Authors: Emilie Richards
“Why are you telling me
now?
” she asked at last.
“Because Smythe’s about to go down. You’ll be reading about it before long, so why not? And you know what’s funny? You’ll probably look good once he does. Most people won’t figure out that you almost compromised years of careful investigation and undercover work. You’ll look good, like you were the first to figure things out and challenge him. You could probably even come back to Miami City, because if they didn’t take you back, they would look bad to the press and the public. But nobody there will ever look at you as a team player, even if they did before. You would do better to go somewhere else, without all the baggage attached.”
Maggie didn’t know what to say, but worse, she didn’t know what to feel. She had been right about Smythe, but, of course, that had never been in doubt. A man who deserved to lose everything was finally about to. Maybe Jorge Famosa would go down at last, too. Maybe all that work she had done would be resurrected and used at last. She felt no remorse, no sympathy for either man, because they were lower than pond scum.
But there were larger issues. One, that she hadn’t been trusted with this information because her own chief had believed she wouldn’t keep it under wraps. And worse, much worse, by not listening, not trusting, she had, as Felo pointed out, nearly brought down an investigation and undone years of work by fellow law enforcement officers. She’d been so
convinced she was right, so sure everyone else was corrupt or lazy, that she had ridden her big white horse through the streets of Miami and never looked down to see who had fallen beneath its hooves.
“I can’t believe this,” she said, hanging her head as the truth began to hit her.
He didn’t reach for her hand. He simply watched her. “You don’t know how many times I came close to telling you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I thought they might be right, and I couldn’t take that chance.”
“How can you say that?”
“Can you honestly tell me you wouldn’t have gone ahead with that very public resignation? That you’re sure you would have done the right thing and backed off? Because you wanted somebody to pay. You were so furious at everybody, Mags, me included, that I don’t think you would have known the right thing to do. Whatever your reasons are, you’re a loner. You don’t ask for help, and you don’t accept advice. Not ever.”
The awful part, the part she would live with for the rest of her life, was that she really didn’t know if he was right. She just looked up and shook her head slowly. “I’m going home.”
“I’ll take care of the bill. Just drive carefully.”
“It’s a little late to worry about me, Felo,” she said with a burst of anger. “Don’t you think you’re a bit after the fact?”
“Since this thing came up, I’ve worried about you every minute. And if you don’t think that’s true, then whatever we had together really is over.”
She didn’t know how to answer that. She just grabbed her purse and waited until he’d slid out of the booth before she headed for the door.
Tracy wasn’t sure why she phoned Marsh when the pain in her abdomen woke her up. The pain was a slicing, stabbing fury that made her head swim when she bolted upright just before midnight. Disoriented, she reached for the telephone and dialed his number with moonlight illuminating the keypad. Voice mail picked up after half a dozen rings, and she heard Marsh drawl a new recorded message. He gave a number in Washington where he could be reached while he was visiting legislators on Capitol Hill all week.
Tracy hung up, infuriated that Marsh, the father of her baby, had left town without telling her. Never mind that he’d left behind a carefully detailed message, something he normally didn’t do, and that he had a perfectly reliable iPhone. He was in D.C., hanging out with senators, and she was here in her tiny cottage doubled over with cramps.
Was she losing the baby? She was far enough along in the pregnancy that she’d felt safe. Most problems occurred earlier, although certainly not all. Yet here she was, pain in her abdomen, chest constricted, pulse racing. Exactly what was she supposed to do?
She turned on the bedside light, and the second call went out to her obstetrician. She listened to the entire automated menu of possibilities before figuring out which corresponding number to press next. Three numbers later she listened to the final message, scribbled down the emergency on-call number and hung up. Then she dialed again. This time the call went immediately to voice mail. She left a message, explaining who she was and what was happening; then she hung up once more.
“Great.” She wondered how many patients died or had triplets between option one and two on the voice-mail menu.
She could dress and head to the emergency room, but she wasn’t really sure she should be driving. Shouldn’t she just lie quietly and hope for the best? If she was losing the baby…
Tears sprang to her eyes. Where was Marsh when she needed him? Who else would understand how she felt right now? If she’d had any lingering doubts about whether this baby was a good idea or not, the pain in her abdomen sent them fleeing. She wanted this baby. Wanted it! And right now she wanted the baby’s father, too. Her friends would be sad if she miscarried, but Marsh, like her, would be losing a child. Their son or daughter, conceived together, if not in love, then in affection and, okay, sexual heat. But he would understand.
She decided she couldn’t just lie there and wonder. Some doctor in the obstetrics practice would call eventually. In the meantime, she probably ought to get up and dress, in case she was told to proceed to the hospital. It probably made sense to pack an overnight bag, too, just in case.
Tears dribbled down her cheeks, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. “Marsh, why aren’t you here?”
She let herself cry for a moment, or rather, she gave up trying to stop the flow. After a minute she sniffed, wiped her face with a tissue from the bedside table, then got gingerly to her feet. The pain wasn’t any worse. It was intermittent, releasing, then beginning again, but it wasn’t getting stronger. Which was good, she thought, since stronger would have sent her into total panic. She flipped on the overhead light; then, blinded for a moment, she flipped it off again. Waited, flipped it on and squinted until she could see.
She had showered when she came back from Janya’s house, had a snack, brushed her teeth and climbed into bed. Now she turned on all the lights in the house and dressed as quickly as she could, gritting her teeth as the pain stabbed at her. She got
essential toiletries and a nightgown, and put them in the Louis Vuitton canvas overnight bag that had been an afterthought in her previous life. Now she would have to save for weeks just to buy one used.
That thought didn’t give her a pang, as it might have before. Right now she was pretty sure she knew what was important and what wasn’t.
The telephone still hadn’t rung. She debated what to do next, then debated calling Marsh at his hotel. She was so tempted. He couldn’t do anything from Washington, but at least he would know. If she was going to be miserable, he should be, too.
A knock sounded on her front door. Surprised, she stopped pacing and listened to be sure, then crept toward the door and flipped on the outside light. Maggie was standing on her doorstep. Tracy unlocked the door and let her in.
“It’s like a strobe light at a sixties rock concert over here. Lights on, lights off. I was getting dizzy. What’s going on?”
“Why are you out and about?”
Maggie looked pale, and her eyes were red. “You don’t want to know. You didn’t answer me. Are you okay? You’re holding your middle.”
“I’m having a lot of pain. I have a call in to my doctor. I’ll probably have to go to the hospital.”
Maggie made a comforting noise. “Why don’t you sit down. Need some help?”
“I can make it.” Tracy more or less stumbled to the sofa and gingerly lowered herself to a cushion. She bent forward, which seemed to relieve the pain.
“When did it start?”
Tracy told her, then recited the facts of what she’d done
since. “I called the doctor. Somebody ought to be getting back to me before too long.”
“I don’t know anything, but Mom does. Why don’t I call her.”
“Wanda?” Tracy wrinkled her nose, but the thought of sensible, opinionated Wanda at her side was actually comforting.
Maggie gauged her response correctly. “I’ll call.”
“But she’ll be asleep. And she has to get up so early.”
“She’ll want to be here.”
Tracy let her dial, and when Maggie hung up, Tracy cocked her head in question.
“On her way. She hadn’t undressed for bed. She was reworking the recipe for the Orange Blossom Special.”
“Where were you?” Tracy asked. “Did you go somewhere after dinner?”
“Felo and I met for drinks down in Pelican Point. He was there doing something on a case.”
“Any info on the Duttas?”
“You don’t feel like talking about that now, and neither do I. Right?”
They were saved from further discussion by Wanda barging through the front door. “Why didn’t you call me?”
Tracy was still bent forward, resting her forearms on her thighs. “I honestly didn’t think about it. I called the doctor.” She didn’t admit she had also tried to call Marsh.
“Where’s it hurt?”
“My abdomen.”
“Mind if I poke a little?”
Tracy considered. “Will that help?”
“Could be helpful. Then, when your doctor calls, you can tell her exactly what’s what.”
Tracy leaned back, and Wanda sat beside her, then pressed on her abdomen. “Right side painful?”
“It’s all painful.”
“Try to concentrate here. Degrees, okay?”
Tracy closed her eyes. Wanda pushing against her abdomen didn’t increase the pain. “Try the other side.” Wanda did.
Tracy tried to imagine which was worse. “The left side’s worse. Not there.” She waited until Wanda moved her palm up. “Right there. Could it be my appendix?”
“Do you have one?”
“It can’t be my appendix. I’m pregnant!”
“I had a friend had hers out in her eighth month. Had a healthy baby boy four weeks later. Besides, I don’t think that’s it.” She started massaging Tracy’s belly gently, right where Tracy had said it hurt. “Feel any better?”
Tracy started to say no, but she realized the pain really was dissipating a little. “Maybe. Yes, I think that helps.”
Wanda shook her head, as if she knew something she didn’t want to share. “Maggie, you do this for a minute, okay? I want to check something.”
Tracy grabbed her hand. “What is it? What do you think’s going on?”
“Don’t go getting yourself in a lather. Just let me look around a little.”
“Some home remedy? I’m not taking anything until the doctor says I should.”
“Maggie, give this a try, okay?”
Maggie and Tracy looked at each other, but Tracy shrugged. Wanda showed Maggie where she’d been gently pressing, then she stood. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“What’s she doing?” Tracy asked when Wanda disappeared.
“She’s Wandaing. That’s what Dad calls it when she wanders off to snoop.”
“What does she think she’s going to find?”
The answer arrived almost immediately. Wanda returned with a can and a paper bag. “You had you a little snack when you got home from dinner, I see.”
“I’m making up for lost pounds. I was hungry.”
“For spicy canned chili and corn chips?”
“Corn and beans are healthy. They’re good nutrition.”
“Honey, I don’t know how to tell you this, but what you got is plain old indigestion and gas. First Indian food at Janya’s, now this.” She held the can higher. “You were just asking for it.”
“I have a cast-iron stomach. I never get indigestion. I never have—”
“Gas. Which is why you didn’t know what it was. And don’t tell me cast iron, either. A little while ago you couldn’t keep down water, remember? Pregnancy throws everything for a loop. So honestly, can you put two and two together on your way to the bathroom to do what Mother Nature intended? Because something tells me you’ll be heading that way in about one minute, and Maggie and me, we’re heading out the front door to avoid air pollution.”
Tracy didn’t know why she was arguing. If Wanda was right, she was okay. The baby was okay. She was flooded with relief at the same moment she realized Wanda had hit the nail right on the head.
She sat up, then she got to her feet. “This would be a good time for you to leave.”
“You call if you need us, but something tells me you’re going to be just fine.”
Maggie still looked worried. “You’re sure?”
“You stay if you want,” Wanda said. “Me, I know when to abandon ship.”
They glanced at each other; then they both headed for the door as Tracy headed for her date with Mother Nature.
Later in bed, the pain mostly gone, her fears allayed by both Wanda and the doctor on call and sleep slowly descending, she realized she had one additional thing to be grateful for.
Marsh would never know how close he had come to sharing these moments with her.
W
anda knew she had spent too many hours trying to perfect her Orange Blossom Special recipe. She had added another egg to the custard base, cooked it longer, tried freezing it, let it set in the refrigerator for eight hours before slicing, added gelatin once and cornstarch the next time. The men at the homeless shelter liked it any which way, runny or as stiff as sheet metal, and at least she was fattening them up with all the rejects.
Now she was so busy thinking about what Maggie had told her that morning that she nearly missed the right moment to take a new batch of orange custard off the stove.
Ken would know what to make of her daughter’s news about Paul Smythe and the way Maggie’s own chief hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her about the federal investigation. Maggie hadn’t elaborated, and at least Wanda had been wise enough not to push her for details. She was just glad Ken wasn’t off doing one of his training sessions and could help her put everything Maggie had said together. He’d always
understood their daughter better than she did, and Wanda had always understood their son, who said anything he pleased and let the chips fall wherever they wanted. Seemed like a cockeyed way to distribute talent in a family, but the kids had turned out okay anyway.
She was still trying to make sense of it all when she realized someone was in the kitchen with her. She hadn’t heard the front door jingle. Startled, she nearly dropped her spoon.
Derek Forbes bent over the pot on the stove and inhaled. “Orange juice, and possibly zest, as well? And are those little chopped bits of orange in there?”
Wanda wished she hadn’t been standing over the stove for the past half hour. Her hair had frizzled, and her face was splotchy and red. She patted the former self-consciously. “You like to have scared me to death.”
“You were deep in thought.”
“Yeah? Well, I hope nobody took that rare moment to make off with the till.”
He laughed. “Your daughter’s out there guarding your well-deserved profits. What do you call this pie?”
“Nothing, if I can’t figure out how to get the filling to hold its shape. I get that right and I’m calling it the Orange Blossom Special.”
“Perfect, and it smells heavenly.”
She told him a little, since she knew he would be interested. “This time I’m using yolks instead of whole eggs, and more cornstarch. Gelatin, too. We’ll see if it does the trick. Means I’ll have a lot of whites left over, but I can never make too much meringue, not even if all the biddies in the universe line up outside my door to donate an egg. Might even use it on this pie.”
She moved the pan off the stove into a bowl of cold
water so it would cool faster. “You here for a pie for yourself? Things are slow this week, so you have lots of choices. Next week they’ll be buying pies in droves on account of Thanksgiving.”
“I’m here to talk about your future.”
For a moment Wanda didn’t know what to think. A future with Derek Forbes? She nearly panicked; then the humor hit her. Even in her most outrageous pirate novels, nothing that unlikely ever happened.
“My future,” she said carefully, “is all about getting this recipe right, and that’s all. If you’re here to nudge me into opening more shops, I don’t have the time or money. This one is like to kill me as it is. Besides, I’ll drop dead in this kitchen trying to get this recipe right before I get the chance to do another thing.”
“Hear me out,” he said. “I have an idea, and I’ve got my business manager looking into it. I’m looking for another tax shelter. Some of my colleagues open restaurants, Clint, Kevin, Jennifer.” He waved his hand as if to say everyone was doing it. “But I’ve been thinking pies. What I really want is to franchise your shop.”
“What?” She stopped worrying about her hair and complexion. “What did you say?”
“Pies. Your pies. Like I told you, I’m convinced pies are the next cupcakes. If we get in there now and take advantage, we’ll do well. We’ll use your recipes. I like the look of your shop, and even if we spiff it up a little, I want to keep the same feel. We’ll bring in some top-flight talent to handle the business end, but you’ll have most of the say on how things are run. We can work out what you want from our collaboration. A percentage, a salary, we’ll make it work.”
She wondered if she had heard him right. “You want to franchise Wanda’s Wonderful Pies yourself?”
His grin had been seen around the world, and he used it to great advantage. “It’s not a spur-of-the-moment thing. I’ve been looking around for just the right avenue. A while back I hired a team to design a shop and secure recipes, but they never got it right. Then I stumbled upon you. You know what a good product you create. You have all the expertise, and you’re still young enough to pull this off. It’ll mean a lot of traveling at first, making sure the shops we open are up to your standards. A lot of administration, publicity, but nothing you can’t handle with the right kind of assistance. And we’ll hire anybody you want. Your husband and kids can work for you, if you like. Your daughter might even want to take on some of the management duties. You’ll have freedom and control.”
“Me? I can’t even get this recipe right. You know how many of these pies I’ve made?”
He laughed, a wonderful thing to hear. “That’s what makes you so perfect. You won’t accept second best or cut corners. You’ll ride herd on everybody, even me, just to make sure the product’s always first rate, along with the service, the locations, the look of the shops we open. I think you’ve got everything you need to make this work for both of us, and I’ve got the money.”
Wanda didn’t know what to say. One minute she was worrying about Maggie and how to make a pie filling set up just the way she wanted it to. The next she was immersed in high finance, jetting from Kalamazoo to Sacramento to make sure window curtains were starched and piecrust was flaky.
“I think I’m going to have to sit down,” she said.
“What can I do? Need more facts? Figures? Encouragement?”
“Just need a chair.” She fanned herself.
“I’ll have my business manager bring by some of the paperwork we’ve put together. You can look it over, see what you think. See what your family thinks. It’s big, I know. But I think the sky’s the limit on this.”
He must have seen the shock written on her face, because he laughed, and then he kissed her cheek. “Ah, Wanda, you and I will make beautiful pies together.”
He was long gone by the time she recovered. Maggie poked her head in the doorway and didn’t seem to think it was odd her mother had just finished a tête-à-tête with one of Hollywood’s A-list actors. “Okay if I run out for a sandwich?”
Wanda waved her on.
“Sure you don’t need anything?”
“Just a good head on my shoulders, that’s all.”
“Then I guess you don’t need a thing. You’re all set.”
Tracy wasn’t sure what to do about Olivia. The girl was a delight, despite good reason not to be. She’d been through so much, losing her mom under suspicious circumstances, then having her father convicted of attempted second-degree murder on a different case and imprisoned. Alice was Olivia’s stabilizing influence, the one unbroken link to Karen, Olivia’s mother. Alice could talk about Karen’s childhood, tell Olivia the ways she resembled her, and emphasize how much Karen had loved her daughter. Alice adored Olivia, and the two were exceptionally close. But these days Olivia seemed to need more.
“I feel like I’m letting Alice down or something,” Tracy told Wanda. The two were sitting outside on what passed for
Tracy’s patio, draining a pitcher of margaritas made without tequila, since Tracy couldn’t have it and Wanda said she was too tired to chance it.
“Seems to me you’re just helping out.”
Wanda poured another glass for herself and held out the pitcher to Tracy, who shook her head. “I don’t want to gouge a path to my bathroom. I’ll be making a couple of trips, as it is.”
“Just because Olivia likes confiding in you doesn’t mean you’re being disloyal to Alice,” Wanda said. “We agreed a long time ago, everybody in Happiness Key has to pitch in to raise that girl after everything she’s been through.”
“It’s just that she needs a mom. She’s got a wonderful grandmother, but Alice can’t be both. I mean, people do it all the time if they have to, but there are things
I
know that Alice just doesn’t anymore. Like music and clothes and what it feels like to kiss a boy for the first time. And I’m closer to my own adolescence, close enough to help Olivia through hers. I remember all that like it was yesterday.”
Wanda was staring into the distance. “’Course, you were an adolescent a lot longer than most people.”
Tracy could hardly quibble, since it was pretty much the truth. She had been a spoiled brat until she moved to Happiness Key.
“I just wonder if I ought to say something to Alice,” Tracy said. “Just explain that I’m not trying to cut Olivia out of her life, but that I’m supplementing what Alice does for her.”
“Alice seem upset to you?”
Tracy pondered for a moment. “No. I’m not even sure she notices.”
“Doesn’t seem upset to me, either. In fact, she’s looking good. Happy, maybe. For a while there, she was exhausted
all the time. But now that you’ve got her hanging around at that center of yours, not doing all the back-and-forthing, she seems rested. And she’s having a good time with the other seniors, right?”
“She’s the crochet queen. You ought to see the snowflakes her class made. They donated some to the center for our holiday tree.”
“I suspect you’ll drag me there for some event or other and I’ll see them.”
Tracy thought Wanda was particularly subdued tonight, which meant she was only twice as outrageous as most people, a subtle difference. She had already told Tracy about Maggie and the Paul Smythe case. Wanda was frustrated that she hadn’t learned more details from her daughter, but Tracy thought there might be something else bothering her. Wanda kept looking away, as if her thoughts were somewhere else.
She put down her glass and rested her fingertips on Wanda’s knee. “Are you okay?”
“The strangest thing happened today. You know Derek Forbes?”
“Duh. You mean the actor Derek Forbes who loves your pies?”
“That would be the one. He wants to go into business with me.”
Tracy wasn’t sure she’d heard Wanda right. “Doing what?”
“He wants to help me franchise Wanda’s Wonderful Pies. Says he’s been looking into starting his own pie franchise, but why should he, when he and I can do it together?”
“Are you kidding me?” This time Tracy slapped Wanda’s knee. “That’s fantastic. And you didn’t say anything until now?”
“Because I don’t know how I feel about it.” Wanda looked right at Tracy. “Do you think he means it?”
Tracy thought that for Wanda, this was like having an angel come down from heaven and offer her a mansion on a street paved with gold. It just didn’t compute. There had to be a catch, or maybe she was hallucinating.
“Nothing bad with any basis in fact has ever been said about the man,” Tracy said. “He has an army of loyal friends. He’s been married a couple of times, but—”
“Twice. He’s still friends with both of them. He told me he’s just not one to settle down.”
“He told you that?”
“We spent a whole afternoon together making pies for his party. What else were we going to talk about? He says he’s sorry he never had kids, though.”
Tracy tried to get to the point. “I think he means this. Why aren’t you jumping up and down? Wanda, this is a dream come true, only you never dreamed this big, did you?”
“My head’s not screwed on straight or something. I can’t wrap my brain around it.”
“What does Ken say?”
“Kenny doesn’t know yet. You’re the only one I’ve told.”
“Wow.”
“It’ll take a day or two just to believe it. His manager’s going to get me some paperwork. Maybe then it’ll seem real.”
“Something’s bothering you.” As hard as it was to believe, Tracy could see that Wanda was more than just skeptical. She was worried.
“I’ll get back to you on that.” Wanda drained the rest of her fake margarita and got to her feet. “I guess I’d better get home and break the news to Kenny. He’ll want to take me out to
dinner. That’s his best way to celebrate, and I’m not going to think about the money it costs tonight. I’m way too tired.”
Tracy knew better than to push. Her neighbor was working this out in her own way and time. Nothing would budge her.
She got to her feet, too. “Well, whatever happens, the offer itself must feel good, right?”
Wanda shrugged, but she also smiled.
“I’ll walk you partway,” Tracy said. “Olivia’s off camping with her class for the weekend, and she asked me to stop and check on Alice this evening. You and I think Alice looks better, but Olivia says she’s been forgetful and preoccupied. I think she’s just not comfortable leaving her alone.”
“The girl shouldn’t feel guilty. She’s not supposed to be taking care of her grandmother. We’re here if Alice needs something. Olivia’s got to live her life.”
Tracy agreed, only she wasn’t sure how to make that a reality. She had done what little she could by getting Alice involved at the center. She hoped that once Olivia realized her grandmother was enjoying herself more, she would begin to feel freer just to be a kid.
Wanda peeled off toward her house, and Tracy went to Alice’s and knocked. When nothing happened, she knocked louder and began to worry. Finally she peeked around the side of the house and realized Alice’s car wasn’t even there. Olivia’s concern was making her paranoid, and Alice was probably off having a good time. Tracy started home, the rest of the evening stretching in front of her.
Once there, she wandered the tiny house and, with nothing better to do, considered how she would arrange everything once the baby came. Her cottage had only one bedroom, and once she squeezed a crib in beside the bed, there would be no
place for the baby’s things, no room for a changing table or another dresser.
After an hour of trying to work out logistics, she’d settled on the easiest. Even though she liked the sofa she had, she would look for a comfortable sofa bed to replace it and move out to the living room. That way the baby could have her bedroom, and once Maggie moved out of the fifth cottage, with its tiny second bedroom, then Tracy and the baby could move there.