Absolutely, Positively (29 page)

“Preston, breathe!”

She sucked in a lungful of air but didn’t take her eyes off the crowd.

“He’s not out there,” I said.

“How do you know? Did you search the whole crowd?”

“Preston, have a seat. I want you to meet someone, a friend of mine.”

Her gaze flashed between me and the man on the bench. She held up her hands. “Whoa, I don’t have any extra cash, so don’t think I’m giving any away. I work hard, you know.”

“Sit, Preston. Please.”

“You know, Lucy, you should have called me about what happened with Rick Hayes. I missed a huge scoop. The protests were just about over by then. My boss is hopping mad and my front-page story went to the sportswriter.”

“I might have a bigger scoop for you.”

Interested, she motioned for me to scoot over. I made room for her.

“Like what?” she asked.

The man looked helplessly at us.

“First, introductions,” I said.

Preston sighed. She stuck out her hand. “Preston Bailey.”

The man looked at me, then held out his hand. “Mac Gladstone.”

In the distance I saw a coppery-colored blob chasing pigeons while someone tugged helplessly on his leash. Rufus was taking Christa Hayes for a walk. And he was, in fact, having a blast.

Preston fell off the bench.

I looked down at her. “Mac and I were just discussing that it was time to go home. Right, Mac?”

“Yes, it’s time. This was my last hurrah.”

Suz walked over and looked at Preston on the ground as if it were a common occurrence. “Only sixty dollars. How am I going to save a down payment on a house with sixty dollars?”

Mac stood up and handed her his trash bag. “This might help.”

“Uh,” she threw me a help-me look, “thanks?”

Preston was still stunned. The rapid-fire questions would come as soon as the shock wore off.

“You might want to open it,” I said to Suz.

Holding it at arm’s length, she said, “I think I’ll pass.”

“I’ll open it!” Preston lunged.

“What’s going on?” Suz held it out of Preston’s reach. “What’s in here that’s so exciting?” She untied the plastic strings and looked inside. The color drained from her face. “Oh. My. God.”

“There should be about five thousand in there, give or take a bit,” Mac said. “The last of my stash. Is that enough for a down payment?”

Suz stumbled over her words. “What? I mean who?
Why?
”

“Because you cared enough about a homeless man to give him money.”

Suz winced. “I can’t keep this. I only gave you that money because Lucy made me feel guilty.” Reluctantly she held the bag out.

He pushed it back toward her. “But you still gave it. And any friend of Lucy’s is a friend of mine.”

“I’m a friend of Lucy’s,” Preston chirped.

Mac laughed, then sobered. “Yeah, but you stole my hat. She,” he motioned to Suz, “didn’t steal my hat.” Mac took a small silver whistle from his pocket and blew into it.

Rufus suddenly stopped chasing pigeons and headed our way. Christa chased him. He barked happily as he reached us. His tail wagged as he sniffed and licked in greeting. Christa hung back until Mac motioned her near. He put his arms around her shoulder. “We’re going home, kid.”

Mac, Christa, and Rufus walked ahead of us. They were going to gather Mac’s things from his new hotel room and head back to see Jemima.

I was impressed Preston didn’t ask if she could join them because I had a feeling Jemima wouldn’t have welcomed the media. There was time enough for questions, for answers, for figuring out the whys and hows.

Suz walked next to me, hugging her trash bag. Preston glanced over at her and pouted. I put my arm around her. “Look on the bright side.”

“What? The scoop?” She smiled halfheartedly. “I guess it
is
a good scoop. It’s not a five-thousand-dollar scoop, though.”

“Not that scoop. I have another one. A huge one. The biggest of your career, Preston. National—no, international headlines.”

Her steps faltered. Her lip quivered. “What is it?”

I motioned to a bench, and we sat. I looked her straight in the eye. “There’s a condition.”

Her jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

I wasn’t. At all.

“What kind of condition?”

“I want you to stop looking into my family’s past. Stop trying to figure us out. Let it be.”

“But—”

I cut her off. “And I want a promise that if you ever do learn anything about us you won’t write about it. That you’ll keep our secrets—all of them—safely tucked into your heart, just as my family as tucked you into theirs.”

Tears swam in her bright blue eyes. “That, Lucy Valentine, is better than any old scoop.”

I smiled. “So you don’t want to know what it is?”

“Are you kidding?” She bounced with excitement. “Spill! And while we’re at it, can I get a company credit card, too?”

“Now you’re pushing it.”

We linked arms as we walked back to the office. If I planned everything just right, Tristan Rourke could get a fresh start, Mac’s paintings would be recovered, my father would get a little life lesson, and Preston Bailey, roving reporter, would get the scoop of a lifetime and I could stop worrying about her so much.

All I had to do was see a woman about some laundry.…

33

Later that afternoon, Maureen Rourke opened the door with a smile on her face. It didn’t fade when she recognized me. “Lucy Valentine. Yours be a name I’m hearing a lot these days. We owe you a debt of gratitude, we do.”

“Not at all.” I glanced at the street. The black Ford with tinted windows sat idling a few houses down. “Come for a walk with me?”

She looked between me and the car and said, “Let me get my coat.”

We headed in the opposite direction of the car. The curtain in an upstairs window of the house next door to Maureen’s fluttered. It was a three-story house, gray with black trim. The basement had a secret trapdoor leading to an underground hideaway.

“Has Tristan been living next door to you all this time?” I asked.

She didn’t bother denying it. “There’s a secret tunnel that runs between the houses.”

I stopped, looked at her. “I think we both know the FBI won’t leave him alone until he’s proven innocent of those art thefts. And we both know he’s guilty.”

Her eyebrows shot up.

“But here’s the thing,” I said. “If all that artwork in Tristan’s basement is found, oh, say, in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town … Tristan might just have a chance at a normal life. The life he’s always wanted.”

“I’m listening,” she said.

So I told her my plan.

*   *   *

A week later, a rubber chicken flew through the air. Rufus chased it, Thoreau nipping at his tail.

Dinner was cooking and there were a lot of people gathered to celebrate my parents being back together. I admit to some doubts they’d still be together come tonight, but they proved me wrong. And then they surprised me by accepting Jemima Hayes’s request to hold the shindig at Mac’s house.

The front windows were still boarded up, but the rear of the house—where the party was being held—was as beautiful as ever.

I watched Christa’s face as she sat on the couch between Dovie and Mac and flipped through the album Dovie had put together for her. Inside were dozens of old photos of Betty Gladstone that Dovie had rounded up from her collection of pictures and from friends as well. There seemed to be a story with every photo. Pipe tobacco scented the air as Mac puffed away. No one dared tell a dying man that smoking was bad for him.

Across the room, Rufus dropped a drool-covered chicken in Sean’s lap for him to throw again. He obliged.

I stood off to the side and watched as Maggie, Mum, Jemima, and Suz (Teddy was working) shared the kitchen, laughing and chatting as they put dinner together. My father and Raphael sat on the stainless-steel Fritos, heckling.

Cutter looked at me from his spot on the hearth. I raised my glass to him in a silent toast. He had Preston on one side and Marisol on the other. Cutter smiled. He loved every second of the attention—maybe he wasn’t so different from Dad after all.

I jumped when Raphael appeared by my side. “Sorry, Uva, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I was lost in thought.”

“Good thoughts or bad?”

I sipped my wine, glanced at Cutter. “Good.”

Raphael followed my gaze. “Ah. It’s good to have him here. Did you warn him about Preston?”

“I did, but I don’t think we need to worry about her trying to dig up our secrets anymore.”

“She’s making quite a name for herself.”

“Yes.” Two of her stories—one on Mac’s disappearing act and stint as the Lone Ranger and one about a raid on a Nashua, New Hampshire, warehouse where millions of dollars of priceless art pieces were recovered—had been picked up by the Associated Press. And she was currently working with Tristan and Meaghan on an article about the launch of their Clean Start Foundation, whose mission was, among other things, to revitalize impoverished neighborhoods and mentor foster children. I’d just received an invitation to their wedding, which was three weeks away. They weren’t wasting any time.

“Has Dad forgiven me yet?” I asked.

His Vermeer and Gandolfi had been in that warehouse and were now back with their rightful owners. It had taken me quite a while to convince him it was the right thing to do. He still wasn’t totally buying it.

“No.”

“He will.”

“Undoubtedly.”

When Mac’s paintings had been recovered, Mac had bought them back from the Mayhew, and both were now hanging above the fireplace. Jemima carried a platter of appetizers into the living room. She patted Christa’s head as she passed and gave her father a kiss on his cheek. Rick was due back in court next week. Jemima had been right about his star rising in the wake of the shooting. I couldn’t turn on the television without hearing his name.

Mac had admitted he left in a last-ditch effort to show Jemima what was truly important in life and that it wasn’t too late to turn things around. By the glow on Jemima’s cheeks, she had taken the lesson to heart. Mac had, too. He started chemotherapy in two days.

“Any news on those librarians?” Raphael asked.

“Not a peep. They could be anywhere by now.”

“Could you find them?”

“Maybe. Depends on what they took with them.”

He eyed me carefully. “Do you want to find them?”

I patted his cheek. “I think you know the answer to that.”

He kissed my forehead and went to help set the table.

“I’ve been spurned,” Sean said, standing next to me. He motioned to Rufus.

Rufus had switched allegiance and dropped the rubber chicken in Dovie’s lap. She gave him lots of attention before she tossed the chicken again. He charged after it. I caught the look she shared with Mac over Christa’s head. It was full of affection.

My father came over and clapped Sean on the back. “Did you tell Lucy the good news?”

“What news?” I asked.

Sean said, “I haven’t had a chance yet.”

“What news?” I asked again, looking between the two of them.

“Even though I had a new security system installed, I’m not fond of my penthouse sitting empty. I knew Sean was looking for an apartment, so I offered him my place, rent free.”

“And he said?” I prompted.

“I move in next Monday,” Sean said. “I’ll be living in Raphael’s old quarters.”

“Isn’t that great news?” my father asked.

I drained my wine. “Wonderful.”

“It is; it is,” my father said. “By the way, Lucy Juliet, do you know why I would have received a complimentary fedora from Dominic Pagano with a note expressing his apologies if he offended you and your dear friend?”

“Maybe.”

My father grinned. “He’s a creepy little man, isn’t he?”

I laughed. “The creepiest.”

After my father wandered off, Sean said, “Are you really okay with me living at your father’s place?”

I smiled at him. “As long as you don’t ever expect me to sit on the couch in the living room.”

“I’m sure it will be short-term. Just until…”

Right. The fear. “I know.”

“Did you tell my father about Thoreau’s leaking issues?”

Sean grinned. “No.”

“Then you may be evicted sooner than you think.”

“I think I’ll bring him to work with me more often. Marisol said it was probably separation anxiety causing his issues.”

“You think Grendel taught him?”

“Definitely. Your cat is a bad influence.” Sean nudged me with his elbow. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

I really didn’t. I finally understood the saying “home is where the heart is.” It didn’t matter where he lived. Wherever he was would always feel like home. “I’m sure.”

Cutter headed our way. “I need a drink. I think I just agreed to adopt a cat from Marisol, and I think I have a date with Preston next week to see the Rembrandt exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts. If this keeps up, Dad will have me making matches within the month.” He strode off toward the wet bar.

Dad.
I smiled. Maybe they would figure things out on their own after all.

“I thought Preston made a promise to you.…”

“She did.”

“Then why the date?”

I looked at her. She was staring after Cutter. “I think she likes him.”

“Ah.” Sean laughed. “The way things work out sometimes.”

“I wish Em were here. She’d love this.” She and Aiden had extended their vacations a few days and weren’t due back till the middle of the week.

“As much as you’d love being where she is?”

“Not
that
much. I mean, she is in Hawaii, after all. But I do miss her.”

There was a twinkle in Sean’s eye. “Do you want to go visit her?”

“What are you talking about?”

He slid two plane tickets from his coat pocket. “A flight leaves tomorrow. Do you want to be on it?”

My heart jumped for joy. “Just try and stop me.”

“Why would I do that?” he asked. “You see, I had this vision.…”

“You did not.”

“It was clear as day. Let’s just say there was a private hula dance involved.”

I punched his arm. “I liked my vision better.”