Bouquet of Lies Part 8

Big Boy left the house, chains clanking and boots beating the floor.

Jake returned his attention to Lacey. "How'd you manage to get your car impounded?"

"Your car got impounded?" Darla's eyes went wide. Lacey could be crazy, but she wasn't a screw up. This was a first.

Lacey's hair bounced with the toss of her head. "We can all thank Dan-the-Man."

"Who's that?" Jake asked.

Lacey shrugged. "A cop who gave me a ticket last week or the week before. I can't remember. He pointed out that my tags were expired and I forgot about it. He pulled me over for speeding today. And since I hadn't taken care of the tags and they were six months overdue, he said I needed a lesson. Some mumbo jumbo about saving my life with a wakeup call about responsibility. And here I thought he was a decent guy."

"You don't seem all that upset," Randy said.

"I'm upset." She motioned at her face. "This is me being upset. But what can I do? Get my car. That's what I can do." She took Jake by the arm. "Come on. Let's go. You two play nice." She tossed the words over her shoulder at Randy.

Jake looked at Darla. "You owe me a visit, Rabbit Face," he said before Lacey had him out the door.

Darla felt her insides turn all mushy, then suddenly Randy's hand was touching her arm. "Who is that guy?"

She looked at his fingers on her skin. "That's Jake. He's the chauffeur's son." Her eyes traveled up to meet Randy's.

"Oh, the chauffeur's son. I've heard about guys like him."

Darla didn't understand and she frowned.

"That was a joke." He grinned. "Does seem to be a bit of a ruffian though."

"What? I don't think so."

Randy's smile faded and his fingers tightened just a smidge. "Do I have something to be jealous about?"

Darla's entire body caught fire. Had he just made some sort of declaration? She had no experience in these matters and her body shook. What was she supposed to say back? Something light and funny? Oh, you're such a kidder. That sounded stupid. He'd been with Lacey. He'd been with someone who knew how to flirt. Anything she could think to say would sound pathetic. She chewed on her lower lip. It was best not to say anything at all, but words spilled out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"Jake's a friend." She backed away from Randy. She couldn't handle anything more.

Darla stared out her bedroom window, her thoughts on Randy. Was he interested in her or was he just a flirt? Lacey would know, but she wasn't around to ask. And since their relations.h.i.+p had been on the rocks all week, she wasn't sure she could ask.

Why would a guy like Randy be interested in her? He seemed sort of sophisticated, while her world consisted of a twenty-thousand-square-foot box. A mansion, yeah. A big house, for sure. But it was a small playing field. And she made it even smaller by spending so much time in her room reading romantic novels, pretending to be the heroine.

She relived her encounter with Randy at the Huntington and then in the family library. She remembered his touch and goose b.u.mps erupted on her skin. Reverend Irene had been right about facing her fear. If she hadn't gathered up her courage and gone to the library, she wouldn't have run into Randy.

After an hour of daydreaming, she caught sight of Jake returning in the Caddie. Lacey, however, never appeared in the Spyder. She must have decided to go somewhere and blow off steam, Darla thought.

She watched Henry pull the Lincoln out of the garage and go to work detailing it. Jake said something to his dad, went upstairs, came back down, and took off on his Harley. By late afternoon father and son were in the apartment and there wasn't any activity to watch.

Darla took out her journal. She jotted down some thoughts, mostly about Randy, but then diligently wrote about her father and Lacey to satisfy the Reverend Irene.

Day headed for dusk. She watched the distant mountain behind the house turn several shades of purple as the sun lowered behind it, and she realized that she hadn't eaten since yesterday. No one in the family ate together. The housekeeper just kept food ready in the fridge. Darla wasn't hungry, but she knew she should eat.

Before hopping off the bed, her eyes s.h.i.+fted and she saw through the window that Jake was sitting on a chair beside the garage, Lacey's stray cat rubbing against his legs. He was feeding it nibbles of some kind.

Some ruffian, she thought, smiling at Randy's incorrect a.s.sessment, and then she remembered what Jake had said to her: You owe me a visit, Rabbit Face.

Her stomach muscles tightened and her breath caught in her chest. She wanted to talk to Jake, but what would she say? Hi, how are you? What about after that?

She could thank him for taking stinky Big Boy or Big Guy or whatever his name was out of her face.

Yeah. She could say that.

Darla forgot about dinner and hurried downstairs before her confidence waned.

The cat purred on Jake's lap now and Jake was scratching it behind its ears. She swallowed and came closer.

"Jake."

He raised his eyes as he stroked the scrawny tabby. "Well. Well. Well. Look what the cat dragged in."

She bit her lip, worried, and then remembered. That was his sense of humor; he had a cat in his lap.

"So serious," he added.

Her breath hiccupped. She was serious. Too serious. Jake always told her that when she didn't laugh at his jokes. Lacey always laughed.

She smiled and tried to look relaxed. "The cat didn't drag me. You did."

He tossed the animal aside and stood. "Kicking and screaming, I bet." He looked at her, a small smile on his lips. The eyes were the same. Ready to tease.

"Um." She squirmed.

"Darla. Darla. You never did know what to say. That's one of the things I love about you."

Her jaw lowered, but nothing came out.

"You're too skinny, I can tell you that. I didn't notice it the other day when you ran past me. All I could think about was how your grandfather is still an a.s.s. And how you still haven't learned to not let him get your goat."

She looked at the ground. She hated talking about her grandfather.

"And you still do that when I mention him. So forget I said anything."

She raised her eyes. "I came to thank you."

"Thank me?"

"For getting that guy out of my face."

"Oh, that." He sort of shrugged. "And here I thought you finally came down because we were friends. I told Lacey, if you didn't acknowledge me soon I was going up to your room and stand there until you did."

Darla put her arms behind her back and sc.r.a.ped the ground with one foot. She couldn't picture Jake in her bedroom. It was too girly for one thing and he was anything but. She squeezed her lips together.

He suddenly laughed. "I've missed that confused little rabbit face. Although I guess I shouldn't. The first time I saw it, the three of us were playing Hide and Seek in the house. You were so little and we thought we'd never find you until we heard you calling. Do you remember that?"

Darla shook her head.

"We tried to follow your cries, but we couldn't get to you. And your grandfather showed up with a smirk on his face and this strange, squeaky laugh."

Her grandfather rarely laughed anymore, but he used to all the time. A weird high-pitched snicker. She hadn't thought of it in years. She heard it now in her head.

"I went and got your dad. I had to push Edward out of the way to do it."

Darla wrapped her arms around her waist. She didn't remember playing Hide and Seek. Not in the house, anyway. The image of a dark room with scary monsters popped in her head.

"Harper came back with you in his arms. You had wet streaks down your little face. And you took these short hiccuppy breaths that reminded me of a rabbit."

Jake was quiet for a moment. "Guess I shouldn't like it when you make that face."

His eyes lowered to the side. "You know your dad just plopped you down and told us to find another game. Like, here she is. No big deal. Never did figure out where he found you."

Darla took a step back. "I, um, should go in."

"Oh, you should huh?" His smile returned. "I shouldn't have dredged up that story."

"It's okay." She shrugged.

"I could have brought up anything else. Like when I taught you how to ride a bike and you learned so fast. Or how I taught you to skateboard. Or when you insisted I play dress up and I finally gave in."

Darla giggled. "I remember that. You made a great girl."

"Only played that game once, as I recall. And Lacey liked to play Clue, but you hated it."

"Because I never won."

"You liked to draw. You had me pose for you a few times."

"And you'd move on purpose."

"Had to keep you on your toes. I still have one of the pictures you drew."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's pretty good." They stared at each other. He stuck his thumbs in his back pockets. "I'm only here for the summer. Getting reacquainted with my pop. Now that you've made the big move to come say hi, I better see you again."

She wanted to ask him where he would go when summer was over. If he would be back. But she bit a fingernail instead.

"Got a job come September."

"Oh. What . . . what do you do?"

"Restoration. Bikes. Soda machines. Old junk. I like working with my hands. I got a knack."

She remembered him repairing a pair of her skates. And a scooter. The wheel had come off.

He moved closer and touched her nose. "Go eat something, Rabbit Face. Come September you better have gained ten pounds. Fifteen."

She stared up at him and her heart beat faster. His eyes were luminous in the twilight. Without a word she backed away and went inside the house.

Nine.

DAN RUBBED THE center of his forehead with both of his index fingers. The scenario with this girl, this twenty-year-old, this Lacey Bouquet, was growing complicated. Or at least it seemed so, and his head hurt. A gla.s.s of wine with dinner was in order. It relaxed him at the end of the day.

He opened a bottle of Cabernet and let it breathe. Then he pulled a pork chop from the refrigerator, tossed it into a frying pan on the stove, and turned on the heat. He went to work making a green salad and as he sliced a tomato, an avocado and some mushrooms, he pictured Lacey's gaping mouth.

You're taking my car?

Of course she gaped. First he said he meant to call. Then he said he hadn't found the time.

Hadn't gotten up the nerve, if he was being truthful. He shook his head.

Then he asks her out and follows up with a lecture about the dangers of speeding.

A red light runner killed Sally. A drunk driving seventy in a forty-five.

She doesn't know that. You impounded her car!

The chop began to sizzle and he turned the heat down.

Was he crazy? He'd confused things. Was their date still on after all that? Did he just show up at her house?

He would have to call her. Or he could go to her costume party and feel things out. He could wear his cop uniform. If things were kibashed, then things were kibashed. It would be for the best, and he still wouldn't have lied to Uncle Carrick and Aunt Helen.

He stared at the pork chop, turned it over.

An anxious feeling rushed through him. He didn't want things kibashed. He liked her. He shouldn't have impounded the car. He should have given her another warning.

But seeing her speed and make that left turn, clearing oncoming traffic in the nick of time . . . That had scared him. He could see her lying in her own blood, limbs broken, face . . .

No. That was Sally. He closed his eyes when he felt them sting. Why had he come on the scene?

Because he had to cradle her and hear her whisper her last words: If I forget to tell you later, I had a really nice . . .

The line from Pretty Woman, Sally's favorite movie. She said it to him all the time. Only she always changed the words from "nice time tonight" to "nice life with you."

The doorbell rang. Then came an energetic knock. He went to the door and checked the peephole. Lacey!