Part 16 (2/2)

In spite of the buckle and the boots, Fred seemed rather sensible. And if Duane was out of town more than he was in, Poppy would have a chance to think. After all, womanizing was one thing, but the fact that she'd considered her husband capable of blackmail was quite another. Besides, wouldn't a long-distance marriage be easier to manage than a troublesome, costly divorce? In the interim, maybe Duane would change?

She asked the men to please sit, then she made herself comfortable in the tall wing chair next to her brother-in-law. ”Tell me your plans,” she said, folding her hands neatly in her lap. ”Maybe we could work out the travel arrangements.”

”There are other arrangements we need to talk about, too,” Fred said.

”He's talking about capital expenses,” Duane said. ”Start-up funds. You know.”

She supposed she'd asked for that. She supposed he would have expected her to be naive, to never imagine that the whole plan was contingent upon her money. The comfort she'd felt took a decided turn, as Momma would say.

”Really?” she asked, aware of the chill that had crept into her tone. ”How much do you need?”

”Only five hundred thousand,” Duane's brother replied. ”Half a million ought to do it.”

Twenty-eight.

Alice stopped at the deli on her way home and picked up Neal's favorite for dinner. Since the kids had been out of the house and Neal was often late getting home, she'd seen little point in retaining a cook. For the nights they didn't dine out, she kept the refrigerator stocked with prepared things from Whole Foods. But when she was taking Kiley Kate out of town, she made sure to prepare a special meal. Tonight her guilt was called lamb chops.

She rinsed off fresh mint leaves and patted them dry. After three calls from Kiley Kate-should she wear the pink ribbons to match the pink sequins, would there be time for Sea World, should she bring the mousse to give her more curls, or the gel to straighten them out?-Alice went upstairs to shower and pack. By the time Neal came home, she'd be calm and collected, perhaps even cool. Maybe they'd even make love tonight. She was pretty sure it had been a long time.

Poppy knew she had to go to the police. She retreated to the bedroom after the revelation that Duane's brother was on the hunt for a half million dollars. She locked the door and tried taking a nap, but she couldn't keep her eyes closed. Instead, she soaked in the Jacuzzi for over an hour with only one thought: Do they think I'm stupid?

She reminded herself that Duane and his brother didn't know that she knew about Elinor and the panties and the ransom for the exact same amount. She reminded herself that the one consolation might be that they'd chosen to blackmail her friend instead of her. Clever Duane wouldn't want to upset his cash cow, whom, he probably figured, he could keep milking until death did they part.

Why had she ever trusted him?

When the water turned cold, Poppy s.h.i.+vered again. She got out of the tub, wrapped a thick robe around her, and went back to the bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed by her nightstand. Then she opened the drawer and took out the picture of her father and her on the front porch swing. She remembered the creak of the old wooden slats that hung from the long metal chains. She remembered the scent of her father's pipe tobacco, the crinkle of the starch in his s.h.i.+rt, the warmth of his arm that encircled her. She remembered those things, and that she was loved. Her wonderful father, the only man who'd ever looked out for her, who'd ever looked out for Momma.

She held the picture to her chest and stayed very still, too sad to cry, too lonely to even bother with self-pity.

After a while, Poppy was ready.

She dressed in a cream-colored sundress and added a pretty pale orange shawl that CJ had painted and Poppy had insisted on buying when CJ had first been starting out on her own. Though she'd always considered Elinor and CJ just like her, Poppy knew that they hadn't been raised with the same financial perks. As much of a town leader as Mr. Harding had been, he'd still been a schoolmaster, with not much of a financial legacy. Unlike Elinor, CJ had not married smartly, and when that had ended...

But why was Poppy thinking about that now, as she stood in the mirror adjusting the shawl?

With a small sigh, she picked up the Miu Miu, which held clean underthings, a skirt and a top, and other essentials she'd need overnight. She double-checked to be sure she'd put Manny's card in the small zippered pocket. She'd call him from the car. Once she'd done that, Poppy knew she couldn't go home again until Duane and his brother were gone.

Elinor did not want to order room service for dinner. She'd been closed in on the plane, stuffed into a taxi, and sitting in her hotel room for two hours. Elinor detested being alone. She blamed CJ for that; she hadn't, after all, even been alone in the womb. For some reason, CJ never minded solitude. Another way that the twins weren't exactly identical.

Elinor marched into the open-air dining room and asked for a table for one.

”In the front,” she requested. That way she could gaze at the people strolling on the sidewalk and maybe not feel as alone.

She ordered a dirty martini (not for its taste, but because she'd recently read that olive juice was good for the skin) and a pineapple shrimp dish. She turned her attention to the happy tour ists in their plastic sandals and hibiscus-print s.h.i.+rts, with their digital cameras dangling from their necks. Halfway through her martini, Elinor realized she was being watched, too.

CJ decided that reading would be a good distraction from all the nonsense created by her sister. She brought the cordless to the guest room at the top of the back stairs and went into the bedroom that she'd thought was too small. She changed into old sweats and a T-s.h.i.+rt, then sat in the wing chair with her feet on the footstool in order to avoid dozing again. She opened the book and began to read.

An hour or so later she got into bed and napped after all.

She woke up-no dreams this time-and realized the light in the room had changed from late afternoon to pale dusk. As enticing as it might seem, she decided she couldn't very well stay in bed until Elinor came home on Friday.

She could make dinner. Yes, that's what she'd do.

She'd make something elaborate that would take a long time.

She'd pour a small gla.s.s of wine and sip while she was cooking.

She'd turn on the news like a civilized American.

She'd call Kevin to check up on Luna.

Maybe she'd call Elinor to see if her cell worked.

Yes, there was plenty to do so she wouldn't be tempted to return to Malcolm's room, to Malcolm's bed.

Running her hand through her knotted hair, CJ grabbed the cordless and trundled downstairs. She scooted into the kitchen and halted abruptly.

There, at the sink, stood Malcolm.

Twenty-nine.

”CJ?”

”Mac?” She hated that she'd called him Mac and not Malcolm. She hadn't called him Mac to his face since, well, since then.

He laughed a small laugh. ”Fancy meeting you here. In my kitchen.”

”I...I was upstairs. Asleep.” She wanted to comb her hair the right way. She wanted to brush her teeth. She wanted to put on the things she'd left behind . . the batik with the matching shrug, the capris, the cropped top. She wanted to thank G.o.d that as soon as she'd gone to Elinor's bedroom to try on the housekeeper's dress, she'd ducked into Mac's room, straightened the comforter, closed the door.

”Is Elinor here?” He never referred to E as his wife, not to CJ anyway.

CJ shook her head. ”She had a crisis with the dress for the party. Her seamstress is in Philadelphia.”

He raised an eyebrow. ”Philadelphia?”

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