Ask Mariah (18 page)

"I don't feel like going home. I think I'll go to the bar and have a drink." Her eyes glittered with anger. "On second thought, I'll go down the street to Finnegan's Bar and have an Irish whiskey."

"You're not going into a bar by yourself. You're a married woman."

"I'm thirty-seven years old, Frank. I may be married, but I'm not dead, and I'm tired of living my life in two places, my house and this damn restaurant. Tony's right -- this dress makes me look like a frumpy old housewife." She stalked out of the room.

"Come back here!" Frank roared. She ignored him, and the door slammed behind her.

"Trouble in paradise?" he said with a smile.

Frank picked up the adding machine and threw it at Tony's head. He ducked, and it smashed against the wall. It was the first time he'd ever seen Frank lose control. It was also the first time he'd ever seen Linda walk out on her husband. This upcoming party might prove to be more interesting than he'd thought.

* * *

"Joanna?" Michael called as he walked through the crowded, junk-filled rooms of Ruby Mae's house. He'd spent the past fifteen minutes checking out the structure itself, looking for cracks in the foundation and problems with the framing and the roof. He'd found plenty. It was an old house.

Despite its age, he felt a tingle of excitement as he looked around. The ceilings were high, the doorways and windows curved, and the wide, winding staircase perfect for making a dramatic descent. The hardwood floors could be restored to their former glory, and he believed the crystal chandelier in the dining room would probably glitter once again with the right care.

It was a great house, but although he appreciated its charm, he wasn't sure Iris Sandbury would. She liked master bedroom suites, Jacuzzi bathtubs, and large walk-in closets, architectural designs unheard of in the late 1800's. And the small kitchen would have to be completely redone to meet her gourmet cooking standards. It would take a tremendous amount of time and money to turn this antique structure into a modern mansion. Iris might prefer to tear it down and start over. Certainly the land, with its proximity to the sea, was very valuable.

"Joanna," he called again as he mounted the stairs. He wondered where she'd disappeared to. They'd parted awhile back as she set off to discover the true identity of the house's owner.

Identity seemed to be at the front of everything he came across these days. But it was easier to worry about Ruby Mae's identity than to think about Joanna's.

"I'm upstairs," Joanna called. "In the attic."

When he reached the top of the stairs, he saw an open door at the end of the hall, with more stairs leading up to the attic. As he walked down the hall, he glanced into each room. There were four bedrooms. Two of them were empty. The third had a single bed and some boxes. The fourth, obviously the master bedroom, smelled of medicine and mildew. A wheelchair was folded up in one corner and the bed was a mess of tangled covers.

He wondered if Ruby Mae had died at home. If she had been alone or if someone had been with her at the end. The sight of the room bothered Michael, reminding him again of the transience of life. It had taken him months to get rid of Angela's clothes, to rid the bedroom and bathroom of her scents. For a while, every time he had turned a corner, he'd expected to trip over her.

"Michael, where are you?" Joanna called out again.

"I'm coming," he said, eager to get away from Ruby Mae's bedroom.

She met him on the steps to the attic. "You won't believe what's up here."

He smiled. There was a streak of dust across her cheek, and she had pulled her hair up in a ponytail, securing it haphazardly with a rubber band. She looked hot, dusty, and excited. He found the combination irresistibly appealing. "What did you find?"

"Lots of things." She tossed him a black felt cowboy hat. "Try that on for size."

He put on the hat as he climbed the stairs. In the middle of the room a single light bulb hung on a wire. With beams of sunshine spilling in through the cracked window, the attic had in a soft glow that seemed to transport them back in time.

"How do I look?" he asked, tilting the hat to one side.

"Very dangerous, cowboy."

"And ..."

"Sexy. Is that what you were looking for?" she asked with a grin.

"As a matter of fact, yes."

He tossed her the hat. She caught it and set it on the ground, then held up a ruby red spangled dress that was cut low in the front and back.

"How do you think I would look in this?" she asked.

"Very expensive."

Joanna hugged the dress to her. "Ruby Mae was only sixteen years old when she started dancing at Barney's Saloon. I wonder how she felt looking down on all those men who wanted her more than they wanted their next beer. I wonder if she loved any of them, or if any of them loved her," she said with a sigh.

"I'm sure they all loved her for a while."

She made a face and tossed the dress at him. "I wasn't talking about sex."

He caught it before it hit the floor. "This was made for sex, Joanna. Ruby Mae was a prostitute. She ran a whorehouse. Her whole life was about sex."

"She was a woman living in a rough western town. Her mother died when she was eight years old. She didn't have any female influences. She used to sit on her father's lap when he played poker."

"Where did you learn all that?"

Joanna waved her hand toward a box on the floor. "Journals. There are dozens of them. She wrote everything down. I've just begun to look through them. This is a gold mine, Michael. I hope Mr. Gladstone is willing to turn her journals over to the historical society. It could change the history of San Francisco as we know it."

"One tainted woman change the city's history?" he asked with a skeptical tilt to his head. "Aren't you romanticizing Ruby Mae?"

"Just because she lived what some considered to be a sinful life doesn't make her existence any less important," Joanna replied. "And don't forget, a man died in the fire that destroyed her whorehouse. Wouldn't you like to know if he was murdered or if he set the fire and couldn't get out in time? Aren't you the one who wanted to be a detective?"

"That's when I was a boy. What else is up here?"

"I don't know. I didn't get past the journals and the trunks of costumes. I'd love to keep going through it. Do you think I can come back?"

"Sure. We have the key until Mr. Gladstone returns."

Joanna sat down on top of an old steamer trunk. "How does the house look to you in terms of remodeling?"

"Like a very expensive job."

"Michael, you wouldn't recommend that your client tear this place down, would you?"

"Now. It would be a shame to lose a house with so much historic charm," he said.

Her smile blossomed. "I knew it. I knew you wouldn't want to destroy this house." She got up from the trunk and hugged him.

She meant it to be a brief and friendly hug. He knew that. But once she was in his arms, he couldn't let her go. She was glorious, passionate; and when she looked at him he saw desire in her eyes. Want, need, everything he felt. He had to kiss her. He had to taste her lips.

Her mouth opened shyly under his, as if she wasn't quite certain of where they were going. But as his lips moved against hers, as he fit his arms around her and pulled her closer against his chest, he felt the last of her resistance slide away.

He deepened the kiss, pushing past her lips, letting his tongue tease the corners of her mouth until he could slip inside. It was the most incredible first kiss he had ever experienced. Their bodies seemed to mold together instinctively. She felt perfect for him.

Until she pulled away, until the desire in her eyes turned to worry. "Do you know who you're kissing?" she asked.

He felt as if she'd kicked him in the gut. "What the hell kind of question is that?"

"A logical one, I think."

"I know who you are."
But did he?

He let go of Joanna. The only thing he knew for sure was that kissing her was a bad idea. Too damned confusing. And the last thing he needed in his life was more confusion. He just wished it hadn't felt so good.

"Michael, I don't want to go through life as someone's ghost."

"I don't blame you.  But I wasn't thinking about Angela when I kissed you."

"I'm glad.  But we can't do it again.  We still don't know if there's a blood tie between Angela and me. What if I turn out to be a relative?"

"I can't believe anyone in the De Luca family would have given up a child -- for any reason. It doesn't make sense to me. Sophia and Vincent are celebrating forty years of marriage this coming Saturday night. Carlotta and Steven have been married thirty-seven years. Elena and Charles have been married for the last twenty. Do they sound like the kind of people who would give away a baby?"

"What about the younger woman, Elena? I'm twenty-nine. She wouldn't have been married when I was born."

He tipped his head in acknowledgement. "I have to admit she seems the most likely candidate. Do you want me to talk to her for you?"

"Would you?"

"I'll see what I can do."

She looked down at her watch. "Oh, dear, it's past seven-thirty. I lose all track of time when it stays light this late. My mother is probably climbing the walls. I told her I'd be home around five."

"Does she worry that much about you?"

"She worries about me every second of her life. She's been a wonderful mom, but to the point of obsession some times. Especially since my dad died. Now I'm her whole life instead of just an incredibly big part of it."

"Maybe she's obsessive for a reason."

Joanna frowned. "My mother is a good person and my father was, too. I don't want to believe they lied to me, but my mother's secrecy is disturbing."

"You need to talk to her, Joanna."

"I do.  But getting her to talk to me is going to be more difficult."

Sophia tucked Rose into bed and kissed her on the forehead. Rose's skin felt warm from her recent bath. Her hair lay damp against her forehead, and Sophia tenderly brushed it to the side. Rose and Lily both looked so much like Angela when she was this age. Sometimes the joy of being with them was tempered with pain from the loss of her daughter.

"Grandma," Rose said, "do you think there's a heaven?"

"Yes," she said, not sure where this conversation was leading or whether she wanted to go with it.

Lily came over and sat on the end of Rose's bed. "Do you think Mama is in heaven?"

"Absolutely." Sophia pulled Lily against her breast. "I think she's dancing with the angels right this second. You know how much she liked to dance."

"I like to dance, too."

"Then we'll dance."

She pulled Lily off the bed and spun her around. Rose climbed out of bed and joined hands with Sophia and her sister. The three of them danced around in a circle until they fell down on the bed in a pile of giggles and breathlessness.

"I may have to sleep right here," she said. "I'm exhausted."

"You can sleep with me," Rose offered.

"No, me," Lily said.

Actually, sleeping with either of the girls was more tempting than going home and getting into bed with her husband. She didn't want to get into another argument with him about Joanna, because she knew she couldn't possibly win.

"Grandma, are you sad?" Rose touched Sophia's face with her tiny fingers.

Tears filled her eyes at the question. It had been so long since anyone had asked her how she felt, had looked into her eyes and her heart and seen what was really there, not what she wanted them to see.

"I'm a little sad. I miss your mother, too." She paused, knowing that she had to accomplish one very important thing tonight. "I don't believe Joanna is your mother."

Lily and Rose both stared at her with solemn eyes.

"Joanna is just a lovely woman who happens to look like your mother. That's all."

"Then Mama must still be coming back, Grandma," Lily said. "She promised she would."

"Sometimes people can't keep their promises, no matter how much they want to. I'm sure your mother had every intention of coming back, but God needed her in heaven."

"I don't think I like God," Lily said.

"Lily, you mustn't say that," Rose whispered. "It's a sin not to like God, isn't it, Grandma?"

How could she possibly explain why the good Lord had taken their mother from them? She didn't understand it herself. But she had to try.

"It's about faith," she said. "Believing in something even if it doesn't make sense."

"Then Mama is still coming home," Lily said. "Because I have faith."

She sighed. That wasn't the correlation she had been hoping for. "It's late, girls. Time to turn off the lights.

"Wait, we have to say good night to Mariah." Rose sat up in bed. The wizard was on the night-stand between the beds, her beautiful smile encompassing them all.