Untitled (10 page)

   Even so, I hadn't forgotten all the things Jim had done for me since we met. In addition to keeping me alive in that hospital room, he'd also saved me from getting arrested in a back alley where I was (technically) trespassing. Cooking classes aside, he'd given me the opportunity to stretch my wings by putting me in charge of day-to-day business operations at Bellywasher's. Jim had confidence in me. He liked me. And of course, there was the whole hunkyScotsman-honey-bunch thing.

   The next Saturday, I took the day off and invited Fi and the girls to go with me to the National Zoo.

   I will not elaborate on the details. Let's just say that from that day on,
zoo
had a whole new meaning for me. I listened to more whining than I hoped to ever hear again, sopped tears, and handed out tissues. And that was just for Fi.

   The girls kept me hopping, too, running me from pillar to post (or more specifically, from panda bears to tiger cubs to ferrets and back again). I'd had fruit punch spilled on me and used the Heimlich manuever to get hamburger out of Wendy's throat.

   When I finally got home, I was washed up, done in, and wrung out. My mood brightened when I found Eve waiting for me—until I heard why she was there.

   "I finally convinced Valerie to back off and leave Brad to the pros. I told her all about you. You know, about what a great detective you are. She's really looking forward to talking to you. I know once you meet her, once you hear the whole story about her oppression beneath the claws of the Weasel, you'll change your mind, Annie. I know you'll do everything you can to investigate Brad and find something we can pin on him."

   As promised, I'd already tried to investigate Brad. I found nothing at all, useful or otherwise. I'd already told Eve that and, silly me, I thought that was the end of the matter.

   I didn't know she'd commit me to meeting with Valerie. I didn't know the meeting was scheduled for later that afternoon, before Eve had to get to Bellywasher's for the dinner crowd. I didn't know why I went along with it or why, less than an hour later, I found myself in Valerie's apartment. I could only chalk it all up to the fact that I was too tired to argue.

   "I'm so glad you came." Valerie was tall and gorgeous. Her apartment was small and messy. She plucked a hooded sweatshirt off a chair and let it fall to the floor before she dropped down across from where Eve and I were perched on a love seat with mushy, uncomfortable cushions. "This just proves what WOW is all about and why it's so important. One sister connecting with another sister, and that sister connecting, and so on. I can't tell you how relieved I was when Eve told me you promised you'd help."

   "Eve told you that, did she?" I slanted Eve a look. She pretended not to notice. "Did she tell you that I already tried? I spent some time searching online. You know, looking for information about Brad. I didn't find a thing."

   "That's because he's so sneaky." This comment came from Eve. I would have pointed out how unreasonable it was if Valerie didn't latch right on to it.

   "Not only sneaky, but evil and underhanded." Valerie's hands were on her lap. Her fingers curled into fists. "I hate that man. I wish he was dead."

   Seemed to be a lot of that going around.

   I shifted in my seat. This wasn't my business, and I didn't want to make it my business, but as long as I'd been sucked into it, I figured I might as well strike a blow for sanity. "It won't do any good to follow him," I told both Valerie and Eve. "You're not going to find out anything, and you're only going to make Brad angry. I saw you in Alexandria the other night, Valerie. I saw you two arguing. Where did that get you?"

   Valerie jumped out of her seat. "It almost got me exactly what I wanted. I wanted Brad to get mad. I wanted him to confront me. I figured if I pushed him hard enough, he'd snap." She threw back her shoulders and lifted her chin. "That would give me the perfect excuse to pop him in the nose."

   I scrubbed my face with my hands. I was talking logic. Eve and Valerie were speaking from pure emotion. There was no way we were ever going to understand each other. Of course, I tried, anyway. "A physical confrontation isn't going to get you anywhere, either," I pointed out, even though I shouldn't have had to. "Listen to yourself, Valerie. You've got to let this go. It's eating you up."

   Valerie paced across the living room and back again. "Easy for you to say," she snarled. "That Weasel didn't ruin your life."

   "No, he didn't, but—"

   "But nothing!" There was a pillow on a nearby chair, and Valerie picked it up and chucked it across the room. She was a beautiful woman with clear skin and eyes as blue as the spring sky outside the window, but just now an unbecoming shadow darkened her features. "You want to know what a schmuck he is?" she asked, and I guess she figured I did, because she flopped into the chair across from mine again. "Brad used to be a journalist. Did you know that?"

   "Which doesn't automatically make him dishonest."

   "Of course not." For a second, Valerie's eyes cleared, and I saw the intelligent, sensible woman she could be if only she could keep the angry, bitter Valerie at bay. Her brows dropped over her eyes. "But that's not the whole story. A couple of years ago before he started working in retail, Brad was a reporter for the W
ashington Star
. He didn't leave voluntarily."

   I didn't w
ant
to care. Honest. But I was too exhausted to fight. Before I even knew it, I tipped my head, anxious to hear the rest of the story. "Fired? Because of sexual harassment?"

   A satisfied smile brightened Valerie's expression. "Fired because he made up quotes and sources for an article he published," she said. "That pretty much proves it, doesn't it? It proves he's an underhanded Weasel."

   There was nothing I wanted more than to get home, jump into bed, and pull the covers up over my head. I slumped back against the love seat. "Absolutely," I said because maybe if I went along with this whole Brad-as-Satan scenario, it would make both Valerie and Eve happy, and then I could leave. "Brad is underhanded. I couldn't agree more. But how did you find all that out, anyway? I didn't see anything online about Brad. And if you're investigating, why do you need me?"

   "To follow up on all this." Valerie jumped out of her chair, went into another room, and came back holding a single sheet of paper, which she promptly handed to me.

   "Phone numbers and names," I said, looking it over. "All female. I assume these are the women . . . er . . . sisters," I corrected myself because I didn't want to agitate Valerie further. "These are the sisters who Brad has done wrong."

   She nodded. "Every single one of them."

   I was tempted to say,
So what?
I might have, too, if Eve and Valerie weren't both looking at me as if I held the key that would crack the case that wasn't much of a case.

   And if Eve, in her own little, sweet, Southern belle way, didn't add, "Think of it this way, Annie. It's your way of standing up for sisters everywhere. You know, in the name of the Weasel who ruined your life."

   At least Eve didn't lay out the details of my failed marriage for Valerie to examine. Then again, maybe she didn't need to. The way Valerie looked at me—her eyes bright with the knowledge that we shared in the sisterhood—I had a feeling she already knew all about Peter.

   "All right, I admit it!" I yawned when I said this, which pretty much took the enthusiasm level down a notch. That didn't stop both Eve and Valerie from scooting forward in their seats. "I am intrigued," I said. I tapped a finger against the paper Valerie had handed me. "All these women? All with a grudge against Brad? If they feel about him the way you two feel about him, I'm surprised someone hasn't fitted him for a pair of cement overshoes and dumped him into Chesapeake Bay." I hesitated before I asked the final question, but let's face it, committed is committed. And I'd already committed.

   "What do you want me to do about it?" I asked.

   "Now we're talking." Eve patted me on the back.

   Valerie grinned. "We want you to do your detective magic," she said. "After everything Eve has told me about you, I know you can investigate anything. The way she describes you, you're Wonder Woman!"

   Yeah, I must be.

   Because right about then, I was wondering what I'd just gotten myself into.

* * *

       anyway. It was more of a planette, the germ of an idea that might—or might not—get us someplace.

   Not that I knew where we were headed.

   Or what we would do when we got there.

   No matter. I had made a promise, and I never go back on my word. I spent the next day at home catching up on bills and laundry and coming up with a strategy of sorts. The day after, a Monday, I refined my planette. I was anxious to run it by Eve, but though I tried her phone a dozen times, there was no answer. Since Eve and her cell phone are never parted, this was odd, but I wasn't worried. Maybe Eve had met a new guy and had better things to do than talk to me. I hoped so. After everything she had been through in the romance department, she deserved a break.

   With no sounding board, I was on my own, and over and over again, I practiced what I'd say to Brad in cooking class that night.

   "Were you really fired from your job at the W
ashington
Star
?"

   "Does that prove you're a dishonest creep who doesn't care who he steps on, on his way to the top?"

   "How many women's lives have you ruined, and what do you intend to do about it?"

   "Are you really a Weasel? I mean, come on, Brad, come clean. If you'd just write a letter of recommendation for every woman whose reputation you've trashed, you'd do a lot toward righting all these wrongs. Need a list? I just so happen to have one, right here."

   I am not completely delusional. Even as I stood in the kitchen of Bellywasher's waiting for our students to arrive that evening, I realized I couldn't exactly come right out and say all that to Brad. Not in those words, anyway. But that didn't mean I couldn't be subtle about it.

   I'd assigned Brad to drinks that night and paired him up with Kegan again. I know, I know . . . I'd promised Kegan I wouldn't, so this really wasn't fair. Even though we went out for a drink after the last class, Kegan and Brad never really hit it off. Brad was loud and pushy. Kegan was jumpy and ill at ease. I was uncomfortable on his behalf and Marc, Damien, and Monsieur weren't any happier; they left as soon as they could.

   I soothed my conscience by promising myself I'd make it up to Kegan and looked at the bright side. If I just so happened to stop by while they were working, on the pretense of talking to Kegan about the ideas he had for saving money for the restaurant . . .

   If I just so happened to include Brad in the conversation and somehow come around to the topic of his background . . .

   If I could only get him to fess up, then I could explain about the sisterhood that was gunning for him (not in those words, of course), and I might be able to help Eve and the other women of WOW.

   The thought firmly in mind and my stomach doing backflips, I nodded hello to our students and waited for Brad to show up so I could put my plan in motion.

   By five minutes to seven, he was still nowhere in sight.

   And now that I thought about it, neither was Jim.

   I had just decided to tell Marc and Damien that I was quitting and moving to a state far, far away so that I could not be conscripted into teaching another class when the kitchen door bumped open, and Jim stumbled into the room.

   His hair was a mess. There were dark circles under his eyes. His clothes, usually so neat and clean, looked like they'd been slept in. I recognized the stain on the front of his shirt—fruit punch leaves a telltale sign. I didn't want to alarm the class, so when I hurried over to him, I kept my voice down.

   "What on earth happened to you?" I grabbed his arm and dragged him to the far side of the kitchen, up against the walk-in cooler where no one could hear us. "You look awful!"

   "You're an angel for taking them to the zoo on Saturday." Jim kissed my cheek. "Can they live with you?"

   I would have laughed if he was kidding.

   "No chance of them leaving anytime soon, huh? And no sign of Richard?"

   Jim sighed. "Fi's husband calls. Ten, maybe twelve times a day. She refuses to pick up the phone. Then again, it's a wonder anyone can hear her phone ringing at all. Between her bawling and those horrid children . . ." A shiver snaked over his broad shoulders. "I'm not getting a wink of sleep. If they can't live with you, can I?"

   Time and again over the course of our relationship, I had imagined the knee-melting, heart-pounding, bloodsizzling way Jim might someday ask me about cohabitation. This was not it.

   "Marc and Damien have everything set up," I said instead. I grabbed an apron hanging on a nearby hook and looped it over Jim's head. Before he could object, I reached around him and tied the apron behind his back. While I was at it, I gave him a hug. "Time to get going."

   Just as I expected, nothing gets a chef's mind off his own troubles and back on task like the mention of work.

   One look at the mound of shrimp set up on the worktable along with all the spices for tonight's marinade, and Jim shook off his stupor. Back in full kitchen mode and ready to roll, he looked around the kitchen. "Everyone's here but Brad," he said. "You've got him and Kegan on drinks, right? Would you mind helping the lad? Not that he couldn't handle things on his own, but we're making Bloody Marys tonight, and they can be a bit tricky. He strikes me as a bit of a klutz."

   I'd take mixing Bloody Marys over the chance of getting asked to stand in front of the class and help Jim any day. I didn't wait around long enough for him to change his mind. I hurried over to Kegan's workstation, and he welcomed me with a cautious smile.