Mirna hung up and called her daughter, using one of her free long-distance calls. And after sharing her good news with the person closest to her, she said a prayer of thanks. Life was good. She’d be all right.
Gunther tripped down the stairs the next morning at a quarter past seven to fix his breakfast, sniffed the odor of food coming from the kitchen, and stopped. He’d forgotten that he’d hired a housekeeper. Thankful that he was fully dressed, he walked into the kitchen.
“Good morning, Mr. Farrell. Breakfast will be ready in a minute. Here. You can have some coffee while I flip these over.”
“Good gracious,” he said. “You’re as busy as a bee. What did you find to cook?”
“You had bread and coffee. I brought eggs, milk, bacon, grits, sausage, and some fresh fruit with me this morning. I know how men keep house. This is ready. You want to eat in the dining room?”
“I’m used to eating in here. Shirley’s still asleep, so it’s just the two of us this morning. I can set the table. This coffee is really good. What kind is it?”
“It’s the coffee you bought. I probably make it stronger than you do.”
He set the table for two, and she placed fresh sliced peaches, grits, scrambled eggs, rope sausage, and French toast on the table. “Come on,” he said. “I see I’m going to have to start working out in a gym every day.” He cut a piece of French toast.
“I have to say grace before I eat,” she said.
He stopped eating. “I was taught to do that, and I see I’m going to have to do better.”
He finished eating, stood and looked down at Mirna. “This was a terrific breakfast. I enjoyed every calorie. Here’s your budget, and an envelope of petty cash.”
“Thanks, Mr. Farrell. I’ll keep good records.”
“If you do that, we won’t have a problem.” As he walked out the door of the building in which he lived, he heard the roar of Edgar’s big Harley-Davidson. Now what?
Chapter Three
Edgar hopped off the motorcycle and headed toward Gunther. “You know I’m supposed to be at my office by now,” Gunther said. “What’s up?”
“I thought I’d drop by and say hi to Shirley for a few minutes.”
“Shirley’s asleep. Were you planning to give her the three thousand dollars you took from her?”
“Now look here. I didn’t put a gun in her back. She gave it to me willingly.”
“She didn’t give it to you. She loaned it to you after you handed her a hard-luck story. She’s your baby sister, for heaven’s sake. You should be taking care of her. Don’t bother to ask her for any more money, because she isn’t going to give it to you.”
Edgar didn’t want to hear that. Right then, she was his only hope. “Let her speak for herself.”
“She promised me she wasn’t going to lend you another cent, and you know Shirley keeps her word.”
“You’ve got no business meddling in my business. One of these days, you’ll go too far.”
Gunther folded his arms across his chest and widened his stance, and Edgar knew that when Gunther did that, a hurricane wouldn’t move him. Unfortunately, his younger brother was taller than he by six inches and had the weight that went with a six-foot, three-inch skeleton. He’d have to be crazy to take him on. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to. In his honest moments, he’d admit that he had far more natural talent than Gunther, but ... Oh, what the hell! He swung around, jumped on his Harley, and let his brother taste the fumes that it exhausted.
Gunther stood where Edgar left him, staring at the speeding vehicle until he could no longer see it. He’d give anything if he could connect with Edgar as one brother should with another. He got into his car and drove to his office. He’d learned years earlier that worrying about Edgar and Edgar’s attitude toward him was as wasteful as it was painful.
He walked into his office, his adrenaline already pumping from his thoughts of his next game of Mice and Cats. If children loved his idea, he’d have to create a new game at least once every three months. He stopped abruptly.
“What the hell!” he exclaimed, staring at Lissa. “What are you doing here?”
“I ... uh ... I thought we’d talk. I know you didn’t mean what you said the other day.”
He threw his briefcase on his desk, walked around to his chair, and sat down. “I meant every word I said, and you’re old enough to recognize the truth when you hear it. There isn’t going to be anything else between you and me. Not now and not ever. I am not one bit sympathetic with the game you were playing.”
“But you enjoyed being with me. You can’t deny that.”
“I don’t want to be coarse, Lissa, so please don’t push me to it. I don’t entertain women socially in my office, and I don’t allow my employees to do it. So, I’d appreciate it if you’ll excuse me. Now. And, Lissa, it’s over.”
He stood, but she waved a hand dismissively. “I know the way out.”
What kind of woman would plan a future with a man without his consent, without his ever having told her that he loved her and without having done or said anything to suggest that she loved him? “It’s a lesson,” he said aloud, “and I will not have to learn it a second time.” He got up to lower the air-conditioning and his gaze took in what appeared to be a business card lying on the floor near his desk.
He picked up the card and read EDGAR FARRELL. MASTER OF THE CLASSICAL AND JAZZ GUITAR. He punched the intercom. “Medford, was my brother here this morning?”
“No. The only visitor here today was a woman named Lissa Goins. She said she was your fiancée, so I let her sit in your office.”
“I don’t have a fiancée, Medford—Miss Goins was attempting to be clever. I do not want her here again. Not ever.”
“Man, I’m sorry. She didn’t look like she was lying.”
“She was lying, and if she comes here again, I will indict her for harassment.”
“You couldn’t make it clearer than that, Gunther.”
He dialed Edgar’s cell number.
“Hello. What’s up, brother?”
“I’m not sure, Edgar. How do you happen to know Lissa Goins?”
“That’s what I call cutting to the chase. She called me, came to the house, told me she was your fiancée and that you found another woman and dropped her like a hot potato. She cried for an hour. I told her no man was worth that much misery and that she ought not to have much trouble finding another dude and getting on with her life. She made a hell of a pass at me, but, man, I won’t stoop that low. Sex is too easy to get.”
He gave Edgar a summary of his relationship with Lissa, ending with details of their breakup. “Lissa wants a husband, and she wants money. She has no scruples about how she gets either of them. Why did she have your business card?”
“I ... uh ... I didn’t know she had it.”
“If you want a problem, hang out with Lissa,” Gunther said. “She’ll make certain that you get one.”
“Naah, man. I don’t want your leavings.”
That didn’t sound one bit like Edgar. Righteousness was not his forte. It didn’t smell right. But for the time being, he’d leave the matter. He’d learned that if he gave Edgar enough rope, he’d become increasingly brazen and soon hang himself.
“Doesn’t it bother you?” Shirley asked when he told her about it that night. “I’d be furious.”
“You think I’m not mad? I’d like to send my fist through both of them. I don’t want that woman to tell people I’m her fiancé, and if I hear that she persists, I’ll take out an ad—”
“Don’t do that. Indict her and ask heavy damages. That will teach her a lesson. You’re not going to continue seeing her, are you?”
“You can’t be serious. The other day, I met someone at a trade show who interests me. I’m not sure about her, though, but she’s one up on Lissa, because she has a good job and probably isn’t looking for someone to support her. I want a woman to marry me because she loves me and needs me.”
“As good-
looking as you are, there shouldn’t be a problem.”
“But there is. The only women who think I’d be interested in them are the designer-clothed, picture-perfect narcissistic beauties who bore me to death. Avoiding them is how I got mixed up with Lissa.”
“Are you going to let me meet this trade-show gal?”
“That’s not a bad idea. She likes baseball. I’ll see if I can get three good seats before you leave.” He thought for a minute. “Maybe. I don’t know. ”
“I’m thinking of moving to Frederick if my boss will let me. It will only cost the company my occasional transportation from Frederick to either Orlando or Fort Lauderdale.”
Hmm. What was behind that? He knew how she loved living within walking distance from the Atlantic Ocean. It bore watching.
Shirley told herself that she needed to be on hand to mediate misunderstandings between her brothers lest they do irreparable damage to their relationship. But on the following morning when she opened the door to Carson Montgomery, she was not so certain of the rationalization she gave herself for her decision to move back to Frederick. The emotional jarring she got when she looked up at him annoyed her.
“Hi. Why the frown?” he asked her.
“I didn’t know I was frowning. Shall we go?”
“Sure. That’s why I’m here.” So the brother could give as good as he got and wasn’t slow about doing it.
“Sorry, but I’m a little discombobulated,” she said, and wasn’t sure that explanation helped the situation.
He didn’t let her off the hook. “About what? It’s only nine o’clock.”
“Look, Carson. We’d better start over again. Would you like some coffee?”
“Would I like ... What a switch! Do I dare say no?”
She braced her knuckles against her sides, quickly removed them, and stared at him. “What’s going on here?”
“Something that neither of us plans to admit,” he said under his breath. Louder, he said, “You going to bring the coffee to me here, or are you going to ask me to come in?”
“That you at the door, Miss Shirley?”
“Yes. It’s me.”
Carson’s eyebrows shot up. “Am I interrupting anything?”
“No. Come in. That’s Mrs. Jordan, my brother’s housekeeper.”
“Thanks for the offer of coffee. All I’ve had this morning is a cup of Maxwell’s best instant.”
She closed the door. “Would you mind drinking it in the kitchen? I don’t want to get in Mrs. Jordan’s way.”
“You won’t be in my way,” Mirna said. “Sit in the dining room, and you’ll have coffee in ten minutes.”
“Thanks,” Shirley said. “Mrs. Jordan, this is Carson Montgomery.”
“Glad to meet you, Mrs. Jordan.”
“Likewise, I’m sure. I got some waffle batter left from breakfast. Would you like a waffle?”
“If you give me a homemade waffle, I may never leave here.”
“Well, get comfortable.”
Shirley got a place setting for Carson and a mug for herself.
Ten minutes later, Mirna put a carafe of coffee on the table along with waffles, maple syrup, butter, and half a cantaloupe. “If you’d dropped by earlier, Mr. Montgomery, I’d a given you a real breakfast.”
“Thank you. I don’t see how it could be more real than this.” He sampled the coffee. “This is pure heaven.” He ate slowly as if savoring every bite and every minute of the experience. “I’d like to know what set you off this morning, but if you’re not comfortable telling me, I’ll accept that.”
If he had the guts to say what he wanted to, so did she. Instead of answering his question, she said, “You’re not wearing a wedding band, and I don’t see the print of one on your finger. Does that mean you’re not married?”
“That’s precisely what it means. I’m divorced, and I don’t have any children, though I regret the latter.”
“But you don’t regret the divorce?”
“No, indeed. I regret the mistake I made in getting married.”
Now what could she say to that? “Are you bitter about it?”
“No. If I was, I’d only hurt myself. I’m just very, very cautious. You’re not wearing a wedding band, either, nor is there evidence that you’ve worn one.”
“You’re right. I’m not, and I haven’t. Since college, I haven’t stayed in one place long enough to cultivate lasting relationships. Besides, I love what I do, although there’s getting to be a conflict between that and the rate at which my biological clock is ticking.”
“How old are you?”
“I’ll be thirty-two October fourteenth.”
“I’m thirty-six, and sometimes I feel as if I’ve lived a thousand years. In my business, you see so much, move into and out of so many lives, that it’s not easy to keep track of your own life.”
“But I can tell that you manage it.”
“That I do. Otherwise, I’d have a mental problem.” He drained his third cup of coffee. “This was an unexpected treat. And to think that you offered it only to make amends for splashing ice water in my face.”
“I didn’t do that.”
“Did so.”
“Okay, I did,” she said, “but if you hadn’t forgiven me, you wouldn’t have come in, the prospects of a cup of real coffee notwithstanding.”
“Truth can be hard on the ego. I think we’d better get started.” He hugged Mirna and thanked her.
“What do we tackle today?” Shirley asked when they reached his car.
“Tell me if you think I’m wrong, but I believe we ought to examine his bedroom and study again. From what I’m learning about him, he put that will out of reach of others, but also where he could watch over it while he lived.”
“I can’t argue with that,” she said, and got into his dark blue BMW and hooked her seat belt. “Father never talked when the simplest of gestures would suffice. Taciturn barely describes him. By the time I was in high school, I had decided that he didn’t consider us children worth an investment of his precious time.”
He didn’t comment on that. They reached the family home, and he parked in the garage. “I don’t want anybody driving this baby but me,” he said, alluding to the high incidence of car theft.
Walking up the stairs ahead of him made her uncomfortable, and she ran up the last few steps. “What’s the hurry?” he asked her.
Tired of giving you a free show, she said to herself. To him, she said, “Walking up the stairs is more tiring than running up.”
Inside of what had been Leon Farrell’s office or den, Carson rolled back the fifteen-by-twenty Tabriz carpet, exposing the bare floor of half the room; he then moved the furniture and rolled back the other half of the carpet.
“Nothing,” he said in a voice that suggested exasperation. “Not one thing.”
She helped him return the room to its previous condition. “It hadn’t occurred to me to do that,” she said, relaxing against the corner of her father’s rolltop desk.
“You’re not a detective. In this particular case, I’m guessing that looking in obvious places will net me nothing. Still, I have to look everywhere. Your father wouldn’t have hidden anything under his mattress, but I can’t overlook it.”
“How do you know he wouldn’t?”
“Leon Farrell was not your normal, ordinary man. He was devious, secretive, and self-absorbed. He would never do the expected.”
“No,” she said, momentarily musing about her past. “I don’t suppose he would have.”
She watched while Carson examined the draperies, testing to determine whether the will could have been sewn into them. Next, Carson lifted a big desk chair, turned it upside down, and examined the seat. His short-sleeved T-shirt exposed his hard biceps, flexing from the punishment he gave them as he worked.
Shirley couldn’t tear her gaze from the action of the muscular body that rippled when he reached, lifted, and pulled at the objects in his way. He dropped to his knees, flipped over on
his back, and, by the power of his hips, propelled himself beneath the enormous desk. She swallowed the liquid accumulating in her mouth as his lithe body provoked in her head ideas as to what he could do to her.
With his knees flexed, he swung his hips from side to side until he was clear of the desk and jumped to his feet. “You don’t have to stand there,” he said. “Sit down. I’m going to open every book on those shelves.”
Catatonic-like, she stared at him. How could he ... She remembered that it was only she who had experienced that rush of desire.
“What is it?” he asked, walking toward her with the rhythmic movements of a dancer. “Is it something about your father?”
She backed away from him, escaping his heat and his powerful aura. But he’d caught her signal, and she knew it. He gazed down at her for a long minute, shook his head slowly from side to side, and, as he walked away from her, muttered, “Damn the luck.”
Shirley heard him and understood what he meant, and although she wanted to bait him, she kept her mouth shut. If she had to deal with that man on a woman-to-man basis, she’d feel better equipped wearing her red “Sherman tank” miniskirt with the right amount of cleavage exposed and a pair of five-inch-heel sandals. A little Fendi perfume wouldn’t hurt, either. “That guy would be a challenge even if he was madly in love with you,” she said to herself, and she didn’t need that kind of problem.
She thought she’d been delivered from temptation, but as if he’d had second thoughts, he walked back to her. Her anticipation of something personal was wasted, however, because he assumed one of his no-nonsense stances and looked hard at her. “Tell me, Shirley, did you love your father even a little bit? Gunther didn’t, and I doubt Edgar’s capable of love. What about you?”
“I am capable of love, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“That isn’t what I’m asking and you know it. What did you feel for your father?”
She wanted to tell the truth, but she didn’t know what the truth was. Looking into the distance, she heard herself say, “I just realized that I don’t remember ever having sat on Father’s lap or hugging his neck. Still, I was sorry when he died.”
When the Sun Goes Down Page 5
