Lady Be Good (7 page)

The phone rang four more times and stopped. Grace set down her sandwich and used her napkin to dab crumbs from her mouth. “About Jake,” she began.

Luke shook his head to cut her off. “I have a big mouth sometimes. Forget I mentioned his gambling.”

Grace didn’t doubt Jake Kendall had a gambling problem. She was surprised to hear that a professional athlete let himself get in trouble that way, though. She sincerely hoped it hadn’t gotten him killed. And yet … .

In his pocket, Luke’s cell phone began to play
Born to Run
, and this time he pulled it out to look at the screen. He recognized the number.

He pushed back his chair. “I need to answer this. Sorry. It’s a charity thing I’m supposed to do in a couple weeks. The organizer is calling me about details.”

Grace waved. “Go ahead. I should check with the airline again.”

“Thanks.” Luke got up from the table and walked away. “Yeah?” he said into his phone. “Hey, Tracy. How’s that pole-dancing class going for you?”

Laughing, Luke took his cell phone down the hall and into his den, leaving Grace to wonder if he really was talking to a charity organizer or an exotic dancer.

Grace pulled out her own phone and looked at the screen.

But she didn’t look up airline flights.

Instead, as she nibbled her sandwich, she began Googling Jake Kendall.

5.

The breakfast room got chilly in spite of the fireplace, so when Grace finished her sandwich, she rinsed both their plates and tucked them into the dishwasher, then put the food back in the fridge. Kitchen tidied, she took her phone into the living room. She flipped on a light that revealed a sea of sofas gathered around a very large, undoubtedly expensive rug with an intricate pattern. No doubt Luke’s ex-wife left it all behind because it was too large to fit into any room smaller than a dancehall.

Grace sat on one of the sofas and wrapped up in a woolly throw. She pulled her feet up under her and researched Jake Kendall’s death. She didn’t learn much she didn’t already know, except a Philadelphia sports writer also hinted that Jake’s untimely demise had happened just as his gambling problem was about to come to light. The writer speculated that Jake would have immediately lost his job quarterbacking for the Eagles.

She found a photo of Jake and Emma Blackbird in the same newspaper. They were attending a fancy occasion, both laughing and looking very glam in evening clothes.

Grace could hear Luke’s voice down the hall. He was still on the phone.

She decided to try calling Nora again. She dialed and listened to Nora’s phone ring a while before her away message came on.

After the beep, Grace said, “Nora, you must still be looking for Emma. I wish I could be there to help. I’ll come tomorrow, I promise, but my plane was canceled tonight.” She paused, absently massaging her toes through the borrowed sock, then she decided to blunder on. “Listen, I’ve met somebody, and we got to talking about Jake. Jake, Emma’s husband? The guy I met knew him. I know this is probably out of left field for you, but did you know anything about Jake’s gambling? How bad was his problem? Was it sports bets? Who did he do that with? Do you know? I’m just wondering. Don’t worry. It’s just me free-associating. Talk soon.”

She ended the call, and that’s when she realized Luke was standing in the doorway.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.

“Sorry, was I not supposed to come in here?”

He took a pace forward and stopped as if not trusting himself to come closer. “I mean the phone call. Who were you talking to?”

“Nora. I left a message.” Grace held up her phone as if it might show who she had telephoned. “What’s the problem?”

“You were talking about Jake.”

“Well, yes. I was just asking--”

“I know what you were asking, I heard you. Are you nuts?”

Grace was suddenly glad to be on the other side of the sofa from him. His blue eyes snapped, and his grip on his cell phone was nearly tense enough to crush it. And he looked bigger than ever, too. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t just make accusations about him to anyone.”

“I wasn’t--”

“And you can’t ask questions about who he was gambling with.”

Grace scrambled to her feet, fear forgotten, her temper starting to sizzle, too. “Why on earth not?”

“Because they’re dangerous people, that’s why! He wasn’t buying lottery tickets. He was betting big money with people who break your legs if you don’t pay up.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Who’s being ridiculous?” Luke’s voice rose as he came around the sofa. “Don’t you get it? Jake was probably
killed
. And now you’re asking questions about him!”

Grace held her ground. “Nora’s not going to tell anybody. I was just--”

“These aren’t people with good manners, holding their tea cups with their pinkies sticking out. They are bad dudes who break kneecaps if you make a late payment. And worse. As worse as it gets. You shouldn’t be blabbing about this stuff.”

Hotly, she snapped, “Don’t presume to tell me what subjects I can discuss with my friends and family, please.”

Her sharp comeback made him pause. “Do you trust them to keep their mouths shut while somebody breaks their fingers?” Stubbornly, Luke said, “This is serious, Princess. Don’t be stupid.”

At that, Grace stalked past him, heading for the breakfast room. “Did you call your ex stupid? Because that might have contributed to her departure.”

“I’m not calling you stupid. Not exactly.” Luke trailed her. “Some caution would be smarter, that’s all I’m saying. You need to be careful about who you talk to about this.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.” Grace turned and faced him, aware that she stood considerably shorter than he. “Is there a bathtub in this house? Because I’ve had a long day.”

He braced his hands on the kitchen island, as if to keep himself from getting too much closer. His gaze was steady. “Are you listening to me?”

“I’m listening, but I’m not going to argue with you. I hate arguing. It’s impolite, for one thing. I try to be civilized whenever possible. It’s my family business, so there you have it. You know, a nice hot bath might do you some good, too. You could relax. In a separate tub, of course. I didn’t mean—well, you know what I mean.”

“I do,” he said, glowering while he mulled over the situation.

“Upstairs,” he said finally.

The curved staircase took them to the second floor where two wings ran in different directions. Grace spotted a light already turned on in one room and assumed that was Luke’s bedroom. He led her in the opposite direction, though, past a couple of empty bedrooms until they reached a suite of rooms at the far end of the house.

“This is where my parents stay when they visit,” Luke said.

It looked like a hotel room. King-sized bed with a plush coverlet and matching draperies. Two cushy armchairs, a bathroom fit for a sultan. Someone had arranged three scented candles and a dish of colorful soaps on the edge of the swimming pool that was probably intended to be a bathtub. Grace guessed the ex-wife. It hardly looked like Luke’s handiwork.

“Very nice,” Grace said. “Thank you.”

He opened a cupboard and pulled out some towels. “If you need anything else, just call the maid. Except I don’t have a maid, so--”

“I’ll manage on my own.” Grace accepted the towels and hugged them. She held still for a moment, gathering her calm. At last, she said, “Thank you for not shouting at me.”

Luke hesitated. Then said, “I’m not a shouter.”

“I could have guessed that. I’m sorry if I was indiscreet about your friend. I’ll be more careful.”

“Okay,” he said.

For a second, Grace braced herself. If he was going to make a move, now was the time. Luke’s talk about screwing around after his divorce suddenly popped up in her mind. That, and his size. There was no way she was capable of fighting him off, if he suddenly decided to force himself on her. Locking herself in the bathroom might be her only escape if he decided to pounce.

But Grace figured she knew him well enough already not to be frightened. Although she’d certainly read all the media coverage about football players and their domestic abuse issues, this one was man who wasn’t capable of that. She knew it in her bones.

She summoned up her most gracious manners and said simply, “Thank you. Good night.”

“Yeah. G’night.”

He lingered for another heart-stopping moment, then abruptly spun around and left. He closed the door behind himself.

After he was gone, Grace counted to ten and locked the door.

Then on a dresser, she found a framed photo of a family. Very tall men gathered around a fireplace with some laughing women sitting at their feet on a braided rug. A collie with a lolling tongue sat in the center of the group. All the women held puppies. Luke stood in the back row with his long arms around the shoulders of two men who had to be his brothers. One was dressed in military fatigues. Everyone had lively blue eyes and the same curly hair with the widow’s peak. They all looked happy. Luke looked especially non-threatening.

Grace put the photo back on the table. She hoped he hadn’t heard her lock the door.

She wondered what it must be like to have a big, happy, well-adjusted family. With Todd gone, all she had was Mama now. Did big families have just as much strife, only multiplied? In that case, maybe a small family was better.

Her suitcase was already sitting on a luggage rack, and her carry-on bag was on the bed. She puttered for a while, unpacking her toilet articles and hanging clothes for the next day on the shower curtain rod. She ran hot water into the tub and added some bath salts from a pretty jar on a shelf. With a book from her suitcase, she sank into the tub to relax.

She couldn’t concentrate on reading, though. She could hear the storm whistling outside. At last, Grace laid the book on the edge of the tub and sank down to her chin in the fragrant water.

Why hadn’t Luke made a pass at her? Even a little one?

She ought to be pleased to discover that he was a gentleman, she argued with herself.

Or did she just not turn him on?

Annoyed, Grace sat up and reached for a washcloth. She scrubbed her skin until it glowed, but she couldn’t wash the thought out of her head. He hadn’t found her attractive, that was it. She had come into his house wearing Chanel, and looking fabulous enough to wow the television cameras, but he didn’t find her attractive enough to—to---well, she wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted him to do, but saying good night and closing the door just didn’t cut it.

Maybe Luke the Laser preferred his women in tight jeans and sequins. Or team shirts and sneakers? Did he like girls who looked like pole dancers?

On the other hand.

What would Mama make of Luke Lazurnovich? She’d probably find him wrong, wrong, wrong.

With a sigh, Grace climbed out of the tub and let the water run down the drain.

She dried off with a luxurious towel and pulled on her flannel pajama bottoms and—to counter balance the flannel--the sexy red camisole Kip had bought her two Christmases ago. At least, she thought it was sexy. She looked critically at herself in the mirror, though, and noticed a hole in the fabric just above her belly button. Grace got into the large bed and settled between the sensuously silky sheets. Maybe it was time to upgrade her wardrobe. How was any man supposed to find her appealing if she had holes in her nightwear?

While learning to become the newest incarnation of Dear Miss Vanderbine, had she lost something along the way?

She turned off the lamp. To the slowly diminishing noise of the blizzard, Grace tried to sleep.

Eventually, she had a weird dream about wrestling with a large, cuddly bear in the back seat of a limousine.

Her phone alarm went off at six. In the bathroom, she checked her face and decided she could forgo makeup before going downstairs. She combed her hair, though. Brushed her teeth, too. And a little lip gloss never hurt.

After pulling on Luke’s warm socks again, she swiped her phone off the bedside table and checked her airline status. Still on stand-by. Phone in hand, she padded down the staircase to the kitchen.

Coffee was steaming in the machine. A good sign he was already awake. But otherwise, there was no sign of her host. Sunlight already peeking over the hilltop drew her to the breakfast room’s tall arched window. The first rays sparkled on newly fallen snow. Not a cloud in the sky. She guessed there was a swimming pool under all the snow. Already, birds were flitting around a bird feeder hanging from one of the trees.

The sunlight glinted off Luke’s Super Bowl ring.

She gave the ring a playful swat and sent it swinging.

With a yawn—and still enjoying a certain early morning euphoria before all the self-doubts started--she made two slices of whole wheat toast and poured some orange juice from the fridge. She had just sat down at the granite counter when she heard a thump and crash from somewhere under her feet. She sat very still and waited.

More thudding footfalls on the basement steps, and then Luke himself came catapulting through a doorway and into the kitchen, breathing hard. He stopped short, his startled eyes going wide when he saw Grace. He wore a damp T-shirt emblazoned with a team logo, a pair of loose sweat pants and running shoes. A towel was slung around his neck.

“Good morning,” she said. “Where have you been already?”

“Working out,” he said, as if stating the obvious. He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “I have a gym in the basement.”

He had a set of earbuds in his ears, and Grace could hear the beat of rock and roll. He pulled them out and let them dangle against his chest. The T-shirt made no secret of his physique. Grace found her attention wandering across the contours of the shirt, and she felt her mouth go a little dry. But she managed to say, “Do you work out every day?”

“Of course. Don’t you? I mean, you look like you do.”

Grace certainly did not work out every day and in fact avoided perspiration at all costs. There was a yoga class she enjoyed a few times a week, although that probably didn’t qualify as working out to someone who had been a professional athlete.