Now You See It (8 page)

“I love it, Mike! It’s just right! Just perfect.” She hugged him hard.

“So,” Mike asked, “I guess that’s a ‘yes’?”

“Absolutely. I can’t wait to move in. How did you ever find something so quirky?”

“I just kept thinking about my quirky little sister,” he said, grinning.

Brady came in from touring the outside. “Have you thought much about security here?’

“I haven’t given it any thought at all,” Gemma said.

“I have a couple of ideas. Before you get moved, I’d like to install an alarm system, maybe a couple of cameras. I’ve got some new things back at the shop I’d like to try out. Call it a field test.” He grinned.

“Sure. Whatever you think. How long does it take to not feel as if Big Brother’s watching my every move? Sorry, Bro.”

“Hmm. Now there’s an advantage I hadn’t thought of,” Mike said with a smirk.

Gemma punched him in the shoulder.

“Not that long,” Brady said. “And the cameras will be outside, not in here. They won’t intrude on your privacy.”

He wandered back outside and Gemma felt relieved. She had to clear her head. Too much was competing for her attention. The landlords here had agreed to ridiculously low rent until her house in Kirkland sold, but she hated being in debt. There would be plenty of money from life insurance, eventually, but she had no way to know when that would come in. When it did, she could buy this place, get some furniture.... The house really was perfect, and she smiled as she turned slowly in place, taking in the way the light fell through the high windows and brushed the old cedar paneling with a warm auburn glow. She even liked the feel of the keys in her hand and the way the faint lemon-oil scent the cleaners had left behind blended with the perfume of warmed, aged cedar. Perfect. And she’d always dreamed of a house with a loft. A deep sigh came out with a small, excited hitch. Mine! A place of her very own. And perfect.

Mike was smiling at her.

“What?” She hoped she didn’t seem too guilty.

“Coming back to dinner?”

“Can’t. I promised Doug I’d let him feed me.”

Mike’s mouth went snarky.

“I know, I know,” she said. “I wish now I hadn’t, but it’s Brady’s fault. He shouldn’t have pissed me off.”

Mike laughed. “Too bad. You’ll miss my famous barbecued brisket. Brady’s coming, too.”

“Why?”

“Don’t take my head off, Kiddo. We’ve got several cases in the works, and a couple of them are getting close to trial.”

“I’m sorry, Mike. I’m taking up way too much of your time.”

“Hey. What are big brothers for?” Mike chuckled. “Brady said he’d be over tomorrow to wire the place up, hook up your internet, do the geek stuff.”

“Some geek.”

“Yah. Ready to go? I’ve got to meet Mark Taylor downtown in about forty-five minutes.”

* * *

Gemma’s mouth started to water as she took a deep breath of the rich scents of lemongrass, garlic and ginger. “Thanks for bringing me here tonight, Doug.”

“I’m glad you agreed.”

“It’s nice to just let everything go for a little while.”

“Tough day?”

“Hideous. I did manage to get as far as packing up the linen closets and the spare bathroom—you don’t want to hear the excruciating details.”

“Every step gets you closer to an actual move, doesn’t it?”

Gemma chuckled. “I suppose. The Realtor called today. I’d have thought having the house on the news would scare people away from wanting to buy it, but she’s had people call specifically wanting to see it, walk through.” Gemma gave a little shudder. “Gruesome.”

“So, you might be moving soon. I know that pleases you. I’ve always liked the house myself.”

“You want to buy it? With proper motivation, I could probably be out in a week. In any case, by the time the papers are ready to sign.”

“Any ideas where you’ll go?”

“Not far. Actually, today I found a great place down in Wallingford. I didn’t think I could even afford to get a condo there, but now you’ve told me how rich I am—”
I’ll probably need the money to pay a defense attorney.
The leaden lump in her stomach twisted up beneath her breastbone.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. I’m just tired, I guess.” She picked up a menu. “You know, Ned and I had been talking about trying this place since it opened.” Somehow, there just had never been time.

Doug accepted the change of topic. “I still can’t believe he’s gone. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you.” He glanced up at her. “He and I were here for lunch just a couple of months ago.”

An unpleasant little jolt shot through her. So all Ned’s talk about waiting until they could “experience it for the first time together” had just been another lie. Why did Ned feel he had to lie about something so insignificant? Maybe he just liked lying. Maybe he couldn’t help it. Maybe.... “What’s good?”

“I like the angel shrimp. It’s about the only thing that’s not too spicy for me.”

She knew this dinner out was meant as a supportive gesture, but his comment grated. Doug always found a way to work his hypersensitive palate into any dinner conversation.

She’d been a fool to let herself be pressured into coming. She had made a solemn promise not to let herself be manipulated by guilt this way ever again. And the first time someone tried it, she was already slipping back into her old pattern. Even worse, she was missing Mike’s barbecue. The man had a positive gift for brisket. It wasn’t nearly as classy as Thai food—which she loved—but it stayed with you.
I’m a hopeless peasant, but that’s not such a bad thing, after all.

“A couple of the partners have been experimenting with some interesting Burmese foods lately,” Doug said.

“I don’t know much about it.” Gemma enjoyed a large variety of foods from enough wide-flung cuisines to find a favorite dish or two on almost any ethnic menu. That was the upside. The downside, of course, was she didn’t get out often enough to get tired of any of them. It tended to make Ned crazy. The last few months they were together, he’d refused to take her out for dinner, claiming her predictability spoiled his appetite. And she still preferred meat and potatoes, which made him even crazier.

“Gemma?”

“Sorry. My mind tends to drift, the last couple of days.”

“That’s totally understandable. No need to apologize. I don’t understand the whole ‘foodie’ thing myself.”

“I was surprised you wanted to come here,” she said. “Thai food is quite a leap for a man who doesn’t even eat tomato sauce. It must be difficult having such a sensitive palate.” She hoped that wasn’t laying it on too thick. She wanted to needle him a little, not piss him off. It wasn’t his fault she was mad at herself.

“There are compensations,” Doug drawled. “I find exquisite flavors in foods others consider bland.”

She took a sip of tea. “And I’m sure it saves on salt and pepper.”

He laughed, his eyes warmed. He reached across the table to touch her hand. “Gemma—”

She quickly pulled her hand back as the waiter arrived to take their order. “Pad thai, four stars,” she said with her sweetest smile as she saw Doug’s lips set into a grim little line.

Comfort food.
Her mouth began to water just at the thought of it. Maybe it wasn’t for everyone, but it worked for her. Besides, if he was thinking about getting romantic after dinner, she’d taste like raging garlic and Thai peppers. Let his famous sensitive palate deal with
that
.

* * *

Gemma sat back against the creamy glove-leather seat of Doug’s Lexus. She was tired of needling him, tired of being angry. She’d read somewhere that anger and fear were chemically similar, that animals attack because they mistake fear for a threat. Was she lashing out at everyone who tried to get close, or tried to help, because she was afraid of making another mistake? Of getting involved with another controlling, twisted bastard like Ned? Whatever it was, it kept getting away from her, and that was hard to accept.
Maybe
, she thought,
what I really needed was a couple more hours like this to just let everything go and let someone else be in charge
.

The rest of the day after Mike left her back at home had been just a blur of work, packing up—she’d gotten as far as the linen closet and the second bathroom between phone calls. Ned’s mother had called three times, each time drunker and more distraught than the last, crying, cursing, making nightmarish accusations. Demanding the return of her “beloved boy.”
Who really talks like that?
Gemma wondered. But it brought her mind around to the present necessities.

“You said Ned left instructions with you, about a memorial service.”

Doug nodded. “A couple of years ago, when he made partner.”

Leaving me out of things, as usual
. She supposed she should be getting used to it, but she didn’t know what was pissing her off more—being dismissed or not realizing for all those years he was doing it.
Bastard
. “I’d like to have a memorial service here, and as soon as possible. I’ve agreed to let Julia have his body when it’s released, so it’ll be shipped to Texas.”

“He’d have hated that. Are you sure?”

“Positive. Ned’s not here to raise a fuss about it. Julia is...or will be as soon as there’s a date for the service. No contest, there. But I’d like to give all of us some closure, and let people who can, move on. Does that make sense?”

“It makes perfect sense. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re absolutely right. Those of us who will mourn him, will continue to do so after the service. I assume you don’t want the Bellevue Philharmonic to play—” He stopped short and laughed when she stared in surprise.

She shook her head. “Something simple. Dignified. Restrained. Julia can do the brass-band-and-solid-gold-casket thing back in Sweetwater, if she wants to.”

“Leave it to me. Friday sounds like a good time for it. Not too hurried, not too delayed.”

“During the week?”

“A lot of our colleagues will want to attend. It will be easier for them to come from their offices, since so many commute.”

And they’d rather miss work than their golf game,
Gemma thought. “I’ll let his mother know.”

“Why don’t you let me pick Julia up and bring her to my home? I know the two of you don’t get along.”

He made it sound like a high school spat.

“That’s wonderfully generous of you, Doug, but—”

He gave a deprecating little laugh. “I know how difficult she can be, and this has to be the worst time in her life.”

Why couldn’t she be that forgiving? Even thinking about having to deal with Julia made her stomach cramp with stress. She’d rather go to the dentist. What kind of person did that make her, when she couldn’t get past her own discomfort to face an old woman’s grief?
Rats
.

“No. Thanks, but I should do this myself. She was my husband’s mother, after all, and please God, this is the last time I’ll ever see her. It’s the least I can do.”

“Nonsense. Besides, Julia and I get along wonderfully. Your being there would just set her off. I’ll take care of it.”

“My not being there to pay obeisance could set her off just as easily. There’s no telling.”

“I’d really rather you let me handle this. Please?”

“Just don’t take whatever she says to heart, okay? Sometimes I think she makes up rants to cover every possibility, and practices them in secret so no matter what happens, she’ll have a protest handy.”

Doug chuckled. “She’s not that bad, Gemma.”

Gemma stared at him. Then again, he’d never seen Julia in full cry. Too bad. It was something not to be missed. Maybe it would serve him right for being such a high-handed jackass most of the time. This time, though, he was just being generous and kind, so when it came, it would be serious overkill. Nothing she could do about it, though. She bit down on a yawn. “What else can I do to help?” she asked. “I know you said he left it to you to do, but that’s not much time.”

“I’ll put Ned’s paralegal on it, beginning with notifying everyone,” he said with a grimace. “It will give her something to do besides wipe her eyes all day.”

Dori
. Ned thought she was the greatest thing since peanut butter. The one time Gemma had been introduced to her, the woman wouldn’t meet her gaze, and whenever she had to speak to Gemma, Dori blushed so hard it had to hurt. At the time, Gemma had thought it was just that she had a whopping crush on Ned. It was only months later that she finally began to wonder if there had been more to it.

And who might the “everyone” be? People from the firm, surely. The last few days two or three of them had called, expressing polite condolences—not nearly as many as she’d expected. Ned’s conversation had always been larded with a confusion of names and anecdotes, and his planner, Rolodex and black leather address book were all bulging with names of his “friends.” Only a handful had gotten in touch with her since his death. Maybe— “Doug, have there been a lot of condolence calls at the office?”

“No, not many. I imagine most people would call you at home. Hey, how are you doing?” He took one hand off the wheel to brush a tendril of her hair back behind her ear.

He’d been so charming this evening
, she thought, for the most part striking just the right mood for her battered emotions. She could hardly snap at him to keep his hands to himself.

“Better,” she said. “I’m just really tired. This was a great idea, by the way. Thank you, in case I haven’t said that yet.”

“Only about ten times. It’s nothing, Gemma, really. I only wish you’d let me do more.”

She turned a little more toward him. “I know you only want to help, Doug, and I appreciate it. I can’t take it all in, yet.”

Doug jerked his head toward her and quickly back to watch the road. Gemma winced. How could she let him down gently if he just kept pressing?

Doug didn’t say anything for a few minutes. “That ‘home inspector yesterday,’” he said finally. “What do you know about him?”

Gemma shook her head. She couldn’t think what to say to him. She must be even more exhausted than she’d thought.

“Gemma, what do you know about this person,” Doug asked again. “Who is he?”