Chapter Twenty-Five

Brent walked down the stairs to the breakfast table, cringing at the jolt of each footstep. He squinted at the bright light of the kitchen and at the bedraggled figure of Joe slouched over a cup of coffee. Brent slumped into a chair and accepted a cup of coffee from Petra. "Hell of a night."

Joe grunted in reply.

The two men lapsed into silence, broken after a few minutes by a cheerful Cece who bounced into the room, barely visible behind her load of shopping bags. "Good afternoon, boys," she said. "Nice to see you're finally up. It's a beautiful day."

"I'm sure it is," Joe mumbled into his coffee.

"Is that any way to act?" Cece dumped her bags on the table. She picked out one with an Eddie Bauer logo and set it in front of him. Then she took a Neiman's bag out of the jumble and set it in front of Brent. She continued distributing shopping bags back and forth until only one was left. Like a magician performing a special trick, she pulled out a strappy, black stiletto encrusted with rhinestones. "And look what I found for me. Aren't they just the cutest things? Tres sexy."

"Very," Brent agreed absently, staring in bewilderment at the bags in front of him.

Cece turned to Joe, who hadn't said a word. "What do you think?"

"Looks like you could break an ankle in those."

Cece sighed and dropped the shoe back in the bag. "You men. So little appreciation of fashion." She noticed that neither man had opened his gifts. "What are you waiting for?"

Reluctantly, Joe and Brent began pulling garments out of the paper shopping bags: shirts, slacks, sweaters, socks, a cap for Joe, a wool scarf for Brent, belts, and even underwear. They darted nervous glances at each other, then Joe lifted his gaze to Cece's expectant eyes. "We can't accept this."

"Don't be silly." Cece settled herself into a chair and motioned for Petra to bring her a cup of coffee. "You can't keep hanging around St. Argent looking for Elise with only a single change of clothes apiece."

"Lupe washed everything while we were asleep," Brent pointed out.

"But these are new."

Joe looked into Cece's face. "What I want to know," he said, "Is why you think I'm going to be in St. Argent long enough to need four shirts, two sweaters, two pairs of jeans and a pair of khakis. Is there something you're not telling us?"

Cece's features went still. Then just as quickly, she recovered herself and adopted a sorrowful expression. "I had hoped to wait until you guys looked to be feeling a little better before I brought it up, but I called Elise this morning, and she still refuses to see you."

Brent leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.

"Why do I not believe you?" Joe asked, shoving his gifts aside and leaning his heavy forearms on the table. "Why do I feel like you're trying to keep us here for some reason?"

Cece laughed and got to her feet. "You flatter yourself. I enjoy your company and you're welcome to stay as long as you like, but I have no intention of enticing you to stay if you don't want to. I thought I could be of some use to you. I've given you a place to rest, food to eat, a car to drive, clothes to wear... I call Elise every day begging her to reconsider her actions. But if you don't appreciate my efforts on your behalf, please go. The last thing I want to do is keep you from finding her." Cece had started walking toward the door, but now she stopped in the doorway and looked at them. "In fact," she said, "I'm insulted you think I'm such a poor friend to Elise that I would do anything that would run counter to her best interests. I'm going upstairs to take a nap because I intend to be out late with some friends from the Junior League tonight. If there's anything you need, ask Petra."

After she was gone, Joe and Brent looked at each other. "What do you make of that little speech?" Brent asked.

"I'm not impressed."

"I’m glad I'm not the only one." Brent frowned as he ran his hands over the clothes Cece gave him. "'Methinks she doth protest too much.'"

Joe darted Brent a quick look of annoyance, but then returned to his own musings. "I hate to lean on her. No matter how much she stalls us, she's still our best lead. I don't want to screw it up."

"That's a chance we might have to take. We sure aren't getting anywhere like this." Brent rubbed the yarn of a gray sweater between his fingers, savoring its silky texture. "She picked out some nice things, though. This is pure cashmere."

"Have you got nothing better to worry about than what your sweater is made of?"

"Hey, cashmere is good stuff. She must've known it's my favorite."

"She seems to know a lot about what we like, because she even got the kind of underwear I always wear."

Brent smirked. "I told you she likes you."

"At least she didn't get me anything made out of fancy goat hair."

Brent was still examining the sweater, checking the weight of it, reading the label. "You know, maybe she'd let me reimburse her for some of this. It would be nice to have something different to wear. I'm starting to feel like a bum."

"As if she'd take your money, Mr. GQ."

"I just don't want to feel indebted to her, is all."

"So don't. It's not like you have a reputation for ethics."

The men were still arguing over the matter when Petra came over with bowls of beef stew and thick slices of homemade bread. She set the food in front of them and stacked their packages on the empty chairs without a word.

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