Janet Evanovich - Full House

"You haven't had dessert."

Billie thought about her getting-in-shape program. "Maybe I'd better skip dessert," she said.

"I'll bet I can convince you otherwise."

Billie arched one brow. "Oh, really?"

"Once you taste my homemade ice cream you'll never turn down my offer of dessert again."

Billie cocked her head to the side. Had she heard him correctly? "You're kidding, right?"

He shook his head as he got up from the table. "I thought it would be fun to make ice cream." He pulled a stainless-steel contraption to the front of the counter. "Fong bought me this a couple of years ago. It's supposed to be the Cadillac of home ice-cream makers." He opened the refrigerator and took out a glass bottle of cream. "I even have real cream. Not the kind they sell in the supermarket with emulsifiers and diglycerides. This cream came from my own cow."

Billie just stared back at him. The man never failed to amaze her. "Okay," she said at last. "I'll stay on one condition."

"Name it."

"Tell me about Max."

Nick's smile faded instantly as he took a can of chocolate syrup and a bottle of vanilla extract from the overhead cabinet. "How do you know about Max?" He paused. "No, don't tell me. Deedee."

"Was she not supposed to say anything?" Billie asked, hoping she didn't end up causing problems between Nick and his cousin.

"No, it's okay. You were bound to find out about him sooner or later." He sighed wearily. "How do I even begin to explain Max Holt to you? He's a misdirected sixteen-year-old kid with an IQ that's totally off the charts. Unlike his sister Deedee, who doesn't have enough sense to get in out of the cold."

"I understand Max blows up things. Is he dangerous?"

"He might be if he weren't so smart, but he knows what he's doing. He blasted a wooden tub of geraniums to smithereens and sent a solid brass weather vane to the moon, but I'd have to say the fireworks display made it almost worth it."

"Well, we should always consider the positive," she said. "How on earth does he find the material he needs to create these explosions?"

"He has a laboratory of sorts in the kitchen of a guest cottage on the property. These aren't regular bombs, you understand. He makes them with things he finds in the kitchen and garage. We're talking someone who could probably build a generator large enough to support the entire town during a blackout, simply by using wire and tubing and a few other odds and ends. I know it sounds wild, but it's the truth."

Nick sighed. "I could clear out his lab, but he'd only set up another in a different location. He's devilishly clever, remarkably so."

After meeting Deedee, Billie was ready to believe anything about Nick's relatives. "Does Max have a reason for doing what he does, or is he just bored and using it to pass the time?"

"Oh, Max always has a reason. He believes in causes. A champion of the underdog, you might say. He was the only six-year-old I know of who had a bumper sticker that read "Save the Whales" on the back of his bicycle. He actually got his mother to quit smoking by quoting statistics when he was five years old, and once he became an animal activist, she and her friends were afraid to wear furs in his presence."

"So, what is his latest cause?"

"He came to spend summer vacation with me and discovered there were plans to develop some marshland east of here."

Billie nodded. "I know about that, I read about it in your paper. They're putting in a shopping center, a billion condos, and a light industrial park right in the middle of an important stop on the North Atlantic fly way. It's going to endanger millions of birds en route to breeding grounds. It's a national disgrace."

"That's pretty much what Max said. He wants me to use the paper to fight the project."

Billie raised her eyebrows. "And?"

"I don't want the marsh destroyed any more than you do, but it's against my philosophy as a publisher to slant the news. We've come out against it on the editorial page, but that's as far as I'll go. I feel compelled to report both sides of the issue, and there definitely is another side here. That development will bring in revenue for schools and roads and hospitals. The developer claims he's setting aside a significant number of acres for the birds and has taken safeguards to protect it."

Billie snorted.

"Yeah, I know. Anyway, Max has taken a very strong stand and has resorted to his own brand of persuasion to enlist my help. He always leaves a cryptic message beforehand, but he believes if you want to be heard, you have to make a loud noise."

"Like boom?"

"Precisely." His brows knitted together in a frown.

"I'm really worried. If I could just get hold of him maybe I could talk some sense into him, but I can't find the kid. He's doing this guerrilla number, skulking around in the woods, leaving candy-bar wrappers all over the place. I've hired security guards, but they can't catch wily Max."

"Are you sure he's nonviolent?"

"He's violently nonviolent. He's just trying to make my life miserable in order to get my attention." Nick paused. "You must think we're a whole family of fruitcakes. I'd feel a lot better if you had a few skeletons hanging in your closet. I don't suppose you'd want to tell me an amusing anecdote about some weird relative of yours?"

"I'm sorry," Billie said, laughing. "My relatives are boring. My family has trouble blowing up balloons. By the way, where are Max's parents?"

"Europe. They flew over for the Irish Derby and went on to the south of France. They're clueless where Max and Deedee are concerned because they were seldom around when the two were growing up. You have to understand, Max came as a complete surprise, which explains why he's ten years younger than his sister. Deedee is the endearing airhead and Max is the eccentric genius. He taught himself to read when he was two and graduated from high school when he was twelve. For the past four years he's bounced around from one major university to the next because they were too boring.

"Max needs to be challenged on a daily basis. Oddly enough, I seem to be a favorite of his because he asks to spend summers with me. Which means I'm in charge at the moment." He made an imaginary gun with his hand, put his index finger to his temple, and pulled the trigger.

"You like him, though, don't you?"

"Yeah. He's not a bad kid. He just doesn't know what to do with all the gifts he's got, and his parents never nurtured or even acknowledged his genius. They just see him as bothersome."

"I think what Max needs most right now is a big hug, and a better way to focus his energies."

Nick's mouth curved at the corners. Only Billie would suggest a hug for Max, which was probably what the kid needed most. He looked at her, feeling an unfamiliar sense of tenderness steal over him.

Half an hour later they took their ice cream to a small den off the solarium and Nick loaded The African Queen into the VCR.

Billie's eyes opened wide in surprise. "How did you know I'm a Bogart fan?"

"Lucky guess."

"I bet I've seen Casablanca a million times."

Nick slid his arm around Billie's shoulders and snuggled her next to him on the big overstuffed couch. "Listen, sweetheart—"

"Oh, no. Not a Bogart impersonation."

"No. Bogart impersonations are passe. I do Woody Allen impersonating Bogart. Listen, sweetheart—"

Billie couldn't suppress her laughter. "Stop! That's awful."

He pretended to look offended. "Most women go wild when I do my Bogart impersonations."

Billie scraped the bottom of her bowl and licked her spoon to get the last smidgen of ice cream. "They were merely humoring you, Kaharchek. You'd be better off to find someone who appreciates your ice cream."