Perfect Match

by Fern Michaels

  “Yeah, I guess. I’m not trying to keep anything from you, John. It’s just that I needed a little time to think about Gracie’s phone call. And Moose’s call. I planned on telling you later tonight.” Beth threw her hands up as she started to talk, bullet fast. She finally wound down. “So, yes, that’s the reason I’m not going to the club with you tonight. I want to stay here and plan out a course of action. I’m not afraid, but I am concerned. Neither Gracie nor Moose are alarmists, and right now they’re both ringing alarm bells loud and long. I have to pay attention to that.”

  John digested all he heard, then slid into the leather booth behind the table. “What about Jake?” he asked, reaching for her hand and squeezing it.

  “Jake, according to Gracie, and Moose, too, wanted to postpone his surgery and come up here and beat some sense into my head. He saw the error of his ways and backed off. The detective Andy and Artie hired is on his way here as we speak. He should get here around nine, just when you hit the club. That’s another reason I’m staying home tonight. Gracie and Moose both badgered me to agree to letting him stay here with us. We have a spare bedroom, so I said yes. I knew you wouldn’t mind and that you’d be relieved. It is what it is, John. I have to deal with it, and I’m not going to run and hide and live my life like that. I absolutely refuse to let some screwball drive me to the ground. Don’t suggest going to the police. We have no proof of anything, and you know as well as I do that you cannot accuse someone of something this serious without proof.”

  “Marry me, Beth.”

  “You were supposed to say something good about the detective moving in here and watching over me. Besides, you know the rule—you only get to ask me to marry you once a day. Two times does not count. And . . . you know I can’t marry you until Jake can walk me down the aisle. Having Moose do it isn’t the same. I was thinking, though, they could both walk me down the aisle when it’s time.” Her voice was so angry, so defensive, and yet sad, that John burst out laughing.

  “Go ahead and laugh, John Rossmon, but I know that Jake is going to walk again. This is his last chance. I had to push his face into the reality of it all, or he’d never get out of that chair. No way am I going to back down now after all this. He’s going for the surgery, and that was the biggest hurdle. He knows this is it.”

  “Well, I’m not leaving here until the detective arrives. I want your promise, Beth, that you won’t go anywhere alone from here on in. I know it will cramp your style, free spirit that you are, but still, I want your promise.”

  Beth smiled as she promised. “I asked Gracie to let me have Gizmo, but she refused. Do you believe that? She refused! She also told me Giz adores Jake, and Jake loves the dog. She sees this as a big plus where Jake is concerned. I think that’s why she won’t let me have him. Oh, and get this. Jake and Moose invited Giz to dinner and to spend the night. Gracie sounded to me like she was a little put out about that. I’m kind of thinking she got her nose out of joint when she wasn’t invited. For dinner, not the sleepover.”

  John laughed out loud. “Beth, you are as transparent as window glass. Your goal has always been to fix up Gracie and Jake. You said it yourself more times than I can remember that they are the perfect match, they just don’t know it. Yet.”

  Beth sniffed, then grinned. “Admit it, John, they are a perfect match, and you know it. I wanted them to be my first clients, but it didn’t work out that way. In the end, as we both know, this will all work out just the way it is supposed to.”

  John pointed to the mess of papers on the table. “You made up your mind?”

  “Actually, Mr. Hudson, my voice teacher, who by the way said I should call him Alfie, said I should start making arrangements to book everything for February. He said by then I should be ready to cut the CD. I’m doing our song, the one you and I wrote. You said you were okay with it, right? When I finally book the dates, you’ll have to block out the time with the band and the café. Did you change your mind about singing the song at the club?”

  “Well, yeah, Beth. I don’t want to tip our hand. The minute we record it, I got the guys to agree to let us do it at the club. I’m not going solo on that. That’s your baby. Did you ever tell Jake you got the inspiration from his first love?”

  “No, and we are never going to tell him, either. If he puts it together, that’s fine, but we are not volunteering anything where Allison is concerned. She didn’t care about Jake. All she wanted was to be seen with a big football star. She cheated on him left and right, and he was so sappy he couldn’t see it until one of his teammates showed him pictures. It took him forever to get over her. All he could say over and over was ‘What was I thinking?’ Hence the title for the song.”

  “Jake’s pretty astute when he wants to be. I’m okay with whatever you want. Oooh, there goes the buzzer. Must be your private eye. I’ll let him in, then head for the club. I’ll call you, okay? Promise you are in for the night.”

  “John, I am in for the night. I promise,” Beth said, crossing her heart. “Go!”

  Jim Mack was a fiftysomething man who looked to be in tip-top shape. Introductions were made, hands shaken, and they all sat down with coffee. “Appreciate you all letting me camp out here. It will make my life a lot easier. I promise not to get in the way.”

  Beth eyed the man carefully. Square jaw. She liked that. Shrewd, clear gray eyes that looked right through you. She liked that, too. In size and weight, he was head to toe with John. He wore a regulation haircut that looked like he’d just come from the barber. He even smelled good, all woodsy and citrusy. She liked that, too. But what she liked most about him was how he was dressed—pressed khakis, blazer, T-shirt underneath, and Docksiders. He’d blend in perfectly here in Nashville, where his clothing was pretty much the standard uniform of the day.

  His credentials were impressive. Twenty-five years at the FBI for starters. That alone told Beth she was in good hands if this guy was watching over her. Luke Olsen would be hard-pressed to get past someone like Jim Mack. Her gut told her this guy had seen and done it all, and nothing would go unnoticed. Plus, if Andy and Artie said he was good, then he was golden in her opinion. Also the double plus was Mack’s last five years at the Bureau as their top profiler, which would definitely give him an added edge. The bottom line was that just sitting here next to him made her feel safe. She knew she was in good hands as long as she did her part. That was going to be the hard thing.

  John looked at his watch. “Gotta go, guys. My public awaits. Don’t want to disappoint them.” He eyed Beth before he kissed her good-bye. He whispered in her ear, “Do what this guy says, okay? I like him.”

  “Hmmmmm. Don’t fall for any groupies tonight.” Beth giggled.

  “I’ll do my best. Lock the door behind me. I want to hear you do it, Beth.”

  “That’s okay, John. I’ll follow you out. I have to get my bag out of the car, and I’ll lock up. Call me if you see or hear anything out of the ordinary tonight or from here on in.”

  “Will do. Take good care of my girl for me. I have to admit, I’m a little scared about that nut job out there.” The two men shook hands and parted ways, John to his Ford Ranger, and Jim Mack to his Beemer.

  If John hadn’t been so preoccupied with thoughts of Beth and the new detective, plus shivering in the cold, he might have spotted the tall, solid-looking man at the entrance to the parking area. As it was, the man observing John stepped back into the shadows, allowing him to confirm that it was John Rossmon in the Ford and a stranger heading back into the building.

  The observer hopped into his black SUV and followed John. The man gave himself a mental pat on the back for being astute enough to check the utility records to find out where John and Beth lived.

  As he drove along, three cars behind Rossmon, Luke Olsen again congratulated himself. It had only taken him four days to come up with Beth’s address and now, tonight, he was going to find out where Rossmon worked.

  Olsen liked Nashville. The city was alive. Walking the stre
ets, getting the lay of the land these past few days, allowed him to get the rhythm of the city, the people, the traffic, the day-to-day life, then the night life. He liked the way the city breathed. He knew he could be happy here with Beth Masters, but first he had to get rid of that pesky John Rossmon. With his newfound euphoria in check, he let his mind wander to who the man was that Rossmon had been talking to in the parking lot. Tenant? Friend? Stranger? Not that it mattered right now.

  Luke did wonder where Beth was. Was she at home? Did she go wherever it was Rossmon was going? Some club, obviously. He’d made that astute deduction when he saw him carrying his carry bag and guitar. Where else would he be going but to work at nine-thirty at night? Nashville just started to liven up at that hour. He likened Nashville to New Orleans even though he’d only been to the Big Easy once, years ago. The beat. It was all about the beat of the city. And damn if he didn’t love the beat. Yessiree, he and Beth could be really happy here.

  While Luke Olsen was congratulating himself, Beth Masters was having an intense conversation with Jim Mack. “I get it, Jim. I really do.” She was getting really weary of repeating over and over that she would do as she was told.

  “So what is,” Mack said, waving his hand over the clutter and piles of paper on the breakfast nook table, “that mess?”

  “The reason I came here. I came here to find my fame and fortune. I plan on taking Nashville by storm at some point. I’m knee deep in singing lessons, and this mess that you are referring to is all the paperwork for me to cut a CD sometime in February. Along with John. I need to get all this paperwork in on time.”

  Mack eyed Beth, and said, “Really?”

  Beth looked away. She was right about this guy; he had eyes that could look into a person’s soul. At least that’s the way it seemed to her at the moment. “Why do you say really like that? It sounds like you don’t believe me.”

  “You forget what I used to do for a living, before I retired. You do know what profilers do, don’t you?”

  Beth nodded. “I noticed you’ve been studying me since you got here. You didn’t fool me, Mr. Mack. I already knew everything you said. I promised to cooperate the moment you got here. So the rest of the time you’ve been studying me and coming to some kind of conclusions. How am I doing so far?”

  Mack laughed. “Spot-on. Is it okay to call you Beth? And, of course, you can call me either Jim or Mack. No one calls me Mr. Mack, and I’ve retired the title of Special Agent Mack.”

  Beth didn’t like the way the conversation was going. She faked a yawn and said it was time to turn in. She didn’t mean to ask what Mack’s conclusions were, but the words tumbled off her tongue almost at the speed of light.

  Mack grinned. “You sure you want to know?”

  Beth wasn’t sure at all. Her head bobbed up and down. She knew she was going to regret this. She stiffened her shoulders.

  “You’re a phony,” Jim Mack said gently.

  “And you know this . . . how? An hour of studying me, and you can tell I’m a phony?” There was outrage in her tone. And fear.

  “Yes. Am I wrong?” Mack’s voice was still gentle, but softer somehow, as though he was apologizing for his opinion.

  Beth’s mind raced. She was right about her original assessment of the private detective. He could see right through her. She hedged. “I suppose you could make that statement about most people. Everyone has something they don’t bring out into the open. That doesn’t necessarily mean they’re phony. It just means they don’t want to share certain aspects of their life.”

  “A phony is a phony no matter how you look at it.”

  Beth sucked in a deep breath. “What makes me a phony, Mr. Mack?”

  “See, you’re calling me Mr. Mack. We agreed a little earlier to go with first names. That alone tells me I struck a nerve. But since you asked the question, here goes. You came here saying you wanted to be a famous country-western singer and to take Nashville by storm. Everyone I’ve talked to has told me you can’t sing worth a darn. And yet here you are, and you’re taking vocal lessons. You’re planning on cutting a CD sometime in February. Even though a few months of lessons won’t guarantee to put you on the charts. You came here for John Rossmon. You want him to make the big time because he is good enough. Pretending to want to do this was the only way you could get him to agree to come along for the ride. John is the one with the talent, not you. I’m just surprised that you would be okay with all the negative things your friends and vocal teacher said about you. How am I doing so far?”

  Beth shrugged. “I love John. I believe in him, and I know he can make it. I have no talent whatsoever. I’m not so stupid that I don’t know that. I’m just going through the motions for John. Please don’t blow my cover. It was the only thing I could think of to do to get him here, so he could follow his dream. He loves playing at Rootie Tootie’s. He actually has fans. People show up just to hear him. I’ve never seen him happier. I don’t know where all this will go from here. Maybe nowhere, and he’ll be stuck playing in a small band at a full-every-night club. That just wasn’t happening back in Garden Grove. I’m hoping someone will discover him. He’s that good.” This was all said defiantly, with sparks shooting from her eyes.

  “Little lady, I admire the hell out of you. I don’t know anyone, and that’s the God’s honest truth, who would do that for their partner. I also admire what you’ve done, or perhaps the correct term is not done, for your brother, Jake. You have my vote, and do not worry, your secret is safe with me.”

  Beth’s shoulders sagged with relief that now someone else knew her secret. She now had an ally. It really was time to go to bed. She said so.

  “We good here, Beth?” Mack asked quietly.

  “We’re good, Jim.”

  “Then I guess we can say good night. What time do you leave for your singing lesson?”

  “Nine-thirty. John leaves the house at six because he works at a café as a waiter for the breakfast and lunch trade. Then he comes home and sleeps till dinnertime. It’s a long day for him, as he doesn’t get home till around two.”

  “Good night, Beth,” Mack called over his shoulder as he made his way to the guest room.

  “Night, Jim.”

  Inside her room, with the door closed, Beth fell back on the bed and started to cry. Outed by a profiler. The one thing that had never entered her head in all the plans she’d made. Damn.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rootie Tootie’s wasn’t exactly an institution in Nashville, but it came close. There were so many wild stories about the origin of the hundred-year-old establishment that no one was sure what was truth and what wasn’t. People just called it an old club where musicians and singers got their start on the road to fame.

  The building was gray clapboard set back deep in an alley. To the naked eye, it looked like an eyesore, a dump as some called it. But every night it was filled to overflowing with people lined up at the rope line, all the way to the end of the alley, waiting for someone to leave just so they could spend a few minutes inside and brag that they had at least spent some time at the famous establishment when they returned to wherever home was.

  Rootie Tootie’s was owned by a little man. No one ever, as in ever, used the word dwarf when describing Arnold Stonebridge. By day, Rootie Tootie’s was a soup kitchen, where Arnold fed down-and-out musicians and performers. He served a robust breakfast to start the day and a fine, nutrition-packed dinner. Speculation as to where the money came from was rife, but no one could pin it down. Arnold always paid his bills on time, paid the band, his waitresses and waiters primo wages. The inside of the building was up to code and kept in immaculate condition. If closely examined, the outside was just as sturdy and well maintained, but with a different aim in sight. Arnold wanted the building to look shabby. No one knew why, so in the end, it was what it was.

  All manner of rumors floated around Nashville, but only one person was truly in the know, and that was Arnold Stonebridge himself. Because he was a littl
e man, he had insecurities that he tried not to show; but they were there. In his secret dark-time life, he was a frustrated singer. Only he knew what an outstanding voice he had, was born with, but his stature and his insecurity only allowed him to sing for his own pleasure. He had been born to wealth and privilege. Because his socialite mother and political father hadn’t wanted a blight on their lives, he was given away, with a multimillion-dollar trust fund that had tripled and quadrupled with expert management. A couple raised him far away in the Ozarks, where no one could or would ever put two and two together about who his parents were. There was even a death certificate saying the baby born to his mother had died an hour after birth. He was educated, cared for, but never loved. He learned early to stay to himself to avoid ridicule and to keep his secret passions secret. Of course, he whimpered at night when he laid his head on the pillow, but by morning he was always resolved to do good somehow, some way.

  When he turned eighteen, the family attorney, an uptight son of a bitch, turned his massive trust fund over to him and wished him luck, along with a warning to stay out of his parents’ life. The consequences, if he didn’t do as he was told, would bring the trust to an end. That was fine with Arnold because he knew that the family, which consisted of two brothers and two sisters, had washed their hands of him. That morning meeting with the attorney, thirty-five years ago, was when he knew the rubber met the road. He told himself he couldn’t possibly miss something he never had, nor did he even want to meet the people who had thrown him away like so much trash. Arnold decided right then and there that his mission in life was to help people, and that’s what he started to do. He bought the building in the alley, not knowing exactly what he was going to do with it. He cleaned it up, made all the necessary repairs, and sat back to wait.