Everybody Loves Evie (26 page)

B
Y THE TIME WE PARKED
in front of the Corner Tavern I was ready to claw out of my skin. Again I wondered if I was on
Candid Camera.
This day had been too bizarre to be real, and it wasn't over yet.

In the back of my jam-packed brain my mom's declaration of love played over and over, but it was hard to enjoy the moment knowing a bastard like Randolph Gish was on the loose in Greenville. I hated that he'd wormed his sleazy way into her life. Hated that he'd made a mockery of my gay friends. I despised him for fleecing Mom and women like her. Trusting. Needy. I wanted him gone and I knew just the man to do it.

The rain and thunder mirrored my stormy mood as the three of us moved inside under the protection of two umbrellas. “Now, remember, Mom. If the opportunity arises, come clean with Dad about what you told me.”

“Except the investment part. Remember your promise,” she whispered.

I crossed my heart.

Beckett moved toward us. “Let me take those bags.”

Mom held tight to hers. “Is George in the kitchen?”

“No. He's in the game room with Arch and your son.”

I swallowed, anxious about seeing my brother. Just thinking about dealing with another awkward relationship was exhausting. “Christopher's here?”

“Showed up a few minutes ago. We paired up for a game of pool. I just came out to use the men's room and saw you come in.”

“Did he bring Sandy and the kids?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Something about an inappropriate influence.”

“That would be the bar.” Mom rolled her eyes. “I'm going to start supper.”

She took off and I passed my barbecue booty to Nic. “Could you…I need to speak to Beckett.”

“Sure.” She flashed a fake smile at the man, then zipped after Mom.

Beckett watched her go, then addressed me. “If this is about the photographer incident—”

“It's about another slimeball.”

He must've detected the hostility in my voice. He moved in close. “What's wrong?”

“I need to talk to you in private.
Now.
”

“Follow me.”

As soon as we were locked away in Dad's small office, I spewed. Everything Arch and I had learned via our private dance lesson. Everything Mom had revealed about Gish. Now and then Beckett nodded to indicate he was following, otherwise he held silent. I worked hard to keep my voice down to an enraged whisper. “I wanted to drive over there. I concocted a story in my head, a reverse con. I know I could rope him into roping me.”

“To what end?” Beckett said.

“Verification. Confirmation. Proof that he's a scum artist. But then I thought, what if I blow it? Not that I think I would, but what if? And what if it trickled over and compromised the senator's sting? I've done enough damage today.”

“I'm glad you practiced restraint, Evie. Emotions have no place in this business.”

“I know, I know. It's just that this is so personal.”

He perched on the corner of the desk, folded his arms. “Can I ask you a question?”

I nodded as I paced by. “Shoot.”

“Why are you confiding in me right now and not Arch?”

“Because you're my boss, plus you have the badge and the clout.”

“You lost me, Twinkie.”

I stopped in front of him, fists clenched at my sides. “I want you to run Randolph Gish out of town.”

“Excuse me?”

“Call Woody. Tell him what I told you. He can run a background check on Gish, look into that building project. You said he's a whiz at acquiring information. I'm betting he'll dig up something you can use against the rat bastard.”

“You want me to threaten the man.”

“I want him gone.”

“Let me get this straight. You're asking me to use my badge, my government position to—”

“Get creative. That's what Chameleon calls it when they bend rules, right?” I wrapped my arms around my middle, hugging away the hurt. The stomach cramp signaled I wasn't totally okay with what I was asking, but I ignored my gut in favor of what I saw as the greater good. “I don't want to risk Gish mucking up my parents' reconciliation. I don't want to waste time roping him into an elaborate sting.” I moved in and placed my hands on his forearms. “I know I've been a pain in the butt. I know I misled you regarding Arch and our on-off-on…whatever. It's just that so much has happened so fast. I just need—I want—this Gish to go away.”

“Okay.”

“You'll do it?”

“You can kiss your mom's six thousand goodbye.”

My heart pounded. “That's all right. I have that part figured out.”

“Should've known.”

Humor, admiration and frustration mingled and danced in his pointed gaze. My pounding heart skipped with…what? Gratitude? Hero worship? Affection? I realized suddenly that I had a death grip on his arms and that I was standing close, too close. Unhinged, I backed away and resumed my pacing. “I'll dip into my savings. My brother can help with the banking aspect. All I need is a sample of Gish's handwriting. If I root through his trash at the studio or his apartment—”

“I see where you're headed.” He pushed off the desk and stepped in my path. “I'll save you the trouble and get him to pen a letter. An explanation and apology for the cancellation of the building project.
Sorry. Here's your money back.
Something like that, right?”

“You can do that?”

“Apparently I can work wonders with my badge and clout.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked down at me, a somber gaze that streaked through my body, causing my skin to prickle with unease. “Let me ask you something. What about the other women Gish might be fleecing in this town? What about their lost funds? Or suppose your mom is his sole mark here. What about when I run him out of town? He's going to land somewhere and start anew. What about those women?”

Like Arch, Beckett had stayed calm throughout one of my emotional tirades. He'd put a rational spin on my narrow view, citing a bigger picture. My skin flushed as his words sunk in. I hadn't been thinking of the greater good, I'd been thinking selfishly. About how Randolph Gish's treachery affected me and my family, not beyond. Home front versus homeland. I wanted to be a Chameleon. Trouble was, I didn't think like one.

A hundred thoughts and fears swirled in my brain, twisting my vitals into knots. I couldn't voice them and my diary wasn't around. The events of the day took their toll and I imploded—or exploded, I'm not sure which. Hard to think straight when you're sobbing uncontrollably.

“Oh, Christ,” I heard Beckett say under his breath.

“I'm sorry,” I squeaked while crying into my hands.

Next thing I knew I was in his arms and blubbering against his chest.

He stroked a calming hand up and down my back. “Easy, Twinkie. We'll work this out.”

We.
I sensed the same connection I'd felt the day we'd arrived in Greenville. I felt the support of a new and special friend. I felt safe. The tears increased with a sickening realization. Though I loved Arch, I didn't trust him.

I trusted Milo Beckett.

Unlike Arch, he generally shot straight from the hip. He wasn't willing to put me in the field right off, but he offered hope should I prove myself capable.

A good relationship involves sacrifice and compromise, respect and trust,
I could hear Mom say.

But then a smooth voice with a thick accent intruded.
I
didnae
want Beckett to be your champion. It had to be me, yeah?

It was too much.

I pushed out of Beckett's arms, sleeved away tears. “I can't…whatever this—” I indicated “us” with a nervous flick of my hand “—is…I can't. My heart…Not smart, I know. But…”

“Can't choose who we love.” Compassion swam in his eyes. “I understand.”

I grabbed a tissue from a box on my dad's desk, blew my nose, hoping my brains didn't leak out in the process. I felt all kinds of weird. “I'm sorry.”

“No apology needed.”

“So am I, you know, fired?”

He frowned. “For what?”

“Complicating things.” I shoved my hair off my heated cheeks. “I've heard you don't like complications.”

His mouth curved into a soft smile. “Not generally.”

“Normally I'm a simple person, I mean, easygoing, I mean–”

“I know what you mean.”

“It's been a rough year and then I met Arch and you and now this thing with my mom. I'm a little off balance.”

He walked me to the door. “Understandable.”

“I don't tend to cause waves. I'm not a troublemaker. I'm a team player. You don't have to worry about my personal life interfering with my professional life because I'm—”

“You're not fired.”

I blew my nose one more time, then pocketed the wadded tissue. Relief flooded through my system, making me weak in the knees. He was willing to ignore whatever simmered between us and accept what sizzled between Arch and me. I think. One thing for certain—I still had a place with Chameleon.

“You okay now, Twinkie?”

I nodded and forced a watery smile as he opened the door. “This would be a lot easier if you weren't so darned nice.”

“Oh, I can be a real bastard at times.” He glanced over my shoulder. “Just ask Arch.”

I closed my eyes briefly, thinking,
Oh, no.
But then I opened them and, oh, yes, there he stood, alongside a wide-eyed Nic.

She cleared her throat. “We've been looking for you. Your mom…she wanted…help.”

“In the kitchen,” Arch added, his mood unreadable as he studied my puffy, tear-streaked, no doubt crimson face. He glanced at Beckett and my stomach churned. He'd admitted to being jealous of the man. Now I'd unwittingly given him reason. Not that I'd done anything wrong. Although I guess confiding in a man other than the one I'm sleeping with might be construed as disloyal. Any way you cut it, this was an awkward moment.

He glanced back down at me. “You okay, Sunshine?”

My heart pumped at the concern in his eyes. “I had a minimeltdown.” Might as well come clean with the obvious. “This thing with Mom…” I trailed off, looking to Nic for help.

“Speaking of,” she said, “she's waiting. We should go, stop by the ladies' room first and freshen up.” She tugged me away.

“Be right there,” Arch said, calm as you please.

Uh-oh. I glanced over my shoulder, saw them both watching after me.

I felt a little guilty leaving Beckett behind in the wake of a storm. But they'd known each other a long time. Surely they'd weathered worse.

“W
HAT'S GOING ON
, E
VIE
?”

“Nothing. Things. Life. It's just…complicated at the moment.” I was really beginning to detest that word.

“Well, there's a big frickin' news bulletin.” Nic leaned back against the sparkling tile of the ladies' bathroom while I splashed my face with cool water. “You're neck-deep in lies and playing with fire. This isn't like you.”

I patted my face dry with a coarse paper towel, suppressing a frustrated scream. “I told you—I've changed.”

“No, you haven't. Not deep down. That's the problem. You're still sweet, kind and honest to your core. Duvall and Beckett are dangerous. They deal in deception. A con artist and a burned-out cop, for chrissake. Their worlds are far and away from yours, and you should stay far and away from them. This has
disaster
written all over it.”

I resisted the childish urge to cover my ears. Instead I pulled a compact from my tote and powdered my face. “I know what I'm doing.”

“So do I. You're running away.”

“From what?”

“Your life.” She pushed off the wall and stood behind me while I freshened my lipstick. “You were crushed when Michael divorced you. You wallowed for more than a year. Yet you claim that you don't give a shit that he got Sasha pregnant, eloped, then honeymooned in your dream city? I don't believe it. You feel something, Evie. Hurt, resentment, anger. You just don't
want
to feel it.”

I caught her gaze in the reflection in the mirror. “Do you have any mascara?”

She worked her jaw, rooted around in her sleek black purse. “Here.”

“Thanks.” I focused on working magic to disguise my meltdown. Meanwhile I imagined myself in a pretty pink bubble, a bubble that deflected Nic's well-meant but irritating words.

“On top of the Michael/Sasha issue, you're struggling with age insecurities and a flagging career in entertainment, which I understand, but there are ways other than performing in casinos to capitalize on your talent.”

“I know. Utilizing my acting skills to dupe scum artists.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of relocating to New York City or Los Angeles. Exploring Broadway or film.”

“No, thanks.”

“But if the opportunity came along—”

“It won't. And even if it did…” I turned and returned her mascara. “It's gone, Nic.”

“What?”

“The passion to perform on stage. I don't feel it anymore—and I need to burn for something, otherwise I'll shrivel up and blow away. Right now I burn for Chameleon.”

“And Arch?”

I peered up at her through newly plumped lashes. “I burn for him, too.”

“Beckett?”

“Just friends.”

“Mmm.”

I squeezed her hand. “Please support me on this, Nic. Or at least don't fight me.”

“I just want you to be happy, Evie.”

“I'm working on it.”

“Okay.” She shook her head. “Fine. Doesn't mean I won't watch your back.”

For Nic, that was downright sappy. I smiled and hugged her. “I should catch up with Mom before she sends out a search party.”

“I'll be along in a minute. I need to step outside, make a call. I promised Jayne an update.”

“What are you going to tell her?”

“As little as possible,” she said as we exited the bathroom. “At least until you've duped your mom's swindler.”

I
PASSED THE GAME ROOM
on my way to the kitchen, caught a glimpse of Arch and Beckett shooting pool with my brother. Couldn't hear what they were saying, but the mood seemed jovial enough. Whatever words Arch and Beckett traded in the office must've been brief. I couldn't help wondering what was said. Did Arch warn Beckett to keep his distance? Did Beckett tell Arch that I'd asked him to run off Gish? I pressed a palm to my flushed cheeks, wondering if my brother had grilled Arch—or, rather, the baron—on his investments. Christopher was all about high finance.

Mind racing, I pushed through the kitchen door…and caught Mom and Dad in a lip-lock.

Oh. My. God.

I silently whisked sideways into the open pantry, skulked behind the partially closed door. Why didn't I back out the way I came in? Head thunk. Now I was stuck with the canned cocktail fruit and jars of dill pickles, the image of my parents making out forever burned on my corneas. The fact that they were kissing was good. It meant they'd made up, right? It's just that I'd never seen them
kiss
like
that,
all grabby-feely.
Criminy.

“George, dear,” I heard Mom say in a breathless voice. “We must get hold of ourselves. What if someone walks in?”

I dropped my forehead into my hands.

“So what if they do?” he said. “No crime against kissing my wife. I've been wanting to get my hands on you ever since we left the jailhouse.”

Okay. That was hot. But that was my
dad!

“Because of the makeover?”

“No, because you gave that photographer hell.”

“I made a scene,” she said. “You weren't embarrassed?”

“Are you kidding? That rascal threatened to scandalize our daughter. You gave him what for.”

“I gave him a bloody nose.”

“Belted him good.”

“
Pursed
him good, you mean.”

They both laughed. I blinked. Did Mom just make a joke?

“Seeing you stand up for our daughter like that made me proud,” Dad said on a more serious note.

“I love Evelyn, too, George.”

I bit my lip.
Don't cry. Don't cry.

“I know you do, Marilyn.”

“Then why didn't you tell me why you wanted to buy this place?”

“Didn't think you'd be happy about me encouraging her musical aspirations. Also…I was going through a bit of a crisis, I guess. I needed to feel like the man of the house again. The caretaker. Guess you'd call that chauvinistic.”

“Are you saying retirement made you feel less of a man?”

“Guess I am.”

Oh, Dad.

“Oh, George.”

He cleared his throat. “I should've been more open about the purchase of this place.”

Mom sighed. “I should've been more sensitive to your's and Evelyn's needs.”

“We should talk more,” he said.

“So much to say.”

Tell him about the savings bonds!

“What about later tonight?”

“Your place or mine?” Mom purred.

Purred,
for crying out loud.

“Sorry I'm late. How can I help?” Nic pushed through the kitchen door, then stopped in her tracks. “Oops. Sorry.”

From her reaction, Mom and Dad must've been going for another smooch.

“Quite all right, Nicole,” Mom said, sounding more like herself. “Grab a spatula. You can help me with the burgers. George, you go play pool with the boys. Go on now. Leave the cooking to us girls.”

I watched through the crack, saw my dad saunter out the door, noted his cocky smile. Jeez.

“Where's Evie?” Nic asked.

“I was wondering the same,” said Mom.

I peeked around the pantry door, caught Nic's eye and mouthed, “Help!”

She shook her head as if to say,
Only you.

“What is it, dear?” Mom asked.

“Nothing, I just…” Nic palmed her forehead. “I think I feel a migraine coming on.”

“Goodness. You girls really need to eat better.”

“I'd kill for an aspirin.”

“I have some in my purse,” Mom said. “You watch the burgers. I'll be right back.”

As soon as she left, I zipped out of the pantry. “Thanks, Nic.”

“What the hell?”

“I'll tell you later.” I grabbed a hamburger patty and slapped it on the grill. I asked Nic about her last commercial shoot.

In the midst of her lamenting the idiosyncrasies of the director, Mom returned with a glass of water and a bottle of pills. “Evelyn, where have you been?”

“Bathroom. That time,” I said, knowing she wouldn't press about something as intimate as my monthly.

“Ah.” She tapped two aspirin into Nic's hands, casting me a look. “I guess you're feeling a little under the weather then, too.”

“A little.” Not wholly a lie. The scene with Beckett had left me shaken.

Her lips twitched. “Would it make you feel better to know that your Dad and I are on the mend?”

I smiled while we flipped burgers in tandem. “It would.”