Carla Neggers - Tempting Fate

“What,” John said, “no roses?”

Eugene Chandler sniffed. “The police say it’s a wonder you were found. You could have died out there.”

“Well, the Pembroke luck will kick in at the oddest times. Never when I’m calling a bluff, of course. I haven’t called a bluff in ten years but my opponent’s holding a straight flush.”

“I’ve never been more wrong about anyone in my life than I was about you. You’re every bit your father’s son.”

John shrugged. “Some things in life are just givens. Roger’s done a better job for Chandler Hotels than I ever could.”

“Perhaps.”

And John saw-or, more accurately, let himself see-the disappointment in Eugene’s eyes, and he remembered the affection they’d had for each other, even after Lilli had disappeared. They’d seen in the other what they’d wanted to see in themselves. Overlooking Eugene’s rigidity, John instead had focused on his father-in-law’s pride and sense of honor and duty. Eugene had seen in him an engaging personality and determination and energy, the same qualities that so frustrated him in Dani. With his own daughters, he’d believed their hopes and dreams would be determined for them simply by having been born Chandler women, rich and privileged, their roles set for them.

Eugene ran a trembling hand through his thin white hair. “John…what’s going on?”

“I fell in the woods.”

“You know what I’m talking about. One thing after another’s been happening. Danielle’s cottage is robbed. She decides to join us on Friday and turns up at the track yesterday. You’re here. I also understand a private security consultant has been seen with her.”

“Zeke Cutler.”

There was a flicker of recognition. John let it pass. No doubt the legions of Eugene’s private detectives had checked out the Cutler brothers. Eugene did like to play his cards close to his vest. He said scathingly, “Next it’ll be Mattie and Nick.”

“Nah. They’re getting too old to tramp over the countryside.”

“I wouldn’t place a wager on that if I were you.”

John grinned. “You know, Eugene, I’ve never met anyone more capable than you of slicing someone into ribbons without getting a drop of blood on his hands.”

Color rose in his pale, dry cheeks. “I didn’t mean to be insulting-”

“Yeah, you did.”

Eugene clamped his mouth shut.

“You’re worried about Dani,” John said. The levity had gone from his tone, and he realized his head was throbbing.

“It would be a tragedy if…” He lifted his bony shoulders, letting John finish his thought. He’d already been caught once at being slyly derogatory.

“If she ended up like me and Nick, you mean.”

Eugene pursed his lips. “It’s not just recent events that have us-Sara and Roger and me-worried, although clearly they do. We are also deeply concerned that Danielle has overextended herself in business. Naturally we know nothing of the particulars of her affairs, but we’ve heard talk.”

“You could advise her,” John said.

His father-in-law smirked, incredulous. “And get my advice shoved right back down my throat? Thank you, no. If Danielle wants my advice, she can ask for it. I’d be glad to help her in any way I’m able.”

“Does she know that?”

“If she doesn’t, she’s more stubborn and idiotic than even I think.” Surprisingly, there was no condemnation in his tone. But John had never understood his father-in-law’s relationship with Dani. It had been a complicated mess since the word go. Eugene straightened, inhaling through his nose. “Well, I just wanted to see how you were doing. If there’s anything I can do-”

“Thanks, and no, there isn’t, except to be a friend to my daughter.”

He looked away. “She doesn’t make that very easy, I’m afraid.” Then he added formally, “A speedy recovery to you, John.”

When his father-in-law retreated, stiff-backed as ever, John found himself pitying the repressed old fart. He and Lilli-and Dani-could have been a part of a happy old age for Eugene Chandler. But he’d made one mistake too many with his granddaughter, and Lilli had been gone a long time, and John couldn’t even remember how to tie a tie, it’d been so many years.

Then a well-dressed, solidly built man walked into his room. “Hello, Mr. Pembroke,” he said, putting out his hand. “I’m Sam Lincoln Jones. Zeke Cutler asked me to look in on you.”

John shook the man’s hand. There seemed to be no other choice. “To look in on me,” he said, “or to watch me?”

Jones smiled. “Either way, I’m here.”

Dani had her freezer door open, her tiny galley kitchen enough to keep Kate Murtagh awake nights. But it was charming and functional, just like the rest of her small apartment in the large prewar building across from her grandmother.

There was no food whatsoever in the freezer, just a near-empty pint of ice cream and some pathetic-looking ice cubes. She was suddenly hungry, still shaking from the ordeal with Mattie. She’d never seen her grandmother so subdued, so unsettled.

Zeke came in behind her. He had caught up with her in the courtyard and followed her up the elevator, but she’d dashed ahead of him into her apartment, leaving the door open. Part of her wanted to be alone, and another part wanted him there.

He peeked into the freezer. “Grim.”

“I haven’t been around much. I was down last week, but I ate out-I had wall-to-wall meetings.” She shut the freezer and said hopefully, “But I have cans.”

“Let me,” Zeke said and smiled. “I’m good with cans. Take a break, Dani. You’ve had a lot thrown at you today.”

“I’m fine.”

“I know. But take a break anyway.”

She smiled back at him. “Are you telling me what to do?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m just offering to fix us something to eat, and it just so happens there isn’t room for two in your kitchen.”

“There is-”

“Not the way I cook. And since I am cooking-” He took her by the shoulders and maneuvered her out of his way.

Still feeling his strong hands on her, Dani went through the small living room-it had just enough space for bookshelves, a television and an overstuffed chair-and down a short hall to the bathroom. It wasn’t an elegant apartment. She kept furnishings comfortable and simple: antique quilts on the bed, handwoven cotton rugs on the hardwood floors, a blue-painted country pine table in what passed for a dining area. Whatever bent toward elegance she had was served by the Pembroke.

She splashed her face with cold water at the pedestal sink. Water dripping, she stared at her reflection. She looked bleary-eyed and stressed out. “Ingrate,” she told herself. What right did she have to judge Mattie? Even to pretend to judge Mattie? She regretted her anger. She could yell at Nick and her father-they yelled right back. But she couldn’t yell at Mattie. She was different. Always had been.

She dried her face, dabbed on lipstick and headed back to the kitchen.

It was disconcerting to see Zeke there. This was her space, and she wasn’t used to having a man like him there. Or, these days, a man at all. He’d pulled out a bag of dried pasta, an onion, cans of tuna, tomatoes and tomato sauce, jars of herbs. He had a pot of water coming to a boil on her little gas stove and half the onion cooking in a frying pan and was rummaging in drawers. In a moment he emerged victorious with her handheld can opener. He said, “Everything’s up to date in the Pembroke kitchen, I see.”

“Space is a premium.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed.”

He opened the three cans, drained the tuna and the tomatoes into the sink, checked the onion. “You wouldn’t have a bottle of wine squirreled away here somewhere, would you?”