Guilty Pleasures (35 page)

Gavin didn’t waste any time explaining himself. Bobby had called Sam Dodge’s cell phone while the man had been at the studio asking questions about Polly. Bobby had told him roughly where Dusty and Nasty had taken him—and Polly.

“Another reason not to tell Bobby exactly what happened to his father yet,” Nasty said. “He’s sensitive. It wouldn’t take much for him to decide it was his fault.”

“You sure you’re okay, Polly?” Gavin asked giving her the kind of possessive look that churned Nasty’s insides. “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m managing. There’s some weird stuff going on, but I’ll get through.”

There wasn’t a graceful way to tell Polly not to say anything else to Gavin Tucker.

“I just cannot sleep.” The door to the rest of the house swung open and Rose came into the kitchen. “There’s too much going on here. And now I know what went on out there, I’m beside myself, Nasty. You should be resting that ankle.” She pointed a perfectly manicured nail at his leg.

“This is my friend
, Gavin Tu
cker,” Polly said. “He’s on the show with me, Rose.”

Rose, in flame orange silk lounging pajamas, concentrated briefly on Gavin. “Of course he is. He’s the man who paints those wonderful pictures for the rest of you to use as scenery for all your sweet story lessons.”

The sight of Polly’s openmouthed surprise amused Nasty. “You mean to tell me you’ve been watching TV, Rose? And I thought you prided yourself in never wasting time on that nonsense.”

She flipped a hand at him and scuffed to the refrigerator in gold, backless sandals. Her heavy blond hair curled about her shoulders. “You know perfectly well I only say that because it pleases me to put on airs sometimes. I’ve got a great big television set in my bedroom. In a tasteful cabinet. I watch
Polly’
s Place
every afternoon, and I just
love
it.” She took a carton of milk from the refrigerator and pointed at Gavin this time. “Have you ever considered painting scenes in people’s houses? I think you should. Of course, they’d have to be very expensive, but they’d be custom art, and they’d be very sought after.”

“I hadn’t thought of that, ma’am,” Gavin said fascination with Rose quite evident in his brown eyes. “But if you’d like me to paint something for you, I could probably manage that.”

Nasty rubbed his aching eyes, using the opportunity to hide a grin. Whatever Rose wanted Rose got—she always had.

“Why, thank you.” Rose’s smile was brilliant. “Did you hear that, you two?
The
Gavin Tucker is going to paint me a scene right here,
in my little old house. I spoke to Phoenix.” Rose had a way of running one subject into another.

“How is she?”

“Just fine. And the babies are just fine. But Phoenix is worried about you, Nasty Ferrito. After what Roman told her, she’s real worried.”

“Maybe hot milk would help you sleep,” Nasty said hastily. Who knew what Rose might have overheard? “I’ll get you a pan.”

“Don’t you change the subject. Polly, you’re going to have to make sure this boy takes care of himself.”

The furrows in Gavin’s brow didn’t upset Nasty.

“I’ll try,” Polly told Rose.

“I’m glad all of them are out of the SEALs, I can tell you. When I think of all that terrible drug stuff down there in Colombia I could just
die,
with fright.”

He must stop her from saying too much “Um, Rose—”

“Roman told Phoenix he and Nasty think whoever killed that poor man was really looking for Nasty on account of something that happened in Bogota. He did tell you about Bogota, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Polly said, taking great interest in folding the towel into small squares. “Do you
have some first-
aid supplies
?
”

“In the cupboard by the sink, dear. On the left. Sheriff Bullock’s such a nice man, but he wouldn’t know anything about drug cartels, do you think, Nasty?”

“Rose, Mr. Tucker stopped by to check on Polly—to make sure she’s okay. Perhaps we shouldn’t bore him with all this talk about old business.”

Rose poured a glass of milk and went toward the door again. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to bore him, would I? I’ll be seeing you, Mr. Tucker. We have a date to do some painting, remember.” She wiggled her fingers at Gavin.

“A date,” Gavin agreed. He seemed agitated. Once Rose had left, he faced Polly and Nasty. “Just after Sam Dodge’s visit to the studio Jack announced we should all take a couple of hours off. He could hardly wait to get out of there.”

Polly found what she was looking for. “Jack can be like that. You know he has his moods. I think he needs to get off by himself sometimes.”

“But he told us to be back in a couple of hours.”

“Yes.” She opened a bottle of iodine. “What’s your point?”

“Mary came back in a foul mood. Doing her muttering act. You know what I mean. Carrying on about knowing Jack was
up to something. I know you don’t get it, Polly, but Mary thinks there’s something between you and Jack.”

“She’s paranoid.”

“I agree. But that doesn’t change anything. The point is, you were gone, and then, apparently, so was Jack. I think Mary decided he knew where you’d gone and joined you.”

Iodine soaked into Nasty’s wounded knuckles, and he hissed at the pain. “Did Mary say anything to Jack when he got back?”

“He never came back.”

Polly almost dropped the bottle. “Oh, that’s
…
No, there can’t be any connection. Call the studio, Gavin. Ask for Jack. No. No, call their condo first and talk to Mary. Make some excuse—say you need to talk to Jack. I bet he’s there.”

“He could be by now,” Nasty pointed out.

Gavin walked to a phone on the wall and walked back to the middle of the kitchen. “South American,” he said. “You guys think all this is tied in with something or other to do with South America? And drugs?”

No way should this conversation be taking place. “Evidently Rose drew some conclusions from a conversation she heard between my partner and a good friend of ours.” Dusty and Roman would hear more about this.

“What are you thinking, Gavin?” Polly asked.

“Jack’s made his name in children’s programming—and documentaries,” Gavin said. “Last year he won a prize for the one on drug cartels in South America.”

T
w
enty-six

D
usty Miller deserved a medal. He’d taken Bobby fishing, making him a wildly excited little boy, and giving Polly the chance she needed to decide how to break the news of Sam’s death.

Sitting on the veranda at the front of Belle Rose, with Roman Wilde, Nasty, and Rose, Polly niggled at the problem. In Sam’s absence, Bobby had made him a hero. How could she create a balance between truth and fiction—and be sure her son didn’t suffer?

“I told Nellie she ought to attend to her business,” Rose said, rocking her bentwood chair. “She’s very good to me, but I don’t forget that she has her own affairs to deal with.”

The two men made noises that suggested they’d heard Rose speak but hadn’t listened to what she said.

Polly looked at the two of them. She’d noticed how they seemed to anticipate each other’s moves—even thoughts in
some instances.

She shouldn’t feel jealous.

Roman’s almost too-blue eyes met hers and he smiled. Good g
rief, there ought—as they said—
to be a law
.
She smiled back and he got up to pace the veranda before leaning against a pillar and staring out over the lawns and the driveway.

His face showed that he’d lived and laughed—and maybe even cried some. She liked him for the way he spoke about his wife and their children. And she liked him because Nasty trusted him.

Nasty drummed the arms of his chair, then pushed to his feet and stood beside Roman.

Formidable.

You’d have to be a fool to get on the wrong side of a six-foot-plus wall of all-male, watchfully restless energy. These two, one a big, tanned, dark-haired lately cowboy, the other Polly’s glacier-eyed, silently alert shark in shark’s clothing, should never be taken lightly.

She raked her nails back and forth on her jeans. What a shark. What a man. What a lover. Her skin throbbed instantly. Life had never been more complicated, but even trouble couldn’t dull her feelings for this man.

“How long?” Roman said.

Nasty chewed steadily. “At least forty-eight hours.”

“Maybe it won’t take that long.”

“Probably won’t.”

They spoke as if in code. “It’s because you fought together, isn’t it?” she said.

Both men looked at her. Nasty didn’t just look at her, he looked into her. “Yeah. Sorry about that. We’re deciding how long we ought to plan on digging in here.”

“They’re so clever,” Rose said. “And such good friends. Good friends to anyone they care about. Nasty and Dusty never let a week go by without checking on me. I’m a lucky woman. And Phoenix calls, too. I’m very lucky.”

“You’re very kind to put up with having your home taken over like this,” Polly told her. “Especially by people who bring such trouble with them.”

Rose pushed her rocking chair farther from the weak sun that had finally wiggled through the clouds earlier in the afternoon. “Trouble happens. I’m just so happy to have the company.”

“What about Tucker?” Roman asked. He wore a denim shirt with cuffs rolled back over deeply bronzed forearms, and much-washed jeans faded into lines and creases. From discussion he’d had with Nasty, Polly had gathered his scuffed boots spent a lot of hours in stirrups.

Nasty’s shirt hung loose and unbuttoned. He tucked his hands beneath it to rest on his hips. “Tucker,” he said finally. “Yeah, there’s Gavin Tucker, isn’t there? I think the guy’s okay. He’s got a case on Polly, but who wouldn’t?”

She wrinkled her nose at him, and Roman chuckled. “We know you do, buddy,” he said, slapping Nasty’s shoulder. “D’you trust him to do his bit with Jack Spinnel?”

“He’ll call if the guy turns up.”

“Do you think Jack could have come here?” Polly couldn’t grasp the picture, not folly. “I know him. He wouldn’t kill anyone.”

“How do you know?” Nasty and Roman asked in unison.

She slapped her palms down on her knees. “Just because he did a documentary on drug cartels in South America it doesn’t mean he’s some sort of killer.”

“Nope,” Roman said. “But thanks to Gavin Tucker we now know the story dealt primarily with the Bogota area. And it looks as if Spinnel could be even wealthier than he should be.”

“He’s got heaps of money,” Polly protested. “He’s done very well.”

“Not quite as well as the kind of money we’re looking at. That’s your friend Gavin’s conclusion, not ours.”

“Gavin doesn’t like Jack.”

Nasty laughed. “Gavin hates Jack’s guts. But that’s because Gavin hates anyone who might get close to you.”

She let that pass.

“We’re going to hole up here for forty-eight hours, or until someone makes another move,” Roman said, squinting. “Speculation’s a good thing, but let’s try for perspective, huh?”

“Perspective,” Nasty agreed, and turned toward the driveway. “Company.”

Tires grinding gravel, a police car nosed toward the house and swung to a stop.

A Kirkland police car.

“Kirkland?” Polly said, alarmed. “What would they come here for?”

Sheriff Bullock’s familiar brown vehicle was only seconds behind.

Nasty pushed his hands in his pockets and went down the crescent-shaped front steps to meet the officers from the first car. One man opened a back door, and Venus got out.

“Mom!” Polly shot to her feet.

Arms stretched upward, shaking her head, Venus rushed past Nasty to reach Polly. “My poor daughter. My poor, dear daughter. Oh, Polly, I can’t bear it all. Such terrible things. And I thought my life was finally calm.” She let her eyes drift shut and rested the back of one hand on her brow. “Serenity. I must have serenity. I must allow it to come to me.”

Roman had joined Nasty and was in quiet conversation with the Kirkland policemen and Sheriff Bullock. “Mom, this is Rose Smothers.” She smiled at Rose. “This is my mother, Venus Crow.”

“I’m sure,” her mother said. “Call me Venus. Oh, Rose, these are such difficult times. Do you have children?”

“No,” Rose said. “I have never married.”

The slight interval before Venus responded brought a grin to Polly’s lips. “Yes, well, I have Polly and Fabiola. My twins. And I can tell you that being a mother is a trial. Frequently a great trial. Oh, I love them both, of course. And they bring me joy. But they also bring me pain.” She scowled at Polly. “I should never have had to deal with the horror that confronted me today.”

Venus wore full belly-dancing regalia. Crimson and gold. Her hair, coppery red at present, sprang away from her head in shiny curls.

“Will you excuse us if we leave you for a while?” Polly asked Rose, who studied Venus with discreet interest.

Venus refused to go into the house. She couldn’t “be confined by captured air” and must remain outdoors. The farthest
Polly managed to remove her mother was to a bench beside the driveway.

“Neither of you there when I need you,” Venus said, fluttering with every move. “Fabiola. Oh, well, so important these days—both of you. She’s on a shoot. Sounds so unpleasant. But she’s gone and can’t help her poor mother when she’s shocked out of her mind.”

“Mom—”

“Ooh, Polly!” Venus wailed, and fell into Polly’s arms. “My poor child. I talk too much but it’s only because I love you so much, and I can’t bear that you have been exposed to depravity.”

Foreboding chilled Polly. “Mom, please be calm. For me. Be calm and tell me exactly what’s happened.”

“I’m trying,” her mother said in an unusually small voice. “Everyone thinks I’m flamboyant. And worldly. But under it all I’m really a little frightened of many things.”

“I know.” Polly patted her back. “I know, Mom. Relax. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

“That
…
that woman called me. She was hysterical.
Hysterical,
Polly. She screamed at me. She demanded to know where you were.”

“Mom—?”

“Where were you, she had to know. How could it be that she couldn’t find you anywhere. Surely I knew where you were. Had something awful happened to you? Oh, my dear child, it was awful. I was so worried I went straight over there. I was afraid she was making herself ill.”

“Mom—”

“Yes, yes, of course. Belinda. I’m talking about Belinda.” She raised her head to look at Polly. “She told me about Festus.
What he’d done. And she showed me
…
Well, you know. She said she’d shown you, too.”

The thought of her mother seeing the photographs embarrassed Polly, then she remembered the police had taken all of
them—also a horrifying thought. “She showed you the telescope?”

“And all those photographs. Disgraceful.”

Polly sighed. She might have known there had been more than one set of prints.

“And she showed me the diving suit.”

Polly drew back. “What are you talking about?”

“The wet suit Festus wore when he broke into your condo and waited there for you.”

Festus. Festus after all. Polly looked toward the men in the driveway.

The sound of her mother crying astonished Polly. “Mom, it’s okay. You did the right thing. You went to the police, and you had them bring you here. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you where I was going, but it seemed best for the police to be the only ones to know.”

“But you don’t understand,” Venus sobbed. “You don’t know what it all really meant. How could you? She said she loved you!”

“Belinda’s a friend, Mom. A nutty friend, but a friend, I think.”

“She’s not!” Venus took Polly by the arms and shook her. “You are too innocent, too trusting. She’s a sick woman. She made that poor man make telephone calls to you and admitted it to me. Because she loves you it’s supposed to be all right that she made Festus frighten you with dreadful calls. And when I said I didn’t believe her, she brought out the diving suit and told me we all knew the man who attacked you was wearing one.”

“No.” Polly tried to free herself. “That’s not possible.”

“It is, I tell you. I can’t go on. You have the policemen tell you. I called them as soon as I could get away.”

“Did Festus come back?”

Venus broke into fresh gales of tears. “It’s an awful, sick, sick thing. Talk to the policemen. I told her I couldn’t remember your address. I said I had it in the car. If I hadn’t, I probably
wouldn’t be here, now. I probably wouldn’t be anywhere.” She slapped both hands over her mouth.

From the corn
er of her eye, Polly saw Rose get up and start down the steps toward them. “Mom, Rose is coming. Quickly. Is Belinda coming here, too?”

“No! Talk to them.” Venus pointed a shaky finger toward the men. “They’ll tell you. She loved you, Polly. Don’t you understand?”

She sat straighten “You don’t mean
…
”

“Yes,
I
do. The photographs were all over the walls in her bedroom. I thought I should be sick.”

Polly was almost certain she would be.

“She wanted you. As her lover.”

S
ettling Venus had taken more than an hour. In the end it had been Rose who managed to calm the other woman—with questions about belly dancing.

Closing the door of Rose’s suite on the sound of Venus and Rose discussing lessons, Polly went in search of Nasty, Roman, and the police.

Both official vehicles had left.

Roman rocked gently in a hammock strung between the trunks of two apple trees on the side lawn. When Polly approached, he raised one eyelid to reveal a very-aware blue eye. “Don’t wander off,” he told her.
“Better stay close to the house.
”

She was tired of being told what to do, and not being told why. “Where’s Xavier?” she asked, more brusquely than she knew she should.

Roman lifted his head and both eyelids. “Over there.” He looked past her and she turned around.

His shirt still flapping open, Nasty wandered from the back of the house. “You’d think he was taking a stroll,” Polly muttered.

“Mm
.
” When she looked at him, Roman had closed his eyes again.

Determined to insist on getting back to Kirkland and the show and getting on with the business of living normally, she marched to meet Nasty. And as she drew nearer, she felt the familiar bump, bump of her heart.

“How’s your mom doing?”

“Great. Thanks to Rose. I like Rose.”

“We all do. She’s the kind of woman who makes you want her to be happy. A good person.”

“I suppose the police know all about it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“They told you everything?”

“Yup. Once Bullock started talking in front of us, everyone opened up.”

She filled her cheeks with air and lost the battle not to stare at his chest. A few more seconds and she’d lose the battle against wrapping herself around that very solid, very
…
sexy chest.

“C’mere
,”
he told her, holding out his arms. “I want to hold you, too.”