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“What’s wrong now, Abby?” She’d asked not to be disturbed for a couple of hours.
Abby stood in the office doorway with her hands on her hips and a look of panic on her face. “Houdini’s loose in the kitchen.”
Emma sighed. Not again. She was going to strangle that stupid bird. “Please tell me he hasn’t gotten into any food preparation areas.”
“No, he flew right into the storage room, but that crazy Spaniard you hired is threatening to fricassee him for lunch.”
“Great. Exactly what I need today.”
“Really, Susan, he’s impossible.”
“Who, the parrot or the chef?”
“Both. At the moment, I’m not sure which one of them is crazier. The bird’s squawking insults, and Santiago’s waving a very large knife. Did Tom teach the bird Spanish? If he wasn’t so gorgeous, I’d say boot his butt out the door.”
“Who? Houdini?”
“No, silly. Santiago.”
Emma often felt she was missing something in conversations with Abby. Like…understanding.
She walked to the wall and punched the button on the intercom to her apartment. “Tom? You still up there?”
“Yeah, Mom. Just walking out the back door to go to work.”
“I need your help for a second. Houdini’s gotten out of the aviary and made his way down here somehow.”
“Ah, sh—”
“Watch your language, young man.”
“Sorry. Be right there.”
Emma went with Abby through the kitchen to the storage room and found chaos. Santiago Chaves, their young, brilliant but sometimes volatile chef, cursed and waved a meat cleaver at the gray parrot running nervously back and forth along the top of a shelf filled with sacks of flour.
Twenty or so kitchen assistants crowded the door, but were wise enough to stay out of Santiago’s reach.
“¡Basta ya! I will wring your skinny neck! I will chop you into pieces and serve you with garlic sauce.”
“Call the cops!” Houdini said, and flew to the top of a shelf across the room. “¡Como quieras!”
“I’ll make your day,” Santiago vowed, grabbing hold of the support and trying to shake the bird down. “I will make this your last day. ¡Madre del amor de dios! ¡Este es un manicomio!”
Emma rushed forward. “Tom’s on his way to catch him, Santiago. Please, put down the knife before you accidentally hurt yourself or someone else.”
“Susan, you said this would not happen again. You promised Santiago.”
“I know, and I’m very sorry. We’ve been keeping the upper door on the stairway closed. He must have come down on the dumbwaiter.”
“Yes, and last week it was that…that giant lizard riding up and down.”
Oh, great. She hadn’t known about that. “Tom’s iguana was down here?”
“Yes. Santiago open door to get dirty dishes, and is hissed at. Heart nearly stop.”
“I’m sorry. He probably got a little scared. Rambo’s usually very gentle.”
“But I do not like this…Rambo. And that one—” he pointed the cleaver at the bird “—I hate. He is menace. Santiago cook him like squab, ¿no? Stuff him with bread crumbs and almonds.”
Houdini did his imitation of a police emergency siren, then bullets firing. “Hold it, scumbag,” he said. “¡Policía!”
“¡Maldición!” Santiago cursed. “Do you hear? He mocks me.”
“He isn’t mocking you,” Emma explained, gently taking the weapon from his hand. She slipped it behind her back to Abby. “Houdini mimics sounds and phrases he hears, and it doesn’t matter what language they’re in. He gets lonely when we’re not home, so Tom leaves the TV or the radio on for him. He’s hooked on police dramas this month. Last month it was old comedies.”
“Birds and lizards do not belong in kitchen.”
“I agree.”
“Birds inside are…how you say…un presagio malo. Bad omen.”
“I promise Tom will fix both cages this weekend so the bird and the lizard can’t bother you again. All right? Am I forgiven?”
“Hmph! Must give thought.”
Houdini shrieked an ear-splitting “Dial nine-one-one” and Emma was tempted to get the cleaver back from Abby and use it on the bird herself.
Thankfully, Tom came in and relieved her of the need. He climbed the shelf, spoke a few calming words and Houdini immediately hopped onto his hand.
“I’m really sorry, Santiago,” Tom said when he was back on the floor. “There’s a board propped against the door of the cage and a rock holding it in place, but I guess he knocked it loose or found another way out.”
“It is all right, Tom. Santiago was not so very upset.”
Behind Emma, Abby let out a strangled cough of disbelief. “I’d hate to see him when he is upset,” she whispered in Emma’s ear.
Emma tried to keep a straight face. She turned her head and gave Abby a warning look.
Turning back to Santiago, she made a peace offering. “We can lock the dumbwaiter, if that would help. I don’t mind cooking for Tom. You’re sweet to send up dinner, but I can take care of it.”
Santiago glanced at Tom. Emma thought she saw something pass between them, some private message she wasn’t privy to.
“No, no, Susan. Santiago does not mind making plate for Tom when he asks. Tom is good boy.”
“Are you sure? He can always come down here to eat. Or I can cook for him.”
“No, is okay. Tom promise to keep bird in cage. Santiago fix dinner and send upstairs when Tom want.”
“Thank you. That’s very sweet of you.”
The crisis over, Santiago and his helpers returned to work. Abby, Emma and Tom walked through the kitchen to the hallway.
“You’ve got to make sure both Houdini and Rambo stay upstairs,” Emma warned her son. “Or we’ll have to give them away. Understand?”
“But Mom—”
“No buts. It’s unsanitary for Houdini to even be on this floor, much less near the kitchen.” She began to stroke the bird’s breast, but jerked back her finger when he tried to nip it.
“I’ll make sure they don’t get out again.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.” She reached up and lovingly mussed his hair. He’d shot up like a weed this summer and had gotten so handsome. “Go on. Your boss will be wondering what happened to you. And be sure to close the upstairs door.”
“Don’t forget I’m going to Tony’s after work and staying over there tonight.”
“Will his parents be home?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, his parents will be home.”
“Okay, but if you go out, curfew is still midnight.”
“Ah, Mom, nobody my age comes in at midnight! Aunt Abby, tell her, will ya?”
Abby held up her hands. “Sorry, Tom. I’m staying out of this one.”
“Be back at the Parkers’ on time,” Emma told him. “I’m trusting you.”
“Oh, okay,” he grumbled with the kind of long, exaggerated sigh that only a teenager can make. “Are you gonna let me take scuba lessons with Mr. Parker? You promised to think about it.”
“I don’t know, Tom. We’ll talk this week.”
“I’ll pay for them myself.”
“We’ll see.”
“Mr. Parker’s got extra equipment and stuff. I wouldn’t have to buy any. And he’s giving me a great discount.”
“I said, we’ll see. Now scoot or you’ll be late.”
Tom started up the back stairs still grumbling.
Houdini squawked. “This is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Tom told him.
Abby laughed, and Emma couldn’t help chuckling, too. She leaned into the stairwell. “And Tom,” she called out. “Before you leave, make sure the TV is set on cartoons or PBS. I don’t think Houdini needs to watch any more Clint Eastwood movies.”
BACK IN HER OFFICE, Emma fixed herself a cup of hot tea and one for Abby, then plopped down in her chair again.
“That menagerie is going to be the death of me. If I’d been smart, I’d have given them away when we moved in here. You know how important this place is to me. Every one of our inspections has been perfect, and I want to keep it that way. No parrots in the kitchen.”
“Even fricasseed and stuffed?”
Emma laughed. “Especially not that.”
“Tom would be upset if you gave them away.”
“I know. Maybe it won’t come to that.”
She’d threatened almost daily to find other homes for the animals, but she’d have a difficult time following through. Tom cared about them. They’d been a bequest to him from Marie Marshall upon her death eighteen months ago. Marie was the same woman who’d earlier given Emma her collection of movie costumes and props.
Emma had kept the collection in storage for several years, thinking Marie would change her mind and want it back. But then Marie had died brutally. She’d surprised a burglar in her Hollywood home and been slashed repeatedly with a knife.
Emma saw no reason to hang on to the items after Marie’s death. She looked into the value of movie memorabilia and found, to her astonishment, she owned a gold mine.
The most valuable costumes she had put up for auction. She used the money to finance the restaurant and create a trust fund for Tom’s education. Those remaining were displayed in the dining room and stored on the third floor. The staff wore imitations rather than the real thing.
Without that generous gift, Emma would still be waitressing, working for tips and soaking her aching feet every night. She felt an obligation to take care of the pets Marie and her late husband Bert had loved. But living with a smart-mouthed bird and a three-foot iguana was beginning to try her patience.
“I see Tom’s still got his heart set on being a navy diver,” Abby said, sitting on a corner of the desk. “I thought he’d outgrow that.”
“Me, too.”
“Has he said anything else about enlisting?”
“Yes, but I told him he’d have to do it over my dead body.”
“Susan, honey, you can’t blame him for wanting to be like his father.”
“I don’t, but he’s got the opportunity now to go to college and make a life for himself that’s far more desirable than the one I’ve given him. I refuse to let him throw that away over an idealized image of a man he never met.”
“You act as if he’s had a terrible life, but you’ve done okay by him.”
“I could’ve given him more.”
“How? By working three jobs a day instead of two?”
“By providing a more stable home. I counted it up the other night, Abby, and in seventeen years we’ve lived in nine different places. I was doing the best I could at the time, searching for better jobs and better pay, but it was hard on Tom to keep starting over in new schools.”
“He hasn’t suffered from it. He has perfect grades. He’s never been in any trouble. Tom’s a great kid.”
Emma smiled, proud of her son’s accomplishments. Tom was the one thing she’d done right in her life. “I know he’s a great kid, but sometimes he zeros in on something and won’t turn it loose.”
“Like his mother.”
“I admit it.”
“Have you talked about this with him?”
“I’ve made it clear that he can’t, under any circumstances, drop out of high school. I want him to get a college degree, too, maybe even go on to graduate school or medical school. He knows I won’t give him my permission to join the navy.”
“Honey, when he turns eighteen in two months he won’t need your permission.”
“I know.” She’d suffered many a sleepless night over that horrifying fact.
Payback for her sins. That was it. The older Tom got, the more he wanted to know about his father and to be like him. And Emma perched precariously atop a powder keg of past lies, waiting for it to explode.
His father hadn’t been in the navy. He hadn’t died during a training dive, as her son and everyone else believed. William Wright was only a fake name on Tom’s birth certificate and a couple of fake photographs over the mantel. He didn’t exist.
“Well,” Abby said, standing. “I need to go check the setups for the Scott rehearsal dinner. Oh, before I do…what happened last night? I’m dying to know.”
“We had a good crowd again. I had multiple compliments on the sleight-of-hand artist, so I’m going to talk to him about performing at least a couple of weekends a month.”
“Oh, knucklehead, I don’t care about that! Tell me about the cute guy. Did he come in again? Did you find out anything about him? Was he wearing a wedding ring?”
“Who?” Emma asked, playing coy.
“Don’t tease me. You know who I’m talking about. Blue eyes and a fine set of shoulders. The one you’ve been sighing over all week.”
“I was not sighing over him.”
“Aha, so you do know who I’m talking about.”
“Mmm, I might vaguely remember a fine set of shoulders.”
She remembered them, all right. And the beautiful eyes. He’d had a nice smile, too, with a dimple on the left side of his mouth that showed when he laughed.
“Did you talk to him?” Abby asked.
“For a few minutes. I told him my spaghetti joke, and he thought it was funny.”
“Lord have mercy. Rope and tie that one before he gets away.”
“He’s from Michigan. Vacation.”
“Oh, no!”
“He’s probably already on his way home.”
“Well, bummer. The good ones are always tourists.”
WHIT TIMED HIS ARRIVAL to avoid the busy lunch hour. He didn’t wait to be announced. While the hostess seated customers, he wandered down the hall past the gift shop and the rest rooms to where he assumed the offices would be.
He carried a camera, just in case Susan Wright went for his idea. And if she didn’t, the miniature camera concealed in the sunglasses sticking out of his shirt pocket would do.
The woman sat alone at a desk in the last office on the right, head bent over a book. She read under her breath.
“If Mary buys three cans of beets on sale at five for a dollar, and Fred buys four cans of beets for twenty cents each but has a coupon for ten cents, which one got the better deal?” She snorted. “Well that’s easy. Neither. Nobody in their right mind eats beets.”
Whit chuckled. She looked up…and blushed.
The waiter had described Susan as “average” looking. She wasn’t. “Damned pretty” was more accurate. He’d also been wrong about the bodysuit and padded parts. Her parts were fine just the way they were.
“Can I help you?” she asked, closing the book.
“Susan Wright?”
“Yes.” She stood.
He walked over to the desk. “Whitaker Lewis. We talked briefly last night. You were kind enough to buy my dinner.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“I wanted to thank you, and to say how much I enjoyed your performance as Marilyn. Your Cleopatra and Dorothy were great, too.”
She cocked her head and smiled, changing from “damned pretty” to “beautiful.”
“How did you…?”
“The scar on your elbow gave you away.”
“Ah.” She rubbed it. “You’re very observant.”
“And you’re very talented.”
“Thank you.”
“Look, I apologize for barging in like this. I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.” He glanced down at the book title: Algebra With An Introduction To Trigonometry.
She bent and put the textbook in a drawer. “No, you’re not.”
“I have a confession to make. I asked my waiter about you last night. He said you’re no longer married.”
That statement seemed to fluster her. “No, my husband died several years ago. Why?”
“I was wondering—would you like to take a walk? I haven’t had much of a chance to look around the town since I’ve been here. Seeing it with a beautiful woman would be better than seeing it on my own.”
She blushed more deeply. Her face was now the color of the beets she found so disgusting.
“Are you asking me out on a date, Mr. Lewis?”
“Trying to, Mrs. Wright, but apparently not doing a very good job of it.”
“I appreciate the compliment and the invitation, but I don’t really know you. I don’t go out with men I don’t know.”
“I promise I’m a nice man.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“My only major vice is being spoiled rotten all my life by three older sisters.”
She smiled at that. “I wouldn’t call that a vice, but rather a lovely way to grow up.”
“Do you have siblings?”
“No, unfortunately, I was an only child.”
“There were times I’d have given anything to be an only child. Now I realize how fortunate I am.”
“Yes, you are.”
“If I can’t interest you in a walk, how about a very public cruise around the bay?”
She hesitated, and for a moment he thought she might say yes. But then she shook her head.
Whit scratched his jaw. God, he was rusty at this. Okay, the lady wasn’t interested. He obviously hadn’t made much of an impression on her last night or today. He should take his photos, excuse himself and be done with it. But to his chagrin, he found he didn’t want to.
He was about to try again when someone came in.
“Oh, Susan, I forgot—”
Whit turned. The woman stopped short. She had wild red hair and more freckles than he’d ever seen on one person.
“Well, hi there.” She grinned widely and extended her hand. Whit shook it. “Abby Townsend. I’m a friend of Susan’s.”
“Whitaker Lewis.”
“Michigan, right?”
He raised an eyebrow in surprise and glanced at Susan Wright. She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Yes, Lansing.”
“What type of business are you in, Mr. Lewis?”
“Insurance.”
“And is there a Mrs. Lewis?”
“Abby!” Susan sighed with exasperation. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lewis. I’m sure you didn’t come here to be interrogated.”
“That’s okay. I don’t mind, especially if it’ll make you feel more comfortable about me.” He turned back to Abby to explain. “I’ve been trying to convince Mrs. Wright to join me on a short boat ride around the bay this afternoon, but she said no.”
“Oh, Susan, why not go?” Abby asked. “It sounds like such fun. You were telling me only the other day how you hadn’t taken time to enjoy any of the city’s historic attractions. Here’s your chance.”
“I don’t remember saying that.”
“Of course you did.” Abby winked at Whit.
Susan pointed at the door. “Abby—out.”
Abby wiggled her fingers at Whit and mouthed “good luck” before making her exit.
Whit took his sunglasses out of his pocket and acted as if he planned to put them on. He aimed as best he could and snapped a series of photos by pushing a small button on the right earpiece.
He figured this would be his only chance. Susan Wright didn’t appear to be giving in. But her next comment surprised him.
“Is there a Mrs. Lewis?” she asked, charmingly biting her bottom lip. “I don’t go out with married men.”
Whit smiled. Damn, she was attractive! Spending the afternoon with her wouldn’t be a hardship at all, even if it was part of the job.
“The only Mrs. Lewis in my life has been happily married to my father for the past forty-five years,” he told her honestly.
“Promise?”
“Promise. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
He felt the slightest tinge of remorse about that last part. If it turned out she wasn’t Emma, she’d never know that some of what he’d told her today was a lie. But if she was Emma, she’d find out the truth soon enough. Like her, he was a fraud.
CHAPTER THREE
EMMA FLEW UP THE STAIRS to change out of her slacks and into something more casual. Her heart pounded. Nervousness churned inside her stomach.
Like a football player who’d just scored a touch-down, she did a little bowlegged dance in front of the full-length mirror in her dressing room, then laughed out loud at her own craziness. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so light hearted, so excited about anything.
Dating hadn’t been part of her life. She couldn’t even remember a time lately when she’d been affected by a man, had felt a raw, physical awareness of one as she did with Whitaker Lewis. Even being in the same room with him had made her restless and achy, reminded her that she hadn’t had sex in…well, too long.
Nothing could come of this afternoon, but she wanted to go through with it nonetheless. For once, although it was only for a few hours, she longed to be a normal woman and pretend she really was “beautiful” like he’d said. Only one other man had ever called her that, and he’d been a liar.
She was lonely. Admitting it was easy. What harm was there in spending a few hours with someone to erase that loneliness temporarily, even if he was a stranger? None that she could see.
Feeling comfortable with him—that wasn’t so easy. Behind the protection of a disguise she could be sexy with men and say whatever was on her mind. Not so when she was herself, especially when she was attracted to someone.
She sucked in a breath and fortified her resolve.
“You can do this,” she told her image in the mirror.
Now, if she could only believe it.
Hastily she shed her dressy slacks and blouse. She pulled on a pair of white shorts and slipped into a matching top and tennis shoes. Her cell phone went into her pocket in case the restaurant needed to get in touch with her.
Excitement made her want to squeal like a teenager, but thirty-eight-year-old women didn’t squeal, especially thirty-eight-year-old women pretending to be forty-five.
Oh, God, would her age matter to him? When she was twenty and about to give birth to an illegitimate child, borrowing the identity of her twenty-seven-year-old friend had seemed practical. She’d wanted to appear more mature. The ruse had helped keep Tom safe. But now she hated that people thought she was older.
She pushed away her silly insecurities. Whitaker Lewis was taking her on a boat ride, nothing more. Worrying about what he might or might not think of her was ridiculous.
He waited in her office. When Emma walked in, he repeated how glad he was that she’d decided to come. He also took a covert look at her legs and appeared to like what he saw. Her opinion of him went up another two hundred percent.
“Ready, Mr. Lewis?”
“Only if you call me Whit.”
“All right…Whit.” The nickname fit him. “I’m Susan.”
The marina was half a block away, just past the bridge to the island. The boat held about fifty people on two decks. Whit gave her the choice of where to sit, so she chose a table on the upper deck, where they could see better. Once on the water, there’d be a breeze to keep them cool.
Rumblings of thunder told her they could expect the usual afternoon shower, but for now the clouds were to the west and not over them.
The chairs quickly filled with parents and children. The engine started, the boat backed out of the slip and they were on their way.
“Have you taken this trip before?” he asked her.
“No, and I really have been wanting to. I don’t know much firsthand about the city, only what I’ve read or been told.”
“Where did you move from?”
“Mmm…Nevada.”
“Is that where you were born?”
Emma hesitated. Years of hiding out had made her wary of strangers, but the wariness was as much habit as necessity. She had no reason to worry about Patrick finding her now. He’d died years ago. And thankfully, he’d never discovered she’d had a child.
Legal ramifications existed, of course, if anyone realized she wasn’t Susan, but in eighteen years no one had come looking for the dead friend whose identity Emma had borrowed. And from what Susan had told her, no one had cared enough to look for her.
Like Emma, Susan had run away from an impossible situation at home. But unlike Emma, she’d been unable to resist the lure of drugs and prostitution. She’d died of an overdose.
Emma’s foremost concern was Tom. She wasn’t sure what he might do if he learned she’d taken over someone’s life. He must also never learn about his father. He’d never forgive her for the lies.
“I’m sorry,” Whit said in the extending silence. “Am I being too nosy? I’d like to get to know you better, but I don’t want to pry into your private life.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m not used to anyone being interested enough to ask, is all.”
“I find that hard to believe. You’re very attractive.”
“Thank you.”
She liked the way he was looking at her, as if he wanted to gobble her up, but it also made her very, very nervous. How to handle being gobbled wasn’t within her area of expertise.