Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You (v1.2) (31 page)

Oh, no. Uncle Alfred knew where she was because Quinn Delaney told him. Told him, told Somerton, told Jeremy. Told Parker? And, she could now tell from Quinn’s glitter ing eyes, he was about as happy to see Uncle Alfred here in East Wapaneken as he would be to find his bed filled with rats—which might not be a bad idea.

“Coincidence,” Shelby muttered under her breath as she returned to her post. “Isn’t it just?”

Brandy sat with her legs wrapped around a stool in the ice-cream shop, licking whipped cream off a long spoon with such obvious enjoyment that the boy behind the counter walked right into the open freezer door.

“You know what, Shelley?” she said, oblivious to the teen’s hopeful dreams. “It’s getting so you can’t tell the players without a scorecard. And, by the way, if I see one more movie this week, so that you aren’t actually lying to Quinn—which you’ve been doing all along, I won’t be so rotten as to point out— I think I’ll qualify for some kind of discount. Now, run this all by me one more time, okay? You’re telling me that Al is your
uncle?
Sweetcakes, do you think you may have overdosed on popcorn?”

After several hours to think about it while pretending to watch the movie that had entirely too happy an ending to suit her mood, Shelby was at last beginning to see the humor in this latest development. Sort of. “I’m not kidding, Brandy. Al is my Uncle Alfred, and vice versa.”

“The guy who had his own adventures before he
settled,
right? The one who sort of put it into your mind that taking off, living a
normal
life among the little people for a while, would be a barrel of fun? The one who, um,
drinks
a bit? Is he that Uncle Alfred?”

“One and the same. And now I think I’ve figured out why he does it. Drinks, that is. Although my only two dives into a botle didn’t end all that well. Brandy, how do I face a life like Uncle Alfred’s after this? How do I setde? Especially when, as you’ve already pointed out to me, I can’t hold my liquor. Poor Uncle Alfred. I hope he’s enjoying himself. With Tabby. They were going to go to some club Tabby likes. I can just imagine it. God.” Shelby sighed, her elbows inelegantly propped on the bar as she used a long spoon to play with the hot fudge that was rapidly melting her ice cream.

Brandy was silent for a few moments; then she said in a small voice, “He pinched me. Tonight, as Gar and I were leaving Tony’s. Honest to God, Shel, he
pinched
me. Right on the… well, you know where, right? He said Brandy was his favorite name of all time. Now I understand why. What a sweet old man.”

Shelby turned her head and looked at her friend. “That’s Uncle Alfred. When I was still a child, I used to watch him walk through a room during a party, and watch all the elegantly clad ladies giving these little jumps and
eeks
as he walked by pretending he was as innocent as a newborn lamb. I think it’s Uncle Alfred’s version of the wave, you know, that thing we saw the fans doing when we watched that Phillies game,” she said, then dissolved into giggles as Brandy’s face went cherry red, nearly blotting out her riot of freckles.

Brandy smiled, then shook her head. “So glad you’ve finally found something to laugh at, Shelley, even if it’s mostly at
me.
But, you know, if anyone else had pinched me I would have turned around, hauled off, and swatted him a good one. But there’s something about your Uncle Alfred… something so twinkling and full of fun, that the pinch felt more like a compliment.”

“Thus the secret of Uncle Alfred’s success,” Shelby agreed, nodding. “He’s such a gentleman, but with that little imp of mischief about him that has you laughing right along with him.”

“Everyone but your brother, at least right now,” Brandy pointed out, digging into the second level of her sundae, as that was how she ate them, starting with the cherry, then the whipped cream, and only then the caramel syrup and ice cream. “Do you really think he tossed him out on his ear?”

Shelby pushed the half-eaten sundae away from her. “Yes, I think he has, much as it surprises me. Quinn didn’t look shocked to see him, but that could be because he met him earlier in the day. Plus the fact that the man lies like a rug, and without flinching. In other words, I can’t be sure Quinn knew Uncle Alfred had come to East Wapaneken, but I’m betting he isn’t thrilled. Which makes two of us, or four, if you want to count those two great, hulking men who camped out at Tony’s until we closed tonight.”

“Bone crushers,” Brandy said, bobbing her head knowingly. “Will they hurt him?”

“I don’t think so, at least not yet. From what I remember from another famous episode in Uncle Alfred’s life, thiey won’t really hurt him unless he looks like he’s running away. Running to East Wapaneken, then appearing in plain sight, even
talking
to the men, isn’t exactly hiding, is it? I think those men are still trying to get over the shock, figure out what he’s doing. Besides, he gets his quarterly allowance in another few weeks. Uncle Alfred always pays his debts; he just doesn’t always pay them on time.”

“Which takes us back to Quinn. He confessed everything to Gary.”

“What!”
Shelby’s eyes went wide and she sat up so quickly she nearly toppled off the high stool. “He
told
him? Oh, God, then it’s true. It’s all true.”

Brandy waved her hands in front of her, saying, “Whoa, whoa. I thought you said you already
knew.
Knew he was hired to find you, probably told to then watch you until you came to your senses and went home. Right? You
knew.”

Shelby rubbed at her forehead, tried to hold back the tears threatening to fall. “No, Brandy,” she admitted miserably. “I
thought
so. It seemed logical; then I was sure of it when I finally made the connection between Quinn and D and S, finally remembered seeing him the night of the charity ball. Except I still didn’t
want
to believe it. Just in this small part of me, I
didn’t
believe it, ridiculous as that sounds. God, what a fool I am, what a stupid,
stupid
fool.”

Brandy looked at Shelby’s melting sundae, sighed, and tried to lighten her friend’s mood at least a little. “Man, do I ever wish I couldn’t eat when I was upset. Instead I eat everything that’s not nailed down, even stuff I don’t like.” She took another bite of her own sundae, giving Shelby time to collect herself, then said, “Okay, so he came here to watch you. You were a job, plain and simple. Then he met you, talked to you, got to know you. And he took you to bed. You can’t tell me that was part of his job, Shelley, because I won’t believe it. I’ve seen how he looks at you. He looks at you the way I look at sundaes.”

Shelby lifted her bent head and looked at Brandy, her smile tremulous, but there. Real. “He does?”

Brandy rolled her eyes theatrically. “And contained within those two words or others much like them, madam, is the reason why men get away with murder, and always have. Yeah, Shel, he does. And you’ll forgive him almost anything, just because I think he loves you. No wonder I’ve been engaged for twelve years. That’s us dumb, gullible women. Lord, I’m the poster child for forgiving a man for being impossible, just because he looks at me with love in his eyes. Right after he tells me Mama has the gout and we can’t have the wedding because she refuses to walk down the aisle with a cane.”

“I have
not
forgiven him, Brandy,” Shelby asserted, paying the check before Brandy could snatch it from her, then following her friend out into the warm June evening. “Or are you forgetting that clumsy kidnap attempt? ‘About damn time.’ That’s what the man said when Quinn came running toward him. As if he was late for the show the guy was putting on, a show meant to scare me into going home. Unless you think the regulars hired those men because I overheard them threaten the mayor? And I didn’t even tell you about the letter. I think he just got tired of being here, and wanted me to panic and—”

“Back up, Shelley. Letter? What letter?”

The next fifteen minutes were pretty much taken up by Brandy, who berated Shelby for not confiding in her, about the letter, about her suspicions about the regulars and Quinn—at least for not telling her right away. Shelby apologized about six times, as the bouncy Brandy seemed to cool down, then set off again, saying it stank pretty bad when she had to learn stuff from Gary, who knew nothing most of the time. How
dared
he know more than she did?

Before Brandy could work up a full head of steam that would undoubtedly culminate with a blistering phone call to the hapless Gary, Shelby stopped, hugged Brandy, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I adore you, you know.”

“Well, of course you do, silly,” Brandy said, wiping away quick tears. “That’s what I am. Adorable. Now, when are you going to confront Quinn and tell him that the jig is up, that you know who he is and why he’s here? Before or after you hit him, if you’re so sure he’s the one playing games with notes and stuff?”

“When?
Never.
I just can’t.”

They’d reached the apartment, and Brandy pulled her down on the steps beside her, a full moon casting eerie shadows all around them, warring with the streetlight on the corner. “Never? You’re kidding, right? You’re just going to walk away? Say nothing? Go back to Philadelphia?
Marry
Parker?”

“He’s the one who lied,” Shelby declared mulishly. “So why should I be the one to say anything?”

“Meaning, of course, why should you tell him that
you
were lying to him, saying you were brought up here in East Wappy, and all the rest of it? Oh yeah, I can see your point. He lied, and you’re as honest as Abe Lincoln. Jeez, Shelley, give me a break. You’re
both
lying to each other, both of you. He’s known it all along, and you’ve figured it out.”

“But
he
knew from the beginning. I didn’t.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah. Okay, I see it now. We’re talking
pride
here, aren’t we? Tell me, how warm do you think pride keeps you on cold winter nights?”

Shelby felt herself becoming angry. “Just because you let Gary and his mother run roughshod over you is no reason for me to lie down and let Quinn turn me into a doormat.”

“So I don’t have any pride?” Brandy began poking herself in the chest with one finger. “Me? I don’t have any
pride?
Is that what you’re saying? Well,
that
stinks. What am I supposed to do, Shelley? Throw away the only man I love, just to satisfy my
pride’?
You know something, Miss Shelby Taite? I don’t think you love Quinn. I don’t think you have the faintest idea what love
is.”

Shelby buried her face in her hands and shook her head miserably. “Oh, Brandy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Really, I didn’t.” She dropped her hands and looked at her friend. “I’m just lashing out, hurting everyone, ruining everything. I guess I’m just not
real
enough for real life. I’m too scared to really
live
a real life. I—I’m a
mess!”

Brandy gathered the weeping Shelby into her arms, rocking her as she would a child, and let her cry. Just let her cry.

A long time later, they walked up the stairs together, arm in arm, and Brandy fished in her purse for her key as Shelby blew her nose one last time.

“Is that our phone?” Brandy asked, taking a quick look at her watch. “It’s nearly midnight, for crying out loud. No, wait—it’s not our phone; it’s Quinn’s. I wonder who could be calling him this late at night.”

Shelby looked toward Quinn’s door, imagining him rousing from sleep, his dark hair tousled, his eyelids heavy, half-shut, the way they were when he looked down at her after loving her, a slow grin forming on his lips.

She hugged herself, stupidly remembering her maid Susie telling her that Jim was only “half a man” without his wife. That had seemed so sad to Shelby, but it wasn’t until this very moment that she really understood. She was half a woman without Quinn, would probably spend the rest of her life as only half a woman.

Which was still more of a woman than she’d been before he appeared in Tony’s restaurant.

Could she remain only half a woman? Did she really believe she couldn’t walk across this hall, knock on Quinn’s door, and confront him with what she knew? Could she spend the rest of this night alone, the rest of her life alone?
Before I leave,
she told herself bracingly,
I’ll tell him before I leave. Oh, please, let him tell me first. If he truly loves me, let him tell me first…

“I can’t imagine who it could be,” she said at last, giving Quinn’s closed door one last, longing look before following Brandy into their apartment even as she heard the rumble of Quinn’s voice, low and gruff, as he answered the phone. “Not that he’ll tell me. Not that he’s ever told me anything…”

If Quinn could have heard Shelby’s sad comment he would have flung down the phone and gone to her, told her everything, begged her forgiveness. But he didn’t hear her, and he really couldn’t tell her everything because he didn’t know everything.

But maybe, with Grady on the other end of the phone, he was finally going to learn what
everything
was.

“What’ve you got?” Quinn asked as soon as Grady identified himself as Agent 006, one better than “Bond, James Bond.”

“It’s not what I’ve got, bucko,” Grady then told him. “It’s what you’ve got. And you’ve been holding out on me.”

Quinn brushed a hand over his hair as he went into the kitchen area and hit the button on the coffeemaker, which was already filled and set up to go on in the morning. “It’s midnight, Grady, and I haven’t exactly had a great night, or a great day, either, come to think of it. What are you talking about?”

“Your crystal ball, of course, unless you read tea leaves or tarot cards, or something like that,” Grady answered.

Quinn balanced the receiver against his shoulder as he pulled out the glass coffeepot and replaced it with his cup when the coffee began its slow drip. “I was right?” he said, already waking up, without the coffee.

“More than right,” Grady told him. “But, dramatic sort that I am, first I want you to tell me why my poor good buddy has had such a lousy day. I thought you and Miss Taite were happy as hell in your fool’s paradise. What’s the matter, Quinn, the snake show up?”