Double Trouble (2 page)

Which was why she was married and had two kids, while I wasn’t and didn’t... and never would. These periodic crises were enough to keep my biological clock from ringing its alarm.

Along with a lot of other things, now neatly buried in my Paleolithic past, and destined never to be exhumed.

“Roger.” I really had only one good choice, even though it was incredibly inconvenient. Almost as if Marcia planned it that way.

Hmm.

“Hold your position. Repeat: hold your position, Calypso. We have a technical complication on this end—there is no vehicle available for immediate rendezvous. Do you copy, Calypso?”

“We copy, Houston.” There was Johnny. I guessed that the boys were sharing the receiver.

“Mission control suggests you enter low orbit, Calypso, from which you can watch your designated position. In the event that your shuttle does appear, please hold your position until the second vehicle arrives to rendezvous. Repeat your orders, Calypso.”

Jimmy did, then Johnny whispered. “The janitor’s office is right over there, Auntie Maralys.”

“Roger, Calypso. We will rendezvous ASAP at your selected alternate coordinates.”

“Roger, Houston.”

“Over and out.” I flung on my battered leather jacket, ran for the door and vowed to break every bone in my sister’s body when I found her. Maybe I’d snap those perfect nails one at a time. I flagged down a cab, and the cabbie thought he’d died and gone to heaven when he discovered I was going all the way out to Lexington.

Might as well be Canada. Or California. Haha. I could pick James up myself and give him a telling-to about the responsibilities of parenthood. That would be fun.

As if I knew anything about it.

The fun would have to wait though. The boys were my first order of business. I rummaged surreptitiously through my pockets and hoped like hell that I had enough cash on me for the fare.

One thing was for sure—Marcia was a dead woman.

* * *

Marcia wasn’t dead, just A.W.O.L.

I took the kids back to Casa Coxwell and they gabbled the whole way, their confidence that the world was their oyster evidently bolstered by this return to routine. It wasn’t as if I could have them in my place. Perish the thought.

Oh look, another hive.

Actually, my theory was that some forgetful someone would be at the house, but every light was out in the place when we arrived. Some kind of crummy security system the lofty Coxwells had installed. Between us, we had two keys, Jimmy knew the security code, and I was only short a nickel on the fare. The cabbie decided to be generous.

In case you aren’t sure, I don’t do kids really well. I’m not particularly domesticated myself and at least have the good sense to keep my bad habits to myself. I let the boys manage their own nocturnal routine—the world was hardly going to end if they didn’t brush their teeth this once and they were already too excited to listen to sense. They’d probably be awake half the night, but that wasn’t my problem.

At least, I hoped it wouldn’t be. Ewwww, queasy gut. A night alone with the kiddos. I immediately looked for clues in the case of the disappearing sister.

There was big clue on the fridge. An envelope, addressed to my brother-in-law in my sister’s neat girly-girl script.

I eyed it for five entire seconds before I decided that under the circumstances a loss of privacy was the least of James’ troubles. After this adventure, he owed me. Not that I expected him to agree with me about that, or anything else.

But he would never know I’d read the letter anyway.

Unless I got caught. I popped the flap, kept an ear tuned for the reappearance of the boys, and read.

Dear James—

I’ve had enough of you and your problems. Pick up the boys at the pool tonight after swimming—I won’t be there and I won’t be back.

Marcia

Breathtaking originality. Marcia made Auntie Mary look like a literary genius. And she
still
signed her name with a little heart for the dot over the i. I shook my head, marveling that a thirty-eight year old woman could cling so desperately to sweet sixteen.

Keys turned in the front door lock and I replaced the letter in the nick of time, managing to lounge in the kitchen doorway just as James stepped into the foyer.

He stopped and stared. I smiled, the proverbial cat who swallowed the canary, and enjoyed the rare sense of having surprised him.

Now, my brother-in-law is a good looking guy, always has been. He’s tall and lean and chestnut-haired, although now there’s a bit of silver at his temples and I’ve caught him with reading glasses once or twice. He can appear to be concerned and sympathetic—or he can show the feral watchfulness of a predator with one eye on lunch, especially in court. He’s always given me the impression of a calculating machine, zinging through the combinations and permutations and probabilities before he responds to anything.

As much as I can relate to the math-favorable part of that, I find him a bit unnerving.

(Tell him that and I’ll have to hunt you down and hurt you.)

James has that ease that only men raised with money have: for example, he looks completely relaxed in his custom made Italian suits. A man of the world or something like that. He wears his clothes with an indifference to their cost, pushing up the sleeves on the cashmere sweaters my sister buys as though they’re sweatshirts from the Gap. He plays soccer with the boys without a thought for his imported leather loafers.

This drives my sister bananas, she who worships designer labels and wants all garments as perfect as the day they were acquired—even if it means only wearing them for twenty minute intervals. I don’t know how she survived two sons and a husband with a perspective like that.

Come to think of it, maybe that was why she was gone.

Or maybe that’s why she started looking like hell while her “men” were turned out to perfection.

Huh. Maybe
that’s
why she left.

James’ manners are impeccable, a legacy from private schools, and his thoughts are characteristically tough to read. He’s one of those types who always says the right thing.

That drives
me
bananas.

I don’t think he has any emotions. He’s always struck me as the kind of man who eliminates excess baggage—like feelings. Yearnings. Hopes and dreams. Anything that doesn’t contribute to his own ongoing meteoric rise to success.

I never could figure out why he married my sister. Unless a wife and kids were necessary accessories for the lawyer destined for Great Things—and she was as good a choice as any. They never seemed to have much in common, but maybe it was something basic between them. Like lust. Marcia used to be quite a looker, and I say that with the undue modesty of an identical twin.

Tonight, James looked surprisingly haggard and annoyed for a man made of granite, and as I mentioned, that expression didn’t improve when he saw me.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Ooo, a vulgarity. Of course, the strumpet sister had invaded the last bastion of propriety in the free world. That, at least, conformed to our usual script. His job was to make sure I didn’t feel welcome enough to hang around too long and taint the precious boys. I knew my lines by heart.

Too bad I hadn’t worn something really skimpy, just to tick James off. I slouched harder, knowing that perfect posture was a household holy grail. “You should be more gracious to the one doing your dirty work.”

The man glowered at me. “What are you talking about?”

“Your kids called me from the pool when no one picked them up.”

James flicked a glance up the stairs, some parental part of him clearly reassured by the ruckus coming from the bathroom. “Where’s Marcia?”

“Where were
you
? Takes two for the fun part. Why should one be left with all the work after that?”

See? There is some residual instinct to defend your other half when you’re a twin. Probably more of it was due to his assumption that someone else—someone female—would pick up the details of his life.

As if his kids weren’t his problem. Grrr.

But the man of stone surprised me. James shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, leaving it uncharacteristically rumpled.

His next words were just as uncharacteristically emotional. “God, you two
are
exactly the same. Who would have guessed. Now, I’m to blame for airline traffic stacking up over Logan.”

James didn’t wait for an answer. He just chucked his coat in the general direction of a chair and dropped briefcase and suit bag on either side of himself. The overcoat slid to the floor and he didn’t pick it up.

Marcia would freak.

Well, if she had been here, she would have freaked but she wasn’t so I guessed she wouldn’t.

James didn’t look like he cared. It was unlike him to not put me right in my place—i.e. elsewhere—but he seemed to be out of steam. “But what the hell—blame me for the cloud cover and the delays out of LaGuardia, too.” He flung out his hands. “Everything else is my fault around here.”

He shoved past me, loosening his tie as he headed into the kitchen. He still wore the same cologne and I still liked it, though I’d die before I admitted such a weakness.

I thought he looked as down as a guy could look, until he scanned the empty counters in the pristine kitchen and his face fell a little further. “I don’t suppose there’s anything to eat?”

I shrugged. “I dunno. I just got here. Maybe the caterers are late.”

He fired one of those quick incisive glances my way, the ones I always forget are in his arsenal. I jumped a bit, just like I usually do, and he shook his head. The steam seemed to go out of him then, as though that one glance had emptied his stores.

James really must be running low. “Sorry you had to pick up the slack, Maralys.” The edge was gone from his voice. “It’s a long ride out from the city.”

Sympathy? From
James
?

I blinked and stared at him, wondering whether this was some kind of joke.

He sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets before meeting my gaze steadily. “I know the family shtick isn’t your thing. Thanks for stepping in.”

It seemed harmless to soften a little bit towards him. I’m not the kind of person to kick someone when they’re down, after all. Well, not often. I’ve been there, seen the view, and know it’s a bitch. “Sorry you had a bad travel day.”

We eyed each other warily, then he reached for his wallet. “What was the fare?”

For a moment, I considered the merits of being proud and shrugging off his offer. James must have guessed the reason for my hesitation, because he almost smiled when he offered those twenties to me.

“Take the money, Maralys. You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for my kids and I know you work at night. I can’t give you back the time, so at least let me cover the fare.”

It was not the kind of understanding I expected from the courtroom shark. His tone, too, was suspiciously compassionate. I wondered which particular aliens had seized my real brother-in-law and left an overwrought decoy in his place.

“You feeling all right?” I demanded as I took the cash and squirreled it into my pocket.

“No, but since when does that matter?” James didn’t seem to expect an answer, which was good because I didn’t have one to that. He turned away, then straightened suddenly.

Obviously, he had spotted the note. This would have been a tactful moment to disappear, but then, disappearing would have proven that I knew what the note said.

I strove to look innocent. Not that it mattered—no one was looking at me. James pursed his lips and stared at the envelope, without making any move to cross the room, much less to read it. He didn’t seem to need to open it to know what it said.

Okay, so things had been really bad around here.

He didn’t even look at me when he finally walked to the fridge. He opened the envelope with resignation, clearly unsurprised by its contents, then chucked it on the counter.

Like scrap. “You read it?”

“Me? What kind of a person do you think I am?”

James laughed then, though it wasn’t a merry ho ho ho. “I
know
what kind of person you are, Maralys. Of course you read it.” He winked at me so unexpectedly that I jumped. “I would have read it too. Do the boys know?”

After that, it seemed pointless to lie. “I sent them straight upstairs before I saw it. They’re doing the wash-and-jammies thing.”

James nodded once, crisply, a man who had made his decision and was seizing control of his universe once more. “Right. Thanks for stepping in. I appreciate your trouble. Why don’t you call another cab and get back to the city?” He reached into his wallet and tossed me another couple of twenties, then left the room.

Maybe it was because I was used to the kind of men who expect you to fix everything for you that this dismissal annoyed me so much. Maybe it was because I liked what I saw and my sister didn’t, yet he was waiting for her. Doesn’t matter. I said it anyway.

“Be still, my foolish heart,” I muttered as I folded the money. “All this appreciation is going to go straight to my head.”

I didn’t think James would hear me, but I was wrong.

He whirled in the hall and I took a step back. Raptor on the attack. His eyes were flashing and his jaw was set. “What the hell do you expect, Maralys? An monogrammed thank-you note hand delivered to your door?”

He strode back to the kitchen before I could say anything—which is a feat, in case you aren’t sure—as ticked as I’ve ever seen him. The man was definitely was on a roll, or had come to the boil. He was seriously pissed off and looked, if you must know, a lot more virile than when he was in command of all the variables.

Oh, and I got another whiff of that cologne. Something in me that had been asleep for a while woke up but quick.

Then it roared.

James, however, didn’t notice that.

“In case you missed it,” he said with crisp enunciation, “my wife—and your sister—just walked out of here, destined for points unknown. She’s left me, my kids don’t know and won’t understand, and, oh yes, I still need to go to work in the morning and try to save some twice-convicted crack dealer from a third conviction. Don’t expect me to fall on my knees in gratitude here, Maralys. I don’t have the time or the inclination.”