs.
Understated, yet pleasing. Too modern for Molly’s taste. But she could feel Gabe’s vibe all over the space.
A sleek, modern-shaped desk spanned one side of the room, enhanced by the presence of a stunning redhead with fake eyelashes, Joan Crawford shoulders, voluptuous everything, and swirled in a cloud of Obsession.
“Well, now,” the receptionist said, in a husky rasp. “How may I help you?”
“I’m Molly Webber. Here to see Gabe Shaw.”
“Is he expecting you?” A flash of dismay crossed the redhead’s face. Patting shoulder-length poufy hair sprinkled with glitter, she sent her acrylic-nailed fingers flying across the keyboard, then sized up Molly with a quick once-over. The temperature in the air surrounding them took a decided dip. “You aren’t on his appointment list.”
Molly nailed her blue flats to the floor to keep from shuffling them like a naughty ten-year-old called before the principal. After a school day that included finger-painting, kickball, and cafeteria-duty, her durable denim skirt and white T-shirt lacked a little something in style and freshness. Nothing about her bland appearance compared favorably to the overstated elegance of Gabe’s receptionist. “He told me to stop by anytime.”
“And you picked today, of course.” The Amazonian vision summoned a frosty smile and gestured Molly toward the square-edged sofa. “Have a seat. I’ll tell him you’re here.”
After punching a button on the console, she spoke into a wireless headset, similar to something Madonna might wear in concert. “Gabe, there’s a Molly Webber here to see you. She says—” The receptionist broke off suddenly and took the headpiece off, placing it on the desk. Molly could hear the disconnect buzz from her seat on the couch. “He’ll be right out.”
“Thanks.” Molly pulled the Bella s
crapbook out of her tote, preparing to show it to Gabe.
Wearing a soft denim shirt rolled-up at the sleeves and a pair of khakis, he burst into the reception area. He pulled Molly into a quick hug and inhaled deeply. “Hey, good to see you! Thanks for coming. Hang on just a second.”
Turning, he wheeled to a stop in front of his receptionist. He planted his hands on his hips and glared. “Terry, for God’s sake! What the hell are you doing out here? Where’s Vera?”
The receptionist flashed him a challenging look. “She had a dentist appointment, remember?”
“Damn, that’s right.” Gabe slammed his right fist into his left palm. “Why’d she ask you to man the front desk?”
First, yelling over the phone, now upbraiding an employee in front of a visitor. Molly frowned. She simply couldn’t relate this man to the one who’d been so sweet to her mother. To the one who ignited a slow heat in the pit of her stomach with nothing but a dimpled smile. The one whose kiss still kept her awake two days after the fact. He was cute, sure, but so... so... so insensitive to the people around him. His people skills needed some work.
She couldn’t figure him out. Or her reaction to him.
She didn’t want to watch what might happen next, but feeling both horrified and fascinated, she couldn’t avert her eyes.
Terry stood up as regally as a queen, all six feet of her, meeting Gabe eye to eye. “Why not me?”
Gabe’s jaw muscles twitched. “I told you the last time—“
“Vera helped me with my outfit,” Terry interrupted, with a puppy-like eagerness on her overly made-up face. “Don’t I look fabulous?”
She stepped from behind the desk in a clingy purple wrap dress that fastened with a rhinestone buckle at the side and a neckline that plunged down somewhere near Florida. She revealed miles of leg with well-toned calves and big ankles encased in sparkly hose as she twirled in front of Gabe on boat-sized five-inch open-toed stilettos.
Molly couldn’t help gaping at the biggest feet she’d ever seen on a woman. She speculated about where in Cincinnati one would purchase do-me shoes in that size. Of course, anything could be ordered on the Internet.
Gabe blanched, looking comically appalled, then shook his head and grunted. Molly could only wonder what bug had crawled up his nose. So Terry’s outfit was over the top. Gabe’s reaction was equally so.
He heaved a beleaguered sigh. “Yes, fabulous, but—“
“And we checked the schedule. You didn’t have any appointments.” Terry looked pensively from Molly to Gabe. “We thought it would be okay. I’ve been working up the specs for the new project out here, so that’s cool. I’m not getting behind on my regular work.”
Gabe sighed again, and the corners of his mouth began to twitch. He quickly covered a chuckle with a cough. “Okay,” he said, gaining a relieved smile from Terry. “But check with me before you pull a stunt like this again.”
“I will, Gabe, I promise. We didn’t think you’d mind, really.”
“Fine.” Gabe flapped his hand with a dismissive wave, before turning back to Molly. Finally. He looked gorgeous, of course. Tired, but gorgeous. Definitely gorgeous, even with dark shadows rimming his eyes. “Hello.” Appreciatively, he checked her out from head to toe.
“Hi, yourself.” If she wasn’t experiencing whiplash from another Dr. Jekyll-Mr. Hyde personality change by him, she would have regretted not stopping by home to change out of her school clothes.
“Is that your grandmother’s album?”
“Yep.” She held it up as proof.
“Great, let’s take it to my office.” He jiggled the change in his pocket while he waited for her to collect her things. Then he took the tote and the album from her. He clasped her elbow to lead her away. She tingled at his touch, as always.
“Ah-hem.” The receptionist cleared her throat. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
“You’re pushing it, Ter,” Gabe muttered, before turning to Molly. “I guess this means you didn’t meet my cousin Terry?”
Cousin? “Not officially.”
“Molly, Terry. Terry, Molly.” He waved his hand back and forth between them, executing the briefest introduction possible.
Wondering at Gabe’s lack of enthusiasm, Molly stepped forward to shake hands. Her knees almost buckled under the crush of Terry’s grip. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“You, too.” Terry sank back into the chair behind the desk. “Love your hair, doll.”
Molly tucked one side of her bob behind her ear, certain she must look about as alluring as a little Dutch boy next to this Marilyn Monroe wannabe. “Thanks.” She waited through a pool of awkward silence until she understood what Terry expected. “Yours looks good, too.”
“Really? You like it?” Terry tugged on the ends of the elaborate do. “Vera thought it was a bit much for the office.”
“You’re a bit much for the office.” Gabe rolled his eyes, but whatever tension had gripped him a few minutes before seemed to have evaporated. This comment was more teasing than derogatory, and Molly sensed the two had leaped some invisible family hurdle. “Next time Vera decides to give you a lunchtime makeover, tell her to go for the Secretary Barbie wardrobe instead of Showgirl Barbie.”
“Sorry, that was my fault.” The receptionist made a show of batting her spidery false eyelashes. “There’s an amateur contest tonight at Starmaker’s, and I wanted to give my whole outfit a try.”
“Looks like you’ve got yourself a winner,” The cousins exchanged a quick high-five. “Good luck.” Gabe turned back to Molly and let out an exasperated breath. “Welcome to the funhouse.” His eyes wandered over her again, sweeping her with their warmth. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Suddenly, she felt all flustered. “Well, I knew you’d want to see Grandmother’s clippings and mementos about Bella as soon as possible.”
“You’re right, I do. If I can manage to keep a lid on Chaos Central for a few minutes.” He stopped at the door. “Terry, is Granddad still here?”
“He’s in the back with Chloe. Want me to page him?”
“I’ll take care of it. You stay here and try to keep a low profile.”
“Too late for that, sugar.” Terry’s accompanying laugh started out as a giggle but quickly morphed into something full and rich.
“Don’t I know it,” Gabe grumbled.
He led Molly through a large open room sectioned off into cubicles with high-tech computers, modems, printers, robotics, and other equipment covering every available surface, around a corner and into an office. The space suited him, precise to a pin, everything in its place with no frills attached, only the oddly whimsical, colorful touch here and there. Here a Reds bobblehead doll, there a blue Eeyore propped in a chair. Here, a trophy from the Flying Pig Marathon, there a Darth Vader robot on a shelf. A vintage Gameboy mixed in with some other hand-held devices. A Rubik’s cube. Balloon animals looped over a hat rack. And was that trunk tucked away in the corner really a toy box filled with baby dolls and feather boas?
“Would you like some coffee?” He nodded to an elaborate space-age coffeemaker on top of a mini-fridge. “Water? Soda?”
“I’m fine.” She settled into a visitor’s chair.
He placed the album in the center of his desk and took his seat. “Tell me what you found out. Do you have specific pages marked for me to look at?”
“There are a lot of news clippings about Bella, her career, her engagement to Jebediah. Apparently, they were the Brangelina of their day. Belladiah, maybe.”
He leaned back and smiled. “Generated a lot of press, huh?”
“Yeah, the society section of the New York papers devoted whole pages to their engagement party. It tells about everything from the food to the table decorations—Lobster Newburg, caviar, quail’s eggs and Pavlovas, in case you wondered—with Faberge-style eggs nestled in bouquets of lilies for the decor. There was one of the eggs in Nonna’s stuff, by the way. We hoped it might be authentic, but it’s a pretty impressive
imitation of the real thing.”
“Valuable?”
“I doubt it, but I’ll have it appraised to see.”
“What else did you learn?”
“The guest list and the gifts were incredible. They received a Tiffany lamp from the mayor of New York, an early cubist painting by Picasso from the Vanderbilts, Standard Oil shares from John D himself, a silver champagne bucket from Teddy Roosevelt, the list goes on. One fabulous name and gift followed by another.”
“What, no toasters?” he asked. “And where are all those fabulous gifts now? Was the Standard Oil stock tucked away in your grandmother’s hatbox with the jade?”
“Not so I noticed, but she did have the Tiffany lamp and the champagne bucket. Mother has them now, but I’ll tell her she should have them appraised and insured right away. Is it possible that some of the items were handed down through your family?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” He cleared his throat and attempted a snooty, upper-crust accent. “But I’ll check with the butler at the house in the Hamptons to see if we moved the Picasso there the last time we redecorated.”
It tickled Molly to see him behave so light-heartedly, but then he dropped the phony Eastern-ese and returned to a more familiar wry tone. “You can bet anything we owned of value was sold long ago.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “What have you learned about the Sleeping Lotus?”
Molly fought to keep her face straight. “The Lotus was a gift from Grandma Bella’s spiritual adviser.”
“Spiritual adviser?” He scratched his forehead. “Is that like a priest or minister? I don’t picture a man of the cloth giving such a blatantly carnal theme.”
“The gift giver was a woman.” Molly hesitated, before presenting Gabe with the next info. “Sister Sylvia was her name.”
“A nun?”
She shook her head. “Fortune-teller.”
Chapter Eight
Gabe’s shoulders slumped, his perfect posture deserting him. He clapped a hand to his forehead in an overly dramatic gesture. “Oh, hell, not another one. Is believing in the occult an inherited family trait then? Or is it just you and your Grandma Bella?”
