She stayed in the shower a long time, letting the hot water beat down on her shoulders until all the tension of the day eased away. She was drained by the time she finished blowing her long hair dry. She put on an extra-large Penn State nightshirt, slapped on some moisturizer, and then grabbed her tube of Chanel body lotion and went back into the bedroom.
Nick had made himself at home. He was leaning back against the pillows he’d propped against the headboard, his long muscular legs sprawled out in front of him with one ankle crossed over the other. He had changed into a pair of old frayed shorts and a white shirt. His hair was still wet from his shower, and he was barefoot. A small notebook and a ballpoint pen were on his lap and the television remote control was in his hand. He looked completely at ease.
There were complimentary robes hanging in the closet, but she’d forgotten to take one of them into the bathroom with her, and since he’d just given her little more than a cursory glance and turned back to the television, she stopped worrying about being prim and proper. She wasn’t scantily clad in a negligee after all. The nightshirt covered her from her neck to the top of her knees.
Nick didn’t take his gaze off the television. Outwardly, he was immobile, concentrating on the TV screen, but inside his thoughts were turning somersaults. When Laurant had stepped out of the bathroom, he’d taken it all in, those incredible long legs, the soft swell of her breasts under the thin fabric, her beautiful neck, her flushed cheeks, and that perfect mouth of hers. He didn’t think he could have been more aroused if she’d been wearing one of those lacy little teddies from the Victoria’s Secret catalog.
Oh, yeah, he’d noticed it all and in just under three seconds max. It had taken every ounce of discipline he possessed to look away, and honest to God, if she’d asked him what he was watching on television right now, he wouldn’t have been able to tell her.
He was a little shocked—and a lot disgusted—by his reaction to her.
“You’re just like my brother,” she remarked as she stretched her legs out, tugged the nightshirt down, and then propped two fat pillows behind her back. Imitating him, she crossed one ankle over the other and began to twist the lid open on her lotion.
There was a lot of room between them on the king-size bed, but it was still a bed. Get over it, he told himself. She’s Tommy’s kid sister.
“What did you say?” he asked.
She was rubbing the pink lotion on her arms when she answered him. “I said that you’re just like my brother. Tommy always has the remote clutched in his hand.”
Nick grinned. “That’s because he knows the secret.”
“What secret?”
“He who controls the remote, controls the world.”
She laughed, and that only encouraged him. “Haven’t you ever noticed how the President is always patting his vest pocket? He’s making sure the remote’s still there.”
She rolled her eyes. “And all this time I thought it was just a nervous habit.”
“Now you know the truth.”
She put the lotion on the table next to the bed and slipped under the covers. She blankly stared at the television for a minute, but her thoughts were racing.
“Noah’s good at what he does, isn’t he? I know you told me that he is, but after I met him, I felt like I didn’t have to worry about Tommy any longer. Noah made me feel confident that he’ll watch out for my brother. Oh, I know he was teasing about all that kill-and- not-tell stuff . . . he was teasing, wasn’t he?” she asked.
Nick laughed. “Yes, he was.”
“You told me that Pete uses him every once in a while, but that Noah doesn’t work for the FBI?”
“He does and he doesn’t. It’s kind of like being a little bit pregnant.”
“There’s no such thing.”
“Exactly,” he replied. “Noah likes to think of himself as a free agent.”
“But he isn’t?”
“No. Pete runs him.”
She wasn’t sure what he meant by that remark. “And because Pete works for the FBI and Noah works for him . . .”
“He works for the FBI too. We just don’t tell him so.”
Smiling, she said, “I can’t tell when you’re serious. I feel numb everywhere. Hopefully, in the morning I’ll be clearheaded again.”
Tomorrow, when her thoughts weren’t playing Twister inside her head, she’d decide how to handle things. But for now, she was just too exhausted to think.
She fell asleep watching him watch the hockey game.
CHAPTER 10
When Laurant woke up, she could hear Nick moving around in the living room. Grabbing her bag, she hurried into the bathroom to get dressed. Her choice of clothing was limited. She’d left Holy Oaks in such a hurry, there simply hadn’t been time to give her wardrobe consideration. When she’d packed, she’d thought she’d only be in Kansas City overnight, but she had thrown in a short black linen skirt and a white top just in case Tommy had been admitted to the hospital. The linen skirt was going to look like she’d slept in the thing once she sat down, but it was going to have to do.
She had just put on one shoe and was reaching for the other when Nick knocked on the bathroom door.
“Breakfast is here,” he called. “As soon as you’re ready, we’ve got work to do.”
She came out holding a shoe in her hand. “What kind of work?”
He motioned to a notebook on the table. “I thought we’d make a list. It’ll give me a head start, but I’ll warn you now, we’ll be going over all this several times.”
“I won’t mind. What exactly are we going to go over?”
He pulled the chair out at the table and waited for her to sit down. “A couple of things. First, we’re going to make a list of people who might have a grudge against you. You know . . . enemies. Folks who would be happy if you just disappeared.”
“I’m sure there are people who dislike me, but I honestly don’t think any of them would wish me harm. Do I sound naive?” She bent down to put her shoe on. When she straightened up again, Nick was putting a croissant on her plate.
“Yeah, you do,” he answered. “Do you want some coffee?” he asked as he reached for the carafe.
“I don’t drink it, but thanks anyway.”
“I don’t drink it either. Odd, huh? We must be the only two people in the world who don’t support Starbucks.”
He straddled the chair across from her and pulled the cap off his pen.
“You said first we’re going to make a list of enemies. What else?” she asked.
“I want to know about any friends who are maybe a little too attentive. But, first things first. How long have you lived in Holy Oaks?”
“Almost a year.”
“You moved there to be close to your brother, and you’re opening a store soon, right?”
“Yes. I purchased an old, run-down building in the town square and it’s being renovated now.”
“What kind of a store is it?”
“Everyone’s calling it the corner drugstore, because that’s what it used to be years ago, but I won’t be selling any drugs, not even aspirin. It’s going to be a place where the college kids can hang out, but also, hopefully, where town families can bring their children for ice cream. There’s going to be a soda fountain with a lovely marble top and a jukebox.”
“Fifties or sixties stuff, huh?”
“Sort of,” she agreed. “I’ve done a lot of work for the sororities and fraternities designing logos and artwork for their T-shirts and banners, and I hope to get more. There’s a loft above the soda fountain with wonderful windows and lots of light. That’s where I plan to work. The store isn’t big, but there’s a veranda out front and I’m thinking about putting tables and chairs there during the warm months.”
“You aren’t going to make much money selling ice cream and T-shirts, but then, I guess with your trust you don’t have to worry about that.”
She didn’t agree or disagree with his assumption. She merely added, “I
also do a lot of design work for the local businesses, and I’m going to teach a course this fall.”
“I know you studied art in Paris,” he said. “You paint, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said. “It’s a hobby.”
“Tommy told me you won’t even let him see any of your work.”
“When I get better, I will,” she said. “If I get better.”
“Is there anyone who doesn’t want you to open your store?”
“Steve Brenner would love to see me fail, but I don’t think he would hurt me or my brother just to get me to leave town. He even asked me out on a date once. He’s a bother really. He doesn’t like to hear the word no”
“I take it you didn’t go out with him?”
“No, I didn’t. I don’t like him at all. Money means everything to him. He heads the Holy Oaks Advancement Society. Honest, that’s what they call themselves, even though there are only two of them.” She thought to add, “Steve Brenner is a realtor.”
“And the other member of this society?” Nick asked as he added Brenner’s name to the list.
“Sheriff Lloyd MacGovern.”
“So what do the two of them want to do to advance Holy Oaks?”
“They want to buy all the buildings around the square for some developers,” she said. “Steve’s the brains in the scheme, the one trying to put it all together. Even if an owner sold directly to the developers, Steve and the sheriff would get a commission. It’s the way Steve set it up, or so I’m told.”
“And what do the developers want the property for?”
“They want to mow down all those beautiful old buildings and put up housing for the college expansion. Huge, ugly apartments for married students.”
“Couldn’t the developers build them somewhere else?”
“Yes, they could, but they also plan to put in a superstore right outside of town,” she explained. “If they get rid of all the shops around the square . . .”
“They’ve cornered the market.”
“Exactly.”
“Who are the developers?”
“Griffen, Inc.,” she answered. “I haven’t met any of them. They’re based in Atlanta. Steve’s their spokesman. They’re offering the owners a lot of money . . . top dollar.”
“Is anyone else besides you holding out?”
“There are a lot of people in town who want to see the buildings restored and not torn down.”
“Yeah, but how many of them own businesses around the square?”
She sighed. “As of last Friday there were four still on my side.”
“The others caved?”
“Yes.”
“I want you to draw a diagram for me and write in all the names of the owners. You can do it later,” he added.
“All right,” she agreed. “I’ve been calling it the town square, but it’s actually a three-sided square. A little park leads in on the fourth side. There’s a lovely old fountain. It’s at least sixty, maybe seventy years old, but it still works . . . and there’s a bandstand. During the summer months, the local musicians get together every Saturday night and play there. It really is charming, Nick.”
She closed her eyes and began to recall the names of those who had signed on with Griffen, starting with the struggling hardware store owner.
“Margaret Stamp owns a little bakery in the center block,” she explained. “And Conrad Kellogg owns the town pharmacy. He’s on the block directly across from me. It’s critical that they hold firm, because if one of them sells, Griffen can tear down their block, and once one apartment building goes up, the square’s lost.”
“What happens when Tommy gets transferred and leaves Holy Oaks? Will you sell your store then and follow him?”
“No, I’ll stay where I am. I like Holy Oaks. I’m comfortable there. It has a rich history, and people care about one another.”
“I can’t imagine living in a little town. I’d go nuts.”
“I love it,” she said. “I felt . . . safe . . . until this happened. I believed that in a small town you knew who your enemies were. I guess I was wrong about that.”
“I know you moved there after Tommy got so sick.”
“He almost died.”
“But he recovered. You could have taken a leave of absence from the gallery in Chicago and gone back there after Tommy got better, but you quit instead. How come?”
She looked down at the plate and nervously straightened the silverware on the table. “I wasn’t running to my brother. I was running away from a very uncomfortable situation. It was a . . . personal matter.”
“Laurant, I warned you that I was going to invade your privacy, remember? I’m sorry if it embarrasses you to talk about personal things, but you’re still going to have to,” he added. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell your brother.”
“I’m not worried about that. It was just so . . . stupid,” she said, glancing up at Nick again.
“What was stupid?”
“I met this man in Chicago. In fact, I worked for him. We dated for a little while, and I thought I was falling in love with him. That’s what was stupid. He turned out to be . . .”
She was having trouble coming up with the perfect word to describe the man who had betrayed her. Nick came to her aid. “Slime? Scum? Bastard?”
“Slime,” she decided. “Yes, he was definitely slime.”
He turned a page in his notepad and asked her for the man’s name.
“Joel Patterson,” she answered. “He was head of the department.”
“And . . . ? What happened?”
“I found him in bed with another woman, a friend, as a matter of fact.”
“Ouch.”
“It’s not funny. At least it wasn’t funny at the time.”
“No, I don’t suppose it was,” he agreed. “Sorry, I wasn’t being very sensitive, was I? Who was she?”
“Just a woman who worked for the gallery. Their affair didn’t last long. She’s involved with someone else now.”
“Give me her name.”
“Are you going to check her out too?”
“I sure am.”
“Christine Winters.”
He wrote her name on his pad, then looked at Laurant. “Let’s go back to Patterson for a minute.”
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
“Still wounded?”
“No,” she answered. “Just still feeling stupid. Do you know that he had the gall to blame me?”
Nick lifted his gaze from the writing pad and gave her a sideways glance. “You’re kidding?”
His astonished expression made her smile. “It’s true. He told me it was all my fault that he went to bed with Christine. ‘Men have needs,’” she quoted.
“And you weren’t putting out, huh?”
“What a quaint way of stating it. No, I wasn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Excuse me?”
“You thought you loved him. Why didn’t you go to bed with him?”
“Are you justifying—”
“No, of course not. The guy’s a jerk. I was just curious, that’s all. You said you loved him . . .”
“No, I said I thought I was falling in love with him,” she corrected as she pulled the croissant apart and reached for the jam. “I was being very practical,” she explained. “Joel and I shared the same interests, and I thought we had similar values. I was wrong about that.”
“You still haven’t answered my question. Why didn’t you go to bed with him?”
She couldn’t skirt the issue any longer. “I was waiting for . . . I wanted . . .”
“What?”
“A little magic. A spark anyway. There should be . . . shouldn’t there?”
“Hell yes, there should.”
“I tried, but I couldn’t make myself feel . . .”
“Laurant, it’s either there or it isn’t. You can’t manufacture it.”
She laid the jam knife on her plate, then dropped her hands in her lap
and slumped against the back of the chair. “I’m not very good with relationships,” she said.
“Did Patterson tell you that?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “He really messed with your head, didn’t he? What else did good old Joel tell you when he was busy blaming you for driving him to another woman?”
She could tell he was getting angry, and the fact that it was on her behalf made her feel good. “He said my heart was made of ice.”
“You don’t believe that nonsense, do you?”
“No, of course not,” she said. “But . . .”
“But what?”
“I’ve always been very reserved. Maybe I am a little cold.”
“You’re not.”
His denial was given with conviction, as though he knew something she didn’t. She would have asked him to explain, but their conversation was interrupted when the phone rang and Nick got up to answer it.
“That was Noah,” he said when he returned. “Pete’s plane just landed. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 11
Fifteen minutes after Noah’s phone call, Nick was driving her back to the rectory.
“Your transmission’s slipping,” he commented as they started the climb up Southwest Trafficway. “I noticed it last night, but I was hoping I was wrong.”
“I guess I’ll have to have it looked at again.”
It was another hot, humid day. The air-conditioning wasn’t cooling the car well at all, and so she rolled down her window.
“I think your compressor’s had it too,” he told her. “She’s got over ninety thousand miles on her, Laurant. It’s time to trade her in.”
“Trade her in?” she repeated, smiling. “It’s a car, Nick, not a woman.”
“Men like to bond with their machines,” he explained. “Good men coddle them.”
“Is that another one of the secrets you boys share?”
“Not boys,” he corrected. “Men. Manly men.”
She laughed. “Does Dr. Morganstern realize he has a nut working for him?”
“What makes you think he isn’t nuts?”
“Is he?” She turned serious when she added, “I imagine he’s heard and seen some terrible things, hasn’t he?”