Charade (2 page)

Lynn thought a while before replying, “I'm not sure I have the right to butt into my mother's private life."

Trace held onto his temper and kept his voice low and persuasive, “Even if it will save her from pain and heartache later on?"

Lynn wasn't moved by his argument. “Aren't you being a little melodramatic?"

This woman would try the patience of a saint. Trace dropped any pretense of being charming. “Are you always this argumentative and contrary?"

He read in Lynn's angry stare the intent to let go with a stinging reply. Before she could answer a wiry little man with slicked-back hair and an obnoxious air hopped through the door and bounced across the floor to sit on the stool that Otis had vacated. “Gooood morning, Lynnie, I came to see if you've done anything about those building code violations."

It was obvious to even a casual on-looker like Trace that Lynn Evans hated this man's guts. “I told you that I'd get it done in thirty days. It hasn't even been a week since you issued the citation.” This time she remembered to introduce Trace. “Trace Randolph,” She nodded her head in the man's direction. “This is Walter Winters. He's the building inspector for the city of Hatlesville.” She told Walter, “This is Trace Randolph. He's new in town."

Walter extended his hand and Trace shook it. “Hello."

Walter didn't bother to return his greeting. “Lynnie, honey, you know I can close this place down if you don't get it up to prescribed building code standards in what's left of your thirty days."

Lynn leaned across the counter and met Walter's appraising gaze. Red curls escaped from the baker's hat she wore to frame her face like a fallen halo. Her green eyes shot little sparks of fire. In a saccharine-sweet voice she replied, “Walter, honey, you know I have twenty-four more days to get that done. Now get your ass out of my bakery and don't come in here threatening me again."

Trace hid a fugitive smile. Lynn Evans was an opinionated, testy individual and a brave one, too. In the face of possible defeat she still charged bravely ahead.

Walter's face turned an ugly shade of red. “You can't alter, enlarge, move, improve, convert or erect anything around here until you have a permit from the city of Hatlesville.” Leaning back he folded his arms across his chest. “You haven't applied for one yet."

Even as he intruded into the conversation, Trace wondered what possessed him. This was none of his business. He surprised himself by saying. “Excuse me, but Ms. Evans can renovate, add a room, move a wall, or even add a rest room to this building without a city building permit."

Walter snorted as he turned his attention to Trace. “And just how do
you
know
that
?"

"I'm Ms. Evans’ contractor."

Lynn's eyes widened as she stared at Trace.

"You gotta have a license to be a contractor in this city,” Walter countered.

"I have a license,” Trace answered, a little too softly, “So, are you saying I'm wrong about not needing the permit?"

Walter stood and looked up at Trace. “If you really are a contractor in this town you might want to think twice before you cross swords with me."

"I really am and you, little man, don't scare me.” Trace pointed toward the door.

"I believe the lady asked you to leave."

Fear crawled across Walter's greasy features. “I got business other places anyway.” He hopped to his feet and bounced toward the door.

Trace sat again on his stool. He had taken care of that matter in short order. “Can we get back to the business of my dad and your mother?"

Lynn put both hands on her hips and glared at him. “Just who the hell do you think you are?"

Her anger took Trace by surprise. “I explained who I am and I apologized for any thing offensive I might have said about your mother, Ms. Evans..."

"Don't you ‘Ms. Evans’ me. I don't need some knight in tight jeans coming in here and rescuing me. I can take care of myself."

Knight in tight jeans, huh?
Trace smirked. He could have argued her point and won the debate, but he was too wise to do that. What was the point of winning one battle if in so doing he lost the war? “Oh, yes, I can see that."

"And don't be sarcastic.” Lynn laid her spatula on the counter.

Trace put his hand over his heart. “My intentions were the best, I assure you."

Lynn actually smiled. “You are a glib-tongued son-of-a-gun."

A tender emotion he couldn't catalogue left Trace feeling uncertain and a little hesitant. For the first time since he'd come into the room, he really
looked
at Lynn Evans. She wasn't pretty in the accepted sense of the word, but standing there with her hands on her hips and icing on her chin she exuded a kind of feminine appeal that was as surprising as it was disturbing. He wanted to return her smile. He didn't dare. “Your friend Walter was way out of line."

"He's not my friend.” Lynn picked up her spatula. “And tell me something I don't know.” She shook her head. “I shouldn't have snapped at you. I know you meant well."

Trace decided to take advantage of her sudden good humor. “Since you're no longer angry with me..."

Lynn interrupted, “I wasn't angry with you."

"Then what..."

"...is my problem?” Lynn finished the question for him and went on to explain, “Having Walter come in here with his threats just after Otis told me Joel was coming to the reunion
and
bringing a guest was too much. I lost it."

Trace sympathized, but not enough to let it deter him from what he'd come here to do. “Can you put your other problems aside long enough to concentrate on this business of my dad and your mother?"

Lynn smeared icing on a cupcake. “I can't worry about my mother now. I have more important things on my mind."

For Trace there was nothing more important than saving his dad from the clutches of over-sexed, middle-aged Lillie McGuire. “Like what?” he asked.

"Like getting this building repaired and like finding some good-looking man to escort me to the Class Reunion.” Lynn poured food coloring into a small container of icing and stirred it with a tiny spoon. “If Joel can come to the reunion and bring a guest, so can I."

So Lynn Evans was still in love with her ex-husband. That was not Trace's concern. Getting his father away from a scheming female was. An idea hopped full blown into his head. He leaned across the counter. “I'll make a deal with you."

Lynn eyed him suspiciously. “What kind of deal?"

"I'll bring your building up to the city's building code standards if you will help me break up the affair between my dad and your mother."

"How much would you charge?” Lynn held up one hand. “And before you answer, I have to tell you that there's an apartment upstairs.” She made her hand into a fist and pointed her thumb upward. “That's where I live."

Trace thought for a moment before saying, “I'll do the job for the cost of the materials plus ten percent.” He mentally crossed his fingers and waited.

"That seems fair.” Lynn iced another cupcake. “Are you really a licensed contractor?"

Trace lifted one hand. “I swear."

Lynn put the iced cupcakes on a tray. “I don't know ... How much money would you want down?” She put a clear plastic cover over the tray.

Trace reminded himself of what was at stake here before saying, “You can pay for the material as I order it. When the job's complete, you can pay me ten percent of the total cost of the material."

"That's very generous.” Lynn bit her lip and stared into space. “Damn Joel Evans."

Trace added what he hoped would be the clincher. “And if you like, I'll pretend to be your date for your class reunion.” He thought without a trace of conceit that if she wanted a handsome, charming man, he could fill the bill.

Lynn took another muffin tin of cupcakes from a shelf and set them on the counter. “You're not married?"

"My wife died five years ago.” Even now those words had the power to wound and upset. He'd lost his sweet Eva to some rare illness only days after she'd given birth to their first child. His voice was rough when he added, “So did our baby girl."

"I'm sorry.” Lynn came around the counter and sat on the stool beside him. Their eyes met briefly, and Trace read in her glance compassion and pity. She laid her hand on his arm. “That must have been terrible for you."

Memory held Trace in its painful grasp for a moment as he stared at the floor. “It was."

Lynn moved her hand and looked away, saying quietly, “This is a business deal, nothing more."

Trace pulled his mind from aching memories and back to the present. “Yes, strictly business."

Lynn waved her arms around in an all encompassing gesture. “Are you sure you want to take on the job of repairing this place?"

Trace wasn't, but he lied with ease. “I can handle it."

Lynn frowned. “Can you bring it up to city standards in twenty-four days?"

Trace spoke with more assurance than he felt. “It will be a piece of cake."

Lynn said, “Don't be funny,” but flashed him a smile that quickly converted to a frown. “I can't make any promises where my mother's concerned. But I will talk to her.” Standing, she moved back around the counter. “When can you start on my building?"

She was a pushy little dame. Trace found himself thinking that if she had on something besides that frumpy white coat and bulky apron, and if she combed out that messy hair, she might be passably pretty. He shook his head. “I'll bring the contract over tomorrow night. You can sign on the dotted line and tell me what your mother said."

Lynn hesitated. “I may not get around to seeing Mother before the weekend."

Trace stood and shrugged his shoulders. “Call me when you have talked to her and I'll bring the contract by.” He took a business card from his shirt pocket and laid it on the counter.

Lynn lifted a bowl from a shelf near the counter. “I don't have a lot of time to get these repairs done.” She set the bowl on the counter and impaled Trace on a stiletto stare. “I get the message. I'll talk to her tomorrow."

Trace backed toward the door. “Fair enough, I'll bring the contract by tomorrow evening.” Turning on his heel he hurried from the room, wondering as he headed out the front door of the shop just what he'd gotten himself into.

Chapter 3

Lynn backed her little Toyota from its parking space and swung onto the busy thoroughfare with the sinking feeling that she was on a fool's mission that would only result in angry words and hurt feelings. The last thing she needed now was to disturb the uneasy truce that existed between her and her mother.

Lynn had been a defiant and rebellious teenager, quarrelling with her mother often and vehemently. Maturity and experience had taught her patience and a measure of discretion. Time had mellowed her mother also. Now, by tacit agreement, Lillie stayed out of Lynn's affairs and Lynn didn't poke her nose into her mother's business—at least she hadn't, until now.

She couldn't believe that she was on her way to interrogate her mother about the most personal of matters, her sex life. She and Lillie had never had a conversation about sex before, not even the old birds and bees discussion most girls have with their mothers when they reach adolescence.

Lillie had always been a very private person. Thrice married and widowed, she seemed to be the epitome of small-town, straight-laced respectability and decorum. Yet here was Lynn, on her way to ask this reserved, docile, middle-aged lady about an alleged affair she was having with a senior citizen who had a heart condition. “This is crazy,” she told herself as she changed traffic lanes. “I can't do it.” Then she remembered what she stood to lose if she didn't. “Okay, I'll give it a try.” Speeding through an amber light she made a left turn onto Oakdale Street.

Lynn parked her car in Lillie's drive, got out and walked slowly toward the front door. What if Trace was wrong? That was a very likely possibility. By the time she rang her mother's doorbell she'd convinced herself that what Trace had told her was either a lie or a mistake. She would get to the bottom of this matter and then she'd set Trace Randolph straight on several issues.

Lillie McGuire was a slight woman with graying hair and skin like old parchment. She was all smiles when she opened her front door. “Lynn, darling, do come in.” Stepping back she waited for her daughter to enter. “This is such a pleasant surprise. You usually don't come to call on week days."

"Nothing like a little surprise now and then,” Lynn quipped as she came inside and looked around. “Where is that damn cat?"

Lillie asked, “Are you referring to Minerva?"

Lynn was set to give some caustic reply when she remembered why she'd come here. “Of course, I mean Minerva."

"I shut her up in the back bedroom."

Lynn wondered why Minerva had been relegated to the bedroom but she didn't ask. She was too glad to have that ill-tempered feline out of the way.

Lillie shut the door before turning to ask, “Whatever made you decide to come to lunch today of all days?” Before Lynn could answer she motioned with her hand. “Oh, you surprised me, no doubt about that. Come into the dining room. Lunch is ready. I prepared your favorite, chicken and rice. I also made an orange cake."

Lynn would have preferred a salad with fruit for dessert. She was watching her weight. She would never understand how her mother could eat like a field hand and stay as trim as a ballet dancer. “I may skip dessert. I can't afford to gain even ounces this near my class reunion.” She waited for Lillie's lecture on the dangers of strenuous dieting.

It never came. Instead her mother said, “Very well, dear.” She followed Lynn into the dining room.

The nagging feeling that something was amiss sent a sinking sliver of suspicion slithering down Lynn's backbone. “I appreciate all the work you put into preparing a meal especially for me.” She looked at the beautifully laid table. It was set with three places. The sinking feeling hit rock bottom. Raising one eyebrow she stared at Lillie. “Three places, Mother?"

Lillie dropped her head and clasped one hand in the other. “Someone else is having lunch with us.” Dropping her hands, she lifted her head and gazed into Lynn's startled face. “I hope you don't mind."