Everybody Loves Evie (27 page)

G
ETTING THROUGH THE
rest of the night was a trial. Although I was thrilled about Mom and Dad's good humor, I couldn't help dwelling on Randolph Gish. As long as he was in the picture, my parents' reunion was on shaky ground. No telling how Dad would react if he learned Mom had been bilked for six grand. What if he went after Gish himself? Then there were Mom's feelings to consider. She thought of Gish as a friend.

The more I thought on it, the more I wanted to keep the truth from being revealed. Better to let Chameleon handle Fancy Feet. Better to get the six thousand back in Mom's hands my way. I really needed to talk to Christopher. So far, our conversation had been limited to superficial table talk.

“You all right, Evelyn?” Dad asked as he spooned Neapolitan ice cream into everyone's dish.

“I'm just drained,” I said honestly. I'd been in town for two days and it had been one emotional moment or physical fiasco after another. The only reason I didn't beg off dinner sooner was because I enjoyed seeing Mom and Dad together. They were talking and laughing, and whatever was happening between them was real. Every other relationship in the room felt strained or false.

Secrets and lies weighed heavily on my heart, making me thoughtful and abnormally quiet. Plus, I hadn't been alone with Arch since he'd caught me coming out of the office with Beckett. The fact that he was playing the besotted baron only made me feel worse. What was he feeling on the inside? For real?

A phone rang. My brother's. “Be right back,” he said.

Meanwhile Mom grilled Arch on the history of Broxley. Fascinating, although I had to wonder how much was fact and how much fiction.

I am the Baron of Broxley.

Was he really?

Christopher returned. “That was Sandy. Small crisis.”

“Are the kids okay?” Mom asked.

“They're fine. But I need to go.” He said quick goodbyes, no hugs or kisses, though he did shake hands with Arch and Beckett.

When he got to me, I stood. “I'll walk you to the door.” I registered his surprise, bit back a sad smile. Brother and sister yet strangers.

“Your friends,” he said as we walked, “they're nice.”

I looked over my shoulder and caught all three eyeballing me. Their concern was tangible. “Yes, they are.”

“Duvall seems…attentive.”

“Yes, he is. Surprising, I know, considering younger men typically don't find older women attractive.”

“Obviously I was unaware or I wouldn't have said that, Evelyn.”

I flushed, feeling contrite. He'd made the comment days ago in passing, but the hurt lingered. “I know. It just…struck a nerve.”

“You're very attractive.”

I cleared my throat, uncomfortable with the compliment. “Thanks.”

“And persuasive. I've never seen Mom and Dad so…clingy. What did you say to get them back together?”

“Nothing specific. We just talked.”

“Talked.”

“Had a conversation. Dad and me. Mom and me. We should try it sometime.”

He leaned against the doorjamb, brow quirked. “You and me.”

I shrugged. “Yeah.”

He pursed his lips in thought. “So…Did you find out what she spent the money on?”

“Yeah.” I frowned, wondering what to reveal. If I told him about Gish, he'd want to go to Sheriff Jaffe. “I think I know how to get the money back into Mom's hands without embarrassing her and without Dad ever knowing what went down.”

Christopher frowned. “Sounds fishy.”

“It sort of is.”

“Illegal?”

“I—we—won't be breaking the law, no. But it would involve a certain degree of deception.”

“In other words, we—you and I—would be lying to Mom and Dad.”

Think like Arch. Be a Chameleon.
I tucked my hair behind my ears, shrugged. “There are all kinds of lies.”

“Like the kind that spare people's feelings. White lies.”

In that moment I felt a bizarre click with my brother. Did he actually on occasion fib to be kind? If so, it definitely put him in a new, softer light. “I don't think Mom and Dad are officially back together,” I said. “They have issues to work through. But they are on the mend and I don't want this bond snafu to muck things up. I can come up with three thousand dollars. I was hoping you might be willing to fork in the other half.”

“Why not ask your baron? I'm sure he could afford—”

“I think it should come from family.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You're determined to fix this.”

“I am.”

He looked at me differently, too, with something akin to respect. “When you're ready, come and see me at the bank.” He pushed off the doorjamb with a small smile. “We'll talk.”

I returned to the table more shaken than before, though I adopted my best poker face.

Arch leaned into me. “You okay?”

So much for my poker face. “I think I just bonded with my brother,” I whispered.

“You look exhausted, Evelyn,” Dad said.

“She's under the weather,” Mom said. “Archibald, maybe you should…”

“Brilliant idea.” He pressed a hand to the small of my back. “Let's call it a night, lass.”

I hedged at first, then acquiesced when Nic and Beckett volunteered to help Mom and Dad clean up. “Promise I'll be in a better mood tomorrow. I just need a good night's sleep.”

Arch drove us back to the Appleseed. It was dark and the roads were slick with rain. Thankfully he proceeded at a cautious speed, unlike earlier today when he'd zipped along this route in anger. Was it only this afternoon that I'd accused him of jealousy and he'd intimated he loved me? Just now, I was grateful for his silence, although I did wonder what was going on in that complicated brain.

By the time we reached the B and B I was more anxious than curious. I recognized his silence for what it was: the calm before the storm. I couldn't weather another confrontation, not tonight. Plus, I'd sort of bonded with my family and I wanted to fall asleep enveloped in that warm, fuzzy feeling. “I'm really tired,” I said the moment we stepped inside.

“Meaning you want to go straight to bed.”

I nodded.

“Alone?”

I didn't meet his gaze. “Well, Nic is here and—”

“She'll be sleeping in the room across the hall.”

“That's Gina's room.”

“Gina and Tabasco are spending another night at the hotel.”

“Still, Beckett—”

“Knows we're hooked up. No need to pretend anymore, Sunshine.” He stroked my cheek. “Just say it, yeah?”

I tensed with dread. “What?”

“You
dinnae
want to sleep with me tonight.”

I bit my lower lip, looked anywhere but at him. “It's just…”

“It's been an emotional day and you need some time alone, yeah?”

“Yeah.” He knew me so well and I didn't know him at all. Or at least didn't trust what I
thought
I knew. I blinked back tears, hoping a good night's sleep would revitalize my inner bad girl. She'd rocked in London. My happy place. With Arch.

Just the two of us.

He took my hand and led me up the stairs. He vibrated with restrained…something. Anger? Frustration? Disappointment? I didn't ask. I didn't want to know. Not tonight.

I expected him to leave me at my bedroom door, but he followed me inside. I tossed my
Lucy
tote on the rocker, toed off my Mary Janes and turned down the quilt.

He didn't take the hint.

He leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded. My brother's faded Indy 500 T-shirt stretched tight across his chest. The short sleeves rode up, exposing the monochrome tattoo that generally reduced me to a drooling sex monkey. Mom had commented on that tattoo—curious as to why a titled man would indulge in such a thing. He'd admitted to being a rebel in his younger days with a fascination for Celtic mythology and art. He'd said his grandfather, an artist, had sketched the design, standing alongside him as the tattoo artist made it permanent. Knowing how much Arch loved Bernard Duvall, the story had been especially poignant to me. I wondered if it was true. The line between fact and fiction with Arch was forever blurred.

“This afternoon, when you went back to your house—what happened between you and your ma, Sunshine?”

The question caught me by surprise. I'd expected him to ask about Beckett. Either the G-man had kept my ramblings in confidence or Arch wanted to hear it from me. His quiet regard intensified my guilt.

I should've gone to him first.

I sat on the end of my bed. A nervous rash prickled. Unsettled, I spilled everything about my dad, the purchase of the tavern, Mom's feelings about me and her friendship with Randolph Gish.

Throughout the recounted tale we both held our ground. Me sitting on the bed. Him standing in the doorway. It felt…ominous.

“I'm glad you and your ma are talking,” he said when I finished on an exhausted sigh. “And it seems your parents are on the road to reconciliation. As far as Gish…leave it to me, yeah?”

Him. Not us. Not
we.
Red-faced, I met his gaze.

He arched one brow. “Or is it already being handled?”

My stomach dropped.

“You already spoke to Beckett
aboot
this, yeah?”

“Is that what he told you?”

“He told me you were exhausted and overwhelmed. Said he just happened to be there when you cracked and steered you into the office so you could have a cry in private.”

Yeah. That sounded good. I was insanely relieved to know Beckett left out the part where I'd asked him to run Gish out of town. Oh, and the bit where I'd acknowledged a mutual physical awareness. And no way was I going to admit I'd assessed Beckett the wiser choice. It's not as though I planned to play it safe.

“Other than that,” Arch said, “he was tight-lipped.”

“That's because there's nothing to tell.” I wasn't lying, I told myself. I was sparing his feelings.

He dragged a hand over that sexy goatee and studied me with those devastating eyes.

I realized, with a mental curse, that I was scratching my prickly skin. A surefire indication that I was uncomfortable. My nervous tell. He knew it and he knew I knew it. I eased my hand to my lap. But too late.

Busted.

“Private stuff, yeah?” He pushed off the door frame and walked to the desk.

I watched, heart in throat, as he opened the drawer and took out my purple pen and diary. The one he'd bought me, the one he'd signed. He passed me the book, paraphrased the words my dad had uttered to me as a girl. “For when your heart and mind's jammed up.” He kissed my forehead and left the room. “Good night, Sunshine.”

“N
ICE TO SEE
M
R
.
AND
Mrs. Parish getting along,” Milo said ten minutes into the drive home.

“Yes, it was.”

“Christopher seemed like a decent guy.”

“If by
decent
you mean he has a broomstick up his ass,” Nic said, “then, yeah. He's decent.”

Milo smiled in the dark. She was right. Evie's brother was wired tight. But he didn't get a bad vibe off the man. As for Evie's parents, though they weren't as repressed as he'd expected, they were perhaps reserved and old-fashioned, and he had to wonder how Evie had become, well, Evie.

His chest constricted when he thought about the way she'd come to him and begged for his help. He'd been ready to follow through with her wishes even though he didn't fully agree with her method, but then he'd thought about what Arch had said about tainting that purity. He was certain if she detached and looked at the bigger picture, she wouldn't want to dispense with Gish so rashly. He'd been right. But then she'd broken down and he'd felt like shit.

He still felt like shit.

He'd wanted to kiss away those tears. But she hadn't moved into his arms, he'd pulled her against his body. His initiative, not hers. He'd settled for comforting her, but then—god
damn
—she'd vocalized the chemistry between them. It made it worse. Mainly because she wanted to ignore it. Which meant he had to ignore it.

Unless she changed her mind.

His exchange with Arch had been brief.
Nothing happened. Wish I could say different. She was upset and I just happened to be the convenient shoulder.

You sound suitably disappointed. Warms my heart, yeah?

Fuck you.

Bugger off.

The dance.

In truth, nothing
had
happened. Except she'd made it clear her heart was with Arch.

Milo flexed his fingers on the wheel. He needed to get his head out of his pants and back in the game. He needed a distraction. Just now, the best he could do was Nicole.

He turned onto the gravel road, glanced at the woman in the passenger seat. Moonlight accentuated her exotic beauty. This was a woman who got recognized for her looks first and everything else, like her talent and wit, after. Ten to one she'd been used and abused more than once.
I learned the hard way.
That accounted for her tough outer shell. Maybe if he softened toward her, she'd soften toward him. A truce, at least, would be nice. “What'd you do with that memory card?” he blurted for lack of something to say. In truth, he was curious.

“Destroyed it.”

“Smart.”

“I thought so.”

“How long have you been an actress?”

“A long time.”

“You're good.”

“Thanks.”

“When Mrs. Parish asked how we met, you had me believing in love at first sight.”

“Like you said, I'm good.”

“So you don't actually believe in love at first sight.”

She rolled her eyes, then looked out the side window. As if there was anything to see except rain-drenched plowed fields.

Milo wasn't big on small talk, but her silence irritated him, especially after she'd been so sociable with the Parishes. Mostly he didn't want to be alone with his thoughts. “Your other friend, Jayne—is she a realist like you? Or a dreamer like Evie?”

“Jayne is like no one you've ever met.” She shifted in her seat. “Is there something on your mind, Slick?”

The moniker grated, but only because it sounded like an insult coming from her. Was that how Evie felt when he called her Twinkie? “Why do you ask?”

“Because you suck at chitchat. Tells me it's not something you normally engage in. So why now?”

Because he didn't want to think about Evie. Evie and Arch. Evie and Arch in bed.

She blew out a breath. “Does she know?”

“Does who know what?”

“Does Evie know you're in love with her?”

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, schooled his expression. “If that's what you think—”

“It's in your eyes, Slick. I know that look. Subtle but present. The look of
lerve,
” she teased. “I caught it this morning at breakfast, then at the jailhouse when you passed her the aspirin, then later, coming out of the office.” She whistled low. “
L-O-V-E
or something damn close.”

“I can't decide if you're full of shit, a pain in the ass or both.” Milo could feel his blood pressure rising, but he played it cool. “What I do know is that you're off base.”

“I'm not the only one who noticed,” she said, blowing over his denial. “Arch sees it. He's just better at hiding his jealousy than most men. Listen, I get it,” she rushed on, and Milo cursed himself for opening the floodgates. “Everybody loves Evie. She's sweet and funny, kind and generous, smart and talented, a little on the whimsical side. Hell,
I
love Evie. Jayne loves Evie. The kid who delivers her Chinese food loves Evie. The only one who doesn't is that bastard ex of hers who eloped with his pregnant girlfriend.”

Milo glommed on to that last part as he pulled into the drive of the Appleseed B and B and parked beside the Mercedes. “Stone eloped?”

“He didn't even have the courtesy to tell Evie. Didn't tell her about knocking up Sasha, either. I got the honor on both counts. Lucky me.”

He keyed off the ignition, processed.

She blew out a breath. “Look, Evie's been through a lot these past couple of years. She's trying to find new direction, happiness, and she thinks those things lie with Chameleon. I'm not happy about that, in case you haven't noticed, but it's her life. Unfortunately she's fallen in love with rebel boy—hope that doesn't come as a shock to you—and I'm not sure he's the best man for her. Not sure you're that man, either,” she said as she opened the car door, “but, of the two, you are certainly the most trustworthy.”

She swung her long legs out of the car. Before he could rebut, she got in the last word. “Hurt her, Milo, and I will become your worst nightmare.”

She slammed shut the door and he sat there, stunned. “Well, hell.” He wasn't sure what to make of her observation. Wasn't sure what to make of
her.
He'd flown out here hoping to clear his head, to make some decisions, except he was more confused now than when he'd left Atlantic City.

One thing was certain—he didn't want to stay here any longer than he had to. No good could come from being cooped up under the same roof with Miss Tell It Like It Is and Arch and Evie, who were probably in bed together. His life had turned into a frickin' soap opera. It smacked of the triangle debacle he'd gone through with his ex-wife. Only, instead of the injured party, this time he felt like the fucking “other man”—and he hadn't even done anything. “Fuck!”

He pushed out of the car, sloshing around the muddy fricking yard, holding out his cell phone and looking for a goddamn fricking signal. At last, two bars. He phoned Woody for the second time in three hours. “What'd you get on Randolph Gish?”

Five minutes later he entered the house, surprised to find Arch sitting in the dark on the living-room sofa, nursing a glass of scotch and watching a black-and-white movie on the nineteen-inch TV. “Where's Evie?” he asked while shucking his muddy shoes.

“In her room.”

“Nicole?”

“Marched straight upstairs, yeah? Not sure if she's in her room or Evie's.” He polished off his drink. “You two have words?”

“She certainly spoke her mind.” Milo slipped into the dining room and grabbed his stashed laptop. He came back, placed the computer on the coffee table and sat next to Arch. “Woody e-mailed something you're going to want to see.”

“Something on the senator or Turner?”

“Something on Gish.”

Just like that it was no longer personal but professional. United purpose. The warped camaraderie. He motioned to the liquor bottle. “Grab another glass, will you?”

By the time Arch came back from the kitchen he'd fired up the computer and was signing on to the Internet. “Goddamn dial-up,” he complained as the other man poured and handed him a glass of scotch—two fingers, neat. He pointed to the TV. “What are you watching?”

“All About Eve.”

“Are you serious?”

“Ever seen it?”

“Don't think so.” Milo squinted at the actress on screen. “Who's that?”

“Fucking Anne Baxter. How can you not know Anne Baxter?”

He glanced from the TV to the laptop—still connecting—and back. “Is that a young Marilyn Monroe?”

Arch grunted. “Her you know.”

Milo took a hit off his scotch. “What's it about?”

“An aging actress and her theater friends.”

“You're kidding.”

“Lot of memorable quotes in this flick, yeah?”

“Hit me.”

“‘We're a breed apart. We're the original displaced persons.'”

“Huh. Don't recognize it, but I like it. Could apply to our kind, as well as Evie's.” He sipped more scotch, keyed in his password when the screen popped up. “Let's hear another.”

“‘Fasten your seat belts, it's going to be a bumpy night.'”

“That one I've heard. Hold that thought.” He typed in another password, a site secured by Woody for Chameleon activity, clicked on the specified e-mail and downloaded a file.

“This could take all night,” Arch said, refilling his glass. “How do people deal with
oot
high-speed-modem access?”

“Almost there,” Milo said.

“Almost where, Slick?”

He glanced up and saw Nicole standing to their left. He was surprised to see her wearing glasses. Which meant she wore contact lenses during the day. Just now, it was too dark and she was standing too far away for him to tell if the contacts had augmented the color of her eyes. The vibrancy of their green had almost been unnatural. Meanwhile the glasses with the oval black-rimmed frames did little to detract from her sexy aura. She'd changed into a black lounging suit and had plaited her hair into two long braids. Face scrubbed of makeup, glasses and all, she still looked exotic as hell. At least he noticed. Hello, distraction. “We're doing some late-night work.”

“Looks like you're watching TV.” She moved into the room.
“All About Eve?”

“Aye,” said Arch.

“Priceless.” She smirked at Milo. “Ever seen it?”

“No.”

“Story about ambition and betrayal.”

“Nice.” Milo minimized the computer screen.

“What are you drinking?”

“Scotch,” said Arch.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Yes,” both men said.

She scooted into the kitchen, presumably to get a glass.

“Pain in the ass,” Milo muttered, pulling up the file.

“Relax, mate. Anything classified in here?”

“Don't think so.” Milo pointed at the mug shot. “That our guy?”

“That's him. Quite a few aliases, yeah?” He leaned in next to Milo, skimmed the text. “Transient grifter. Lengthy arrest record. Made a lot of mistakes. Sloppy.”

“Who?” Nicole settled next to Milo and helped herself to the liquor.

Up close and personal now, he could see that her eyes were indeed jade-green. Unique. He frowned. “I'm asking nicely, Pocahontas. Take your drink and make yourself scarce.”

“That wasn't a question, Slick. But here's one.” She peeked at the file. “Is this about Evie?”

Arch kept reading. “Aye.”

“Then I'm staying.”

“Fine,” Milo said, nudging her away. He pointed to a chaise lounge. “Would you mind sitting over there?”

“View's better here.”

He muttered under his breath.

“I've been called worse,” she said, then curled her feet beneath her and sipped her drink.

“No convictions,” Arch said. “But look here.”

Nicole leaned in and again Milo nudged her away. “That's the part of the Kid's report that caught my interest.”

“We could play it a couple of ways, you know?”

“Agreed. I say we let Evie make the call.”

Arch rubbed his hands over his face—conflicted, perturbed—but holding his thoughts close to his chest. “Agreed,” he finally said. “But she's wiped
oot.
Maybe this could wait until morning.”