“What about Philippa Coxwell?” O’Neill suggested.
Lucia smiled. “Nicholas’ girl,” she whispered. Nick knew he wasn’t the only one straining to hear her words.
“That’s what I thought,” O’Neill commented wryly. Nick ignored him.
“Taught her to dance.” Lucia’s smile broadened and she lifted Nick’s hand to her face. “She’s the one.”
O’Neill frowned in surprise, but Nick knew they were misunderstanding his grandmother. “It couldn’t have been Phil. Lucia, don’t go to sleep yet, please. Tell us who did it.”
“No, no, not her,” she muttered, her words slurring as the drugs claimed her. “The other one.”
“The other what?” O’Neill barked, but Lucia was gone to dreamland.
The other one.
The other what? Lucia wasn’t going to tell them any time soon.
They left the room together when the nurse shooed them away. Nick wanted only to pace. At least Phil was exonerated.
“The other partner of Coxwell & Pope?” O’Neill flipped through his notebook. “Maybe this Elaine is in some kind of debt, maybe she needed this contract.”
“There never was a contract, that was the point.”
They reached the waiting room to find Phil cornered by Sean, who was ogling her legs. She looked hostile, he looked undeterred. Josie stood behind him, her arms crossed, her expression petulant.
Apparently the woman had some limits.
The other one.
Nick halted so fast that O’Neill practically ran into his back. “Not Nick’s girl, the other one.”
O’Neill smiled and shook his finger at Nick, then stepped forward to take charge of the situation. He introduced himself briefly. “Your grandmother’s asleep, Mr. Sullivan,” he said to Sean. “But maybe I could ask you a few questions while you’re waiting.”
“Sure! Always glad to help the men in blue.” Sean smiled broadly. “What can I do for you?”
“Tell me where you were on Friday.” O’Neill got out his notebook and pen.
Sean’s smile disappeared. “What is this?”
“It’s an investigation into an assault, Mr. Sullivan. If you’d prefer that we chatted elsewhere, I’m sure that a private room can be found.”
“Hey, I’ve got nothing to hide. I was at an interview Friday. Full day. I might even have gotten the job.” He jammed his hands on his hips as though defying O’Neill to question this.
“I’m sure they’ll have a record of your presence.”
“They damn well better.”
“Why don’t you give me that address, and the name of the person you spoke with. What time were you there, exactly, Mr. Sullivan?”
“Nine to four.”
“I guess Max will vouch for your using his car?” Nick asked.
Sean frowned. “No, I took the bus. It was right in town. And how do you know about Max’s car?”
Something flashed in Josie’s eyes. “I told them you took it Tuesday,” she said, “for that other interview.”
“Tuesday?” Sean shook his head. “No, that was Monday.”
“No, you’re wrong,” she insisted. “It was Tuesday. I remember.”
“Max said it was Monday,” Phil supplied.
Josie’s eyes flashed. “Max is a liar.”
“His car won’t lie,” O’Neill said quietly. “We’ll check it for prints.”
Josie paled and sat down hard.
“Phil, do you have Max’s number?” Nick asked, watching Josie carefully. “Maybe he’ll remember whether anyone used his car on Friday.”
“Not me,” Sean scoffed. “I took the bus.”
Josie dropped her face into her hands and started to cry.
* * *
Josie confessed, the whole story coming in dribs and drabs between her tears. It seemed that she really thought that money would solve everything. Sean had told her about his fight with Lucia, and Lucia’s plans, and Nick’s story had given her the perfect opportunity to do something about it.
Sean had an alibi for Friday, so that was the day she chose. She never figured anyone would look twice at her. She’d insisted that he had the car Tuesday, because she wanted to hide the fact that Sean had been in Rosemount on Monday, arguing with Lucia.
And of course, she’d been late fetching that beer because she’d been listening to our conversation outside the apartment door.
It made such sense and was sad because Sean wasn’t exactly appreciative of her efforts.
“Jesus Jenny,” he declared while O’Neill read Josie her rights. “I knew she was a dumb bitch, but this really takes the cake.”
I stared at him, incredulous that he could be so callous. “What?”
“You heard me. I mean, how could she imagine that she could get away with that?” Sean brushed his hands together and looked away. “Good riddance is what I say. Lock her up and throw away the key.”
I was shocked. “She did it for you!”
“Hey, I never asked her to do anything.”
“You ape!” And I punched him in the nose.
It was a good right hook, executed just the way Zach taught me. Sean bled all over the place. I had time to be glad that I broke his nose before I realized that my hand hurt like heck. Nick was laughing himself silly.
So, I got charged with assault after all. What with the chief there to witness my dirty deed, he didn’t have a lot of choice. He had to run after us though, because Nick practically tossed me over his shoulder to take me down to the ER again.
They were getting to know us down there.
* * *
It was almost funny to watch Phil struggle against the sedative. She certainly wasn’t going down without a fight. He drove back to her place, keeping one eye on her as she tried to maintain consciousness.
“You just don’t want to miss anything,” he teased when he helped her out of the truck.
“Go ahead, make fun of me,” she charged, her words slurred. She couldn’t keep her balance so he scooped her up and carried her into the apartment.
Her eyes drifted closed again once she was on the bed.
She was starting to lose the battle. He undressed her, which was a challenge seeing as she’d gone all rubbery, and tucked her into bed. He would have left her to sleep, but she clutched suddenly at his hand. Her lips worked but no sound came out, a tiny frown of frustration creased her brow.
Her determination made him smile.
“Give it up, Phil,” he whispered as he sat on the side of the bed and folded her hand into his. “I promise to keep good notes.” He eased the frown away with the pad of his thumb and watched her reluctantly succumb.
She still managed to hold his hand tightly, though, even with that brace on her fingers. And as he tried to ease her grip on him, he realized what it was that she didn’t want to miss.
She thought he was going to leave.
And why not? The puzzle he’d asked her to help with was solved, Lucia was recovering and Josie had confessed. Phil’s name was cleared and there was no reason for him to stay. He’d made a point of never promising to do so.
He’d left her twice before, by her own accounting, though he hadn’t thought of it that way himself at the time. He wondered why he wasn’t in such a hurry to pack up now.
It wasn’t like him to be content to stay anywhere.
It was like him to take the situation apart and reason out the answer.
He wasn’t worried about Lucia particularly, and he could re-establish his relationship with her from anywhere. Telephones were good for that sort of thing. She was on the way to healing and it looked as though Sean would be more involved in her life.
Phil’s family would always be screwed up, he suspected, but they appreciated her a bit more. He’d done what he could there and felt that he’d repaid her trust in him.
He had his wits and enough cash to last him a long time. He certainly could have continued the way he’d lived for fifteen years.
Lucia??
?s assertion echoed in his ears. “She’s the one.”
Not the one who had assaulted her. His eyes narrowed as he realized what she had meant. The one for Nicholas.
The truth was that he didn’t have much interest in the nomad’s life all of a sudden. He liked cooking for Phil and wasn’t ready to stop. He hadn’t nearly exhausted his repertoire of recipes, much less watched her taste and discover them all. He hadn’t made love to her nearly often enough to know the location of all her moles and dimples, and that seemed a pressing lack.
He watched Phil doze, his fingertips absently stroking her hand as he thought. The brace made her fingers look small and fragile, the pallor of her skin made her look unusually vulnerable. Maybe it was sleep that brought down all her considerable defenses, or maybe this week had just drained her. If he left, he’d never know for sure.
He’d never promised her anything and now he wondered what she would have made of it if he had.
She’d simply given. It wasn’t Phil’s way to ask for anything for herself and he supposed that was another thing they had in common. He had never expected anything for himself, or expected anything good to last. He never asked either.
He’d never asked her to love him, but she did.
And he was glad.
Her star shone from the ceiling with a faint bluish cast and he stared at it for a long while, the softness of her fingers cradled in his palm. He’d certainly never had the audacity to wish for anything for himself.
Maybe they were too different, after all. Phil spread sunshine everywhere she went, she saw the good in people and wished for the best. She crossed her fingers and knocked wood, she hoped, she believed that her wishes might come true. She was optimistic that good could conquer all.
He’d been wrong when he accused her of not seeing who he really was. She did see, she just didn’t view the truth as negatively as he did. She shone that relentless beam of sunshine right into his shadows and found something good in him, something he didn’t even realize was there.
She credited him with making good changes in her life, with empowering her to make her own dreams come true. That was pretty heady stuff. She saw the potential good in what he considered his greatest failure. And she persuaded him to take another, more objective look.
He would go back to Asia, back to Hidden Paradise, to see what could be done to retrieve it. But for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to travel alone. He wanted to take Phil with him. He wanted to pore over the pictures of what that place had been, he wanted her advice on how to make it better. He wanted her to help him see what was good about what it had become.
Maybe what they did was complement each other. Perfectly. He felt good about himself when he was with Phil, he felt good about life and the world in general. A little bit of her blithe confidence tended to light his path.
It was no wonder he wasn’t ready to walk away.
He eased a tendril back from her cheek, content to sit and watch her all night long. The thing was, he was never going to be ready to walk away. Phil had welcomed him into her home, her bed and her heart.
He understood now why he wanted to show her the wonders of the world—it was one experience he could share with her, an adventure he could offer in exchange. He slipped his hand free of hers and peeled off his clothes, sliding into the bed beside her. She nestled against him with a sigh, her curves fitting to his as though they were made for each other.
And they were. He’d known it all those years ago, recognized it that night she learned to waltz and first wished upon a star. He’d been afraid to want anything as much as he’d wanted Phil, so he’d run from her generosity, from her love.
He’d done it twice. But all the women he’d known could never measure up to the one he’d left behind. That was why he kept moving, so he wouldn’t have to think about what was missing. So he could lose himself in a deluge of new experience.
Those days of wandering were done. He wasn’t going anywhere, not without Phil.
Because Lucia was right—Phil was the one.
He’d help her made her company work, he’d offer her a helping hand whenever she wanted it. He’d love her and protect her and try to keep the world from raining on her parade.
If she’d have him.
He winked at that childish star—it was the brightest one in sight—wished with all his heart and soul. It was the first time he’d ever wished on a star since childhood, but if sincerity had anything to do with it, his wish would come true.
Third time lucky was what Phil would have said. He kissed her temple and her lips curved, as though she knew it was him.
“I love you, Phil,” he murmured, his voice thick with words he’d never expected to utter in his life.
But the lady in question was out cold.
In fact, she started to snore.
* * *
Consciousness was as elusive as a stage illusion. Lucia fought against the siren’s song of the drugs, willing that boy to hurry. He finally came into her room, with Bill propelling him forward, and with a bandage on his nose. Bruises were starting to rise around his eyes and it looked as though he would soon have a pair of shiners. His eyes were narrowed, not just in pain, but resentment.
But then, she hadn’t expected much different from Sean, not after Monday’s argument.
“What do you want?” he demanded, obviously not intending to linger long.
“I wanted to talk to you.” Her voice wasn’t as commanding as she might have liked and the supine pose did little to emphasize her authority, but it would have to do.
Sean folded his arms across his chest. “So, talk. I don’t have all night.”
Lucia pulled herself up slightly, his attitude irking her. “So busy as that? Did you get a job?”
He colored. “No. It’s not fair, but I’m getting close. I’ll get something...”
“No, you won’t.”
That shut him up. “Because you’re going to hex me?”
“Because you hexed yourself, fool.” She coughed, wished for the thousandth time that she could have just one cigarette, then glared at her interested grandson. She’d have to make this short and sweet, since the drugs were winning again. “When did your luck go bad?”
“Jesus Jenny, I dunno...”
“It went bad the night you did wrong and never made it right.”
“How do you...” Sean folded his arms across his chest. “You’re just making this up. Your golden boy is back and you’re just making excuses for him.”
Lucia ignored his argument. “Your father believed in making reparation for anything he did wrong, one way or the other. He believed that his luck would change for the worst if he didn’t.”
“I thought that was the court’s job.”
“Sometimes,” Bill interjected, “the courts don’t always get their man, even though a wrong has been done.”
“If you think you’re going to gang up on me and force me to admit to something I didn’t do, then you’re more wrong than you can imagine.”
“I expect nothing from you.” Lucia spoke firmly. “And that’s what you should expect from me.”
Sean paled again. “You can’t write me out of your will. I’ll contest it.”
“I know.” Lucia permitted herself a smile. “So I’m going to spend it all instead.” The effort cost her dearly and she coughed weakly again.
Bill said what she meant to say, if with less drama than she might have preferred. “Which means that if you want anything out of this life, you’re going to have to turn your life around.”
“I can’t get a job, what the hell am I supposed to do?”
“I’ll give you a job. Tell him, Bill.”
“The theater needs a caretaker, preferably live-in. The job entails ensuring security, even during renovation and reconstruction, general clean up after it’s done.”
“I’m not going to be a janitor!”
“There is the potential for a particularly successful candidate to be promoted
to the management of the theater, supervising advertising and PR, hiring and booking of shows.”
“Now, that sounds like a job for me. Give the joe job to someone else.”
Lucia shook her head. “That’s not how it’s going to work.”
“Your grandmother believes that the manager of the theater needs to know its workings from the ground up.”
Sean eyed her balefully for a long moment. “What does it pay?”
Bill named a sum that made her grandson scoff.
“I can’t live on that!”
“Of course you can. Your room is on the premises of the theater, so you’ll have no rent to pay.”
“Still, it’s not enough for beer. No way.”
“Well, you might have the time to take on another part time job, one that pays only slightly but could have positive repercussions in your life.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“An older gentleman called your grandmother a few weeks ago. Seems his health has been failing since he had a small accident some years ago. His broken leg, although it seemed to heal well enough at the time, has become quite crippled with arthritis. He’s having a hard time getting around and seeing his errands done.”
“Why would he call you?” Sean demanded, his manner belligerent. He truly was not the sharper of the two boys. “What are you, charity central?”
Lucia cleared her throat, disliking that the point had to be made so ponderously. “His leg was broken in a hit and run car accident fifteen years ago.”
Sean sat down and scowled at the pair of them. “You’ve got nothing on me...”
“And you’ve got nothing in your future,” Lucia snapped. “I used to think you were just like your father, but I was only partly right. You certainly don’t understand how to let somebody love you, but you lack the moral integrity to fix your own mistakes. It’s not an attractive combination and it’s about time somebody told you so.”
She fell back against the pillows, exhausted, hating the loud echo of her breath in the room.
“We can blame everyone else for the shortfalls in our lives,” Bill said quietly, “but in the end, we each are our own creation.”
“Yeah, well, no one ever gave a crap what became of me, that’s for sure.”