by Nancy Martin
“Her line was busy. Come on.” He reached for my arm. “I’ll take you home.”
I avoided his touch. “There’s no need for that. I’ll take the train.”
“I didn’t mean your home. My apartment is only a couple of blocks from here.”
“How convenient for you,” I said. “But irrelevant to me.”
He rearranged a lock of my hair. “We’ll have a drink. Talk about the secret life of Jenny Tuttle. Not only did she have a love child with a player yet to be named, but she mooned over your papa and dared to outdo her famous father by writing a musical of her own. We’ll bang out the story tonight, and it will be in print in the morning.”
I shook my head firmly. “No, Gus.”
“Which part don’t you like? The love child? The musical? Or your papa?”
“The part about your apartment.”
Lexie had said Gus was my work spouse—someone who could be my career partner, my supporter, one who kept me on the right track, encouraged me to be more than I thought I could. Just now, though, it felt a lot more dangerous than that. We faced each other with more truth in our faces than ever before.
“Nora,” he said.
A horn tooted from the street, and we both looked around. Me with relief. Gus with annoyance.
A red pickup truck pulled to the curb, windows rolled down. My sister Emma called, “Hey, Sis! Are you hitchhiking again? Haven’t I warned you about the trouble you could get into with that?”
She burst out of the truck and came around the hood with her most confident, long-legged walk—a cigarette in one hand and her hair standing up in all directions. Evening had just fallen, and the headlights lit up her body like a searchlight. She was wearing boots and skintight riding breeches with a ragged T-shirt that looked as if she’d barely survived a zombie attack.
I thought I heard Gus make a noise in his throat.
“Well, well,” she said to him, strolling closer. “You must be Crocodile Dundee. Where’s your kangaroo?”
“Em,” I said. “This is Gus Hardwicke. He’s my boss, so behave yourself. Gus, this is my sister, Emma Blackbird.”
I had dreaded the moment when these two met face-to-face. I couldn’t keep them apart forever, but I’d held out hope for as long as possible. I fully expected thunder and lightning to come crashing out of the sky in some kind of cosmic sign of Shakespearean calamity, because my little sister was a force of nature where men were concerned. And Gus was almost her match.
Emma blew cigarette smoke and grinned with evil intent.
“Bugger me,” Gus said, obviously impressed. “Hard to think you two swam out of the same gene pool.”
Emma put her cigarette on her lip and shook his hand hard. “Nora’s had more time to grow up and dry off. Me, I’m still in the primordial soup. How about you?”
“I’ll take a plunge into just about anything.”
She eyed his suit. “You look like you’re selling fried chicken in that getup. No, I suppose with you it’s shrimp on the barbie. You ever decide to see how the other half lives, Dundee, we’ll do a little pub crawl, you and me.”
I said, “If I get a vote, I think that’s a very bad idea. Are you here to pick me up, Em?”
“Yeah,” she said, still giving Gus a long study. “By now Mick’s waiting at home after a long day of burying bodies in the Pine Barrens. Let’s go.”
I turned to Gus. “Thank you. For preventing me from making a bigger fool of myself tonight at the theater. I was ready to storm the stage.”
“You’re welcome,” he said stiffly. “Storm avoided.”
“Good night.”
“It could have been better.”
Emma blew another long, slow stream of blue smoke at Gus. “Don’t kiss any koala bears.”
He had no answer for that. He put his hands in his trouser pockets and watched in wonder as we climbed into my sister’s truck.
Emma tooted her horn and roared away from the curb, heading for home. I collapsed into the seat and rested my head against the hard cushion. My heart was beating like a drum. “I can’t remember ever being so happy to see you in my whole life. What brought you here at this precise moment, may I ask?”
“Mick called me, said you hadn’t called him back, so he asked me to run down here to pick you up. I figured I’d check the Pendergast Building first.” She threw her cigarette out the window. “I saw the way the Aussie was staring. He’s got the hots for you!”
“He does not. Well, he does a little.”
“You weren’t exactly looking innocent either in that getup.”
“This getup is a vintage Dior!”
“It makes you look like a pregnant pole dancer.”
“Oh, for the love of—”
“It’s not your usual style,” she insisted. “And he noticed, too. What does Mick think of him? Have they met?”
“They hate each other.”
Emma laughed delightedly. “I wouldn’t want to be a guy on Mick’s bad side. Dundee could wake up some morning with his own severed dick in his hand.”
“Don’t be crude,” I said.
She smothered her laughter into amused snorts. “You’re such a goody-goody, Sis. You’re always on your best behavior, and you always do the right thing. Except you have one major character flaw.”
“Just one?”
“You like bad boys. You’re in love with Mick, but you like Crocodile Dundee, too. Because he’s a bad boy.”
With a snap, I turned on the radio. The blaring music prevented further conversation until we were out of the city and headed into Bucks County. Emma sang along with the oldies, occasionally sending me amused glances. I thought about scoundrels adding piquancy and cursed to myself.
I didn’t like bad boys. I loved Michael, yes, and perhaps his reputation wasn’t as sterling as most men’s. And Gus? Well, I . . . appreciated him. He could be pushy and annoying, but I enjoyed sparring with him. I felt nothing sexual for him, and I certainly didn’t feel as if we shared values or life pursuits. I liked him and wanted to be his friend and certainly his coworker. But that was the sum total of so-called bad boys in my life.
Well, perhaps Todd had been no angel, either. And my college boyfriends were less Rhodes scholars and more the kind of men who broke into the field house late at night to liberate sporting equipment.
Oh, who was I kidding? I was drawn to the wrong men, and I couldn’t explain it. I was a Blackbird female, and that’s how we were. Nature worked in mysterious, infuriating ways, and my life was a testament to the perversity of the universe. I had made my choice, and to anyone keeping score, Michael was perhaps the baddest of the bad.
Finally I turned off the music. “You like bad boys, too.”
She seemed delighted. “Guilty as charged.”
“Are you going to tell me who it is? The man you’re dating now?”
“I don’t have to,” she replied. “I’m going to pick him up in New Hope before I take you home. You’re gonna meet him in person.”
“Do I get a hint now?”
“Nope. What’s going on with Libby? Is she making cheesecake for the old guy? What happened to the bug man? I thought he was getting rid of her termites and bringing her dinner. Playing with the kids. Making himself indispensable before making the final assault on Libby’s virtue. Have you talked to him? Given him some pointers, maybe?”
“Why would I talk to Perry?”
“Because you’re the only one sane enough to hold this family together. You should have a chat with the exterminator before Libby pushes Mr. AARP off into the sunset in his wheelchair.”
“I have no intention of discussing anything personal with Perry Delbert. I barely know the man.”
“Do you want Libby wasting the best years of her life with a coot who probably needs a penile implant?”
�
�Sex isn’t everything in a relationship. And I thought you were on the other side of this argument! You said she should be thinking about her financial well-being.”
“I was kidding. Libby needs a guy who’ll light her fire, not just pay the electric bill, just like you and me. I asked around about Oxenfeld, by the way. He’s rich and smart, but a social dud. She’d be bored with him in two weeks.”
“What else did you learn about Ox?”
“What d’you mean?”
“I think he’s mixed up in Jenny Tuttle’s death.”
Emma’s foot faltered on the accelerator. “You mean, like maybe he killed her?”
“Maybe.”
“Hey, I only heard that he was a smart producer. He doesn’t lose his own money but makes a bundle using other people’s cash to finance big shows. And he’s never had a loser. That’s a big accomplishment in show business. But are you thinking Libby might be in danger?”
“Em, I haven’t heard from Libby since Saturday. Do you think she might—”
“Relax. I talked to her this afternoon. She’s not being held hostage by a pudgy producer. She’s just mad at you. And trying to score the world’s best cheesecake recipe.”
“Is she super mad at me?”
“Hey, if she’s not talking to you, at least she’s not planning your wedding, right? No, I think she’s more annoyed that you’re right about Oxenfeld not being her knight in shining armor. Just to spite you, she’s still dating him. Which is loony tunes, but that’s Libby for you. Talk to Perry, Sis.”
When Emma chose to be insightful, she was often right on the money. I sank back down into the seat and groaned. “Why me?”
In New Hope, Emma took a dark side street and pulled up next to a fire hydrant on the corner by a disreputable tavern. She left the engine running and, whistling cheerfully, went inside to find her date. I waited in silence, mulling over murder and wondering what catastrophe was coming next.
It was a big one.
The door of the bar burst open, sending a shaft of toxic green light out into the street. And the man who came strolling out with Emma on his arm threw back his head and laughed with her. He was handsome, with dark, curly hair, broad shoulders and a wicked grin.
And he was none other than Little Frankie Abruzzo.
I barely held back a scream as Michael’s brother opened the passenger door, leaned in and gave me a cocky hello.
He said, “Last time I saw you, weren’t you naked?”
If Emma had chosen an international terrorist to shack up with, I don’t think she could have made a worse choice in boyfriends. Little Frankie climbed into the passenger seat, crowding me up against my sister and giving my knee a friendly fondle. He breathed beer in my face and leered down the front of my dress. “What’s your name again?”
“She’s Nora,” Emma answered for me. “And she spooks easily, so take your hand off her leg, hotshot.”
He laughed and threw his arm across the back of the seat behind me. With his finger, he toyed with my earlobe. I slapped his hand away, making him chortle.
We rode like that all the way to Blackbird Farm—the two of them laughing their heads off and me preventing Little Frankie’s roving hands from undressing me. I desperately hoped Michael was already home and safely in bed, where he’d never need to know his brother was back in our lives.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
No such luck. Michael was pulling the Escalade through the security gate just as Emma drove into the lane at Blackbird Farm. She scooted her truck under the electronic arm before it came down, and we followed the Escalade around the house. If I wasn’t mistaken, there was a new dent in the big SUV’s rear bumper.
We all arrived at the back of the house and got out of our respective vehicles. Beside the barn sat the car Rawlins was driving these days. The only good news was that Bridget’s convertible was nowhere to be seen. Clouds scudded across the half-moon overhead. There was just enough light for the brothers to recognize each other and take a long moment to plan their respective attacks.
“Oh, hell,” Michael said to Little Frankie. “I thought you went back to Vegas.”
“I misplaced my stake,” his brother said with a grin.
“You mean, you lost it.”
Frankie shrugged. “What does it matter? I need some cash, bro. You ready to pay me back?”
I could see Michael was in no mood for fun. He reached one hand into his pocket and came up with a quarter. He tossed it at Little Frankie, who caught it, turned over the coin and gave it a short inspection.
Michael was just barely holding on to his temper. Something had happened earlier, I could see. Now his brother had turned up unexpectedly. Michael was simmering hot.
Frankie missed all the signs and taunted him. “This must mean you’re a little short, too, Mick. I guess it’s time you found a place for me in the family hierarchy? I need a job—something cushy but lucrative.”
Michael stood a couple of inches taller than his brother. I wasn’t sure which one was older—Michael didn’t like talking with me about his siblings, especially Little Frankie—but I guessed they were born only months apart. Growing up together, they had fought like wolverines. I didn’t see any sign their relationship had improved. Michael’s black eye seemed to give him an additional advantage in the threatening department.
He said, “Go home, Frank. Maybe Mom has some dishes you could wash.”
The loose smile evaporated from Little Frankie’s face. “I saved you when no bank would touch your sorry ass.”
“And they say there’s no more brotherly love.”
“Now you’re sitting pretty. You owe me.”
“Your definition of pretty is faulty.” Except he used a different word.
“Hey,” Emma said.
“And you,” Michael said to her, “should have better taste in men by now.”
I said, “I’m hungry. Is anyone else hungry?”
They ignored me. Little Frankie had gone tense all over. Even his hands were balled into tight fists. He said to Michael, “Tell you what. I’ll take a piece of Gas N Grub. Seems to me, I’ve got a right to a sizable chunk. Maybe the gasoline trade could use my particular brand of business acumen.”
“Only you could screw up selling gas,” Michael replied.
“Then set me up with a territory I can run the way I want to. My own section of the family store.”
Michael pocketed his keys. “Run along, Frank.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Either you cut me in, or I’m going to Pop.”
“Visiting hours are on Saturdays.” Michael touched my shoulder and turned me toward the house.
“This isn’t over,” Little Frankie said. “You hear me, Mick?”
Michael and I walked the length of the flagstones and went up the porch steps together. I heard Emma say, “Time to go, hotshot.”
“I got rights,” Little Frankie snapped at her. “He owes me, and he knows it.”
I unlocked the back door, and Michael and I went into the kitchen. It smelled deliciously of roast chicken. But I wasn’t hungry anymore. I heard doors slam, and Emma’s truck revved up.
Michael and I faced each other beside the refrigerator. Neither one of us felt like smiling. I said, “He loaned you money to get us stable again. Can you pay him back?”
Michael shook his head. “Not even close. I just committed a quarter of a million dollars for new software.”
“A quarter of a—! Michael, that’s crazy.”
He ran his hand around the back of his head and rubbed it. “Actually, Lexie convinced me it’s a smarter way to go. In three months, the software will earn back what it cost and save me a bundle going forward.”
“Three months is a long time to have your brother breathing down our necks.”
He gathered me close. “My neck,” he corrected.
“I’ll figure out something.”
“Tell me what happened to the Escalade.”
He stiffened almost imperceptibly. “What?”
“I saw the bumper. There’s a dent that wasn’t there before. What happened?”
He loosened his hold on me. “Minor fender bender. Nothing to worry about.”
We were interrupted by the arrival of Rawlins, who came through the butler’s pantry talking to someone behind him. Michael and I parted in time to see Rawlins holding the hand of his ex-girlfriend Shawna.
I liked Shawna, and we chatted for a few minutes. If she saw something amiss, she didn’t mention it. Instead, she told me she was excited about going back to Harvard in September. But it was clear she and Rawlins wanted to be alone, and maybe Michael and I were subconsciously communicating something was wrong. We thanked them for looking after Noah, and Michael slipped Rawlins some cash—more than a quarter. The teenagers were soon happily dashing down the back steps.
We could have finished our discussion then, but Michael headed for the oven, and I knew I needed time to calm myself, too. I went upstairs to change and check on the baby. Noah was sleeping soundly. I took off my dress and hung it in the closet.
By the time I went back downstairs in my bathrobe, Michael had pulled the chicken out of the oven and was sipping from a glass of wine while putting dinner together. He had fresh-picked green beans in a sauté pan and began slicing chicken off the bone. Over his shoulder, he asked, “Did you make it to that preview thing tonight? I don’t suppose you saw Bridget there?”
“I didn’t see her there, but maybe I missed her.”
“She doesn’t exactly blend into the scenery.”
“True.” I poured myself a glass of milk and sat down at the table. I told him all about Bluebird of Happiness and how it was a thinly disguised version of my family’s story.
“Wow,” he said, knife in one hand, dinner momentarily forgotten as I concluded my tale. “Can they legally do that?”
