Carolyn Haines - Wishbones

“She will. She understands.”

“Estelle can’t continue to terrorize us. My friends are here-”

“I know. I’ll take care of it. Now get some rest.”

He walked me to the door and brushed a kiss on my cheek before he shut it.

I went upstairs, following the sound of laughter to Cece’s room. The gang was there, including Graf. They were waiting for me. I wasn’t home, but I was pretty damn close.

That night I dreamed of riding the little red roan along the sandy beach as the ocean crashed mightily into the shore. When we got to the rock formation, where the spray rose thirty feet into the air, my horse suddenly changed into a creature of foam, and I was riding the sea, almost a mermaid but not quite.

I awoke in the early hours to Sweetie’s gentle snores and the security of Graf’s arms around me. The curtains in the room blew lazily on a soft breeze. Not once did I see the shape of a woman’s body in them.

Outside were the sounds of the tropics, not the Delta. But my friends were all around me, and for that moment, I had happiness, peace, and contentment. My final thought before drifting back to sleep was that perhaps I’d begun to learn the Buddhist art of living in the moment. No mean feat for a Mississippi gal raised to gamble on the weather and a crop that was six months away.

The next morning, I woke Graf with a thousand kisses. I hadn’t meant to fall in love with him. I wasn’t sure that I had, but I had begun to trust the feelings that he stirred in me enough to at least explore them. There was the simple pleasure of the flesh. I was good with that one.

His body was a wonder to me. He was physical perfection, and I enjoyed looking and touching.

“I’ll bet your friends are up,” he whispered when we were both panting and sweating, spent from our efforts.

It was nine o’clock. Millie and Cece were up for sure. Tinkie-it was debatable. Unless she was on a case she liked the horizontal position in the morning.

“I’m starving,” Graf said, gently biting my shoulder.

“Me, too.” I didn’t know if it was the work, the tension, or the lovemaking, but I was hungry.

“Let’s see what’s for breakfast.” He slipped into his robe and held mine for me.

“Shall I bring you some breakfast in bed?” I asked.

“We can eat with your friends. I’ll find out the filming schedule for the day and let them know so they can plan to be on-set for the scenes they want to see.”

I smiled my thanks as we headed to the kitchen.

Halfway there I heard a burst of laughter. When we opened the door, Millie was flipping French toast and ten members of the cast, including heartthrob Ashton Kutcher, who was playing Teddy, the Mickey Rourke role of the bomb maker, were cheering and clapping.

“Sarah Booth, Graf, I thought I’d make breakfast,” Millie said. “Tinkie is eating in her room.”

“You can take the girl out of the kitchen, but you can’t take the kitchen out of the girl.” I took a seat at the huge table. “French toast? Yumm.”

“It’s wonderful,” five people assured me.

“I can have it anytime I want in Zinnia, Mississippi.” It was a point of pride.

By the time we finished eating, the kitchen was clear and I could ask Millie the questions that were on my mind. Graf excused himself and took the dogs out to the stables to check on the horses.

“What do you know about Carlita Marquez’s death?” I asked.

Millie was washing dishes and her hands paused in the suds, a sure sign she was thinking through the implications of my question.

“It was a long time ago.”

“Maybe twelve years.” I was guessing, but I was fairly close.

“She was the Latino bombshell, sort of the Spanish Marilyn Monroe. My God, she was beautiful, but you can see that in the portrait in your room.”

“Quit hedging and tell me what you know.”

“Her death was ruled accidental overdose. Or that was the official version, but everyone thought there was something else going on.”

“What in particular?”

“It was rumored that Federico was seeing a Danish actress. I don’t recall her name, Alana or Alissa or something like that. I’ll check. Anyway, there was talk.”

If that was true, no wonder Carlita came up short when she measured herself. If Federico was dallying with a tall blonde it would go a long way toward explaining Carlita’s image problems. The betrayed almost always assumes the blame-that’s the destructive part of betrayal.

“I need to find out if that’s true.” I’d learned how the media could take a simple thing and turn it into a big deal. Perhaps Federico and the blonde in question were only friends. Or perhaps there was no blonde, only ugly speculation.

“I can do some checking,” Millie said.

“How?” I was curious.

“I have membership in several different fan clubs. There are online lists where members are authorities on certain celebrities. I can post a question. If there’s a computer I can use.”

I shook my head. “Millie, you astound me. I’m sure I can find an Internet hookup among the cast and crew. Just be sure you erase your footsteps.”

“No problem.” Millie dried her hands. “I have to go put on my makeup and get ready for today. I heard that Pierce Bros-nan was dropping by the set.”

“He’s not in the picture.”

“He’s a friend of Jovan’s.”

“I’ll put the dishes away. You go get ready.”

My aunt Loulane had always claimed she did some of her best thinking with her hands in dishwater. I knew it was a trick, so I didn’t fall for it. But the rhythmic motions of drying and putting away dishes did give me a chance to order my thoughts and probe my feelings for Graf.

I had acted rashly in jumping into bed with him, but for the first time in months I felt as if I had a toehold on a precarious cliff. I had no doubt that Coleman Peters cared for me, but his actions toward me had not been loving. Torn between honor and love, he’d chosen honor. And the terrible predicament was that such behavior was exactly why I’d fallen for him in the first place.

But a woman can’t always come in second, not even to honor. And I’d been third to his wife, Connie, producer of fake pregnancies and tumors, for I had no doubt that the latest of her cranial difficulties was fabricated.

As a point of honor I refused to ask Cece or Tinkie or Millie how Connie’s medical issues were progressing. I’d made a decision about Coleman, and now no matter what happened between Connie and him, I had moved on.

“Are you okay, Ms. Delaney?” I turned to find Jovan standing in the kitchen. “Is there coffee?” she asked.

“Yes and yes.” She was a beautiful woman, but there was also sadness in her crystal blue gaze.

She poured a cup of coffee, black, and sat at the table. There was a large bruise on the orbital socket of her eye that ran down her cheek. There was also a cut on her lip, but she was able to work all of her limbs properly.

“You looked so sad when I walked in. My grandmother would say that you’re too young for sadness.”

“Chronologically speaking, your grandmother might be correct. But life doesn’t wait ’til a certain age to dish out the hard spots.”

“How well I know.” She sipped her coffee. “Forgive my nosiness, but why are you unhappy today?”

I could ask her the same, but I didn’t. “I was thinking about the people I’d left behind in my life.”

“I suppose we all have our ghosts.”

I knew she couldn’t be referring to Jitty, but I was struck by a wave of homesickness. “What ghosts do you carry, Jovan?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes we’re born burdened with the past.”

She was smart for someone so young. “Tell me what happened last night, if you don’t mind.”