In Love by Design (The Adventures of Anabel Axelrod) (17 page)

“Isn’t she th
at pig farmer’s wife?” With lowered brows, he asked suspiciously, “Just what kind of trouble could a pig farmer’s wife be in?”

“
Yeah, that’s her.” I smiled at his description of Pam’s husband because Carter would be livid at being referred to as a pig farmer, but shrugged at Luke’s second question. “I have no clue what’s wrong with Pam, but I’ve got a bad feeling.” I explained some of the family history, since Luke wasn’t from the area and didn’t know anyone’s background. “Her husband is Carter Ogelbachen II and the number one son in a big deal farming family. The Ogelbachen’s are Rice County royalty, at least in their own minds. He and Pam have been going out, on and off, since she was a junior in high school, but Carter’s much older. I think he graduated two years ahead of Mac, so that puts him around nine years older than all of us.”

Luke’s
snort of disgust said it all and I readily agreed, recalling my views at the time. “I know, pretty shocking, right? A twenty-five-year old man hitting on a girl barely sixteen has got some personal problems, no matter how you cut it. Heck, Pammie wasn’t even a mature sixteen. But try telling that to a girl that’s never had a boyfriend and has stars in her eyes
.
”

“It sounds like you don’t much like Car
ter,” Luke commented, his voice questioning.

“I didn’t in high school
based solely on the creeper principle. Somehow, Carter got away with seeing Pam without serving any jail time,” I grumbled, still pissed at the unfairness. “Chief Jack told me to mind my own business when I hinted he arrest CO2. Whereas, I got my ass in a sling the one time, one time mind you, that Jack caught me skipping school!”

Luke
laughed and repeated, “CO2?”  He said sardonically, “Let me guess; Pam’s parents didn’t complain because they liked this Carter for his personality and moral integrity?”

I acknowledge with a wicked grin,
“Carter hates it when I call him CO2.” Still feeling that tingly desire to rack my body, I put my arms overhead and arched my back, not able to stifle my yawn over my smirking reply, “Oh, I’m sure you’re right that it was Carter’s stellar reputation and had nothing to do with his zillions of acres or trillions of pigs. Pam’s parents are nice people, don’t get me wrong, but they’re in awe of the Ogelbachen money. Pam and Carter ended up getting married a couple of years ago, so I guess it’s all a moot point.” I stroked the velvet box in my hand and considered my friend’s husband. “To answer your question, it’s weird now that I think about it, but Carter’s been kind of a nonentity. My relationship has always been with Pam.” I shrugged. “Maybe it’s because I’m single, but we tend to do girl things on our own. I’d never marry the guy, but then again,” I smiled unabashedly, “I feel that way about all my friend’s husbands. If Pam’s happy being married to him, then I’m happy for her.”

On my mental list of problems, after
Luke and Mac, Pam was next. She’s definitely unhappy about something. As another of Anna’s bridal attendants in the upcoming Las Vegas wedding, Pam was at Mac’s house tonight helping plan the shower. I noticed immediately upon her arrival that she looked distracted and tired. This was normal for some of our friends that were married with children, but not for the childless, fun-loving Pam.

I haven’t seen her in a few weeks
, so it was shocking to have her hug me and feel nothing but skin and bones when I hugged her back. Pam’s already slim as a boy, but tonight she looked fragile and wan. Pammie’s usually bubbling over with clever, wisecracking effervescence, and next to Anna, is one of my favorite friends. Her withdrawn quietness and the dark circles under her eyes alarmed me. She had to leave earlier than everyone else and unobtrusively motioned me into the kitchen before leaving. She whispered that she desperately needed some girl-talk. Before my life had been rearranged by Mr. Tricky, we’d agreed to meet at the halfway point of Faribault for lunch at noon on Friday.

“
Sounds like you can’t cancel on Pam, so we need to come to terms.” Even in the darkened truck, I felt Luke’s appraising glance on my stretching body and he teased, “I’ll agree to free you, if you promise to do whatever I say for the rest of the afternoon when you return.”

At least, I
believe he was teasing.

Th
inking about my additional new detective duties, I swore silently. I decided to wait before mentioning my Friday evening plans with Jaz and Tre. Otherwise, I’ll end up having to promise El Drake complete servitude right here and now. It could be fun, but then I pictured the inside of his house a messy bachelor pad and me being ordered into a French maid uniform while wearing no panties. That still could be fun, but then the next part of the fantasy popped in my head. There’s no way I’m cleaning his floors on my hands and knees while he lounged like a lazy panther, ordered me around, and eyeballed my fanny.

Right now,
I didn’t have time to bargain because Luke was turning up the driveway to the farm, so I quickly agreed to his terms. I needed all my female powers to concentrate on battling the Curse of the Poltergeists.

Hugging my
unoffered present to my chest with my right hand and keeping my left hand resting on Rita inside my open purse, I thought Friday was shaping up to be a most satisfactory day.

I
was about to get these annoying splinters extracted and see the inside of my boyfriend’s house. I’ll be damned if anybody or anything, dead or alive, was stopping me this time.

“Pusher Lover Girl” by Justin Timberlake

Friday 12/07/12

12:45
AM

We
parked in a paved area near the back door to Luke’s house, another spot I’ve never seen due to a bordering of thick yews standing sentinel in a row. A narrow sidewalk leads up to a small cement stoop with a wrought iron railing on each side, similar to the much wider porch adorning the front of the house.

Luke
was effortlessly carrying a bulging suitcase with one hand that I recognized as Anna’s. The heaviness would bring me to my knees. I was trying to figure out what Anna has decided I can’t live without for the next two days to account for such bulk. After he scooped me down from the truck and muttered something about taking no chances, Luke’s other hand was firmly supporting my elbow as we walk up the sidewalk.

A welcome glow
was cast from the porch light above the storm door fronted with decorative iron bars that looks new. Past that, there’s another wood door with a high square window that looks old. Very 1950’s, which was when I estimated this brick rambler was built by great uncle Benny.

“Is this house built on the site of the original farm house?”

“Yeah, there was a fire some sixty-odd years ago. It didn’t completely burn the place down, but enough that it gave Uncle Ben a good reason to bulldoze the old farmhouse. He had a great time designing and building this new house.” His tone was fond when speaking of his great uncle who died last March and bequeathed him this “new” house and the valuable acreage attached.

“You
’ve never said too much about your great uncle. Did you spend a lot of time here on the farm as a boy?”

At this innocuous question,
I was surprised to sense a shift in Luke’s body language that raised my radar. Maybe if I could see him clearly it wouldn’t have been so obvious, but picking my way across the narrow sidewalk in my high heels, I felt him noticeably stiffen beside me.

H
e didn’t immediately answer but when he did, his voice was relaxed. To me, it seemed too relaxed, as if he’s trying hard to sound casual, although I couldn’t see what was alarming about my question.

“
Yeah, I spent weeks here every summer for years with Ben. We had a lot of good times. I’d help him with the farm chores and I got to drive the truck and all the tractors.” Luke said in admiration, “Uncle Ben was awesome with anything mechanical or with an engine. One visit, we spent hours building a go-kart together and then a track going all over the farm. I raced that go-kart for hours on end every summer and damn that was fun.”

“Wow, hours, huh? That does sound
fun,” I murmured..

“
We’d fish at dawn and I went swimming most afternoons in the lake with…friends.” I thought it was odd when Luke hurried to speak to cover his slight hesitation at the word “friends”, but didn’t say anything. “Ben and his group of friends had a poker game every Friday night. I sat in from about the age of seven and they all taught me how to play. They took my money routinely, too, until I learned better. No quarter was given from those stingy assholes.” I heard the smile in his voice. “Uncle Ben was cool.”

“
I wish I could have known him. Poker, eh?” In my mind’s eye, I could see a preteen Luke hanging with the big boys. He’d have a glint in his eye and a stogie hanging from the side of his mouth, coolly absorbing every word of poker playing wisdom the men deliberately dropped and memorizing every tell they didn’t know they had.

I said,
“In high school, Mac and Kenna both had friends that lived on Lake Roberds and they’d come here to swim all the time. Sometimes Kenna would even let me tag along, if I bribed her.” I laughed, looking up at Luke’s distinctive silhouette outlined by the moonlight. “I was hot stuff for a nine-year-old. Just think, maybe you caught a glimpse of these charms in my Ren and Stimpy bathing suit and waited for me all these years!”

I felt his breath on my cheek when
he huffed out a short laugh. “A disturbing concept on many levels, but I’d stopped coming for the summers by high school, so I doubt it.”

Luke’s hand
flexed tighter on my elbow and his suddenly grim tone told me I hadn’t been wrong when I sensed him tense up before.

To lighten
this strange mood, I teased, “Got too cool for the farm then, huh, city boy?”

“Something like that
,” Luke agreed easily, effectively ending the conversation by moving ahead up the cement stairs and unlocking the doors.

Forgetting
about Uncle Benny and the good old days for now, I was following right behind Luke with one hand on his hip when he pushed the inner door open. He turned on a light and we entered into a large back entry.

All houses have their own distinct smell, and taking a deep breath, Luke’s immediately reminded me of spicy Christmas cookies
and cool, quiet spaces.

“Mmm, it smells good in here!”

Setting the suitcase down to our left on the floor before two closed doors, Luke smiled but didn’t reply. He flipped a couple more switches on the wall.

O
verhead lights blazed on, illuminating a sizable square kitchen on the right and a long hallway straight ahead. This long hallway ends at the front door. A carpet runner sits atop the gleaming hardwood floor, and halfway to the front door, another open doorway on the left probably leads to the bedrooms.

S
tepping into the kitchen, I took a quick look around. No messy bachelor pad, the kitchen is immaculately tidy and it’s like being in a time capsule. Pearls swinging, Mrs. Cleaver could come scurrying in any moment to grab the family meatloaf from the wall oven.

T
he black and white checkered linoleum floor, the rounded white appliances, the yellow tiled countertops, and turquoise Formica dinette set—this kitchen was original to the house and in beautiful condition. The table, along with four chrome and turquoise vinyl chairs, sits in front of a picture window. My eyes were drawn to the exuberantly colorful fruit and floral patterned curtains. The starched and ruffled white tie-backs hold them off the wide window and were trimmed with hanging turquoise balls. So was the white shade pulled halfway down across the wide window, and I was in love. Those balls were the next best thing to fringe.

Walking forward to flick a
knit ball, I sent it dancing and remarked admiringly, “Uncle Ben probably ordered this table and chairs brand new from the Sears catalogue in 1955. What a gem!”

“He did
,” Luke affirmed, smiling at my enthusiasm while he leaned a shoulder against the doorway. “Some women don’t appreciate anything older than five minutes ago.”

“Well, I guess some women just don’t have souls, now do they?’ I quipped, idly strolling to peek into the adjoining darkened dining room.
I spotted a plate of cookies sitting on the tile counter, covered loosely under some clear plastic wrap.

I point
ed and said, “I knew it! Can I have one, please?” Even as Luke nodded, I was selecting the best cookie that had the perfect amount of white icing and sprinkles. Around a mouthful of soft chewy ginger I asked, “Holy Moly, where did these little darlings come from?”

Luke’s eyes track
ed my mouth, as I moaned my opinion, and he replied absently, “I pay a teenage neighbor kid with a big truck to take care of the plowing and shoveling.”

Raising my brows, I chew
ed for a second more to swallow. “And this kid makes you cookies from scratch?”

“No, his grandmother does.” Luke’s dimple creased his bronzed cheek. “She’s widowed and loves me.”

I grin
ned across the room at the hot man looking dangerous in black leather and lounging with crossed arms in the doorway. “I’m sure she does. If Uncle Benny was anything like you, Granny was probably his booty call.”