Читать книгу Her Husband-To-Be - Leigh Michaels, Leigh Michaels - Страница 6

CHAPTER ONE

HE DIDN’T often come to the Willows anymore, so Danielle was startled when she looked up from the maître d’s stand, flashing the smile with which she greeted every customer, and saw him just inside the door. Her heart jolted as if she’d had a close encounter with a defibrillator.

With surprise, she thought Definitely not with pleasure.

She had to admit, though, that Deke Oliver was as easy on the eyes as he’d ever been. Tall and straight and lean, his almost black hair as perfectly cut as his herringbone jacket, his face as perfectly chiseled as a Roman statue...

It was just too bad the man inside didn’t match up with the glorious exterior. If he had—well, then Deke Oliver would really have been something.

“Hello, Danielle,” he said. “A table for two, please.”

His voice was like hot fudge sauce sliding over vanilla ice cream, slow and rich and sensual. Once, Danielle had thought it was the sexiest thing she’d ever heard. Now she knew it was just part of the man’s stock-in-trade. In Deke’s profession, a voice that invited women to swoon over him must come in handy.

With just a hint of amusement, he added, “At least I presume the restaurant’s accepting business, since you’re standing here?”

Danielle wondered what he’d do if she shook her head sadly and announced that since he hadn’t made a reservation she really couldn’t find him a table.

He’d probably barge past me into the dining room, she reflected, and take his choice.

“Of course we’re open.” Danielle smiled sweetly up at him and admitted, “I wasn’t ignoring you, Deke. It’s just that I was racking my brain trying to recall which is your favorite table. You’ll have to forgive me for letting it slip my mind.”

The woman at Deke’s side giggled a little. “Surely it hasn’t been that long since you’ve been out for lunch, Deke.”

For the first time since they’d come in, Danielle looked directly at the woman. She’d never seen so much bleached-blond hair outside of a shampoo commercial. “Hello, Norah. I’d heard you were home.” Waiting out a divorce, the gossips said—but it would hardly be tactful to mention that. Danielle reached for a pair of menus and led the way into the main dining room.

The lunch rush was just getting under way, and since the restaurant wasn’t yet busy, several good tables stood vacant. She hesitated for no more than a second before turning toward a secluded corner.

The table we used to share, Danielle thought. But it was also the best one available at the moment, a fact that had far more impact on her decision than unpleasant history did.

“I see it hasn’t slipped far from your mind after all,” Deke said gently as he held his guest’s chair.

And if I’d taken him to another table, Danielle thought irritably, he’d have no doubt said something about my wanting to protect my memories! She didn’t bother to answer, just handed each of them a menu.

Norah didn’t even glance at hers, but laid it aside and leaned toward Deke. Her voice was low and throaty. “I’m sure I’ll like whatever you order for yourself.”

Danielle signaled a waitress and went back to the foyer. With any luck I can stay out of hearing range, she told herself. Which was more than she could say about Norah’s perfume; there was no avoiding the scented trail she’d left.

At the register, a small redhead was counting the contents of the cash drawer. She looked up from the stack of bills she was thumbing through and raised an eyebrow. “What are you growling about, Danny?”

“The weather.”

Pam Lanning stuffed the bundle of bills into a bank bag “But it’s beautiful. The sun’s shining, the breeze is warm, and if we didn’t both have to work...” Her voice softened. “It’s Deke Oliver again, isn’t it? The office door was half-closed, but I thought I heard his voice out here ”

“If I was in a bad mood—and please notice that I’m not admitting I am—it would take more than Deke Oliver to put me there. He’s ancient history, Pam. It’s been—what, a year now?”

“Not quite, and I’d bet that you could tell me almost to the hour if you wanted to. Besides, the reason I think he’s still important to you is that there’s been nobody else since.”

“Of course there has. I’ve dated—”

“Once in a while, and no more than a couple of times each.”

“Well, you have to admit the choice around Elmwood has gotten a little thin.”

“Of course I admit it Why do you think I imported Greg? Nobody’s saying you should get married, Danielle.”

“On the contrary. Everyone’s saying it. You know what the gossips are like in this town.” Danielle’s tone was matter-of-fact. “Another year and they’ll start whispering about what’s wrong with me.”

Pam went straight on as if she hadn’t been interrupted. “But you don’t even have a social life.”

“Of course I do. I’m coming to your party this weekend.”

“You’d enjoy it a whole lot more if you weren’t coming alone.”

“It’s going to be such a boring party I’ll need extra entertainment? Now you tell me.”

“Stop changing the subject, Danny. Where’s the harm in going out with someone for a movie now and then?”

“The harm comes when they don’t want to keep it casual and you do—and you keep running into them over lunch.” Danielle picked up a stack of menus and tapped them against the counter till the pile was straight and square.

“Like Deke Oliver.”

“Are you back to him again? As a matter of fact, that wasn’t who I meant”

“Then who? You mean Kevin hasn’t given up yet?”

“Almost, I think.” The front door opened, and in relief Danielle turned to greet the newcomers.

“Well, it’s about time,” Pam mused. “Of course, showing guys the door is getting to be a habit, Danny. You never have told me exactly why you broke up with Deke.”

And I was hoping you wouldn’t notice that, Danielle thought. She smiled at the Goodwins, who were among her favorite customers, and led them toward their usual table in the solarium. Half of her felt guilty for simply walking off instead of answering Pam, even though it was her job and not rudeness that took her away. The other half, Danielle admitted, felt guilty for not telling the truth about Deke. Yes, she’d been the one who’d officially called a halt to what most of Elmwood had expected would soon be an engagement, followed closely by a wedding. But in fact—

“I was really surprised to see it,” Mrs. Goodwin was saying as Danielle handed her a menu. “I thought they were doing very well.” She shook out her napkin and looked up expectantly at Danielle. “And with the strawberry festival coming up and everything...”

Danielle was startled. You ought to know better than to let your mind wander, she scolded herself. What on earth was the woman talking about?

Mr. Goodwin said gruffly, “Always did think it was a silly idea Begging your pardon, of course, Danielle—but Elmwood’s not big enough to support a fancy hotel. The new motels are one thing, but this—”

“It’s not a hotel, George. It’s a bed-and-breakfast.” Mrs. Goodwin tipped her head to one side like an inquisitive robin and peered up at Danielle. “You didn’t know, then, that there’s a Closed sign in front of the Merry Widow?”

Apprehension tingled through Danielle’s veins. That was silly, she told herself. The Merry Widow wasn’t her concern anymore. “Perhaps the Jablonskis are taking a little vacation.”

“Right before a holiday weekend?” Mrs. Goodwin scoffed. “And leaving a sign out front telling everyone they’re gone? Elmwood may be an old-fashioned town, but most folks are smart enough not to hang out an invitation to thieves nevertheless ”

Danielle couldn’t argue with that. “Are you certain they’re gone? Maybe they just needed a couple of days’ break, so they pulled the shades and took the telephone off the hook.”

Mrs. Goodwin shook her head. “Didn’t look that way to me. All those silly figurines she kept on the front porch are gone.”

Danielle frowned. It didn’t seem likely that Kate Jablonski would have moved all her ceramics if she was only going away for a few days. But it was even less likely that the Merry Widow would have closed with no notice, no rumors... Not in Elmwood, she reflected, where nothing is too minor for gossip!

Pam was zipping the bank bag when Danielle returned to the maître d’s stand. “Anything you need from the bank?” she asked. “I noticed the register’s low on ones and fives, so I’ll drop those off before the dinner rush.”

Danielle shook her head. “I can’t think of anything else. Pam, would you drive past the Merry Widow on your way to the bank?”

“Sure. It’s the most direct route anyway. Why?”

“Because I want to know what the new sign out front says.”

Pam looked thoughtful. “You still aren’t over your infatuation with that house, are you?”

“Of course I am. It’s big and drafty and expensive and impossible—”

“And very, very romantic. If you’re not still in love with it, why should you care what kind of sign the Jablonskis put up? You don’t own it anymore.”

Technically, Pam was right. Danielle didn’t own it any more—not even the half that had once, very briefly, been hers. On the other hand... “Call it curiosity, all right? I just want to know.”

Pam dropped the bank bag and put both hands to her throat in mock horror. “Danny, please tell me you’re not turning into one of Elmwood’s old gossips!”

“Of course I am. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ’em, my mother always said. Now that I’m past twenty-five and there’s not a man in sight, what choice do I have but to start minding other people’s business?” Danielle burst into laughter. “Pam, if you could see your face—”

“It was your tone of voice that did it. You sounded every bit as self-righteous as Mrs. Hansen when she’s on a roll.” Pam grinned. “All right I started it, so I’ve got no one to blame but myself. You can knock it off now—I’ve got the message that I shouldn’t keep asking why you’re interested in the Merry Widow.”

“Then at least we’ve accomplished something,” Danielle murmured. She looked over her shoulder into the dining room to check that the large table in the center was ready, then went to greet the first of a group of businessmen coming in for their regular Thursday luncheon.

The busboy was just setting the last water glass into place as she showed the men to the table. Danielle ran an eye over the settings and gave the busboy an approving nod.

A high, tinkling laugh rang out from the corner table, and despite herself, Danielle turned to look. Norah had placed a hand on Deke’s sleeve and was leaning toward him with an expression of calculated worship. Danielle wondered if the woman really thought Deke Oliver was such an inexperienced fish that he’d succumb to that lure.

And she wondered if Deke knew about the Merry Widow. He had every bit as much reason to be interested as she did. After all, he had—once upon a time—owned half of it, too.

Not that she was going to stroll over and ask, of course, or share the bit of information she had. Long training had taught her never to interrupt a customer, and in this case she’d look as if she was trying to sidetrack Deke’s conference—or whatever it was—with Norah and focus his attention on herself It was hardly the impression she wanted to make.

Besides, Danielle had far more important things to do. The lunch rush had taken hold with a vengeance; three parties were waiting when she got back to the entrance, and from then on there wasn’t a chance to draw a long breath, much less think up explanations for the Jablonskis’ sign.

But the question nagged at the back of her mind nonetheless. The Merry Widow had opened as a bed-and-breakfast just eight months ago, and this should be the start of the busiest season. The Memorial Day holiday that marked the traditional opening of summer was this weekend, and it would be closely followed by the end of the school year, freeing families to travel. Elmwood’s strawberry festival, the most important civic event of the year, was next week.

The last time Kate Jablonski had been in the Willows she’d told Danielle that the Merry Widow’s reservation book was already full for festival time. Which indicated that wherever the Jablonskis had gone, they fully intended to be back in plenty of time to cash in on those reservations.

Didn’t it?

The rush ended as abruptly as it had begun. Danielle made change and small talk for a few of the businessmen who’d lingered over their coffee, waved goodbye to the busboy as he clocked out for the day, and took a couple of phoned reservations for the evening hours. Only a few scattered tables were still occupied; one of them was the corner where Deke and Norah sat.

Their waitress was frantic. “I took the check to the table twenty minutes ago, but they’re still just sitting there,” she told Danielle. “And I can’t wait any longer because I’ve got an appointment with my doctor. You know how hard it is—”

“To plan anything in this business. I know. Go on, Sally I’ll be here anyway.”

One by one the scattered tables emptied, and eventually Deke and Norah emerged from the dining room. “I had no idea of the time,” Norah was saying. She smiled up at Deke and patted his tie. “You just made me forget everything else, you charming man.”

Only the self-discipline born of her years of dealing with customers kept Danielle from rolling her eyes heavenward. She focused on Deke’s credit card instead, punching in the numbers and codes, wishing that he’d paid cash. Then she wouldn’t have to wait even thirty seconds for the computer to issue the necessary authorization; she could just give him his change and he’d be gone.

He leaned on the counter, eyeing the book she’d pushed aside. Danielle told herself it was silly to be sensitive about her choice of reading matter; if she wanted to read applied statistical methodology in her spare time, it was no one’s business but her own. A correspondence course wasn’t her first choice, but it was better than making no progress toward her degree. And someday, when her father’s health was enough better that she could go back to school, she’d be happy to have statistics out of the way.

Norah peered over the cash register at the book and shuddered. “Danielle here was always the brainy one. I never could understand things like that.” She slid her hand through the crook of Deke’s elbow. “I’m so lucky to have found you to help me with my investments.”

He signed the credit slip and pushed it back across the counter to Danielle. “I’ll certainly do my best to take good care of your money, Norah.”

Danielle wanted to laugh at the expression of blank surprise that flitted across Norah’s face. But a split second later, the blonde had recovered and looked as if she’d never been startled in her life.

They were the last customers to leave. Danielle tucked Sally’s tip into an envelope and wrote her name on it, then made a quick inspection of the dining rooms, almost entirely ready for the evening trade. She paused in the kitchen, where the cooks were already starting preparations for the dinner hour, to snatch a hard roll and a chunk of cheese, then locked the main door with a sigh of relief. In a little more than two hours, she’d have to be back, ready to take on the dinner crowd. But at least the next two hours were hers.

And there was no doubt about the first thing she wanted to do. The fact that Pam hadn’t called back to the Willows to report on the Merry Widow’s new sign had only increased Danielle’s curiosity.

The Willows lay on the outskirts of Elmwood, in the newer section, while the Merry Widow was only a stroll away from the restored Victorian square that had once been the main business district at the center of town. Now the square featured specialty shops and antique stores, popular draws with the sort of customer who liked staying in an elegant old Queen Anne bed-and-breakfast. The square and the house complemented each other like bagels and cream cheese; Danielle had thought so ever since the Jablonskis had first proposed the idea of a bed-and-breakfast.

Her little red car climbed an easy grade on which the Merry Widow sat as if holding her skirts up to keep from being contaminated by the surrounding commercial district. From the street, Danielle couldn’t see any new signs, just the one the Jablonskis had hung from the front porch when they opened for business.

But she could also see no life around the place. No Joe Jablonski puttering around the grounds doing maintenance chores. No guests, though the usual check-in time was approaching. Of course, it was the slowest part of the week. The weekend travelers wouldn’t start appearing till tomorrow, and most of the businessmen were already heading home for the holiday.

Danielle parked her car on the street and climbed the slope toward the front steps, pausing on the lawn to look up at the house towering above her. A classic Queen Anne, it displayed all the riotous imagination and Victorian excess of its kind—the architect hadn’t missed a trick. There were pillared porches on three sides and balconies in the most unexpected places. Arches and finials and curlicues had been splashed across the walls with a lavish hand. Even the chimneys were fantastic; each showed off a different, intricate brick pattern. The house had not only a round shingled tower but for good measure a shorter square one with a pointed roof, topped with a weather vane in the shape of a bell-skirted lady.

That, Danielle had once been told, was the tower that had given the house its name, when the first owner had tumbled off a ladder while inspecting the unfinished work and left his wife—so the story went—not only financially secure but much happier without him. There was even a variation of the tale that said the abused wife had given the ladder a push so she could marry her lover, and that the doomed home owner had flung curses as he fell, swearing that his house would never shelter a happy marriage.

Danielle had always dismissed the whole story as a romantic froth, one of those too-clever-to-be-believed urban legends. But it was certainly true that the Merry Widow had seen its share of marital discord, broken hearts, failed engagements and early deaths...

As if any hundred-year-old house hadn’t, Danielle reminded herself. This was no time to start feeling superstitious. And in any event, if the supposed curse on the Merry Widow had been what broke up her relationship with Deke, then the long-dead home owner had done her a major favor.

Not until she was actually on the porch did Danielle see the sign, and she wasted an instant wondering how on earth Mrs. Goodwin had spotted it. With binoculars, perhaps?

She forced herself to concentrate on the sign, a single sheet of paper taped to the frosted-glass panel in the front door. Compared to the neatly lettered announcement of check-in times that was posted just next to it, the sign looked crude. Each letter wavered, and the line of words had a decided downward slant.

Closed Till Further Notice

That was no help at all, Danielle thought. Nothing about where to reach the owners in case of emergency, nothing about why they’d gone. And there was something about the slapdash presentation of the sign that worried her. They’d obviously left in a hurry. And yet...

Mrs. Goodwin had been right—Kate’s ceramic figurines were gone from the wide, gingerbread-trimmed porch that extended across the whole front of the house, around the corners and well back on the sides. All around Danielle were faint reminders of the statues that had stood there, rings against the soft gray paint where dust had collected under their edges. There must have been twenty of them—and that many figurines would not have been quickly or easily moved.

So if the Jablonskis hadn’t left in a hurry, why hadn’t they made arrangements for someone to look after the bed-and-breakfast? Danielle didn’t think they had any family close by, but surely they had a friend who could step in for a few days....

“Not that it’s any of my affair,” she reminded herself. The Merry Widow is not my problem. Perhaps, she thought wryly, she should chart that sentence out on needlepoint canvas and turn it into a pillow, just as a reminder.

So why, since the house was not her concern, was she feeling the tingle of discomfort?

Slowly, she walked around the perimeter of the house, moving from porch to sidewalk and then to the porte cochere where she had always parked her car when she’d come to visit Miss Fischer. This was the door she’d always used, leading into the side hall of the house rather than the grand foyer....

A confusing mixture of emotions clutched at her heart. There was grief, of course; though it had been a year since Miss Fischer had died, Danielle still missed her fiercely. And sadness for the proud old woman who had been the last representative of one of Elmwood’s founding families. A touch of guilt that Miss Fischer’s well-meaning plans for the house she had so loved had come to nothing. A lingering trace of resentment that the woman had dumped such a burden on Danielle without even warning her of what was coming.

But incongruous as it seemed, there was a spark of gladness, too. If it hadn’t been for Miss Fischer and the Merry Widow, Danielle might not have realized in time what Deke Oliver really was. She might have gone straight ahead and fallen in love with the man she’d thought him—and in the long run, that would have hurt even worse.

Yes, she was lucky that things had turned out as they had. Pam seemed to think Deke haunted Danielle’s every waking moment—and in a sense she was right. He was always there, in the back corner of her mind, lurking. But not because she missed him. Not because she mourned for him. Not because she regretted their breakup.

It was because her judgment had been so badly off target. She’d been in real danger of tumbling headlong for Deke Oliver when Miss Fischer’s quirky legacy had brought the real man to the surface, and the shock had battered her even more than the loss of her friend.

Now she was afraid that it might happen again. If she’d been so wrong about one man, what was to keep her from misjudging another?

She didn’t hear the car in the driveway till it was almost under the porte cochere. The Jablonskis, back from whatever errand had taken them away? An unsuspecting guest, arriving on schedule? Since she didn’t relish getting involved in either scenario, Danielle stepped quickly around the corner of the house rather than be caught standing in the driveway. She caught just a flash of a dark green car as she made her escape; the driver might have had an equally brief glimpse of her but only if he or she was looking in precisely the right place.

Her hands in her pockets, Danielle continued her circuit of the house. She was halfway around now anyway, so she might as well check the other side on her way back to her car.

She strolled around the back porch, the most utilitarian feature of the house’s exterior, and started up the side, where French doors in the dining room looked out over a slate-paved patio where Miss Fischer had served mint tea on warm summer afternoons. But when she saw the patio, tucked into a sort of nook between the dining-room wall and the end of the front porch, Danielle stopped dead in her tracks.

Scattered over the dark gray paving stones were bits of broken plaster. Kate’s figurines, she thought as she stooped to pick up a fragment. It was the face of a shepherdess; Danielle remembered noticing that particular statue on one of the few visits she’d made to the Merry Widow after the Jablonskis had moved in.

She scuffed at the pieces with the toe of her shoe At first she’d thought the figurines had simply been heaved from the end of the porch onto the slate below, but none of the bits was larger than her hand and most had been reduced to little more than white dust—as if they’d been pounded to pieces by a hammer. And the moss that had lain undisturbed between the stones for decades was gouged in places as if the weapon that had shattered the figurines had slipped now and then. As if it had been wielded in fury and none too carefully.

And if Kate’s figurines had been smashed by a furious hand, Danielle thought numbly, what of Kate herself?

The sign on the front door had taken on a more sinister tone. “I don’t like the looks of this at all,” she muttered.

A deep, slow voice said from behind her, “It is rather a mess, isn’t it?”

Danielle jumped and spun around to face Deke, standing on the grass at the very edge of the patio. “What are you doing here?” she gasped. That was stupid, she told herself. Like you’ve got a right, and he doesn’t!

“Probably the same thing you are,” Deke said mildly. “Joe came by my apartment this morning to drop off a key, and—”

“Oh, it was nice of you to warn me before the gossips decided that Kate and Joe just walked out. If I’d known you were taking care of the place...” She paused. “Come to think of it, why are you taking care of the place? I didn’t realize you and the Jablonskis were pals.”

“We’re not. And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know it myself till half an hour ago. I was out with a client when Joe came by.”

“Of course,” Danielle said sweetly. “Dear Norah.”

“So he left the key with the shopkeeper downstairs, and I didn’t get the message till I came back after lunch. Joe said something about their marriage hitting the wall.”

“That explains it,” Danielle murmured. She bent and placed the shepherdess’s face gently on the slate.

“The Merry Widow claims another set of victims? I thought you didn’t believe in that nonsense.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “As a matter of fact, the gossips have it just about right. With a divorce pending, neither Joe nor Kate has any interest in the business. So they’re simply walking away from it.”

“Giving up?” Danielle was startled. “They’re sacrificing the work and the money they’ve put into it?”

Deke nodded. “And washing their hands of the whole deal.”

Danielle sighed. “Well, that’s a relief.”

“Oh, really? Then you can deal with the whole mess, since you’re so pleased.”

“I didn’t mean... I was only saying it’s a relief to know that I’m not going to find Kate in the basement with her head bludgeoned in. If he could do this to her figurines—”

“Who said he did?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Of course it’s not. It’s quite possible she did it herself. At least Joe had enough sense and self-control to let somebody know what was going on. Kate seems to have just vanished into the sunset. But why are we fussing over figurines when we have plenty of important things to argue about?”

“Like what? It’s not our prob...” She paused. “Oh.”

Deke nodded. “I see you haven’t quite forgotten the terms of the sale after all. Since we sold the Merry Widow to the Jablonskis with a private arrangement and financed it ourselves instead of making them get a mortgage from a bank—”

“You don’t need to rub it in. I remember perfectly well that the contract sale was my idea.”

Deke hesitated for a second as if he’d like to agree. Instead, he said coolly, “I wasn’t placing blame, only stating the facts.”

And my prissy Aunt Edna wears army boots, Danielle thought.

“It’s beside the point that if we had insisted on a mortgage instead of agreeing to the contract, we’d be free and clear right now and the bank would be deciding what to do with the Merry Widow. We didn’t, so here we are—stuck once more with the biggest white elephant in Elmwood.”

“It’s not a white elephant,” Danielle said automatically. “Just because it’s big and awkward and impractical and not in the best part of town these days doesn’t mean—”

“How else would you define ‘white elephant’, Danielle? But since you’re convinced of its value, I’ll tell you what—my share’s for sale, and I’ll give you a great price. But no more contract arrangements. It’s cash on the barrelhead this time.”

“You expect me to buy you out? Not likely. I don’t want this place any more than you do—and we all know what the probability is of you settling down and wanting a house near a school with room for a dozen kids.”

“I’m glad we’ve at least got that much straight this time around.”

Danielle gritted her teeth. She’d already said far too much. And slugging him wouldn’t do any good; she’d probably break her hand against that granite jaw.

Dammit, Miss Fischer, she thought, why did you have to go and create this mess? Why didn’t you take the easy way and just leave the place to the historical society?

She didn’t realize she’d actually spoken the thought until Deke answered. “Because they didn’t want it. Remember? We tried that route already.”

Danielle tried to will away the evidence of her embarrassment, but her cheeks stayed hot and her tongue felt fat and useless.

Deke tipped his head back and stared up at the peak of the tower, silhouetted against the brilliant afternoon sky. “This house is like a counterfeit bill, you know. Once in your possession, it’s tremendously hard to pass it on to someone else.”

Danielle bridled. “Fake twenties can be shredded and thrown away. Houses can’t.”

Deke looked as if he’d like to argue the matter. Danielle could almost see in his mind the image of bulldozers and wrecking cranes. Then he seemed to think better of it and said levelly, “The point is that once again, we own a house. You don’t want it, I don’t want it—as far as I can tell, nobody wants it. So what in the hell do we do with it now?”