Blue Skies (2 page)

She had moved in with Buck to save money. For four years she had done everything possible to be involved with the kids' education and activities, though Drake put tremendous energy into screwing up their plans. Being divorced from him was nearly as emotionally draining as being married to him.

Nikki had only vague memories of that twenty-four-year-old hotshot, sexy pilot she'd once been—one hundred and fifteen pounds soaking wet, cheeks aglow and eyes sparkling with excitement and hope. She used to like what she saw in the mirror, but now she found that the woman staring back was plain of looks, her reddish brown hair dull, her figure shot and her eyes tired. She wondered if she would ever feel good about herself again. And as for having a loving relationship with a man who adored her…

Nikki pulled back on the stick, causing the biplane to soar upward, invert and execute a big loop. She might feel ordinary on the ground, but up here she was a goddess. Drake had done everything to make her feel dumpy and unattractive, but up here she felt sleek and quick and sexy. They had stopped having sex a long time before she left him; he said she just didn't do anything for him. But up here she was fast and hot and wild…

Thirty minutes or so later, Nikki landed the Stearman and taxied over to where Buck and Jared stood waiting. As April threw a leg over the side of the plane, she pulled off her leather helmet and shook out her hair. Nikki could see the dried streaks of tears on her chapped cheeks. April leaned toward her mom. “He wasn't real
warm and fuzzy, but he wasn't a bad guy,” she said. “Daddy worked really hard, sometimes all through the night. He meant well, you know. He just had his…you know…
issues.
”

The kids had loved their father, even though they had struggled with his sometimes arbitrary discipline and negative nature. And he had loved them. She was going to have to remind herself of that, make an effort not to malign the poor, dead, selfish bastard. “I know, honey,” she said. “I know.”

Fifteen crappy years of Drake, and because he'd given her two of the most awesome gifts a woman could ever want…April and Jared…she didn't dare indulge in regret.

 

Buck watched as his daughter took the Stearman up again, this time with Jared aboard. He couldn't shake the sensation that he had failed her, although he also couldn't imagine what he'd have done differently. He couldn't make Opal stay with them, couldn't change what had happened with Paul, couldn't keep Nikki from marrying Drake.

But she shouldn't have grown up at an airport with a bunch of guys who could teach her how to change points and plugs but didn't have a clue when it came to fixing her hair or putting on lipstick. So what if she could fly like a bird—she should have had someone other than a crusty old father to be her soft place to fall when she was weary.

Maybe if he hadn't raised her to fly she wouldn't have to struggle so much—a female pilot working and living in a world that still belonged to men. And wasn't that really why Drake had been such a dick? Because he'd
envied Nikki's skill and intelligence and capability? Buck had always thought as much.

Her life had been too hard. But then, Nikki never did take the easy way.

Lucille Paxton approached him from behind, gazing up at the sky. She owned the café that was attached to the fixed-base hangar offices. In her sixties like Buck, Lucille had often been the stand-in mother and grandmother around Burgess Aviation. Heavy, gray-haired and rosy cheeked, she wore jeans and a T-shirt with an American flag on it and Support Our Troops printed underneath. “I fixed April up with a soda.”

Trotting along behind her was Pistol, Buck's latest mutt. He was an odd-looking creature with the head of a Labrador, long curly ears like a cocker spaniel or poodle, the short legs of a dachshund, and the genitalia of a small buffalo. But by far his most endearing quality was that he adored Jared and despised Precious.

Buck squatted to pat the Labra-doodle-cocka-dachsie while watching the sky.

When Nikki came around and lined up to land, Lucille said, “She's due a break.”

“Damn straight,” Buck replied.

 

There were only two cars at Drake's house when Nikki, Buck and the kids returned—the housekeeper's old Camry and Dixie's Acura. Nikki breathed a huge sigh of relief. The open house was over and she didn't have to face anyone from Drake's firm. The mere thought of never having to deal with his secretary, Mona, again almost filled her with glee.

She found her friends in the living room, seated on the sofa, grim-faced. Dixie tilted her head toward the dining room and Nikki looked for the source of the prob
lem. Ah, yes. Her mother. Who else? Opal sat in a straight-backed dining room chair, her expression dour, her poodle curled up on her lap. “Well, finally,” she said by way of greeting. Precious stirred at her words.

The kids headed straight for the kitchen. Nikki dropped her leather shoulder bag on a living room chair and draped her funeral clothes over it. She hadn't bothered to change out of the greasy mechanic's jumpsuit and boots. “Sorry, Mother, but the kids just weren't up to any more. They'd had it.”

Buck and Pistol sauntered in. Precious wriggled upright, and with his back legs on Opal's lap and front legs on the chair arm, snarled meaningfully. Pistol trotted toward him and snarled back, message received.

“You could have at least attempted to get here in time to say hello to a few of Drake's mourners,” she scolded.

“Oh, for Pete's sake, Mother, he was my ex. If it weren't for the kids,
I
wouldn't even be here.”

But Opal wasn't listening. She was transfixed by the ensemble Nikki wore, complete with unlaced steel-toed boots. “Good Lord, Nicole, what is that you have on? Merciful heavens.” She stood slowly from her chair, holding Precious and clucking in disgust. “I believe I'll just go lie down. My head pounds.”

Opal toddled down the hall with her poodle, past the master bedroom to the guest room. She went in and closed the door. Nikki, who had watched her departure, turned a stunned expression back to her friends.

“That's where I've been sleeping,” she said. “I just couldn't make myself use Drake's room.”

“I believe your mother knows that,” Carlisle said. “She mentioned something about it being…what was it? Disheveled.”

“Well, Christ.”

“Cheer up. Maybe she'll tidy up while she's in there.”

“I guess I probably owe you two for sticking it out with her all afternoon,” Nikki said.

“Sometimes your friendship comes at a mighty fine price,” Dixie drawled. “But Opal wasn't near as bad as that secretary of Drake's. Mona? She was all pissed that you and the kids weren't here.” Dixie shook her head. “She's one black-hearted bitch.” For Dixie to give a review that bleak was saying something. This sweet Texas beauty queen's greatest failing was not seeing the worst in people soon enough. Mostly men.

“A very unpleasant woman,” Carlisle agreed, shaking his head. He stood up and stretched. “She completely ruined a perfectly nice funeral.”

Buck's shoulders shook. He draped an arm around Carlisle. “Come on, cupcake. Let's see if old Drake left any decent whiskey in the liquor cabinet.”

While the men went to the wet bar in the family room, Dixie followed Nikki to the kitchen to find the kids and Drake's housekeeper, Lydia. April and Jared sat at the kitchen table while Lydia fluttered around them, serving them sandwiches, drinks of soda, chips and cookies, all the while patting their heads affectionately and cooing to them in Spanish.

“Have you figured out what I owe you, Lydia?” Nikki asked.

Immediately a troubled expression clouded the woman's tanned and crinkled face, and she seemed to be wringing her hands on the dish towel she held. “Miss Nikki, Mr. Drake got a little behind for me.”

“That's okay, Lydia. Just tell me how much.”

The housekeeper moved closer to Nikki but didn't
make eye contact. She simply gazed down at the floor and whispered, “Twenty-five hundred.”

“Twenty-five hundred?” Nikki replied in a near shout. Hoping it was pesos, she asked, “Dollars?”

The kids looked up from their food. Dixie clapped a hand over her heart. Buck and Carlisle entered the kitchen with a bottle of Scotch just in time to hear. Lydia actually flushed in embarrassment and began to fan her face.

“
Sí.
It was in dollars.”

“How long has he been behind?”

“He say when the tax return come, but then—” That was all she could seem to get out.

“Oh, brother. I'm surprised you kept coming back.”

“Sometimes he pay me,” she said. She went to the laundry room on the other side of the kitchen where her purse and sweater hung on a hook. She got them both, then took a notebook from her purse and passed it to Nikki. “I keep track,” she said.

Nikki ruffled the pages briefly. It was clear the woman had documented her earnings carefully. She was telling the truth. It looked as though Lydia worked for several families, and if she hadn't, she might have starved to death. Nikki handed back the small spiral notebook. “I'll get my checkbook,” she said with resignation.

A little while later, Lydia left with her check and a promise from Nikki that she would be called to help with cleaning again once they got their bearings.

Drake had let himself get twenty-five hundred dollars behind in paying a Mexican woman of simple means whose entire family struggled to get by? What was he thinking? Did he have no consideration?

“You can repay yourself when the will is settled,” Dixie suggested.

But something in the pit of Nikki's stomach tensed. Could there be a reason other than greed that Drake had not paid her? Could he have had, as April would say, financial
issues?
But why borrow trouble? She was seeing the lawyer the next day.

“Ice,” she said, indicating the bottle Buck held. “We need some glasses and some ice. Right away.”

 

The lawyer who handled Drake's will had also handled his divorce, and Nikki found it hard to be in the same room with him.

“You're not technically family,” Richard Studbeck said in lieu of hello.

What a cold bastard. “I'm technically the parent of the minor children who will be represented in the will. Besides an estranged sister, they're his only family, as far as I know.”

“Have a seat.” He indicated the chair that faced his desk.

“Thanks…Dick.”

He froze. “I prefer Richard.”

“Of course. Now I remember.” She smiled as prettily as she could. He was not fooled.

“I'm afraid I don't have much good news,” he began.

She felt that tension in her stomach again and held her breath.

“Your ex-husband left only his personal effects. Clothing, furniture, linens, pots and pans, et cetera.”

Nikki stared into his unblinking gray eyes, vaguely aware that her mouth hung open as she tried to understand. “Only?” she finally said.

“Unfortunately.” He folded his hands primly. His deadpan expression did not convey any sympathy.

“But…The house, the car, the insurance…?”

“The house, of which you are co-owner, was mortgaged to more than one hundred percent of its value, the car is leased, the insurance canceled.”

“That's impossible,” she said, a little laugh escaping her as though this were all just a big, nasty joke.

“I wish it were, Nicole.”

“When the house is sold, he owes me half the equity—it's part of our divorce agreement! And the firm he worked for
required
the insurance policy!”

“The firm is the beneficiary of one policy, for which it paid the premium. Drake let his personal policy lapse. And papers on file indicate you signed refinancing agreements.”

“Not for more than one hundred per cent of the value of—” When she realized she was coming out of her chair, she slowly lowered herself again. Yes, she had signed refinancing papers, and there was something about an equity line of credit while the interest rates were so low and the stock market down. But the refinancing was only for the balance of the mortgage. Had he…?
Of course, you dolt!
Drake had either altered the amount on the papers or forged her signature. “He must have changed the numbers…or forged my signature.”

Richard Studbeck shrugged. “It's going to be impossible to indict or prosecute him.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute! He didn't have planes or boats or beautiful women. He rarely traveled, rarely vacationed. I think I remember he spent a weekend in Las Vegas a couple of years ago, but that was before—” She swallowed hard. “I paid child support! It was supposed to be going into a trust for education! What the hell did he do with all the money?”

The lawyer paused at length before responding. “I'm afraid I have absolutely no idea.”