Elementary, My Dear Watkins

by Mindy Starns Clark

  Swallowing her pride, Jo told her grandmother everything, starting from the moment Bradford arrived at the Marriott and announced that he had been paid to marry her.

  Eleanor’s face remained impassive throughout the story, which would have seemed odd considering all that Jo was telling her—except that Jo knew that this was her poker face, perfected through a lifetime of sitting on the board during business negotiations and corporate maneuvers. Just by looking at her, you’d never know what she thinking, or even if she was even fully absorbing what was being said.

  When Jo was finished talking, however, it was evident that her grandmother had, indeed, taken in every word. She asked a number of questions, zeroing in on the details, trying to get a handle on the situation.

  “Jo, I don’t know what to tell you,” she said finally, her expression guarded. “I think our first step should be to contact your father and get him here as soon as possible. Perhaps he can shed a light on things.”

  “Let’s call him right now.”

  Eleanor pursed her lips for a moment, thinking.

  “Why don’t we wait until morning? If we call him over now, he’ll know something’s up and that might give him a chance to cover his tracks and put a spin on things. You know my motto: Give away nothing and always hold onto the upper hand.”

  Good grief. Was that her grandmother’s philosophy even when dealing with her immediate family? No wonder the woman was so successful—and so cold.

  “Yes, I’ll call him first thing,” Eleanor continued decisively, “and get him over here on some other pretense. Then when he arrives we can confront him together. Let’s hear his explanation for all of this face-to-face. Paying a man to marry his daughter, indeed. Even I wouldn’t stoop that low.”

  Jo ran a hand through her hair, more tears threatening at the back of her eyes.

  “Gran, are you positive you have no idea what Bradford was talking about when he said my life was in danger? He told me that there are people who need me ‘out of the way’ at Bosworth Industries. How could I possibly be in the way if I have nothing to do with Bosworth?”

  Jo looked imploringly at the older woman and was startled to see a flash of something in her eyes. She did know something, but she wasn’t saying what.

  “Darling, you’re exhausted,” she said, ignoring the question. “Why don’t you go on to bed and we can pick this up in the morning? I had Consuela prepare the Rose bedroom for you. It should be ready by now. In the morning we can send for your things. Is there someone you could call at home?”

  “Danny—” Jo started and then stopped. Her first thought was Danny, who always stepped in when she needed help. Unfortunately, right now he was on the other side of the world, wrapped up in his own life. “Um, I mean, we don’t need to send for them. I’ll go home tomorrow and get what I need myself.”

  “Not without a bodyguard, you won’t.”

  Bradford had also wanted her to get a bodyguard. Right now, that sounded like a good idea.

  “Do you know how to get one?”

  “Of course. I’ll make a call right now. In fact, I think I’d like someone in place tonight, posted outside your door.”

  “Oh, Gran, I don’t think that’s necessary. Bradford said I would be safe here.”

  “Bradford’s half dead in a hospital right now, Jo, injured while trying to protect you. I’m afraid he’s not the best judge.”

  Jo shuddered, remembering how nervous he had seemed in the subway. Maybe her grandmother was right.

  “Fine. Whatever you think is best.”

  “Good.”

  The old lady moved to the desk, made a few calls to arrange for the bodyguard service, and then buzzed Fernando and told him to come to the study. Once there, she gave him his instructions.

  “Please show Jo up to the Rose room and then put a chair in the hall outside her door. Wait there until further notice. We’re concerned for her safety.”

  If the request seemed odd, it didn’t show on Fernando’s face. He simply nodded and once again offered his arm. This time, Jo kindly refused his help. When she reached the door she hesitated, the image of her beloved dog, Chewie, suddenly filling her mind. While in the limo, Jo had called the friend back home who’d had Chewie for the day and asked if the dog could stay the night as well. But this had been an emergency, not a long-term solution. Summoning her nerve, she looked back at her grandmother and spoke.

  “Gran, when I come back with my things tomorrow, my dog will be with me. I don’t expect for him have the run of the house, of course, but I want him here.”

  Her eyes met and held her grandmother’s, as if they were poised for a duel. Jo wasn’t usually a stubborn person, but being with Eleanor almost always dug up all sorts of behaviors and feelings she didn’t know she possessed. Sometimes she thought the problem might be not that they were too different, but that they were too much alike. Eleanor Bosworth was used to getting her way, but in this Jo was not going to budge.

  As if sensing Jo’s resolve, her grandmother finally broke their gaze and sighed, clasping her hands together.

  “I’ll speak to Muck tomorrow,” she said stiffly, referring to the gardener. “Perhaps he can put up some sort of temporary fencing.”

  Stifling a smile, Jo uttered a quick “thank you” and then continued on her way. She may have won this particular battle, but she didn’t plan on sticking around long enough for her grandmother to change her mind.

  Alexa crouched under the hall window and peeked in, quickly ducking back when she realized that someone had just reached the top of the stairs. Cautiously, she tried again, this time watching as the blond lady she’d spotted out front came walking down the hall and into the Rose bedroom. Alexa couldn’t see her all that well, but she could tell the lady was younger than Alexa had originally thought, probably not even 30 years old, and pretty too. Fernando was walking right behind her, carrying a chair, and after he showed her to her room, he did the strangest thing. He put the chair in the hall just outside the room and sat down. Was the lady being held prisoner there or something?

  Oh, man.

  Whatever was going on, it was weird. Reluctantly, Alexa had to admit defeat. Tonight was not the night to make a getaway. She’d have to wait until tomorrow.

  Ah, well. There’s always tomorrow.

  As quietly as possible, she crept to her own window, slid it open, and climbed inside. After closing and locking the window, she undressed in the dark, putting away the backpack and flashlight and finally donning her T-shirt and pajama pants and slipping under the covers. She was kind of tired. She’d get a good night’s sleep and in the morning find out what the heck was going on. Then she would try again, making her escape tomorrow night.

  Alexa pulled the comforter up to her chin and closed her eyes, feeling not unlike a prisoner herself—though, admittedly, a prisoner with a really comfy bed.

  When Jo reached her room, she was surprised to see that the table in the corner had been set with one place setting of fine china. Moments later the head cook and housekeeper, Consuela, entered the room with a tray, which she balanced against the table to unload.

  “Your grandma wanted me to make you something to eat,” she explained, putting out what looked like a basket of rolls, butter, and a crock of soup. “Just a little snack, nothing heavy. Unless you’d like me to add a sandwich or something.”

  “No,” Jo said softly. “This is fine. Thank you.”

  She didn’t think she was hungry, but when Consuela lifted the lid from the soup and the smell came wafting out, her stomach actually grumbled. Thinking back, she realized that all she had eaten since breakfast was an apple on the train between Kreston and Manhattan. Now she was starving.

  “It’s good to see you again, by the way,” Jo said. “I believe it’s been a while. Since last Thanksgiving, maybe.”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  Jo didn’t know Consuela or her husband, Fernando, all that well, but she knew that her grandmother depended on them. Th
ey were the only live-in employees, occupying the apartment out back, over the garage.

  “I put a nightgown and robe in the closet for you,” Consuela said. “And there’s a basket of toiletries next to the sink in the bathroom. Once you get changed, if you’d like, I can wash the clothes you’re wearing so you can wear them again tomorrow.”

  Jo started to decline but then thought about the day she’d just been through. Between all the trains and train stations, downtown Manhattan, the subway, and the hospital, her clothes definitely needed washing. She’d begun the day wearing brown linen slacks and a peach twinset, though she’d had to give the light sweater from the twinset to the police so they could check for fingerprints where the hand had been when it pushed her. She’d spent the rest of the evening in just the sleeveless top, and it had become dirty. Suddenly, she was overwhelmed with the thought of getting clean. From her head to her toes, she felt grimy.

  “That’d be great,” Jo said, going to the closet for the robe and gown. “Maybe I’ll take a quick shower right now.”

  “In that case, I’ll cover the soup to keep it warm until you’re ready to eat. Just tell Fernando when you’re finished, and he’ll clear the table for you. I’ll come back for your clothes in a bit.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jo felt much better once she had bathed and towel dried and combed out her hair. Luxuriating in the silky feel of the gorgeous nightgown and robe—the tag said Dior—she sat at the little table and placed the linen napkin on her lap. Sometimes wealth made life so much easier, so much less trouble: limo rides, hot meals that magically appeared, fancy nightgowns, laundry that got done without lifting a finger. With wealth, a few phone calls and some well-trained staff could handle almost any problem.

  On the other hand, from what Jo had seen in her lifetime, wealth was a double-edged sword. For one thing, it was numbing. Life’s rough edges could become so smoothed over that a person could be lulled into the kind of complacency and self-sufficiency that was spiritually dangerous. God? Why do I need God when I’ve got all this stuff? The sad thing was, the unhappiest people she knew were also some of the richest.

  Figuring that out at an early age, Jo had made the conscious decision not to live that way, leaving her trust fund intact and never asking for financial help from anyone on this side of the family since college. Sometimes it felt silly to pinch pennies when her net worth was so substantial, but it was a trade-off she thought worth making. Someday she would be able to take all that money in her trust and do something important with it, not just toss it all away on a lavish lifestyle.

  Still, on a night like this, Jo had to admit that she’d rather be sitting here in a Dior gown in a beautiful mansion eating homemade bread and gourmet soup than shivering in rags in some hovel with crackers and ketchup. But before she started eating, Jo bowed her head to say grace. She asked God to keep her from being lulled and seduced by the rich life her grandmother led.

  “And please be with Bradford and make him whole,” she prayed softly. “Oh, and bless this food to my health. Amen.”

  She picked up a heavy silver spoon and ate, the soup helping to fill the deep ache inside. She wondered how many days it would be before Bradford could eat solid food. Would he ever heal completely? Would she always have to live with the thought that he was nearly killed trying to save her life?

  What was Danny going say when he found out? From the limo, Jo had called his apartment in Paris but had received no answer. Considering the situation, she hadn’t left a message except to tell him to call her. She couldn’t imagine where her boyfriend might be at this time of night—or morning actually, as the case may be, considering that he was so many time zones ahead of her. She trusted him, but his absence from his apartment at this early hour made her strangely uncomfortable.

  More than anything, she wished Danny were there, right now, by her side, holding her hand, stroking her face. Tears began to well up in her eyes, but she blinked them away and forced her mind to other, more mundane thoughts—the gorgeous rose wallpaper, the elegant china, the taste of the soup.

  Sometimes Jo hated being so independent.

  Because right now, all she really wanted most was to be completely and utterly dependent. She wanted to crawl inside Danny’s embrace, close her eyes, and make the whole world disappear.

  7

  Danny awoke at the sound of knocking, and it took a moment to remember where he was: in a sleeper car, on a TGV train, on the way to Switzerland. Propping up on his elbows to look toward the source of the knock, he saw that Luc was already up, dressed, and opening the door for the steward with their breakfast. Luc took the large tray from the uniformed man, tipped him, closed the door, and then set the tray on the hinged tabletop that swung out from the wall under the window. As Luc removed the lids from the various foods, Danny tried to wake up and clear the sleepiness from his brain. He and Mr. Bashiri had stayed up until 2:00 AM, just talking and sharing stories of the road.

  “Bon matin, mon ami,” Luc said, looking up at Danny with a smile. “What is wrong?”

  “The view,” Danny said, trying to sit up further without bumping his head. “I was hoping to see the Alps, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen.”

  He swung his legs over the side, climbed down, and stepped to the window for a closer look. Visibility was only about 20 feet; beyond that was merely swirling gray mist. Perhaps the fog would burn off once the sun finished coming up. It was tough to be so close to the gorgeous Swiss Alps for the very first time and not even be able to see them.

  Assured that Luc had already checked on Mr. Bashiri, Danny sat down to eat. The food was yet another weird European idea of “breakfast,” but Luc paid more attention to the coffee than the food, pouring from a heavy silver carafe, carefully stirring in sugar and cream, and sipping slowly as he gazed out of the window at the fog.

  “I’ve never seen anyone who can drag out a pot of coffee longer than you can,” Danny teased as his friend poured his third cup.

  “Eh?” Luc said, looking up with a smile. “What do you know? You are from America, land of the ‘go cup,’ guzzling your coffee on the run, always while you are doing other things.” Luc dropped a sugar cube into the steaming brown brew and stirred, slowly shaking his head. “I like Americans, but when it comes to food and drink, you are all in too much of a hurry.”

  “I like Europeans,” Danny replied, smiling, “but for my taste, in that area I’d say you’re all a little slow.”

  Luc laughed.

  “Touché,” he told him, raising his coffee cup in a toast. “We both like what we are used to, n’est pas?”

  They chatted easily over the meal, discussing various cultural differences between the United States and Europe. For some reason, Danny found that the conversation was making him homesick, something he’d worked hard to avoid in the past six weeks. When Luc asked about Jo specifically, Danny felt a surge of loneliness deep inside his chest. He missed her so bad it hurt.

  “Tell me what is so special about this lady of yours,” Luc said, leaning back in his chair, “that the very thought of her keeps you from even looking at the beautiful women of Paris. If you are so in love, why are you not yet married?”

  Danny tried to explain that it was still a little too soon.

  “Too soon?” Luc cried. “Did you not tell me that you met her when you were a little boy? That her grandmother and your grandmother were neighbors and that is how you became friends?”

  “Yes, but we were just friends. After twenty-something years, we were best friends. Then, last fall, I realized I was in love with my best friend.”

  “So all of a sudden you did not just love her any more, you loved her, eh? Ooo la la. Tell me more.”

  Danny jabbed a sausage with his fork and moved it to his plate.

  “It’s not an easy decision, you know, moving from best friends to boyfriend and girlfriend. You risk the entire friendship, because if things don’t work out in the love relationship, in the en
d you’ve got nothing.”

  “But let me guess—as soon as you admitted that you had fallen in love with her, she said the same thing had happened to her, non?”

  “No. In fact, she had a hard time with it at first. It was complicated.”

  “Sounds like it.”

  Danny remembered the torment of telling Jo that he loved her and not immediately hearing the same sentiment in return. At the time he tried to be patient and put the entire matter in God’s hands, but it hadn’t been easy. The moment when she finally admitted that she was in love with him too had been the single best moment of his life. She had done a lot of thinking and realized that the only thing holding her back from a love relationship with Danny was the fear of losing him. He promised her he would always be there for her, and he meant it with every fiber of his being.

  “Love prevailed in the end,” Danny said, remembering.

  “And that is when you decided to live happily ever after?”

  “No. That’s when I decided to come to Paris.”

  Luc let out a groan, tossing his hands in the air.

  “Just when you get the girl of your dreams, you go off and leave her? What kind of a lover are you?”

  Danny smiled.

  “Jo understood. In fact, she insisted. She knows how important my career is to me. She’s very supportive.”

  Luc set his napkin on the table, shaking his head.

  “No job or career would be worth it to me. Love like that, it does not come along every day. If I had a true love who was also my best friend, I would never leave her side.”

  “It’s only for three months,” Danny protested. “And this was the career opportunity of a lifetime.”

  He didn’t add that the situation was actually even more complicated than he had described. When he left town, in fact, not only were he and Jo just beginning the transition in their relationship, but her home had burned to the ground and she’d been terribly injured in an explosion.