T's Trial: A Bone Cold--Alive Novel (12 page)

He started to get into the paper. “No, not here. Do it at the house or in your car. We’ve already done it to death here.” Now he detected a note of sarcasm. Had they been found out?

Fletch waited until he crossed the cattle guard before he opened the paper. He hadn’t wanted to chance anyone seeing him tear into it if it had already been a topic of conversation at the local watering hole. “Oh, my God,” was his only comment before he whipped the Mercedes into gear and went to confront T.

He found T at the piano, actually working. There was a pencil clenched between his teeth, two on the bench, three on the floor, and several others scattered up and down the keyboard. He slowed to a walk before he placed the folded section on the book rest, picked up a pencil and circled the snippet of news in the overnight column.

“What’s going on?”

“Read.”

“I’m no longer in the mood for nonsense.”

Fletch took T’s chin and guided his face closer to the paper. “Read.” He said it through clenched teeth. “Read it aloud.”

T grabbed Fletch’s hand and forced it away from his face. He picked up the paper and began. “’An undisclosed source at a certain sold-out museum exhibit was all aglow at the generous donation left yesterday when Cupid came a-calling.’” He looked up at Fletch warily. “’Seems a very incognito gentleman needed a ticket ‘right then’ in order to win his lady-love and was willing to pay over and above the norm for a peek at the exhibit and a chance to impress her. Did it work? Only time will tell. Meanwhile, the exhibit is toting up bigger than ever crowds and profits. We thank you, Cupid.’” He put the paper down. “Is that sickening or what?”

“What exactly did you tell them?”

“I was trying to win a bet with a lady friend. I asked him to remain silent on the subject.”

“So what happened?”

“Does it say Eddie T? Does it say where we are? Does it say anything more than what could be attributed to coincidence? Maybe there were two donations yesterday. Hell, Fletch, those people deal in real money. Mine was a drop in the bucket!”

“Then try this on. Lyla’s pointed this out to me. It was the talk of the breakfast crowd.”

T muttered an expletive. “So was she upset?”

“No. I’d say she was amused.” Fletch tucked the paper under his arm. “But dubbing you an ‘incognito gentleman’ certainly takes the glow off our anonymity. We might as well put a sign out front.”

“It’s not that bad. Hell, she’s already figured out that I’m not your chauffeur.”

“Well, that didn’t have to happen either, you know.”

“Did the blurb say famous? Did it really say anything but big donation?” He turned back to the keyboard, picked up a pencil and drummed it on his leg. “Maybe I should stop payment on the check. That would teach Mr. Mouth a lesson.”

“Oh, thrill. Talk about bad publicity. That’s just what we need.” Fletch fixed his eyes in the distance. “Headline: ‘Eddie T reneges on charity’ or how about ‘First drugs, now revenge’? Forget stopping payment on that check. You are in the middle of a ten thousand dollar experience.”

“I’ll go talk to Lyla this morning when the crowd clears out.”

“Why don’t you just call her?”

“Why don’t you just let me live my own life?”

“Well, that’s the reason we’re here, T. I did that for too many years.”

“Damn it, Fletch, lay off.” His teeth were gritted. “I want to go see her. This will all straighten out.”

“Before or after you break her heart?”

“Where did that come from?”

Fletch bent so they were almost nose to nose. “From experience. The bet is over. I’ll buy the organ. I can’t have you running around Dallas raising suspicions, ruining your rehab. I can’t have you taking that sweet lady for an emotional ride.”

“The bet is not over, Fletch. I’m going. I said I would.” He moved closer to the older man. “You can’t stop me. I promised I’d take her. I don’t like broken promises. I’ll not disappoint her and I’ll sure as hell not disappoint me. You’re damn straight you’re buying that organ. As for an emotional ride, I’ve yet to meet the woman that didn’t love a spin now and then.”

“This one’s different. Don’t hurt her, T. Don’t sleep with her. The fun is gone from this bet.”

“I’ll do what I damn well please, Fletch. You just keep out of this. Go play in your kitchen.”

“T, I’m warning you. Hurt her and you’ll live to regret it.”

*  *  *

T whirled the Mercedes into the Quik-Lee parking lot, Fletch’s words still ringing in his ears. Hurt her? How could he hurt her when he’d lost his soul to her.

Shep was guarding the door and didn’t give the man a second glance. “Some protection you are,” T muttered at him. The smell of bacon and sausage lingered in the air. A fresh pot of decaf was sputtering into existence or he might have thought the store deserted. Instead, Lyla’s voice rose from somewhere in the middle of the aisles.

“Over here, Sam. Mr. Incognito.”

He peered around the potato chip display and found here sitting cross-legged in the floor, a clipboard balanced on her knees, tapping on a calculator device as she counted boxes of detergent. “How’d you know it was me?”

She pointed to the large convex mirror that afforded her a view of the entire store. “Security mirror.” She stopped counting and leaned back on her hands. “Is there no end to the trouble you’re going to cause me?” But she was smiling, her eyes half-closed and T joined her between the soap and the cleansers.

“I don’t mean to be a problem.” He squatted down, removed his sunglasses, tried to look innocent. “I just take my bets seriously.”

“So are you the famous one, or is it really Mr. Levi Fletcher? Or did you scam the museum?”

“How do you know that was me?”

“What did you tell them? A lady-love? God, Sam, you cannot imagine the grief I’ve taken on this one.” She sat upright, folded her arms across her chest. T let his eyes trail downward from the brightly colored T-shirt to the cut-off shorts and back up again to meet her eyes.

“No hope of convincing you it was just a coincidence?” She shook her head, mouthed the word ‘no’. “I hate losing. I’m not incognito. I just wrote him a large check. Money talks, obviously not loudly enough in this case. For what it’s worth, the curator said he’d keep his mouth shut. So much for putting him on my Christmas list.”

“Chauffeuring must pay very well. The most asked question around here this morning was what a date with me was worth?”

“You’re kidding.” He sat down heavily on the floor.

“What is my price?” The humor was gone from her.

“Value, not price.”

Lyla raised her eyebrows. “If anyone has a right to know, I do.”

He shook his head. “Can’t we just leave this where it is?”

“Are you sane? You’ve been here less than a week and already, things will never be the same. It’s like some great cosmic joke and I’m caught in the middle.”

“I never meant for this to happen. We’ll forget the date.”

“Hell, we will. I’ve earned it, Sam, or whatever your real name is. Let me tell you, the speculation is high.” She started to rise.

He matched her movement. “I’m only interested in what you think.”

“I don’t know.” She flapped her hands at her sides. “One minute, I think you’re who you say you are, the next some wildly talented composer being kept under guard by Fletch—whatever his relationship is to you. I don’t know who the boss is. And it’s okay, it’s fun, it’s none of my business, till Norm shows up with that damn blurb on the It Happened page.” She started walking toward the front. He followed. “Damn old man gets up at four and reads every word in that paper. Otherwise, you’d probably have gotten away with it.” She reached for a mug under the lunch counter, poured herself a cup of fresh decaf. “Want one?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Lyla. There’s not really anything else I can say. Do you want us to leave?” Fletch would scream at this.

She doctored the coffee with artificial sweetener and a dollop of real cream. “I thought about it, but no, I don’t want you to go. I don’t want bigotry to win. What kind of example would that be for Harrison? Besides,” she leaned on the counter, sipped her concoction, “I want to go on a fancy date. I want to paint the town. I want Norm and Dub and Tib to eat their words.” Her eyes gained hold of his. “I’m looking forward to it.”

He smiled, relieved. “So am I.” He wanted to tell her just exactly how much. He wanted to take her in his arms and feel how good a woman could feel again. But it was more than physical. He wanted to know this woman better, to play duets on the piano as well as in bed. He wanted her totally and the sudden realization of this made him stand there dumbfounded. She’d think him an idiot if he didn’t catch his breath and move soon.

The opening of the front door broke the mood. Bertie was still talking to Shep as she came in. “Lyla, have you seen this?” She had the morning paper in her hand, folded so there was no doubt what ‘this’ was. As she gained her inside vision, her eyes widened at the two of them standing at the end of the counter. “Guess you have.”

“Norm brought it in at six. Stayed till eight. It’s been fun, Bertie.”

T rolled his shoulders and gave his head a small shake at the unease in her words.

The older woman marched over to T, looked him up and down. “Well, maybe you’re famous somewhere else, but I swear I’ve never seen you before.” She barely came to his chest. “Bend down here and let an old woman have a better look.” She undid the papers under her arm and slid out a tabloid picture of Bone Cold—Alive. It was fairly recent, in color, the group in all their twisted glory. T bent down as he was told, and Bertie held the image up to his face. He held his breath and his heart began to pound as he felt the pale blue eyes inspect him. She was actually comparing him to his own picture! How close to discovery were they? “Do you mind?” She held her hand up to within an inch of his hair. He shook his head, afraid to speak. She touched his hair, felt his day’s growth of beard, took his chin in her hand and turned his head this way and that, all the time comparing him to the tabloid shot. Finally, she tucked it away, released his chin. “Those Palmer twins don’t know what they’re talking about and I’m damn sure going to tell them. No resemblance whatsoever. How old are you?”

“Thirty four.” His reply was mixed with an exhalation of sheer relief. Whoever the Palmer twins were he wanted to stay out of their way.

“Too old to be causing all this trouble for Lyla. Are you going to stop it?”

“Bertie!”

“I didn’t mean to start it.” T paid no attention to Lyla, instead fixing all of his attention on his questioner. This was a personality he understood. This could have been his grandmother catching him in the middle of gross misbehavior—and covering up for him again. The spark in her eyes dared him to cross her, dared him to breathe wrong.

Bertie knew and Bertie was going to lie for him. Best to play by Bertie’s rules.

“But you are going to finish it?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve offered to both leave and cancel the date, but Lyla wants us to stay and she wants to go out.”

Bertie grabbed the open collar on his knit shirt, pulled him down to where their noses almost touched. “I’m staying on your side in this because I see what others don’t. I watched you in church. You got music buried in your soul, just like Lyla. You’ve got feelings you don’t want nobody else to find out about and so does she. I’ve always been a good watcher. But let me tell you this, Mr. Incognito.” Here it comes, T thought, the not-so-veiled threat. Bring it on, old girl, I’ll bet I’ve heard worse. “I’ll back you and I’ll fight for you, but cross her, and I’ll make Dub look like a Sunday school recruit.” He believed every word. She abruptly let him go, gathered herself together and was halfway out the door when she turned. “How much?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Ten.”

“Ten what?” It was almost a growl.

“Thousand.”

Bertie’s head snapped up and she looked quickly at Lyla. “Now you behave and be worth every penny.” She was gone.

T took a deep breath as he straightened up. Balancing his hands on his hips, he looked at Lyla. Her eyes had widened, her lips parted. He shifted his weight. “You don’t believe I’m some misplaced tabloid idol?”

She raised an eyebrow, shrugged, said nothing.

“Bertie has nothing to worry about. Nor you.”

Lyla took another sip of coffee. “I know.”

T hesitated, a thought so close to the edge of his tongue, that it threatened to spill over of its own accord. Of course, it might be the proverbial straw. Ah, the devil within. Play the role. “Leastwise, not if you’re worth every penny.” It was a gamble, a pushing of the envelope with this woman he knew so little about, and yet felt so much for.

“I guess we can judge that when you return me safely to my door tomorrow night.”

Well, that was noncommittal enough. He still felt safe. From Lyla, not from Bertie. God forbid, he should meet up with the Palmer twins. “Guess I’d better go before the lunch crowd shows up.”

“It would be wise. At the moment, you’re a shadowy figure. Stay a while and you’ll have more than you bargained for. I’m sure there’s just so many inspections one man can take in a day.” Her voice hadn’t changed its inflection, hadn’t raised in tone. But her eyes were talking to him and it was all he could do to turn and walk away.

Chapter Eleven

W
atching from the upstairs kitchen window, Lyla commanded a view of the marina road. She was hoping to catch the Mercedes before its driver entered the Quik-Lee property. If Sam would pull to the back, all would be okay. Otherwise, the very late lunch crowd would be watching the floorshow. She had excused herself from work about twelve-thirty when it looked like lunch would be a no-show. She really should have known. Even the telephone crew hadn’t arrived till one. For some reason, Sally wasn’t griping and Murph was being the perfect host.

Lyla paced back to the dinette table, picked up her bag, adjusted her skirt. She really felt out of place at two in the afternoon dressed to kill. Whatever was he thinking? At least, she had something to wear. She had been asked to play at the wedding of the summer season and as her gift to the bride, she had agreed. The cream colored suit with lace lapels and a modestly short skirt had come back from the cleaners the day before Sam and Fletch had arrived and she’d not had time to take it back to the house. So she’d had a paint-the-town outfit on hand. He was fortunate she even owned one.