Jennifer Crusie Bundle (58 page)

Barbara's voice cut through her reverie. “This won't be a problem, will it, Mae?”

“Of course not.” Mae smiled brightly at her. “I'll just alert June and Harold that you're coming.”

“Fine. And give them two weeks' notice while you're at it.” Barbara's eyes swept the room again. “I have my own help.”

Mae clenched her teeth to keep from telling Barbara what she could do with her help. “Actually, Barbara, that would be a very bad idea. We can talk about this later, but for now, I'll just not mention the two weeks' notice.”

Barbara opened her mouth, and Mae took her arm and moved her toward the front of the room. “After all, this is a memorial, not a discussion of Armand's assets. We must remember Armand now. Which reminds me, Uncle Claud will want to see you.” She smiled at Barbara coldly, not adding
to find out if you really married his brother.
Let Claud handle that.

“We're brother and sister now, Claud.” Barbara extended her hand to the old man.

“Hello, Barbara,” he said, taking her hand for a nanosecond before dropping it.

“I know you'll be glad to know that I'm moving here,” Barbara went on, as if daring Mae to object. “It's what Armand would have wanted.”

Claud looked at Mae. “I will take care of this.”

“She plans to fire Harold and June,” Mae said. “I suggested that would be bad.”

“Well, really, Mae.” Barbara stared down her nose at her.

“Harold and June will stay,” Claud said flatly.

“I fail to see the reason—”

Claud's voice cut across Barbara's. “Because that is what Mae wants. Half of the equity in this house is yours. We will work out suitable financial recompense.”

“I don't want money.” Barbara made cash sound like something unclean. “I want to live in Armand's house, just as he intended.”

“Fine, I'll take the money,” Mae said.

Claud's eyes slid to hers. “Is that what you want?”

“I don't like this house. Harold and June and I would be happier somewhere else.”

Claud's eyes panned back to Barbara's. “I will negotiate the sale.”

“I don't want to buy anything.” Barbara sounded exasperated. “I'm Armand's widow. I don't have to buy anything.”

“I'm missing something good, aren't I?” Mitch whispered in Mae's ear, and she jumped in surprise as his breath tickled her neck.

“Where's Stormy?” she whispered back.

“Some face in an expensive suit came and took her away from me.” Mitch grinned at her. “I was so glad, I almost tipped him.”

“And who is this?” Barbara did not sound amused.

Mitch turned to Barbara, and Mae could tell from the way he looked at her that he had her number immediately. He took her hand and pumped it. “Mitchell Peatwick. Sorry about your loss. When exactly did you marry Armand?”

“A week ago Monday in Barbados.” Barbara answered automatically as she recovered her hand. “I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting you before.”

“No,” Mitch agreed. “Why did he come back on Friday in the middle of the honeymoon?”

Barbara's nostrils flared. “Really, Mr. Peatwick, I fail to see how that is any of your business.”

Mitch beamed at her. “Oh, it's my business. Mabel hired me to look into his murder, so his movements the week before his death are definitely my business.”

“His murder?” Barbara stiffened. “He wasn't murdered.”

Mitch just smiled. “Say, you haven't seen his diary lately, have you?”

“Oh, look, there's Uncle Gio,” Mae said brightly, and Mitch swung around and said, “Where?” She tugged on his sleeve, dragging him toward the door to the hall. “Come on.”

“Great to have met you,” Mitch called over his shoulder to Barbara. “What a trout,” he said to Mae as soon as they were in the hall, out of earshot. “Was Gio really out there?”

“Yes, by the French doors with Carlo. Forget them. Barbara's the problem. She's planning on moving in and firing Harold and June.”

Mitch winced at the thought. “I wouldn't want her for a roommate. Maybe that's why Armand died. He couldn't stand the thought of living with her.”

“Why did he have to marry her?” Mae leaned against him for a moment, weighed down by another unexpected problem, and she felt comforted when he put his arm around her. “Now I have her to contend with, too.” He felt so good, so solid, so warm next to her that she nestled against him a little and closed her eyes.

“You're not alone here, Mabel.” Mitch's voice seemed huskier than usual as she felt his arm tighten around her. “You hired me, remember? We'll work something out.”

Mae blinked. “We?”

“Yeah. You and me.”

He smiled down at her, and Mae swallowed. “I like you,” she said. “I like you a lot.”

Mitch's smile faded. “I like you, too. Are you all right?”

“Why?”

“Well, usually you're telling me what a loss I am. I'm not used to this side of you.”

“Mae?”

She turned, startled, to see Dalton standing in the doorway, as perfectly pressed and symmetrically handsome as ever, the epitome of a
GQ
cover. The contrast between him and Mitch couldn't have been greater.

She'd never appreciated Mitch more.

“Mae, I need to talk to you.” Dalton smiled as his eyes slid over Mitch, obviously dismissing him as inconsequential. “Could we have a moment alone, please?”

Mitch tightened his arm around Mae again. “No.” He scowled down at her. “First Carlo, then Nick, now this stiff. Don't you know any ugly men?”

“Stiff?” Mae blinked at him.

“I've been hanging around Harold too long. This is the face who snagged Stormy. Do we know him?”

“Mitchell Peatwick, Dalton Briggs,” Mae said obediently.

Mitch shook his head in wonderment. “So this is Dalton the fool.”

“I beg your pardon,” Dalton said, his voice heavy with disapproval.

“Yes,” Mae said.

“You actually married him.”

“I was young,” Mae said.

“Who are you?” Dalton asked Mitch, really looking at him for the first time.

“Go away,” Mitch said to him. “That five hundred thousand meant you were supposed to disappear forever.”

Dalton flushed. “I don't know who the hell you are, but—”

“Not now, Dalton.” Mae moved away from Mitch's arm to go back into the dining room and away from this new crisis, whatever it was. “I've got a houseful of people for a memorial service. I can't deal with you now.”

“We need to talk.” Dalton took her hand as she moved past him. “I can stay after—”

Mitch tightened his grip on her other hand. “No, you can't.”

“Listen, you,” Dalton began.

“Tomorrow night,” Mae said wearily. “Come by tomorrow night at six. I'll talk to you then, when this is all over.

“That is a bad idea,” Mitch told her.

“I'll see you tomorrow night,” Dalton said firmly, glaring at Mitch. “Alone.”

“That is a really bad idea,” Mitch said.

Mae opened her mouth to answer him but stopped when Stormy drifted out into the hall, her eyes glued to Mitch.

“Hello, Mitch, how are you?” she said, and Mae dropped Mitch's hand.

“I'm fine,” he told her gently. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, yes. I'm going home with Dalton now.” She smiled up at him. “But I want you to come see me, too. Do you know where I live?”

“I'll find out,” Mitch promised.

Stormy tugged on Dalton's sleeve. “I'm ready to go now. I don't like this.”

“All right.” Dalton covered her hand with his. “I'll see you tomorrow night, Mae.”

“Fine.”

Mae wanted everyone to leave. Especially Stormy. Everyone except Mitch. The rest of this crowd could disappear in front of her eyes, and she'd only be grateful as long as she could still hang on to Mitch.

“I think I should be with you tomorrow night,” Mitch said as soon as the pair were gone.

“What's with you and Stormy?” Mae asked, not wanting to fight about Dalton. “Have you adopted her?”

“I think that's what she's looking for. A daddy.” Mitch leaned against the wall and watched her. “She's not like you. She wants somebody to make all the decisions for her.”

Mae stopped. “What makes you think I don't want that?”

“The way you look like murder when anybody tries it.” Mitch reached out and touched her cheek. “You look tired, Mabel. Why don't you go upstairs and take a nap? I'll tell everyone you were overcome with grief.”

A nap sounded wonderful. Mae thought longingly of her big white bed upstairs, and then she thought longingly of Mitch in that big white bed with her. It wasn't even a carnal thought; she just wanted him to hold her. She tried not to dwell on the thought because if she did, it would become carnal and that would never work. The last thing she needed was carnal thoughts about somebody who needed to lay pipeline and open the West.

The big dummy.

She glared at him.

“What?” He blinked at her, surprised. “What did I say?”

“Nothing.” Mae rubbed her hand over her forehead. “I'm having a rough day. Come on. Let's get this memorial over so people will go home.” She turned back to the dining room.

“Fine,” Mitch said as they joined the clutch of bored-looking mourners. “But I meant what I said about your not seeing Dalton alone. It would be bad.”

“Why?” Mae moved deeper into the crowd, not really listening for his answer. It was time to get this show on the road, have a couple of people say nice lies about Armand and then get them all out of her house.

Or Barbara's house.

“You might miss something,” Mitch was saying as he followed her. “He might say something that's a clue, and you'd miss it.”

“I would not miss it.” Mae stopped to scan the crowd. “Have you seen the minister? He was going to speak first.”

“I am definitely going to be with you tomorrow. Dalton is—don't sneak up on me like that, damn it. It's antisocial.”

“I didn't,” Mae protested as she turned back to him, and then she stopped.

Carlo was standing beside Mitch, looking even more homicidal than usual. “You are not going to be with her tomorrow night,” Carlo began.

“Don't even think about it, Carlo,” Mae said. “I hired him, and I want him. Leave him alone.”

Mitch scowled back at Carlo. “If you want to do something helpful, go beat up the widow. She's trying to evict Mae from the house.”

Carlo swung around to Mae. “Is that true?”

“Uncle Claud is handling it,” Mae stalled him.

A man in black appeared at the podium at the end of the room and rapped on it with his knuckles before Carlo could speak. “If you would all take your seats, I've been asked to say a few words about the departed. Then you may all share your thoughts with us.”

People drifted into the chairs, most looking grimly determined not to share their thoughts. Carlo returned to Gio and whispered in his ear. Mae sat numbly through the minister's remarks, wincing only when he referred to Armand as “Almond,” a mistake Mitch evidently found hilarious judging from the way his shoulders shook. Then the minister stepped back and invited others to speak. Mae had one moment of fear that no one would step forward, and then Barbara stood and made a queenly march to the front.

“Armand Lewis was my husband,” she began, pausing only as the murmur of surprise swept the assembly. “And I loved him.” She broke down then, and Mae said, “I don't feel well,” and escaped out the side door.

The memorial went quickly after that. As Mitch remarked later, nobody could clear a room like Barbara Ross. Most of the people said vaguely comforting things as they sidled out the front door, but Tess Jamieson was the most help. “If all this starts to get to you,” she told Mae, “call me. We'll rent videos and eat ice cream.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Mae turned to Nick to say goodbye, only to hear him say to Mitch, “You have to talk to Newton for me. He won't let me buy into this tin mine in Bolivia.”

“Tin mine?” Mae's eyes went to Mitch. “What do you know about tin mines?”

“Exactly as much as Nick does, which is nothing.” Mitch glared at him. “Which is why he should listen to Newton. Tin mines. Grow up, Jamieson.”

“Who's Newton?” Mae asked. “What's going on?”

“Newton is a mutual friend,” Mitch said. “And Nick is leaving.”