“Hello.”
“Edgar, this is Gunther, and I have a hot, frightening message for you.”
“Whatta you talking about?” For once, Edgar’s voice lacked its stridency and arrogance.
Gunther explained the reason for his call and added, “That man means business, and this time you’ll pay.”
“With what?” Edgar yelled, panic-stricken. “I had just enough money to get back here. He can’t get blood out of a turnip.”
“This is true, but that guy is mad enough and evil enough to get rid of the turnip. Eight days from now, he’ll collect, one way or the other. Stay at your hotel, and I’ll call you back as soon as I can work something out.”
Edgar’s heavy release of breath, evident through the wire, suggested that he’d been holding it. “I owe you one, brother. But you be careful. I’ve been told that guy is always loaded. If he doesn’t do the job, his hoods will do it for him.”
Gunther shook his fist at the air around him. “Then why the hell did you get involved with him?”
“Look, man. I didn’t know who he was till it was too late. And I didn’t give him your address. He’s got everybody in his pocket.”
“If this doesn’t teach you a lesson, nothing ever will. Just stay there till I get back to you.” He hung up and looked at his sister, the tears cascading down her cheeks. “I had planned to share with you and Edgar some of my take from that runaway electronic game I designed, but I didn’t want to give Edgar any money until he got a decent job and settled down. It looks as if he gets it now.”
“You’re going to give Edgar twenty-five thousand dollars?” she asked, her teary eyes wide and disbelieving.
“Definitely not. I’m going to hand it to that guy in Edgar’s presence.” He telephoned Edgar. “Be here at noon today, and whatever you do, be here on time.”
Next, he phoned the man Edgar owed and asked him to met Edgar at his apartment. He got the cash from the bank and was back home by a quarter of twelve. Edgar waited at the door, because Mirna refused to let him inside the apartment.
Precisely at twelve, the bell rang, and Gunther opened the door. “Come in, please,” he said, and the man stepped inside the door, but would go no farther.
“I don’t walk into traps,” he said.
“This is not a trap, mister,” Gunther replied, and beckoned to Edgar. “I’m paying you the twenty-five thousand that my brother owes you in his presence, and I suggest that you don’t allow him to get in your debt again. This is it. I’m finished.”
“You should have given it to me,” Edgar said. “I’d have paid him.”
“You’re a gambling addict,” the man said. “You would have gambled it away. Keep it up, and you won’t live long. Incidentally, you ought to thank your brother for saving your life.” The man tipped his hat and strolled down the hall to the elevator.
As Gunther’s gaze swept over his older brother, he fought back the tears as thoughts of their lives together while their mother lived flashed through his mind. Life had been imperfect then, too, but they were a family. Back then, he would have denied vigorously a suggestion that he abhorred his brother’s company.
“As soon as repairs on the house have been completed, Carson will be able to continue searching for Father’s will. When he finds it, I hope you’ll do something with your life.” He walked with Edgar to the door and extended his hand. “Be seeing you.”
Edgar walked to the elevator with plodding steps. That was a close call, closer than he wanted to remember. How had Dutch Holliday found him? He hadn’t known that the man he was betting against was one of the roughest hoods in Las Vegas, a man who had pulled time for murder. When he left Las Vegas, he’d thought he was home free, but that bitch must have betrayed him. Not that he blamed her. He wouldn’t expect her to stand up to a man like Dutch, and there was no imagining what kind of torture Dutch put her through.
He walked out of the building holding his breath, but when he saw that Dutch hadn’t damaged his Harley, he breathed easily. “This can’t go on. If I keep this up, I’ll be dead before I’m forty.”
He jumped onto the big motorcycle, revved the engine, and quickly cut it off
.
If anybody had told him Gunther would pay his twenty-five-grand gambling debt, he’d have called them a liar. It definitely wasn’t just talk that Gunther had saved his life. Dutch meant business. But maybe the most unfortunate part of it was that Gunther had finished with him for all time. He’d said it, and he meant it. Oh, what the hell!
He revved up the engine and headed for Baltimore. What he needed was a week or two of gigs to tide him over till Carson found that will. He appreciated what Gunther did for him, surprised though he still was, but he was on his own now, and he had to make his own bread.
The manager met him when he entered the club. He was willing to beg for work, even on his knees, if necessary. “Man, I’ve been trying for days to get hold of you,” the manager said. “Moody sprained his wrist, and I don’t have a decent guitarist. Can you give me a couple of weeks?”
Edgar ran his hands over his tight curls, rubbed the back of his neck, and adopted the facial expression of one sorely put upon. “I’d planned to head north. What’s on your mind, man? I mean, what are you offering? I can’t support myself on what you pay.”
“Okay. I’ll up it by one-fifty a week. What do you say?”
Edgar appeared to muse over the offer as if he had better options. Finally, he said, “Look, man, if you can make it two hundred more, I’ll cancel my gig. You’ve been good to me, so ... well, okay. The regular plus one-fifty. It’s a deal, but I’ll have to call my gig and cancel. I’ll be back here at a quarter of seven ready to work.”
Outside the popular club, Edgar wiped the sweat from the side of his face and the back of his neck. And to think that he’d been prepared to work for less than he usually demanded. Maybe his luck had changed. One thing was certain: After losing twenty-five grand in forty minutes, he’d played his last game of blackjack. And as soon as he got his share of that will, he meant to shake Ellicott City’s dirt off his shoes and head west for good.
Shirley met Gunther on the stairs as he headed to his room. “What happened? I didn’t want to witness that.”
“I gave the man the money and told both of them that I won’t do it again. Edgar needs help with that habit. It’s dangerous. Unfortunately, it is entirely compatible with certain elements of his personality, and I don’t see him quitting without professional help.” He lifted his shoulder in a quick shrug. “What to do? I’ve told him that, but, like most addicts, he thinks he can quit gambling whenever he wants to. I’m going to my office. When are you due back on the
Utopia Girl?
”
“I have to report to the head office in Orlando on Wednesday. I’m sailing on the
Mercury
Thursday afternoon.”
“What about Carson? You two have gotten very tight.”
“That’s true. We have. I’m seeing him tonight.”
“I expected as much. Do you think he’d have punched Edgar?”
“I’m sure of it, and Edgar deserved it. I hope you’re giving serious thought to a relationship with Caroline. I like her a lot.”
“So do I, and I’m planning to work on it. Carson’s a good guy.” He sped up the stairs, put on his jacket and coat, grabbed his briefcase, and left for his office. Shirley sat on a step midway down the stairs, trying to come to grips with what had happened there that morning. As if she didn’t exist, Edgar had neither told her good-bye nor given Gunther a message for her. After nearly half an hour, she got up and went to find Mirna. At least she could be thankful for the fact that Gunther would no longer nag her about Carson.
Shirley didn’t like having to go on a two-week cruise at a time when her relationship with Carson had reached the point of decision making. She believed he loved her, but she wanted to hear it from his lips at a time when lovemaking hadn’t made him loose tongued. Nobody could rush him, but she thought she’d learned enough about him to guide him to where she wanted him.
“I’m not discounting the fact that he’s been this way once, didn’t like the outcome, and is unlikely to rush back into marriage. But I am not going to be a convenience for him. Love doesn’t cover that.” She figured that during the two weeks they’d be apart, Carson would do a lot of thinking and rationalizing. Well, wouldn’t she be doing the same?
For their date that evening, Shirley dressed carefully, exposing just enough cleavage to make his mouth water for more. She told herself that the cool, green color of the dress would dilute its brazenness. She lifted her right shoulder in a quick shrug. She was dealing with a man of the world, and she had to use all the ammunition available to her.
Chapter Eleven
Shirley opened the door that evening and walked into Carson Montgomery’s arms. “You are one lovely creature,” he said. “One of these days, I’m going to take you to my lair and keep you there.”
“Can’t happen soon enough for me,” she replied, her tone as airy as his.
But his expression as he stared down at her was anything but light. “Be careful what you say to me, Shirley. As I’ve told you before, jokes often cover the truth.”
“Really? So when are you sweeping me away to your lair?” she shot back.
He raised an eyebrow. “We could head there right now if I hadn’t made other plans. Ogden and Marsha want us to go to her place for supper, after which the four of us would go dancing. Marsha knows a good place. Is that okay with you?”
“Of course,” she said, somewhat subdued. “I liked Marsha. Where does she live?”
“East Baltimore, not too far from the university.”
She thought for a few minutes. Either Ogden wanted Carson’s opinion of Marsha or Carson wanted his brother’s opinion of her. “Do you think Marsha is a good match for Ogden?” she asked him, trying to get the answer indirectly.
“She seems to be, but my impressions are not the ones that count.”
Hmm. No luck there, but it did mean that Carson was not expressly seeking Ogden’s opinion of her. She liked what she’d seen of Carson’s brother, but she didn’t know his standards for women. She embraced a calm that floated over her when she decided not to second-guess Carson as to why he wanted the four of them to spend the evening together. Four hours later, she reprimanded herself for having thought that Carson had an undisclosed agenda.
They ate a simple, cold supper at Marsha’s studio apartment and ended the evening dancing. “Two weeks is a long time,” Carson whispered in Shirley’s ear as they danced a two-step.
“It’ll be just as long for me,” she replied, “and I
know
I don’t like it.”
“If Ogden weren’t spending the weekend at my place, I’d ask you to go home with me.” He tweaked her nose. “Cover up those tantalizing globes. They’re torturing me.”
Was he serious? An inch of cleavage was old-fashioned by today’s standard. She forced herself not to look at him and didn’t respond. At times, she couldn’t read his mood, and she’d learned to wait until he showed his hand. Later, that knowledge served her well.
“I’ll be on a case until about Tuesday,” he told her as they walked into Gunther’s apartment not long after midnight, “but I’ll see you before you leave.”
When she didn’t reply, only gazed at him, he gripped her shoulders, pulled her closer, rimmed her lips with his tongue, and plowed into her. When he released her, she staggered backward, shaken by his possessiveness. And she’d never seen his face bear a more serious expression.
“That’s the way it is with me, baby. Think about it.”
And she did, long after he said good night.
Her cell phone rang as she got into bed, and although she suspected that Carson was her caller, she had an unexplainable reluctance to answer. “Hello.”
“You knew I’d call. I couldn’t leave things like that. You’re more important to me than I think you realize.”
It was what she wanted to hear, but she couldn’t absorb it. “Carson, I’m bothered that you thought my dress provocative. If I found a more conservative one, I’d probably have to make it, and I’m not planning to do that. I like that dress.”
“So do I, but it was displaying what are for my eyes only.”
She bristled and didn’t bother to hide it. “If you want the right to make that claim, be prepared to make some changes in your life.”
His laugh could have been mistaken for a sneer. “I’m not fool enough to believe you’d let me tell you what to wear no matter what my status was in your life. And you’d be within your right. That is not the issue here.”
She did not want to precipitate a cold draft in their relationship, so she said, “You can’t blame me for trying to protect my investment, and I have a lot of myself at stake in you. Anyway, you’re the one who instigated that exchange.”
She imagined that both of his eyebrows shot up before he said, “I think you apologized, and I readily accept.”
Her laughter had a ring of happiness. “If you take good care of ... er ... things, whether I cover up won’t matter.”
“If I have your permission, I’ll take damned good care of them.”
Trust Carson to cut right to the chase, but she refused the bait. “Kiss me good night. I’m sleepy.” He made the sound of a kiss, and she turned out the light and began wrestling with the sheets.
Shirley checked in at the cruise line’s head office in Orlando three hours early. “I want to see Dr. Larsen,” she told the receptionist, and added, “I have an appointment,” before the woman could lie and say that Larsen was busy. Shirley had wondered at the receptionist’s protective attitude toward Larsen and felt more than a little pity for her. The woman had seen more than fifty years, and meeting Hugh Larsen’s office needs appeared to be her whole life.
Larsen stood at his office door with a broad smile on his friendly face, and with his usual fatherly persona, he patted Shirley’s shoulder. “Come in, Miss Farrell”—he never said “Ms.”—“and have a seat. I suppose you want to see me about Frieda Davis’s application.”
“Yes. Thank you for considering her.”
“Ordinarily I wouldn’t, because she isn’t an RN, but her reference is outstanding. So I called a couple of doctors and the head nurse at the hospital at which she works, and I got fantastically good reports. One doctor said she was as good as any RN and that, in addition, she wasn’t full of attitude. I want to meet her and talk with her.”
“That’s wonderful, sir. I can certainly arrange that.”
“Good. I’ll send her a ticket and put her up overnight. I’m very curious about that woman. Tell her to expect my call.”
“Thank you, sir. From what I observed of her when she was taking care of my brother, I’d say she deserves better than she’s been getting.”
As soon as she boarded the
Mercury
and settled into her stateroom, Shirley called Gunther.
“Hi. I think Frieda has a good chance at a job on one of the ships or in the head office. Tell her that Dr. Larsen, who’s head of the health service, is going to call her and ask her to go down to Orlando for an interview at the cruise line’s expense. Have you heard from Edgar?”
“Not a word. But he’ll show up when he has another problem, or if he’s mad about something. When are you sailing?”
“Tomorrow at five.”
“Safe trip.”
She answered the phone on its first ring, hoping that Carson was her caller, but instead, a clipped voice said, “Ms. Farrell, the captain wants to see you.”
She threw up her hands. When was she going to get organized? “Thanks. I’ll be right there,” she said in her best professional manner. She put on her badge and left for the captain’s office.
“Good afternoon, sir,” she said. “Ms. Richards said you wanted to see me.”
“Yes. Please have a seat. Management has agreed to allow
Around the World Travel
magazine to do a lead story on our cruise line. Because you’ve done such a fine job as a public relations officer, the interviews will be on our ship and you’ll be the central figure in the story. So, during this cruise, a photographer and an interviewer will follow your activities. This is good advertising for the
Mercury
, so I hope you don’t mind. They’re anxious to get the story in the upcoming issue, so the next two days may be difficult ones for you.”
“Thank you for the honor, sir. I’ll do my best.”
With a reporter and a photographer recording her every move and word, she didn’t get a chance to call Carson until her bedtime, and then, he didn’t answer his phone. Where could he be at eleven o’clock at night that he couldn’t answer his phone?
After chiding herself for that moment of weakness, she told herself that he was asleep. The next morning, she called him as soon as she awoke.
“I thought you’d written me off,” he said after they greeted each other.
Hmm. So he was fishing for reassurance of his importance to her. “You didn’t think any such thing. I thought you took care of business night before last.”
“I did, too,” he said, “but the human mind can be fickle.”
The human mind, maybe, but not the human body, at least not hers
. She told him about the magazine article. “I can’t sneeze without wondering how I’ll look on camera. I’ll be glad when they finish getting the documentation. Do you know how repairs are moving on Father’s house?”
“The chimney and windows are done, and they’re working on the roof. You can’t imagine how relieved I’ll be when I finally get that will in my hands. More is riding on that than I thought when I agreed to find it.”
“Does that mean I won’t see as much of you?” She wanted to bite her tongue for that lapse, but like a plucked flower, it was done, and she had to live with it.
“That question does not merit an answer, Shirley, and you know it. I’m always happy to finish a job, and I’ll be especially happy when this one is behind me.”
She was not going to make the mistake of asking him why finding that will was more important to him than completing most of his assignments. She trusted him, but she might not want to know his reasons. Maybe she’d better be more cautious. Her deep sigh told a tale, even to her. After the loving he gave her the night before she left Ellicott City, it was too late for caution. Much too late.
Carson sat in Donald Riggs’s office, enjoying some of the Belgian chocolates that Riggs always had in his top desk drawer. “When will I be able to get back in the house?” he asked Riggs. “I had to stop just as I thought I was on to something. I had Leon Farrell all wrong at first. Not even his children understood the man. Gradually I realized that he didn’t seek understanding and would not have welcomed it. You can’t imagine how glad I am that I didn’t grow up in that man’s house.”
“I expect you’re right. Leon cared deeply about Catherine, and when she died, he lost interest in people, including his children. It doesn’t surprise me that you pegged him wrong; he spent his last ten years locked up in a shell of himself, guarding his property and his money and loving nobody, not even himself. I hope you can find that will, if only to free Gunther and Shirley from Edgar’s venom. That man’s fixation on his father’s will has caused him to deteriorate more with each passing day. Believe me, if I had the keys to heaven, I don’t think Leon Farrell would get in.”
Riggs’s secretary brought in a carafe of coffee, two mugs, cream, and sugar. “I gave up on porcelain cups, man,” Riggs said, “so a mug will have to do. Help yourself.”
They sipped coffee for a minute quietly, and Carson wondered if he’d have to remind Riggs of his reason for being in the man’s office. But Riggs hadn’t forgotten. “As soon as the inspector goes over the repairmen’s work, you can go in there. But the roofers say they need a couple more days, three if it rains. That means you should be able to get in at the latest by the middle of next week.”
“Thanks. I want to finish with Edgar Farrell. I don’t like the man, and my tolerance for him is almost nil.”
Riggs stretched out his legs, leaned back, and laughed. “Thanks for the company. That makes two of us, but his brother and sister are fine people. This will is creating a chasm between them and Edgar. Neither of them has asked me about that will once. But Edgar’s been on me about it since the day after Leon was buried. Edgar’s a deadbeat. The other two are used to making their own way, and Leon did not help them as he should have. He didn’t always give them money for their school needs, and they came to me.”
Carson tried not to appear too eager and had to work at keeping a casual tone in his voice. “How did Edgar turn out so badly?”
“Catherine, his mother, spoiled him rotten. When he was about seventeen, she realized what she’d done, but it was too late to correct him. By the way, did you see that story on Shirley in
Around the World Travel
magazine? I’ve known Shirley since she was ten or so. She has developed into a lovely woman. Smart, too.”
“Yeah. She is that.” From the twinkle in Riggs’s eyes, Carson knew he’d given himself away. Not that he cared. If he was lucky, a lot more people would know how he felt about Shirley Farrell.
Riggs handed him a copy of the magazine. “You may keep it. My wife and I decided against a winter vacation, so I don’t need it.”
Back in his own office, Carson read the story of Shirley’s work as a public relations specialist for the cruise line and gazed reverently at the pictures of her at work. He didn’t think he’d ever been so proud. It called for some serious congratulatory efforts on his part. She hadn’t sent him a copy of the magazine, so he had time to make plans.
The evening of the day she returned from the cruise, they held hands in a little ice-cream store not far from Gunther’s apartment. Without thinking about it, Carson leaned forward and brushed her lips with a quick kiss. “How would you like to see
The Lion King
or
The Phantom of the Opera
?”