Nickeled-And-Dimed to Death (4 page)

His wide smile faded a little when he recalled her parting words. Why was she suddenly free on a Saturday night? It sounded as if she’d had plans that fell through. He drew his brows together, contemplating the various possibilities. After a few seconds of pondering, he slowly grinned. Had that U.S. Marshal she’d been seeing stood her up? Or maybe they’d had a fight. Both of those scenarios worked for Noah, since either could provide just the opening he needed to woo Dev away from that hotshot Deputy Dawg.

Whistling, Noah strode from the desk to the sofa, flopped down, grabbed the remote, and turned on the TV. After a few minutes of channel surfing, he punched the
OFF
button. Nothing on the screen captured his interest.

As he looked around the room for something to do, it occurred to him that this was the only spot in his house that felt like home. When he’d bought the place two years ago, he’d allowed the decorator free rein. But after she’d finished and he’d written her a check for an obscene amount of money, he’d gradually added his own stuff to the den.

Why had he even hired an interior decorator? Oh, yeah. It had been simpler than fighting his mother. Noah had never liked discord, and except for his willingness as a physician to fight for his patients, he prided himself on being a laid-back kind of guy. Although considering Nadine’s reaction to his engagement to Joelle, that decision certainly hadn’t been that of a man who wanted to avoid conflict. Or had it?

Noah frowned. Maybe his girlfriend’s desire for marriage had been more of an immediate stressor than Nadine’s displeasure at the prospect. Joelle had certainly pressed for a commitment, stating her age—which he’d later learned was a lot older than she claimed—and her desire to have children. He’d fallen for her sad tale of growing up an only child, losing her parents when she was a teenager, and having no one in the world that she could call family. Too bad the whole story had been a lie.

Truth be told, he’d been drifting, doing what was expected of him, neither happy nor sad, sort of numb. He hadn’t loved Joelle; he’d just settled for her. In fact, he’d thought he’d lost the ability to love. But the prospect of getting Dev back seemed to have jump-started his heart. Maybe she was what he’d needed all along.

Leaping to his feet, Noah strode down the hall and into the spare bedroom that the decorator had converted into a home gym. He wasn’t picking up Dev for more than an hour—the dance didn’t start until eight—and he refused to sit around and think about the poor decisions he’d made in the past. Tonight would be a new beginning.

He pushed the
PLAY
button on his CD player and the latest Black Eyed Peas album blared from the speakers. After stripping off his T-shirt, he pulled on fingerless leather gloves, lay down on the bench, and started his routine. He was up to two hundred pounds, and sweat poured off his face and body as the muscles in his arms strained to raise the heavy barbells again and again.

He’d always been more the intellectual than the athletic type, but when he’d enrolled in a weight-lifting class in college, he discovered that the monotonous activity was oddly soothing. He hadn’t had time to work out in a couple of days, so it took him a while to get his rhythm, but once he did, his mind wandered.

Skittering away from the subject of Dev—not wanting to jinx the evening ahead—he thought about the strange phone call he’d received that afternoon from the Shadow Bend Savings and Guaranty Bank president, Max Robinson.

An Underwood had been on the bank’s board of directors since the institute was founded, and when Nadine had stepped down last month, it had been understood that her son would replace her. Generally, the board met once a month and reviewed various issues ranging from managing risk to allocating resources to compliance with relevant legal statues. Most of this was routine.

Although the bank president prepared and presented reports to the board, Noah was fairly sure it was rare for Max to telephone an individual member. It wasn’t as if he and Robinson were friends. And after Robinson had hung up, Noah still wasn’t sure why he’d called.

What had the man said? Something about welcoming him to the board and hoping that he and Noah could work together as well as he and Mrs. Underwood had, and how much he admired Mrs. Underwood. He’d gone on and on about what a fine woman she was and how much she’d done for the community as a whole and the bank in particular.

Wait a minute.
Noah stopped mid-lift. Could Max Robinson have a crush on Nadine? Maybe the bank president had been testing the waters to see if Noah would object to him asking her out.

Completing his ascending thrust of the barbell, Noah considered his mother dating the bank president. Robinson was probably ten years younger than she was, not that a difference in age was a big deal. He seemed like a nice enough guy. The townspeople respected him, and he certainly was a hard worker. He appeared almost to live at the bank. So why not?

Noah finished up, wiped his face and neck with a towel, and rose from his prone position. He grabbed a bottle of Dasani from the mini fridge and downed half the contents in one gulp. As he drained the rest of the bottle, a thought occurred to him and he smiled. If his mother were dating someone, maybe she’d be too busy to poke her nose into Noah’s life.

If things worked out with Dev, Noah definitely wanted his mother occupied with something besides her son’s love life. This might be his only chance to show Dev that he was a different person from the boy she’d known in high school. The fact that he was no longer tied to his mother’s apron strings was one of the big changes he’d made since then, and he wanted to prove it to Dev.

Turning off the music, Noah strolled to his bedroom and into the master bath. Lucky, the Chihuahua he’d inherited from Joelle, was asleep in the sink, but he lifted his head and opened one eye when Noah turned on the shower. Sometimes Noah wondered if the little animal realized he was a dog and not a cat.

Once he was out of the shower and dried off, Noah shaved. He was so fair-haired he probably didn’t need to worry about five o’clock shadow, but since he was hoping for a good-night kiss or two from Dev, he didn’t want to take any chances.

After splashing on Amouage Dia Pour Homme, he walked into his bedroom and checked the clock on the nightstand. It was seven fifteen. He had half an hour before he had to pick up Dev. Plenty of time, even allowing for traffic, which was nonexistent in and around Shadow Bend.

Once he was dressed, he went to his dresser and pulled out the polished cherrywood box in which he kept his jewelry. Rummaging among the watches and tie clips, he found the cuff links that his father had given him on his twelfth birthday, only a few months before Montgomery Underwood had died. The sterling silver discs with his initials engraved in the center were by far the most inexpensive cuff links Noah owned, but they always brought him luck. And he had a feeling he would need all the good luck he could muster in order to get Dev back again.

CHAPTER 5

I
stood at the back door, keeping a watchful eye on the driveway. Gran had not been at all pleased to hear that Jake had stood me up or that he was on his way back to St. Louis. Luckily I had never told her that his ex-wife was his supervisor and they’d be together nearly twenty-four/seven while working cases.

As it was, it had taken me a half hour to calm down Gran after telling her that Jake wasn’t showing up for our date. So when I dropped the second bomb—that instead of going out with the man she hoped I’d marry I was now attending a dance with a guy she hated—her ballistic reaction was fairly predictable.

Birdie didn’t buy Noah’s claim that after breaking up with me, he had explained and apologized a few days later. She especially didn’t accept his justification for ending our relationship in the first place. Which, according to Noah, was because if he didn’t stop dating me, his mother, a member of the bank’s board of directors, had threatened to have Gran charged with aiding and abetting my father’s embezzlement scheme.

After a lot of fast-talking, I had almost convinced Birdie that exploiting Noah for his connections was the best revenge of all. Of course, the glass of Jack Daniel’s Gran had consumed had probably helped more than any of my verbal tap-dancing. The second shot hadn’t hurt either.

Still, I wasn’t taking any chances, so as soon as Noah’s headlights appeared, I yelled good-bye, raced out the door as fast as my high heels could take me, and hopped in his car almost before it came to a complete stop. He was still putting the Jaguar in park when I finished buckling my seatbelt.

He looked at me with a slightly bemused smile, and asked, “Escaping from Stalag 17?”

“Nope.” I smoothed my trench coat and tucked my evening bag next to my side. “Just avoiding an encounter between you and Birdie.”

“She didn’t take the news of our date very well?” Noah made a three-point turn and headed back down the lane toward the county road.

“This is not a date,” I quickly corrected him. I definitely wasn’t ready to admit that I was out with my high school ex for any reason other than a professional one.

“Of course not,” Noah teased, his gray eyes crinkling at the corners. “Just because we’re both all dressed up and going to a dance doesn’t make it a date.” He lifted one eyebrow. “Right?”

“Don’t go there,” I warned. “If this is a social engagement, you can just turn around and take me home.” I lifted an eyebrow and stared.

“It’s strictly a business arrangement.” Noah gestured surrender with his hands, then grabbed the steering wheel as the sports car veered over the yellow line. “I provide you with an introduction to a potential customer, and your presence makes my life easier.”

“Fine.” I relaxed. “As long as we’re clear on that, I’m good.”

The country club was only a few miles out of town, and as we drove, Noah entertained me with stories about medical school and his residency. I couldn’t believe that he and a buddy had kidnapped a cadaver, dressed it as Santa, and left it sitting on a lawn chair in front of the university president’s house. And what they did with a hand they had dissected . . . Well, let’s just say it appeared that doctors had the same dark sense of humor as other high-stress professionals.

Ten minutes later, Noah made a right turn between two enormous brick columns and drove along the golf course. It was too dark to see much, but from the glow of the streetlights, I could tell that the grass was just starting to turn green and the local ducks and geese were making full use of the water traps.

Although I had driven by the entrance of the country club several times, I had never ventured past the gates. Still, I wasn’t surprised to see that the clubhouse was an ultramodern design. People who had recently moved to Shadow Bend and commuted to jobs in Kansas City tended to favor contemporary architecture over traditional or historic. And they definitely appreciated flashy over stately.

I had to admit that even though I preferred vintage buildings, the angled entrance and mahogany double doors were impressive. And the overhead windows that appeared to hover unsupported over the steps took my breath away. I stood gazing upward, trying to figure out how the windows had been constructed, until Noah clasped my elbow and led me inside.

When we stepped into the foyer, an African American woman dressed in a stunning red silk suit greeted us. She introduced herself as Kiara Howard, the country club’s event planner, and pointed out the coat check. Once we’d handed over our wraps to the attendant, Kiara directed us down the hall before turning to greet the next couple.

The ballroom reminded me of the inside of one of the Easter baskets I’d created. Pink, blue, and yellow stuffed bunnies standing guard over baskets brimming with goodies acted as centerpieces on the tables, and festive Easter bonnets dangling from satin ribbons were strung from the ceiling. Garlands of pastel spring flowers were wound around whitewashed tree trunks whose branches were festooned with golden eggs.

I was so busy admiring the decorations, I missed the reaction to our entrance. When I felt Noah tense, I realized that several women were staring at me with blatant resentment in their eyes.

Oops!
How dumb could I be? He had invited me to discourage the amorous advances of the women in attendance; I certainly should have realized that the ladies I was protecting him from wouldn’t be happy to see me.

Noah took my hand and murmured in my ear. To the others, it might have looked as if he were whispering sweet nothings; in reality, he was asking if I wanted a drink. Which I did. A big one.

We made our way to the nearest of the two bars set up at opposite ends of the large room, and Noah got in line. As I waited for him to rejoin me with the martinis—a chocolate one for me and a traditional one for him—I looked around, hoping to see a few friendly faces.

Because of the Sinclair family’s banishment from the Shadow Bend upper class, I didn’t socialize with these people. But I recognized most of them, having either waited on them in my store or grown up with them. Several individuals nodded pleasantly, but no one made an effort to include me in their groups.

After so many years, I should have been used to such treatment, but it still stung a little. I wondered for a second if Birdie felt the same way, then realized that even before our family’s fall from grace, she had never been one to hang out with the movers and shakers. That had been more my mother’s choice than hers.

Just as I was questioning my decision to accompany Noah for the fiftieth time, Winnie and Zizi Todd marched up to me and enveloped me in a group hug. Mother and daughter were part of the Blood, Sweat, and Shears sewing group that met at my store on Wednesday nights. And although neither was the type you’d expect to see at a country club dance, both were passionate supporters of the women and children’s shelter, the focus of tonight’s fund-raiser.

Zizi was in her early twenties and attending graduate school to become a clinical social worker. She had a quirky sense of style and tonight she wore her carrot red hair in braids wrapped around her head. Her blue skirt, white blouse, and red vest made her look like the girl from the Swiss Miss hot chocolate package.