Читать книгу Change of Life - Leigh Riker - Страница 12

T he next day, Nora was still a free woman.

That pesky Caine wouldn’t get the best of her.

And neither would Starr.

On another hot and humid morning with the temperature already climbing, Nora gave the broad front door of Geneva Whitehouse’s home another determined blow with the brass knocker. She’d tried the doorbell, which had summoned no one. Now she waited in the blazing sun, then heard the click of heels on wood in the entry hall.

For a second, the back of her neck prickled. She felt she was being observed. Then the tap of stilettos clacked again, going quickly in the opposite direction. Her gaze homed in on the discreet brass peephole in the door.

Not to Nora’s surprise, Geneva obviously wasn’t glad to see her. A temporary setback.

She leaned on the bell with one finger, lifted the knocker again with her other hand and set off a cacophony inside the house.

“Ms. Whitehouse,” she called through the closed door for good measure.

Tap, tap, tap. The returning sound of heels was agitated.

“Geneva, please. Open up. We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to say. Our business is finished.”

No. It was not. She wouldn’t leave until Geneva Whitehouse reconsidered her decision to choose Starr for the redesign of her home. Ten thousand square feet, Nora reminded herself. The very numbers made her salivate.

She could imagine Starr’s gloating triumph when Geneva chose her instead of Nora. The insult wouldn’t stand.

Apparently this had been her week for outrageous insults.

Nora blocked from her mind the sudden image of Caine’s dark, brooding eyes, his accusations. He hadn’t gone quite that far, but he’d implied as much, and she knew she was a definite suspect in the burglary here at Geneva’s house. Nora desperately needed to repair her reputation.

Damage control. In spite of her aversion to Geneva’s husband for reasons of her own, she couldn’t afford to lose business. If Geneva would only hire her after all, and she liked Nora’s work, she might recommend her to her friends.

Through the still-closed door she heard heavy breathing. Geneva was still there, as if hoping Nora would get discouraged and give up.

“Please,” she said again, softening her tone to convey the courtesy that Maggie had ingrained in her long ago. “This won’t take long. I just want—”

“Go away.” Geneva’s voice shook.

Nora took a step back as if she’d been slapped. Geneva really was mad.

Nora reached for the black leather portfolio she’d left leaning against the brick wall beside the door. She chanced a look through the frosted glass panels that flanked it but could detect no movement or the outline of Geneva’s body. She must be pressed to the door itself, eyeing Nora through that peephole.

Nora tried another tack. “I have something to show you,” she said in a singsong tone. “I think you’ll be sorry if you don’t take at least a peek.”

The door crashed open, rattling the glass.

“Are you threatening me?”

Shocked, Nora clutched the big briefcase to her front. Her heart had begun to thump ominously, and for a moment she felt breathless.

“No. Of course not. I have some sketches here…”

With a weary sigh, Geneva clattered away from the open door.

“Come in, then. But I won’t change my mind. After Detective Caine and I spoke, I know that wouldn’t be wise.”

What did the man say to her?

Nora clenched her teeth. “I am not a criminal.” She followed Geneva inside, the cool air washing over her like a damp cloth against her heated skin. “That man has problems of his own. And if you believe Starr—”

Geneva clipped toward the nearby living room, right past the antique, glass-fronted curio cabinet that had held the now-missing heart-shaped vase. Nora glanced at the barren space on the shelf. The cause of her current troubles, or one of them.

Her business might depend on these next few moments—she had no doubt they would be very few—but so did her shaken sense of self-worth.

She perched on the edge of an obviously costly sofa. “I have never been accused of dishonesty before,” she said, zipping open the black case to draw out her sketches. “If you need references, I’ll provide them. I’m terribly sorry for your loss, but I can assure you I didn’t take your vase. What would I do with it?” Nora gave her a weak smile. “Adorn another customer’s home with a stolen object? Hardly. Keep it for myself—and wait for the day when Caine barges in to catch me in the act? Sell it on eBay?”

For the first time she noticed that Geneva, who sat on the matching sofa opposite, didn’t look quite herself. Maybe Nora shouldn’t have tried to make a joke. Geneva’s normally perfect blond hairstyle looked in disarray, and her blue eyes lacked their usual sparkle. Her gray sweatpants and T-shirt matched the pallor of her complexion beneath its tan. Even while wearing those three-inch heels, black with fetching crystal beads across the instep, she looked thrown together. Of course, she’d had no reason to expect company.

Geneva’s mouth quivered.

“All right, then. Show me.”

Nora had expected a bigger fight.

“Really?” She handed Geneva the first of half a dozen drawings, her ideas for the main rooms of the Whitehouse home. Despite Geneva’s decision Nora had put them together last night and she felt they’d turned out well. There would be none of Starr Mulligan’s typical touches, no garish colors, strange artifacts or overstuffed furniture. The fact that Starr did possess an eye for arrangement, and that her judgment on wall coverings could be pleasing, didn’t enter into Nora’s assessment. “As you can see, I’ve gone for a minimalist effect. Neutrals, clean lines, a contemporary look that should serve as a natural background to highlight your treasures.”

Her sharp glance made Nora swallow. Perhaps she shouldn’t have reminded her would-be client—her temporarily lost client—about the missing vase or any of its scintillating companions.

“This sort of design is all the rage now. I think you’d be very pleased with the outcome—”

“Or else?”

Nora faltered. “Why, of course I’d be happy to work with you on any changes, minor or more extensive.”

“Nora. As you know I’ve already hired Starr Mulligan.”

“Yes, I do know.” She cleared her throat. “And I realize my comment to her was less than, well, businesslike. I’m sorry you heard it. Starr and I have our differences, but they shouldn’t concern you. It’s the job that really matters.”

“Does it?” Geneva’s strained tone alerted Nora. There was something wrong here, even more wrong than Nora being replaced by Starr because of some silly misunderstanding. She’d already apologized, but maybe not enough.

“I am sorry, Geneva. I made a bad impression, but that’s why I’m here. Other than to show you my sketches, of course, which I had hoped might speak for themselves. And me,” she added.

“The sketches are beautiful.”

“You like them?”

Geneva’s blue gaze swept over the last drawing in the stack. For an instant her eyes brightened, but then, to Nora’s horror, they filled with tears. A few brimmed over, and before she stopped to think, by instinct Nora had fallen to her knees onto the thick carpet in front of Geneva’s sofa. She reached out to pull Geneva awkwardly into her arms. “There, there. We can work something out.”

“I doubt that,” Geneva wailed.

Maybe she felt terrible about her earlier decision. She might feel torn between Nora and Starr but regretted her rejection of Nora based on such tissue-thin evidence of a crime. Maybe now she wanted to make amends, as Nora did, but wasn’t sure how.

Nora rocked Geneva in her embrace, as she might one of her children even now. Geneva clung to her, sobbing as if her heart had broken.

“I don’t know about you,” Nora said after a few moments, “but I can’t sit on this rug as if I’m in a Japanese restaurant with one of those little tables that are no higher than a foot.”

Geneva Whitehouse didn’t smile. She pulled back, embarrassed by her display of emotion, and avoided Nora’s searching gaze. Geneva studied the pale cream carpet, the wall covered in an exquisite gold-washed French paper, the violated curio cabinet just visible in the hall, then the deep crown molding that edged the double tray ceiling before at last she met Nora’s eyes. Nora had misunderstood.

“Oh, Geneva. Please tell me what’s wrong. What have I done that can’t be corrected? Certainly you don’t believe Detective Caine—”

“No,” Geneva murmured. “It’s not him.”

Unable to speak, she gestured at the elaborate living room before she followed Nora’s lead and struggled to her feet. They faced each other with the marble-topped coffee table between them, a gorgeous piece of stone that Geneva hoped would be incorporated in the new design. Right now the house was the furthest thing from her mind. Odd, when it had consumed her for so long.

“My husband…lately, he hasn’t been very attentive. He works almost every night—not in his study here, as he used to do, but at his office in town. When I called there last evening, I—I got his voice mail.” The last was uttered in a shaken tone. “I thought then he was on his way home, but he didn’t show up until three in the morning. I know because I was still awake.” She made a futile gesture. “I don’t know what’s happening…”

Nora sat beside her again on the sofa. She took Geneva’s cold hand.

“You’re freezing, angel.”

Geneva shivered, feeling more bereft than she had since before she met Earl and at last escaped the life her parents had wanted for her. But had she only exchanged one misery for another after all? “I can’t seem to get warm.”

Nora looked eager to help, but it was clear she didn’t know how.

“When my relationship became…difficult, I didn’t feel warm for weeks.” Nora blanched, as if realizing what she’d said. “Not that I think you have the same problem,” she hastened to add. “Marriage is a long-term investment,” she tried again. “One that sometimes doesn’t work as we’d like. What I’m trying to say is, there are always ups and downs. I wouldn’t worry,” she said. “Don’t even think about my experience.”

Geneva withdrew her hand from Nora’s clasp. The memory of that other existence, and of one recent night, were still fresh in her mind. “A few nights ago when Earl was home, I went up to his study—it’s next to our bedroom—to ask him something and I found him at his computer. That’s not unusual, but when he noticed me standing in the doorway, he blanked out the monitor, I think so I couldn’t see what was there. He looked…guilty. I don’t know that anything was wrong, but it didn’t feel right.”

Nora looked away. “Your husband is probably embroiled in one of those male things that always seem to consume them.” She flushed. “That is, men get caught up in rectifying some global injustice or correcting the company balance sheet while we women do so in our smaller way without much fanfare.”

Geneva sniffled.

“Is that what your husband does, too?”

“Not any longer. I’ve been divorced for some time. But I’m sure he does,” she added quickly. “Or he will, with his new wife, as he must have with the others. He’s getting married again soon. I’m invited to the wedding.”

Geneva’s eyes widened. She dabbed at them with the handkerchief Nora handed her, using the delicate lawn fabric and Swiss embroidery to blot her smeared mascara. When she saw Nora wince at the stain, she set the cloth aside.

“That,” Geneva murmured, “was more information than I need.”

Nora wasn’t being very tactful, but Geneva knew she was trying, and it wasn’t easy to deal with a hysterical woman. Geneva wondered miserably if she was turning into her mother, the stage mama of all time who had been given to outrageous displays of temper and tears.

She couldn’t hold back her worst fear. “What if Earl is having an affair? Or visiting Web sites with nubile women on display?” Women younger, prettier, than Geneva now?

“Wilson’s first peccadillo nearly killed me,” Nora admitted, not helping at all, “and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.” She couldn’t seem to stop herself. “For a long while I regretted that it didn’t kill Wilson instead, even when I still loved him with all my heart.” Nora paled again. “Oh, my God. That doesn’t mean you should worry about Earl.” But something in her expression told Geneva that Nora felt exactly that about Geneva’s husband.

Geneva looked at her hands. “I was his trophy wife, you know. We’ve been married for fifteen years,” she said, her voice gathering strength now that she’d stopped crying. “When we said our vows, I was barely twenty-five. Now I’m forty, and no matter how little I eat or how long I spend on the treadmill every day, I’m still ten pounds heavier than when I met Earl—” She broke off, then began again, “I’ve done a thousand sit-ups, a million leg lifts, or I did until I quit my health club. But my face…oh, God.”

“Nonsense.” Nora adopted a perky expression. “Forty is the new thirty, even twenty-something. You’re a beautiful woman, Geneva. Stunning. Certainly you know that. I’m sure Earl does, too.” She gestured at the room, as Geneva had. “He must love you very much. This house, the car you drive, the exquisite pieces you display…” Nora trailed off, as if not wanting to tread too near the subject of Geneva’s missing vase again. Another reason she’d spent so much time crying today. “Those are material things, I know, but many men use them to express how much they care. It’s easier, you see, than admitting their feelings.”

“You think so?”

“Positive.” When her stiff-upper-lip approach seemed to work, Nora plowed on. “Maybe you and Earl could talk tonight.”

Geneva shook her head. “He called just before you rang the bell. He has a dinner meeting at seven. He won’t be home until late again.”

“Ah,” Nora said.

Geneva felt about to tear up all over again. “What if he doesn’t see me as a desirable woman anymore? Then what?” she demanded of Nora, who had no answer. Geneva didn’t notice. She swept the half dozen sketches of Nora’s designs off the marble table. “If he wants another woman, she’ll be the one who lives here! Not me.”

Nora looked horrified. “This house isn’t in your name?”

“We own it jointly,” Geneva said.

“Then at least you have a half interest, which is probably worth a great deal in Royal Palms, should the worst happen. It won’t, of course. You’re just feeling neglected, and insecure. It happens to all of us,” Nora assured her. “But there’s no sense giving in to a major depression. That’s not healthy, and good health is the first defense.” She rummaged in her handbag and came up with a card. “This is my doctor’s number. Mark Fingerhut. Call him. He can give you a lift in no time.”

Geneva examined the card. “An obstetrician?” Her mouth trembled. If only she could have given Earl children. He’d said he wanted only her, without anything else between them except her perfect body, but maybe a family would have provided a stronger bond. Given them something to hang on to other than Geneva’s beauty. It had been her lifelong curse. And it was all she had.

“He’s also a gynecologist,” Nora said. “But he can refer you to the right person if you’d like Botox injections, for example.” Nora composed her face into a serene expression. “They were the best thing I’ve ever done. I’d send you to the man I used, but he just retired.”

Geneva stared at her, then down at the card. Nora fished in her bag for another, handing it to Geneva with a flourish. “This might come in handy, too.”

Geneva read the name. “‘Heath Moran.’”

“I belong to this club where he works. He’s absolutely marvelous, and quite easy on the eyes,” she added. “Not that I think you need some fine-tuning, but if you’re really concerned about a fitness program, join the club and get a personal trainer. Heath is just the man.”

“I hadn’t thought about a trainer…”

But whatever worked, Geneva decided. She had to do something. Why would Earl remain interested in a woman who didn’t look her best, who had moped around all morning wondering how to fix their life together? Only a day or two ago she had been so excited about redoing her home. With a little pick-me-up she soon would be again.

Nora’s sketches were lovely, and she had tried to be of help about Earl, but she would have to wait while Geneva reconsidered her decision. She wasn’t in the mood to make one now.

“I don’t see what else you can do, Ma,” Savannah Pride said with a worried frown. Her mother was pacing the kitchen. “You’ll have to wait. The rest is up to Geneva Whitehouse.”

“I can’t believe how I messed things up. You should have heard me, Savannah, babbling on and on, putting my foot deeper in my mouth with every word. I said all the wrong things. Wait? I probably won’t ever hear from Geneva Whitehouse again. And I’m not a person who likes to sit on her hands.”

“Well, this time you’ll have to. You tried to help,” Savannah added. “There’s nothing more you can do.” In the condo she now shared with Johnny—wonder of wonders, he had finally committed to the relationship she had known was destined from the start—she poured Nora a glass of wine and then opened a sparkling water for herself. “I know how hard it can be to find the right words.”

She shot another look at the kitchen clock, wishing Johnny would get home. Earlier, Savannah had entertained her best friend, Kit, and her four-year-old son, Tyler, both of whom Savannah adored, but they’d gone home. She needed reinforcements before either she or Nora went into extreme breakdown mode. Better to concentrate on her mother’s problems than her own.

“I hope Geneva’s fears are groundless,” Nora said. “But you know how I feel about that man. I wouldn’t trust Earl Whitehouse as far as I can see him. Thank goodness I didn’t blurt out my experience with him.”

“Thank goodness you didn’t,” Savannah agreed.

Nora sipped at her wine. “And speaking of marriage,” she suddenly said, “what on earth are we going to do about your wedding?”

“Do?” Savannah repeated blankly. She didn’t care to have her relationship with Johnny mentioned in the same breath as Earl Whitehouse. She crossed her fingers behind her back as if to ward off trouble.

“I don’t see being able to hold the ceremony until the middle of next year.” Nora ticked off the months. “It’s almost October now, which means a due date in April if my math is correct.”

“April Fool’s Day,” Savannah murmured, which had amused her and Johnny. This baby was the best gift she could give him, and vice versa. But the notion terrified her out of her remaining wits. A mother? A wife? All in the same half year? Sure, this was what Savannah had wanted with all her heart, but her first delight and surprise at the happy turn of events were gone, and she was feeling the slightest bit queasy tonight, not only from morning sickness, which, ironically, seemed to last all day.

There were definitely adjustments to be made, and Savannah admired her mother all over again. Nora charged ahead without the least bit of hesitation, but Savannah was indeed a late bloomer who wasn’t sure of her capabilities in the new roles she had admittedly chosen. Whether or not she felt qualified to handle this newest phase of her life, she was in it now.

If one thing was certain, Savannah had learned when her parents had split, it was that life perpetually changed, often in astonishing ways. It was up to her to manage this change. But what if she couldn’t?

She couldn’t tell Johnny how she felt. She had eased him into the notion that it was all right—and perfectly safe—to love her, that she would never break his heart, and that after his shaky start in the world of relationships, they could live happily for the rest of their lives. If she uttered one word of doubt, she feared he just might bolt. What if he felt trapped?

Savannah realized she hadn’t heard whatever her mother said.

“…when the baby arrives, we can replan the wedding.”

Panic flashed through Savannah’s uneasy middle. She laid a calming hand over her stomach. “Ma, there’s no reason to postpone the wedding. Everything’s on track at last, and the seamstress you hired can put some kind of inverted pleat in the front of my dress.”

Nora looked horrified. “Ruin a dress that cost half the earth? I think not.”

“You’re worried about how I look?” Savannah waved a dismissive hand. “If Demi Moore could pose with her naked, pregnant belly for some magazine, and every other celebrity on the planet has taken up an attitude of ‘let it all hang out,’ I don’t see why not. At least I’ll be fully clothed. It won’t be ruined, Ma. I want to get married now.”

Nora studied her face. Savannah’s words had come out—been blurted, really—much faster than she intended. They sounded desperate. She didn’t want to lose Johnny.

“Angel, is there something you haven’t told me?”

Savannah didn’t meet her eyes. “Could we not talk about this right now? The clam chowder I ate for lunch is threatening to take the reverse route in my digestive system.” She turned away from the look on Nora’s face. Another second, and her mother would be shoving saltine crackers down her throat. “Enough about me, Ma.” She looked at Nora. “Why is your face flushed? The wine? Or are you having a hot flash?”

“One,” Nora muttered. “Two at the most.”

To Savannah’s relief, the front door opened. But it wasn’t Johnny.

Savannah’s brother, Browning, strolled into the kitchen carrying a big bag from Kentucky Fried Chicken and wearing his usual What, me worry? grin. If he only knew…

“Hey. My two favorite girls. Thought I’d drop by for dinner before the football game tonight and—uh-oh,” he said, taking in both their faces. He dropped the bag on the counter, spun around and headed back the way he’d come. “Guess I’m outta here.”

Savannah caught him by the collar. “Oh, no you aren’t. This is a surprise, but I need fresh troops—and you’re it.” She poured the last of the wine into a glass, which only made him wrinkle his nose. Browning preferred beer. “You just missed Kit and Tyler.” When he groaned at her teasing, Savannah said, “Take Ma into the living room while I find some clean plates for dinner.”

It wasn’t long before Savannah heard Nora’s agitated voice from the other room. Obviously the subject of Detective Caine had come up.

Savannah unpacked their take-out dinner while her brother listened to Nora vent about the missing vase. When Savannah poked her head around the kitchen door to check on them, he was leaning back, arms spread across the back of the sofa with his grin still in place. It took a lot to ruffle Browning. He had nerves of steel.

“Let it go, Ma. You told the cop what you know—that you’re innocent. Forget him.”

“I should be that lucky. The vase is valuable, but even more so to Geneva, it’s an emotional loss. She won’t give up until it’s found. Neither, I’m sure, will Caine. Why expect less? This hasn’t been my week, angel.”

Savannah almost pitied her brother, stuck with two women who were trying to deal with their topsy-turvy lives. How could he understand? Browning had too many friends of the single male variety, all of whom tended to act like adolescent, hormone-driven boys half their age. Like Nora, she had nearly given up hope that Browning, at twenty-six, would mature—and find a good woman to marry so they wouldn’t have to worry about him.

Not that Browning actually needed care.

He had grown into an amazing man, tall and lean with muscle, yet almost rangy like her Grandfather Pride, but with his own father’s perfect bones and Wilson’s vibrant coloring. Long-lashed hazel eyes, dark hair. Why on earth didn’t some woman grab him?

Many had tried, Savannah knew.

Browning insisted he liked his bachelor state as much as he enjoyed his government job. His friends. His weekends at the beach with any available blonde, brunette or redhead who answered his come-here smile. He practiced a persuasive variation of it on Nora now. Savannah had her own opinion. Her friend Kit might have a few issues, but she could very well be a match for Browning. If only he thought so, too…

“Ma, sit down. You’re wearing a hole in Savannah’s carpet.” He patted the seat beside him. “Finish your wine and tell me the rest of your troubles.”

“Don’t encourage her, Browning.” Savannah ducked back into the kitchen and ran the garbage disposer, as if the noise might shut out their conversation. And her own fears.

When she came out with a tray full of cutlery and plates, Nora was gazing into her chardonnay as if the wine tasted like acid and might kill her at any moment.

“I can’t stop thinking about that detective or about Geneva. If you had seen her, Browning, just falling apart this afternoon… Not only did she lose something precious, now she’s worried about her marriage, too.”

“It wasn’t a pretty sight, I’m sure. Ah, here we are.” He glanced up, sounding relieved when Savannah set their dinner on the coffee table. Fighting a wave of nausea at the smells wafting from the cartons in front of her, Savannah plunked down on the carpet, cross-legged.

“That may not be a healthful position for the baby,” Nora cautioned.

“I’m not even showing, Ma. The baby only weighs an ounce.”

“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Browning snickered, not seeing Savannah’s alarmed expression. “Hey, look. The Colonel’s best chicken, extra-crispy, with mashed potatoes. It doesn’t get much better than this.”

Nora took one bite of coleslaw then set down her fork. “I have the impression Caine would see me behind bars.”

Browning snorted.

“If so, Johnny would bail you out,” Savannah said. “He’d call Wade Blessing in L.A. and get the name of the best shark attorney here in Florida. A whole dozen of them, if necessary, just like O.J.—”

“My thought exactly,” Nora said.

“—and all this will be an unpleasant memory,” Browning put in.

Nora smiled. “You’re a sweet boy. So is Johnny when he tries. And Savannah, you’re always a dear. You’ll make a good mother, a fine wife—if that’s what’s bothering you.”

Savannah nearly choked on her potatoes. Her mother knew her too well. “Whatever happens, Ma, we’ll all stand by you.” And you’ll stand by me. She’d always known that. “Are you feeling bad, too, about Dad’s wedding invitation?”

“Of course not. I told you, I’ve put that behind me.”

“Then he did invite you?” Savannah asked.

“Well, yes. I thought it was a little strange, but then we have made our peace in recent months.” Nora blinked. “Thank you, angels. Family and friends are everything.”

Savannah reached out a hand to her.

“Ma, you’re not going to cry, are you? You’ve been our Rock of Gibraltar, the one who fixes things and helps us.”

“I wonder if I can fix them now.” Nora threw down her napkin. “How could he possibly think I’m guilty of stealing a vase?”

“Caine has to consider everyone who had contact with Geneva or was in her home,” Browning said around a mouthful of chicken. “But you’ll see. Tomorrow he’ll come crawling. And apologize.”

Nora was in her office the next afternoon, still pondering the welcome support she’d received from her children, not only about Caine but Wilson, too, when she realized that Geneva Whitehouse was in the reception area.

Maybe she’d come to return Nora’s portfolio, which she’d left behind yesterday.

Daisy left her place, and her nap, on the carpet to pad into the other room, her tail not quite wagging but definitely interested. This was the first sign that Daisy might be willing to acknowledge Nora again after the dog’s trip to the vet’s for her dental cleaning. When Nora had picked her up the night before, after leaving Savannah and Johnny’s condo, Daisy had pointedly ignored her.

Now Nora’s eyebrows arched.

“Please send her in,” she told Daisy. Nora rose from her chair and went around her glass-topped desk to grasp Geneva’s hand. She felt much warmer today. “How nice to see you again so soon. You’re looking better.”

“I called Mark Fingerhut,” Geneva reported. “I’ll see him tomorrow. But that’s not why I came.” She took the chair Nora indicated in front of the desk, and Nora resumed her place behind it, sensing that the unexpected visit was of importance. “I’ve decided Earl does look as if he’s been working too hard and my adding to the pressure he must feel by making waves wouldn’t be good for our marriage. I can’t thank you enough for listening to me yesterday. I’m sorry I fell apart.”

“I’m a woman, too, Geneva. What do we have if we can’t help each other?”

Geneva smiled. She wore stunning off-white pants with a cream-colored jacket, topped by a filmy scarf in shades of rust, gold and a muted beige. Her handbag was Louis Vuitton, her shoes Ricardo Ricci. Her hair and makeup looked flawless again. It was like looking at a different person from yesterday, one who had her act together.

Geneva said, “I think we can help each other with the design for my house after all. I may have been hasty about hiring Starr and I have another idea.”

Nora’s heart began to thump. Say it. Choose me.

With a slowness that made Nora’s pulse triple in anticipation, Geneva handed over her portfolio and then drew a pair of sketches from her own bag. She laid them on Nora’s desk. She glanced at Nora with an expectant expression.

“Well? What do you think?”

Nora studied her own design for the breakfast room, a cheerful study in clubby rattan chairs, a round glass table, and swatches of impressionistic color—deep blue, pink, and yellow—in the cushion fabric. Then she saw the other sketch.

The home office design, which wasn’t hers, had a pleasing look, she had to admit, with a light pickled oak for the computer desk and cabinets, a rich hunter green for the carpet, paint for the walls in a soft, neutral taupe that lent a restful air. The chairs were scattered with sunny yellow throw pillows.

“Very nice. But I don’t understand,” she began with a sense of dread.

“You and Starr.” Geneva sounded as if the combination was obvious. “When I studied the sketches you brought yesterday, then looked again at Starr’s—” she indicated the pair of drawings “—I knew I wanted you both to do my house.”

“You heard us, Geneva. We’re hardly friends.”

“Nora, I can’t decide between you. I like some of your drawings, others of Starr’s. I haven’t talked to her yet, but when you both see which I’ve chosen for all of the rooms, you’ll see that they complement each other perfectly. I know I’m going to be very happy with the joint result.”

“But—but—” Nora stammered. She couldn’t imagine anything worse. Except being a suspect in the burglary at Geneva’s home.

Geneva beamed. “I can’t wait to get started. This has already given me a fresh lease on life.” She paused. “I’m sure Earl will love it, too.”

Wow, Nora thought. Yesterday Geneva had been a full-blown basket case.

“I really don’t think…” Nora tried, already seeing Starr’s face in her mind.

“The customer is always right. Is there any reason why this can’t work?”

The question sent Nora’s stomach into free fall toward her shoes.

Only because we might kill each other.