Miss Fortune (25 page)

One lock bolt slid open. Then a deadbolt. Then two more bolts and maybe even a chain lock before the door creaked open a couple of inches. Rachel? Mr. Gregory said.

Hi, Mr. Gregory. He did not open the door farther, nor did he speak. I, ah I got your message, she said uncertainly, and I came to see if I could do anything for you.

He said nothing.

In Texas, when someone suffers the loss of a loved one, friends and neighbors come to pay their respects and help if they can, she explained.

Youre an instructor, not a friend or neighbor, he informed her.

Right. Okay. Well I guess Ill just go, she said, gesturing lamely toward her car.

Dont be ridiculous, he said sternly. Of course you should come in now that youve come all this way, he said, pushing the screen door open.

She was having some serious second thoughts about this altogether and very reluctantly stepped inside the dark interior. She was immediately hit with the strong smell of antiseptic spray and had the very morbid thought that maybe his wife died days ago, and hed kept her here until he could come to terms with it. Eeew !

But one glance at Mr. Gregory and she changed her mind. He looked a lot like Mr. Rogers in his button-up sweater and his house slippers as he led her through a very narrow and dark hallway and into a small kitchen that was spotless. Rachel expected lots of different dishes to be lying around, mail and phone messagessomething to indicate his life had been turned upside down. But it looked like no one had eaten or cooked in that kitchen in years.

Mr. Gregory shuffled toward the refrigerator.

Im very sorry to hear about your wife, Mr. Gregory, Rachel said as he opened the fridge and looked inside.

Dont be. He bent over, peered into the empty racks. The man had no groceries at allunless you called a tub of butter and a half pint of buttermilk groceries. She was sick for a long, long time, he said, straightening up again. Bedridden and lacking most of her faculties. Shes in a much better place now, he added, and carefully shut the door. Id offer you something, but I havent been able to get to the market. Ill bury Clara Wednesday.

The look on his face belied his casual tone, and Rachels heart wrenched. Do you have any family? Children?

Mr. Gregory shook his head.

Siblings? Cousins?

He gestured for her to follow him. No sibling or cousins, either, he said as they entered the living room, which contained one Barcalounger, a positively ancient TV on which

CNN was broadcasting with no sound, and a couch covered in plastic. On one wall was a cross-stitched picture of a wolf. That was the only ornament besides an end table, a lamp, and a remote control. On the end table was a newspaper, neatly folded. What few friends we had drifted away over the years with Claras illness, Mr. Gregory added as he slid into the Barcalounger and hiked the foot rest. Please sit down, he said, motioning to the couch.

Rachel sat on the very edge of the plastic. I beg your pardon for asking this but surely you arent going to bury your wife alone, are you?

A pastor will be there to officiate.

I mean, she said gently, anyone besides the pastor.

He thought for a moment and shook his head. Might be a neighbor or two will show up, but I really dont expect so. Claras been bedridden for so many years, he said, and it looked, from where Rachel was sitting, as if he was tearing up.

Her heart went out to himshe could not imagine how awful it must be to be so totally alone at the last stage of ones life. A cold shiver ran down her spine, and she put a hand to her gut, wondered if this could be her someday, sitting in an empty house, living an empty life, being an empty shell of a person.

Mr. Gregory, is there anything I can do? she asked. Is there someone I can call? Make you some tea?

He shook his head. Im all right. Just havent had a chance to get to the market, he said again, and stared blankly at the silent TV.

Let me do that for you, Rachel said eagerly, glad to have a way to help, and began digging in her purse for a piece of paper.

I couldnt

Of course you could! Really, its no imposition. I was going to stop by the market on my way home anyway, she lied. Just tell me what you need.

Mr. Gregory eyed her suspiciously. Youd do that for me?

Id be more than happy to do it for you, she said, smiling as warmly as she could.

After a moment, he shrugged. All right, he said. I really dont need much. Maybe some bread and milk. And prunes. A big jar. You know, the one they have on the bottom shelf

SHE found a Shaws Supermarket nearby, and with basket in hand, gathered up some staples, and then went in search of prunes. Not prune juice, but the actual black and squishy prunes in a jar. And no cans. Only a jar. Mr. Gregory was very adamant about that.

On the prune aisle, there were more varieties and brands than one could possibly imagine would be available for the lowly prune, so she picked up two competing brands, one jar in each hand, to figure out why that was.

So naturally, Flynn would choose that moment to appear out of nowhere and startle her out of her wits again. Mind, youre blocking the prunes, he said from behind her.

Rachel jerked around, clutching the two jars of prunes to her chest. What are you doing here? she exclaimed breathlessly.

He grinned, held up a package of razors.

With a laugh, Rachel relaxed. You know, I could really begin to believe you are following me around Providence.

Actually, I was going to accuse you of the same, he said, and glanced at the jars she was holding, lifted one thick brow above the other.

Rachel looked down at the jars and felt her face flame. Okay, she said quickly, they arent for me

Thats quite a lot of prunes, isnt it? I can only hope they are for a spell of some sort.

Oh no , she said with exaggerated seriousness. We prefer bird shit for spells.

Flynn laughed. Who wouldnt?

Actually, these are for Mr. Gregory.

Who? he asked as his smiling gaze roamed her face.

Mr. Gregory. You know, the elderly gentleman from weaving class?

Ah. Flynn nodded. How could I have possibly forgotten? He glanced at the prunes again, and lifted that brow once more. Its really none of my affair, but do you and Mr. Gregory have some sort of relationship I should know about?

Rachel laughed, put one of the prune jars in her basket and the other on the shelf. No! I hardly know the man. But his wife died

His wife? Flynn interrupted, looking just as confused as she had been earlier.

I know a wife , she whispered. I was really surprised, she continued, looking around. I thought he sort of swung the other way, she added in a very soft whisper. Apparently, shed been ill for a long time and finally died. And he hasnt had a chance to get to the market, what with all the stuff he had to do, so I told him Id come for him.

Flynns cheerful smile faded to a lopsided and soft smile, and he casually reached up to push a curl behind her ear that had fallen over her eye.

Rachels blood immediately began to rush warmthe man really had that effect on her. A-and, she continued unsteadily, hes apparently a huge fan of prunes. Jarred prunes. No cans. And definitely no fresh prunes, as they are, you know too tangy.

Youre quite amazing, Rachel Lear.

I know, amazingly easy? she said laughingly, looking down at her prunes.

Nojust amazing. I dont believe Ive ever known anyone quite like you.

His gaze was actually very intense, as if he was seeing her in a different light all of a sudden, and unused to that sort of acute attention, Rachel shyly glanced down, made a show of rearranging the things in her basket and turned toward the head of the aisle. You mean anyone quite as weird, she said with another self-conscious laugh.

I mean anyone as captivating, he said.

Damn , he was good! Rachel glanced up at him; he was just looking at her, his gray eyes holding her gaze, the warmth in diem filtering down to the tips of her toes so that she felt all sparkly inside. Do you say that to all the girls? she asked with a smile.

Ive never said it before this very moment, he said, and put his hand on her arm, sort of stroked it fondly. It seemed to Rachel that in that moment, there was a weird lavender glow around them.

But then a woman turned onto the aisle with an overflowing cart, one child hanging on to the handle, and another in the baby seat, and the lavender glow disappeared.

Rachel laughed sheepishly, adjusted the heavy basket in her hands. So what are you doing in this part of town? More local homicide investigations? she asked with a wink. Interviewing chaps, that sort of thing?

Flynns cheerful countenance returned and he took the basket from her hand, put his free hand on the small of her back as they began to walk to the front of the aisle. Actually, no. Someone threw a spanner in the works on that front, unfortunately, so tonight Ive been investigating another sort of crime.

Do tell, Rachel said with a laugh.

Oh, I couldnt possibly bore you with the details of itjust a bloke who nicked a few things, thats all.

What things?

The Eiffel Tower. The Mona Lisa . And were not entirely certain, but we think perhaps that Staten Island ferry, of all things.

Rachel laughed as they reached the cashier stand. And how is it that a computer guy gets involved in all these crimes? she asked as she began to unload the basket and put the items in front of the cashier.

The usual way, Flynn said with a shrug. Hard work and perseverance.

Youre funny.

Flynn put down the pack of razors on the cashiers conveyor and pulled out his wallet.

And you came all the way to Mount Pleasant to buy razors? The last time I checked, its clear across town from your apartment.

Whats a few miles? Ive heard they have spectacular razors here, he said with a wink. And for a chap whos a bit lost driving about on the wrong side of the road, it seemed the perfect place to pull in and have a look at a map.

She was about to ask him what he was lost from, but the guy behind the stand said, Thirty-two, seventeen, lady. She paid for the groceries, Flynn paid for his razors, and he accompanied her to the door, where he paused to pull the collar of his trench coat up around his ears. Rather cold out tonight, he said idly.

Yeah, she sighed, and glanced out the glass doors, thinking of Mr. Gregory. Its sort of poignant, isnt it? That feeling of being all alone is so cold anyway, but to feel it on such a frigid night

Flynn glanced down at her with a strange expression. Are you cold, Rachel?

The question startled her; he was looking at her very seriously, and she realized he was asking if she was lonely. Who, me? Nah , she said, waving a hand at him.

He nodded, looked toward the parking lot. I cant think of ever a time that its particularly good to be alone.

Of course not. She figured a man like him would hardly ever be alone, would have all sorts of hangers-on and women surrounding him. But then again, the man was constantly surprising her. And at the moment, he was looking impossibly gorgeous, and was holding the door open for her.

On the sidewalk, he kissed her cheek, pressing his lips to cheek for a long moment, then pushed the errant curl from her eye again before letting his hand drift down her arm. Wednesday, is it?

Wednesday, she said, giving him a mittened thumbs-up.

He winked, shoved his hands in his pocket, and strode down the sidewalk. But he paused a few feet from her, turning partway. My condolences to Mr. Gregory.

Thank you. Ill pass them along. Flynn walked on, turned the corner, to where, she presumed, he had parked his car.

Rachel turned in the other direction, toward her car.

She stayed on with Mr. Gregory for a little while after that, watching him eat an entire bowl of prunes and trying not to gag while they watched an episode of Trading Spaces . Mr. Gregory, she discovered, was just as hooked on the show as were she and Dagne.

When she finally left, Mr. Gregory walked her to the door and opened it. Before Rachel could step through, he stuck out his hand.

Thank you, he said, shaking her hand vigorously. Thank you very much.

That night, Rachel tried to read about her knight, but soon put it aside and thought of Mr. Gregory. And when she slipped into sleep, she dreamed of Flynn and his gray eyes. He was trying to tell her something, but she couldnt hear him, and when she tried to move closer to him, a giant spoon fell on her car and smashed it, and then Mr. Valicielo was chasing her with the spoon.

BACK at his flat, Flynn pulled out his mobile and hit the speed dial. Yeah, a sleepy Joe said.

In the background, Flynn could hear the sound of some sort of sport blaring out of a telly. Once again, you owe me, he said pleasantly as he loosened his tie.

Oh, yeah?

One of the weavers had a death in his family and shed gone to pay her respects.

No kidding, Joe said thoughtfully.

I wouldnt kid about something as dreadfully serious as ten quid, mate, Flynn said with a grin, reminding him of a little wager theyd made earlier.

Yeah, yeah, youll get your ten quid.

Just so were clear, thats about fourteen dollars American, Flynn reminded him.

Joe snorted at that. Did you get anything else? he asked.

Nothing, really. Except that earlier, before she arrived home, the friendthe tall one with the blondish-red hair?

Yeah , Joe said appreciatively.

She stopped by and left with two paper bags that appeared to be quite heavy.

Oh, yeah?

I thought it a bit odd seemed rather like she was filching it.

That whole damn crew is odd if you ask me, Joe said, and yawned. Okay, pal. See you bright and early in the

A.M.

With my ten quid, if you please. Cheers, Flynn said, and hung up over Joes grousing.

He walked into the tiny bedroom, removed his coat and tie, then sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, staring out over the parking lot of the Corporate Suites. He did not see the concrete below him, but rather Rachels smiling face, the flush of cold in her cheeks, the tiny little curls that framed her face, and the fullness of her lips. He was quite looking forward to their evening on Wednesday. Quite. So much so, that he was beginning to worry a bit about himself. These feelings were starting to approach Richter levels, and he wasnt entirely certain what to do about that.