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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Chapter Twenty-Four
Brent took a sip of his martini as he watched the man beside him chat up the bartender.
"So what do you think?" Si asked. "There's plenty of places around here we can go for breakfast. We'll have you home before sunrise."
The girl shook her auburn curls and went to make him another Bombay martini. "I don't think so."
"Why not?" When he didn't get an answer, he turned to Brent with a grin. "She'll go with us. She's saying no right now because it's still early. Trust me, by the time we close this place, she'll be ready."
Brent changed the subject. "You still haven't told me what you think about my situation. I could really use your advice."
The bartender set Si's fresh martini in front of him. He took out the olive and chewed on it thoughtfully. "Do you want my personal advice?" he asked. "Or legal?"
"Both."
"The legal will cost you."
"I'll buy you your next martini."
"The martini is the price of my personal advice."
"I'll take whatever I can get."
Si toyed with the stem of his glass. "Let me see if I have this straight. After years of pining away from unrequited love for the lovely Elise Riddisee--"
"I liked her, yeah."
"Liked her? I started college on a four year plan and had to bump it up to three just to get away from your constant talking about her. If you'd hung around the house any more than you did, we'd have had to kick you out of the frat. I don't know what you saw in her."
"She's a very pretty girl," Brent said, as if that answered everything.
Si gave a shrug. "There were lots of pretty women hanging around. What was so special about one whose idea of a good time was to dance ballet and read Proust?"
"So she has brains and talent. What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing, I guess, if you're into that kind of thing, but I always liked the girls you actually slept with better."
"So I recall."
"Maybe she's all right once you get her in bed."
"As if you'd know."
"You're right, I don't know. But that's the only reason I can see for such...what should I call it, devotion?"
Brent scowled. "Whatever, man. Just get to your point."
Si took a sip of his martini. "What was my point? Oh, yes. So after years of unrequited love, she showed up in the same little burg you moved to. She just happened to need a job, and you just happened to have an opening. What a coincidence." He grinned like a well-fed cat. "You gave her the job and within a year, she's in your office after hours, taking her clothes off. Naturally you can't resist."
"Could you?"
Si raised his eyebrows. "Probably, but who's to say? I don't like to pass on opportunities, so maybe I would've enjoyed a little overtime with her, but it wouldn't have meant that much to me. The world is full of pretty girls who want to get laid. You know that, or at least you used to."
"This one meant something to me."
"Obviously."
"It got complicated faster than I thought it would, though."
"Sounds like it." Si traced a bead of condensation down the outside of his glass. "So let me finish up the scenario here. One day after you'd been getting it on with her in your office for about a year, the cuckolded husband shows up, knocking things around and demanding to know what you did with his wife, who has skipped town. Right?"
"I wouldn't have put it that way, but yeah."
"Turns out she left the both of you without telling anyone. Screwed you both. I like that."
"You would."
"I always did give the girl credit for having spunk. Kind of reminds me of-- well, remind me to tell you about the time I was doing two sisters, story's kind of similar. So anyway, you somehow convince this fool of a husband of hers to take you along so you can help him look for her, and after various misadventures, you find out that she's pregnant."
"That's right."
"And now here you are, with barely a 'see you later' to your wife, hanging around a guy who'd probably just as soon kill you as look at you, chasing after a girl who may be about to be the mother of someone else's brat." Si sat back on his bar stool and folded his arms across his chest. "Have I got it right?"
"In your inimitably crude fashion, yes." Brent said sullenly. He picked up his martini. "So what's your advice?"
"It's way too late for any advice of mine to do any good." Seeing Brent's face cloud over, he attempted to rearrange his features into seriousness. "Okay, let's see what we've got here. Job abandonment, for one. How much do you like or need your job? Will Daddy fire you if you don't get back pronto?"
Brent shrugged. "I doubt it. Besides, I'm good at what I do. I have a whole portfolio of references and I can get other work, no problem."
"Good. We won't worry too much about that one. Next, spousal abandonment. What's the situation with your wife?"
"Hard to say," Brent said. "She can be jealous, but here lately I get the impression she really doesn't want me around much. I feel like I'm in her way. She seemed happy enough to get me out of her hair. Still, once she finds out this isn't a business trip, I'm probably in for it."
"Naturally, then, if she knew all the dirty details, you'd be in even deeper shit."
"Absolutely. I'd probably be looking at a divorce."
"Got any property she can get her hands on? House? Land? Stocks or bank accounts? Did you have a pre-nup, by any chance?"
Brent shook his head. "Didn't think I'd ever need one."
"And what do you think now?"
"I think I'll need a good lawyer."
"Sounds like you understand the implications of that one, then." He motioned to the bartender to bring him another drink. "Now, here's a trickier one. Alienation of affection. Any chance Elise's husband might sue?"
"He doesn't strike me as the litigious type."
"You never know. Your divorce lawyer, if it turns out you need one, will probably be on the lookout for that. It's pretty standard in these types of cases. And finally we've got the issue of the kid. That's the big one. You know, even if you never find Elise, if that kid is yours, you're legally obligated to pay child support."
"How can I pay if I don't know where she is, or even if it's my child?"
"Don't worry, if she gets to wanting the money, the courts will find you. Be sure to insist on DNA testing, and be prepared to cough up some dough if it's yours."
"If it's my kid, of course I'll pay. I'll want to be able to be able to see him, though. Don't I have rights, too? What about visitation?"
Si shrugged. "Depends on the state where the suit is filed. Some states make it easy on the dad, others won't let you come anywhere near without documents signed in blood, if the mother doesn't want you around."
"Why wouldn't Elise want me around, though? That's what I don't understand. She knows how much I love her, and I know she must care for me too. I can understand why she might leave Joe, since she feels guilty about fooling around on him. She probably can't face him." Brent shrugged. "But what I don't get is why she would abandon me, too. It makes sense in one way, since the whole paternity issue is in doubt, but I'm her friend, aside from everything else. I could've helped her, made things easier for her."
Si took his fresh drink from the bartender and winked at her, getting nothing but a perfunctory smile for his efforts. He turned back to Brent. "Sounds to me like what you're really after is my personal advice."
Brent nodded and picked at his damp cocktail napkin.
"If you really like this girl, and it's obvious you've fallen hard for her, give up this stupid idea of finding her so you can give her back to her husband. If she loved him so damn much then why did she fool around on him and then run away? If you're determined to find her, in spite of the fact that I think it's a dumb thing to do, get her back for yourself. If she's hot to skip town, get a new identity, leave the country and live under an assumed name in Bolivia, then for Christ's sake go with her. Whatever you do, though, cut this martyr crap."
"I'm no martyr," Brent said.
"Like hell you aren't. As much as I make fun of you for having spent most of your life in love with a woman you spent years not even sleeping with, I admire your persistence. You really seem to care for her. Not to mention the fact you can't seem to keep your pants up when she's around."
"Thanks for making it sound so chivalrous."
Hey, those knights and ladies weren't as pure as the poets would have you believe. Where's the thrill of the chase if it doesn't eventually lead to the fun of the f--"
"I get your point."
The bartender had placed a fresh martini in front of Brent without asking and he gave her a tight smile. Her smile in return was genuine and she flipped her hair as she walked to the other end of the bar to dunk his empty glass in soapy water.
Si noticed the way the bartender had looked at him. "Don't you go moving in on my girl."
Brent frowned in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
"The bartender. Didn't you see the way she looked at you?"
"No, I didn't."
"You've got it bad, then, if you can't even notice other chicks. You were never like this when we were in school. We've either got to get you laid or you've got to find Elise and keep her, if you can."
"I think I can find her," Brent said. "She's never gotten away from me for very long. But I don't think I'll be able to keep her. That's why I want to help Joe. He's good to her, and I think she can be happy with him. If she can't be happy with me, then I want to know she's happy with someone."
Si tossed back the remainder of his martini, and waved the bartender over. "Have you decided to have breakfast with me?"
She shook her head, but glanced tellingly at Brent.
"He'll be there, too," Si said.
The girl searched Brent's face for a sign but he caught the look and reached for his wallet. "No breakfast for me, thanks. I've got to get going."
The bartender shrugged in apparent unconcern and went to pull Brent's tab from where it was nestled with a stack of others near the computer. Si stared after her a moment. "Come on," he told Brent. Just have one cup of coffee, then you can split. She'll come if she thinks you're going to be there."
"Sorry, Si. It's late, I'm tired, and I'm already putting my hostess out enough, borrowing her car and making her maid wait up for me." He glanced at his check and handed the bartender his credit card. "I appreciate you meeting me here on such short notice, though. And thanks for all your advice."
"My bill will be in the mail."
"I'm sure it will."
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"So what do you think?" Si asked. "There's plenty of places around here we can go for breakfast. We'll have you home before sunrise."
The girl shook her auburn curls and went to make him another Bombay martini. "I don't think so."
"Why not?" When he didn't get an answer, he turned to Brent with a grin. "She'll go with us. She's saying no right now because it's still early. Trust me, by the time we close this place, she'll be ready."
Brent changed the subject. "You still haven't told me what you think about my situation. I could really use your advice."
The bartender set Si's fresh martini in front of him. He took out the olive and chewed on it thoughtfully. "Do you want my personal advice?" he asked. "Or legal?"
"Both."
"The legal will cost you."
"I'll buy you your next martini."
"The martini is the price of my personal advice."
"I'll take whatever I can get."
Si toyed with the stem of his glass. "Let me see if I have this straight. After years of pining away from unrequited love for the lovely Elise Riddisee--"
"I liked her, yeah."
"Liked her? I started college on a four year plan and had to bump it up to three just to get away from your constant talking about her. If you'd hung around the house any more than you did, we'd have had to kick you out of the frat. I don't know what you saw in her."
"She's a very pretty girl," Brent said, as if that answered everything.
Si gave a shrug. "There were lots of pretty women hanging around. What was so special about one whose idea of a good time was to dance ballet and read Proust?"
"So she has brains and talent. What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing, I guess, if you're into that kind of thing, but I always liked the girls you actually slept with better."
"So I recall."
"Maybe she's all right once you get her in bed."
"As if you'd know."
"You're right, I don't know. But that's the only reason I can see for such...what should I call it, devotion?"
Brent scowled. "Whatever, man. Just get to your point."
Si took a sip of his martini. "What was my point? Oh, yes. So after years of unrequited love, she showed up in the same little burg you moved to. She just happened to need a job, and you just happened to have an opening. What a coincidence." He grinned like a well-fed cat. "You gave her the job and within a year, she's in your office after hours, taking her clothes off. Naturally you can't resist."
"Could you?"
Si raised his eyebrows. "Probably, but who's to say? I don't like to pass on opportunities, so maybe I would've enjoyed a little overtime with her, but it wouldn't have meant that much to me. The world is full of pretty girls who want to get laid. You know that, or at least you used to."
"This one meant something to me."
"Obviously."
"It got complicated faster than I thought it would, though."
"Sounds like it." Si traced a bead of condensation down the outside of his glass. "So let me finish up the scenario here. One day after you'd been getting it on with her in your office for about a year, the cuckolded husband shows up, knocking things around and demanding to know what you did with his wife, who has skipped town. Right?"
"I wouldn't have put it that way, but yeah."
"Turns out she left the both of you without telling anyone. Screwed you both. I like that."
"You would."
"I always did give the girl credit for having spunk. Kind of reminds me of-- well, remind me to tell you about the time I was doing two sisters, story's kind of similar. So anyway, you somehow convince this fool of a husband of hers to take you along so you can help him look for her, and after various misadventures, you find out that she's pregnant."
"That's right."
"And now here you are, with barely a 'see you later' to your wife, hanging around a guy who'd probably just as soon kill you as look at you, chasing after a girl who may be about to be the mother of someone else's brat." Si sat back on his bar stool and folded his arms across his chest. "Have I got it right?"
"In your inimitably crude fashion, yes." Brent said sullenly. He picked up his martini. "So what's your advice?"
"It's way too late for any advice of mine to do any good." Seeing Brent's face cloud over, he attempted to rearrange his features into seriousness. "Okay, let's see what we've got here. Job abandonment, for one. How much do you like or need your job? Will Daddy fire you if you don't get back pronto?"
Brent shrugged. "I doubt it. Besides, I'm good at what I do. I have a whole portfolio of references and I can get other work, no problem."
"Good. We won't worry too much about that one. Next, spousal abandonment. What's the situation with your wife?"
"Hard to say," Brent said. "She can be jealous, but here lately I get the impression she really doesn't want me around much. I feel like I'm in her way. She seemed happy enough to get me out of her hair. Still, once she finds out this isn't a business trip, I'm probably in for it."
"Naturally, then, if she knew all the dirty details, you'd be in even deeper shit."
"Absolutely. I'd probably be looking at a divorce."
"Got any property she can get her hands on? House? Land? Stocks or bank accounts? Did you have a pre-nup, by any chance?"
Brent shook his head. "Didn't think I'd ever need one."
"And what do you think now?"
"I think I'll need a good lawyer."
"Sounds like you understand the implications of that one, then." He motioned to the bartender to bring him another drink. "Now, here's a trickier one. Alienation of affection. Any chance Elise's husband might sue?"
"He doesn't strike me as the litigious type."
"You never know. Your divorce lawyer, if it turns out you need one, will probably be on the lookout for that. It's pretty standard in these types of cases. And finally we've got the issue of the kid. That's the big one. You know, even if you never find Elise, if that kid is yours, you're legally obligated to pay child support."
"How can I pay if I don't know where she is, or even if it's my child?"
"Don't worry, if she gets to wanting the money, the courts will find you. Be sure to insist on DNA testing, and be prepared to cough up some dough if it's yours."
"If it's my kid, of course I'll pay. I'll want to be able to be able to see him, though. Don't I have rights, too? What about visitation?"
Si shrugged. "Depends on the state where the suit is filed. Some states make it easy on the dad, others won't let you come anywhere near without documents signed in blood, if the mother doesn't want you around."
"Why wouldn't Elise want me around, though? That's what I don't understand. She knows how much I love her, and I know she must care for me too. I can understand why she might leave Joe, since she feels guilty about fooling around on him. She probably can't face him." Brent shrugged. "But what I don't get is why she would abandon me, too. It makes sense in one way, since the whole paternity issue is in doubt, but I'm her friend, aside from everything else. I could've helped her, made things easier for her."
Si took his fresh drink from the bartender and winked at her, getting nothing but a perfunctory smile for his efforts. He turned back to Brent. "Sounds to me like what you're really after is my personal advice."
Brent nodded and picked at his damp cocktail napkin.
"If you really like this girl, and it's obvious you've fallen hard for her, give up this stupid idea of finding her so you can give her back to her husband. If she loved him so damn much then why did she fool around on him and then run away? If you're determined to find her, in spite of the fact that I think it's a dumb thing to do, get her back for yourself. If she's hot to skip town, get a new identity, leave the country and live under an assumed name in Bolivia, then for Christ's sake go with her. Whatever you do, though, cut this martyr crap."
"I'm no martyr," Brent said.
"Like hell you aren't. As much as I make fun of you for having spent most of your life in love with a woman you spent years not even sleeping with, I admire your persistence. You really seem to care for her. Not to mention the fact you can't seem to keep your pants up when she's around."
"Thanks for making it sound so chivalrous."
Hey, those knights and ladies weren't as pure as the poets would have you believe. Where's the thrill of the chase if it doesn't eventually lead to the fun of the f--"
"I get your point."
The bartender had placed a fresh martini in front of Brent without asking and he gave her a tight smile. Her smile in return was genuine and she flipped her hair as she walked to the other end of the bar to dunk his empty glass in soapy water.
Si noticed the way the bartender had looked at him. "Don't you go moving in on my girl."
Brent frowned in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
"The bartender. Didn't you see the way she looked at you?"
"No, I didn't."
"You've got it bad, then, if you can't even notice other chicks. You were never like this when we were in school. We've either got to get you laid or you've got to find Elise and keep her, if you can."
"I think I can find her," Brent said. "She's never gotten away from me for very long. But I don't think I'll be able to keep her. That's why I want to help Joe. He's good to her, and I think she can be happy with him. If she can't be happy with me, then I want to know she's happy with someone."
Si tossed back the remainder of his martini, and waved the bartender over. "Have you decided to have breakfast with me?"
She shook her head, but glanced tellingly at Brent.
"He'll be there, too," Si said.
The girl searched Brent's face for a sign but he caught the look and reached for his wallet. "No breakfast for me, thanks. I've got to get going."
The bartender shrugged in apparent unconcern and went to pull Brent's tab from where it was nestled with a stack of others near the computer. Si stared after her a moment. "Come on," he told Brent. Just have one cup of coffee, then you can split. She'll come if she thinks you're going to be there."
"Sorry, Si. It's late, I'm tired, and I'm already putting my hostess out enough, borrowing her car and making her maid wait up for me." He glanced at his check and handed the bartender his credit card. "I appreciate you meeting me here on such short notice, though. And thanks for all your advice."
"My bill will be in the mail."
"I'm sure it will."
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Chapter Twenty-Three
Joe pulled into the circular driveway in front of Cece's house, careening off one curb, overcorrecting, and running his left front tire up onto the curb on the other side. Cursing, he shifted into reverse, backed the wheel onto the driveway, shifted into drive again, and pulled up in front of the door. He got out and stumbled up the steps to the door where Cece stood wrapped in a red velvet robe.
"That's some mark you put on my curb."
Joe looked over his shoulder, nearly throwing himself off balance with the effort. "Sorry," he mumbled.
"Doesn't bother me any," Cece said. "My maintenance man will take care of it. Come in. You're lucky you didn't get arrested in this condition. I hope Brent isn't drinking as much as you obviously did."
Joe stood unsteadily on the marble floor of the foyer. "Brent? Where is he? I need to have a talk with that little shit."
Cece shut the door. "He went out, said he wanted to go see an old friend. I let him take one of my cars."
"That figures. Slimy bastard, always taking what doesn't belong to him."
Cece took Joe by the elbow and steered him up the stairs. "That's the beer talking. I'll have you know I offered him the car. I almost had to force it on him."
"That's his way. Makes you think it's your idea, when really--"
"Hush," Cece said. "You're drunk."
Joe stopped on the landing and turned on her with a lethal glare. "I've got every reason to hate him. You don't know-"
"I know more than you think," Cece said placidly, taking his arm again and pulling him up the remaining stairs. "You seem to forget how much of what happened hinges on Elise. It's unfair to assume it was all Brent's fault. Elise knew she was preying on someone who wouldn't be able to resist."
"Impossible." They were at Joe's room now, and he weaved his way across the floor and fell onto the bed.
Cece followed. "You make a pretty picture." When Joe didn't answer, she sighed. "You can't possibly be comfortable." She unlaced his boots, pulled them off and set them on the floor at the foot of the bed. "Let me help you get that jacket off." Getting no response, she pushed and succeeded in rolling him onto his back. His mouth fell open and he began to snore. Cece stood watching a few minutes, fingering the satin strap of the lace teddy underneath her robe. "Joe?" She tried to shake him awake but he merely rolled onto his side with his back to her.
With a scowl of frustration, Cece left the room and shut the door behind her.
"That's some mark you put on my curb."
Joe looked over his shoulder, nearly throwing himself off balance with the effort. "Sorry," he mumbled.
"Doesn't bother me any," Cece said. "My maintenance man will take care of it. Come in. You're lucky you didn't get arrested in this condition. I hope Brent isn't drinking as much as you obviously did."
Joe stood unsteadily on the marble floor of the foyer. "Brent? Where is he? I need to have a talk with that little shit."
Cece shut the door. "He went out, said he wanted to go see an old friend. I let him take one of my cars."
"That figures. Slimy bastard, always taking what doesn't belong to him."
Cece took Joe by the elbow and steered him up the stairs. "That's the beer talking. I'll have you know I offered him the car. I almost had to force it on him."
"That's his way. Makes you think it's your idea, when really--"
"Hush," Cece said. "You're drunk."
Joe stopped on the landing and turned on her with a lethal glare. "I've got every reason to hate him. You don't know-"
"I know more than you think," Cece said placidly, taking his arm again and pulling him up the remaining stairs. "You seem to forget how much of what happened hinges on Elise. It's unfair to assume it was all Brent's fault. Elise knew she was preying on someone who wouldn't be able to resist."
"Impossible." They were at Joe's room now, and he weaved his way across the floor and fell onto the bed.
Cece followed. "You make a pretty picture." When Joe didn't answer, she sighed. "You can't possibly be comfortable." She unlaced his boots, pulled them off and set them on the floor at the foot of the bed. "Let me help you get that jacket off." Getting no response, she pushed and succeeded in rolling him onto his back. His mouth fell open and he began to snore. Cece stood watching a few minutes, fingering the satin strap of the lace teddy underneath her robe. "Joe?" She tried to shake him awake but he merely rolled onto his side with his back to her.
With a scowl of frustration, Cece left the room and shut the door behind her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Pluto's Ice House was little more than a dilapidated shack. A few weather-beaten picnic tables were placed haphazardly in the muddy, grassless yard, while others were arranged in crooked rows under a rotting wooden canopy strung with tiny red lights that winked on and off like the eyes of lurking nocturnal beasts. Inside the building itself, the bar and the wall behind it were encrusted with beer ads, posters and old license plates. A few hard-core drinkers sat hunched over their bottles in self-absorbed silence, not bantering or even speaking to each other, and only occasionally turning their heads at the click of billiard balls or a particularly creative curse over a missed shot at the pool table.
Joe parked near the dried-up husk of a tree that appeared to have once been hit by lightning, got out and walked across the mud lot, looking around all the while for Chále. Not seeing him, he went inside. When he didn't find him at the bar, he peered into the gloom of the pool room, but his friend wasn't there, either. He pulled up a stool at the end of the bar and the bartender ambled over, wiping his hands on a dirty rag before stuffing one end of it in the back pocket of his jeans.
Joe darted a glance down the row of other drinkers. The biggest and most dangerous-looking of them was drinking Miller High Life, so that's what he ordered. While he waited for his beer, he took in the scene again, nodding at the other men at the bar, then returning his gaze to the spot on the counter in front of him. When the bartender set his bottle in front of him, Joe pulled out his wallet and pushed a ten across the bar. While he was waiting for his change, someone called his name from the doorway.
Joe turned around. "Hey, Cholo. I was beginning to think you weren't going to make it."
Chále strode up to him, his leather blazer now exchanged for a more casual t-shirt and windbreaker. He waved at the bartender and the other men at the bar then pulled up a stool and settled his bony frame on it, clearly in his element. "This place is my second home, man." He looked Joe up and down. "You're looking great. A pretty wife and small-town living must agree with you."
The bartender had returned with Joe's change, and Joe indicated he should bring Chále whatever he wanted. The bartender didn't bother to ask Chále what he drank and simply reached into a cooler, pulled out a bottle and twisted off the lid.
Joe took a sip of his beer. "You're not looking so bad, yourself."
"I'd look better if the wife and kids weren't giving me wrinkles and gray hairs."
"Six kids can be expensive," Joe agreed. "Does your wife work?"
"No way. Who'd look after the children?"
Joe picked at the label on his beer. "So what do you do with yourself these days when you're not chasing kids, going to church or hanging around here?"
"Oh, not much. I was in trucking for a while, 'til Inez made me quit because I was never at home. Too bad, because it was good money. Now I do odd jobs and construction work. Right now I'm helping do some repairs on a road about five miles south of here." Chále waved a hand in the general direction of south. "But you don't want to hear what I'm up to. Tell me what's with you, Mr. Fancy Woodworks. You say you're in town on business?"
Joe sighed and motioned for the bartender to bring him another beer. "I guess you could say that. The carving business is going great. Just got a new commission. Should take me the better part of a year, because it's a big piece, but it'll bring in a pretty penny when it's done."
"Sounds good, man. So that's why you're here?"
"No." Joe's voice dropped to a mumble. "Elise left me. I think she's somewhere here in St. Argent."
Chále sucked in his breath. "Sorry to hear it."
Joe nodded. "At least I've got a good lead."
The two men drank in silence for a moment. "So why'd she leave, if you don't mind my asking."
"She didn't say in her note." Joe stared into the mouth of his bottle. "But I've got my theories."
"I see." Chále looked down at his beer as well. "She didn't run off with another man, did she?"
Joe snorted. "No, although I half-wish she had. Instead I've got the other man tagging along with me, trying to help find her."
Chále took a long pull at his bottle and signaled to the bartender for another. "Man, that's too much. So Elise was fooling around on you, then left both you and the other guy? And now you two are looking for her together?"
Joe nodded. "That's right."
Chále threw his head back and whooped. "That's got to be the weirdest thing I've heard in I don't know how long." Catching the frown on Joe's face, Chále asked, "How's it working out? I'm surprised you didn't just kill him. I know I would've."
I've come close a couple times, "Joe admitted. "But I don't need any more trouble than I've already got, and he's been a big help."
"Oh, sure," Chále said. "Why wouldn't he? He's lost his playmate, but you lost your wife." Chále's eyes narrowed. "If I were you, I'd be real suspicious of this guy's motives. He screwed you over once, he'll do it again."
"I don't think so. He wants to her to be happy and he says she'd never be happy with him."
"Oh. He can't have her so he gives her back to you? Is that this jerk's game?"
Joe sighed. "It's not like that, either. They were friends long before I ever knew her. He really does seem to care about her."
"If he cared that much, he would've left her alone. Sounds to me like even if you do find her, you're going to spend the rest of your life wondering what those two are up to behind your back." Chále pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and lit one, taking a deep drag before continuing. "If you want my advice, take Elise far away. That is, if you even still want her after some other man has had her. If you intend on keeping her, take her someplace where she won't have a chance to see this so-called friend of hers again."
Joe picked at the damp label of his empty beer bottle. "There's a problem with that plan, other than that it could screw up my business to move away from my client base."
"What's that?"
"Elise is pregnant."
"You're shitting me. His or yours?"
"I don't know."
Chále puffed on his cigarette for a few silent minutes, then flicked his ash onto the concrete floor. "You know, you used to be a pretty smart guy. I mean, I always knew that out of all the idiots, losers and petty crooks we grew up with, you'd amount to something." He reached for his beer. "You were the only guy in shop class to take the teacher's advice and go into welding. Then you got that job offshore where you made the big bucks. Instead of blowing your cash on beer and a fancy truck like the rest of us would've, you got into metal art and wood sculpture. We laughed at the time, but now look-- you're famous all over the state." He picked up the cardboard coaster from underneath his beer bottle and examined it. "You're a smart guy, but you've obviously got a screw loose over this woman. You're still young, you're successful, all the chicks love artists... what do you need with an unfaithful whore who's pregnant with another man's kid?" Chále drained his beer and set the bottle on the bar. "Forget this chick, man. You don't need her."
Joe had been silent through all this, but now he asked quietly, "What if it's my kid? Then what? And besides, I don't want another woman-- I want her."
"You always were a stubborn bastard."
"I just know what I want."
"Why her, though? Get you some young hottie with an inheritance coming her way. You must meet loads of those kinds of chicks at art openings."
Joe looked at his feet and thought a minute. "I don't think so, Cholo. This girl is important to me. She makes me feel special, like I'm the most important guy in the world."
"Special, my ass. She's been feeding you a line, all right."
"I know it sounds that way, but it's not the kind of thing a guy can put into words."
"Just goes to show she's a tricky one," Chále said. "You don't need a woman like that, believe me. I had a feeling you were in trouble the very first time you told me about her. You used to have her come over and model for you, and she had a boyfriend at the time."
"It wasn't like it was nude modeling. I had her draped in sheets. She was supposed to be an angel."
"Some angel."
"She brought her boyfriend with her the first couple of times. He'd sit on the sofa smoking Marlboroughs until he finally figured nothing was going to happen and let her come over on her own."
Chále took a long pull on his beer. "And that's when things got interesting, as I recall."
"Can I help it we fell in love?"
"Maybe you fell in love. She saw a chump who'd put a roof over her head and take care of her. That's how all women are."
Joe's voice took on an edge. "If Elise wanted a man to take care of her, she's had lots of opportunities to do better. She makes good money. She doesn't need me."
"Not any more, obviously, but she did then. You paid her school debts, then let her live off your nickel so she could paint." Chále shook his head. "You're not in love. You're whipped."
Joe knocked his empty bottle to the floor. The other men at the bar turned to look, but quickly returned their attention to their drinks upon encountering Joe's hostile glare. With deadly calm, he said, "Friend or no friend, you've got no right to go saying things like that."
Chále lowered his eyes. "You're right. I kind of stepped over the line just now. I'm sorry."
Joe rested his elbows on the bar and buried his face in his hands. "I'm sorry, too. I know you're just trying to help."
Chále motioned for the bartender to bring his friend another drink. "You may hate me for this, and that's your prerogative, but I feel like it's my duty to say I hope you don't find her. You're in for nothing but trouble if you do. Even if that is your kid, and even if she never looks at another man again, you're still going to have to live with knowing what she did." He shook his head. "Whatever my problems are, and I've got plenty, at least I don't have to worry about my Inez. She's no beauty, but I'm no prize myself. We may be simple folks, but we never have to doubt the love is there."
Joe parked near the dried-up husk of a tree that appeared to have once been hit by lightning, got out and walked across the mud lot, looking around all the while for Chále. Not seeing him, he went inside. When he didn't find him at the bar, he peered into the gloom of the pool room, but his friend wasn't there, either. He pulled up a stool at the end of the bar and the bartender ambled over, wiping his hands on a dirty rag before stuffing one end of it in the back pocket of his jeans.
Joe darted a glance down the row of other drinkers. The biggest and most dangerous-looking of them was drinking Miller High Life, so that's what he ordered. While he waited for his beer, he took in the scene again, nodding at the other men at the bar, then returning his gaze to the spot on the counter in front of him. When the bartender set his bottle in front of him, Joe pulled out his wallet and pushed a ten across the bar. While he was waiting for his change, someone called his name from the doorway.
Joe turned around. "Hey, Cholo. I was beginning to think you weren't going to make it."
Chále strode up to him, his leather blazer now exchanged for a more casual t-shirt and windbreaker. He waved at the bartender and the other men at the bar then pulled up a stool and settled his bony frame on it, clearly in his element. "This place is my second home, man." He looked Joe up and down. "You're looking great. A pretty wife and small-town living must agree with you."
The bartender had returned with Joe's change, and Joe indicated he should bring Chále whatever he wanted. The bartender didn't bother to ask Chále what he drank and simply reached into a cooler, pulled out a bottle and twisted off the lid.
Joe took a sip of his beer. "You're not looking so bad, yourself."
"I'd look better if the wife and kids weren't giving me wrinkles and gray hairs."
"Six kids can be expensive," Joe agreed. "Does your wife work?"
"No way. Who'd look after the children?"
Joe picked at the label on his beer. "So what do you do with yourself these days when you're not chasing kids, going to church or hanging around here?"
"Oh, not much. I was in trucking for a while, 'til Inez made me quit because I was never at home. Too bad, because it was good money. Now I do odd jobs and construction work. Right now I'm helping do some repairs on a road about five miles south of here." Chále waved a hand in the general direction of south. "But you don't want to hear what I'm up to. Tell me what's with you, Mr. Fancy Woodworks. You say you're in town on business?"
Joe sighed and motioned for the bartender to bring him another beer. "I guess you could say that. The carving business is going great. Just got a new commission. Should take me the better part of a year, because it's a big piece, but it'll bring in a pretty penny when it's done."
"Sounds good, man. So that's why you're here?"
"No." Joe's voice dropped to a mumble. "Elise left me. I think she's somewhere here in St. Argent."
Chále sucked in his breath. "Sorry to hear it."
Joe nodded. "At least I've got a good lead."
The two men drank in silence for a moment. "So why'd she leave, if you don't mind my asking."
"She didn't say in her note." Joe stared into the mouth of his bottle. "But I've got my theories."
"I see." Chále looked down at his beer as well. "She didn't run off with another man, did she?"
Joe snorted. "No, although I half-wish she had. Instead I've got the other man tagging along with me, trying to help find her."
Chále took a long pull at his bottle and signaled to the bartender for another. "Man, that's too much. So Elise was fooling around on you, then left both you and the other guy? And now you two are looking for her together?"
Joe nodded. "That's right."
Chále threw his head back and whooped. "That's got to be the weirdest thing I've heard in I don't know how long." Catching the frown on Joe's face, Chále asked, "How's it working out? I'm surprised you didn't just kill him. I know I would've."
I've come close a couple times, "Joe admitted. "But I don't need any more trouble than I've already got, and he's been a big help."
"Oh, sure," Chále said. "Why wouldn't he? He's lost his playmate, but you lost your wife." Chále's eyes narrowed. "If I were you, I'd be real suspicious of this guy's motives. He screwed you over once, he'll do it again."
"I don't think so. He wants to her to be happy and he says she'd never be happy with him."
"Oh. He can't have her so he gives her back to you? Is that this jerk's game?"
Joe sighed. "It's not like that, either. They were friends long before I ever knew her. He really does seem to care about her."
"If he cared that much, he would've left her alone. Sounds to me like even if you do find her, you're going to spend the rest of your life wondering what those two are up to behind your back." Chále pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and lit one, taking a deep drag before continuing. "If you want my advice, take Elise far away. That is, if you even still want her after some other man has had her. If you intend on keeping her, take her someplace where she won't have a chance to see this so-called friend of hers again."
Joe picked at the damp label of his empty beer bottle. "There's a problem with that plan, other than that it could screw up my business to move away from my client base."
"What's that?"
"Elise is pregnant."
"You're shitting me. His or yours?"
"I don't know."
Chále puffed on his cigarette for a few silent minutes, then flicked his ash onto the concrete floor. "You know, you used to be a pretty smart guy. I mean, I always knew that out of all the idiots, losers and petty crooks we grew up with, you'd amount to something." He reached for his beer. "You were the only guy in shop class to take the teacher's advice and go into welding. Then you got that job offshore where you made the big bucks. Instead of blowing your cash on beer and a fancy truck like the rest of us would've, you got into metal art and wood sculpture. We laughed at the time, but now look-- you're famous all over the state." He picked up the cardboard coaster from underneath his beer bottle and examined it. "You're a smart guy, but you've obviously got a screw loose over this woman. You're still young, you're successful, all the chicks love artists... what do you need with an unfaithful whore who's pregnant with another man's kid?" Chále drained his beer and set the bottle on the bar. "Forget this chick, man. You don't need her."
Joe had been silent through all this, but now he asked quietly, "What if it's my kid? Then what? And besides, I don't want another woman-- I want her."
"You always were a stubborn bastard."
"I just know what I want."
"Why her, though? Get you some young hottie with an inheritance coming her way. You must meet loads of those kinds of chicks at art openings."
Joe looked at his feet and thought a minute. "I don't think so, Cholo. This girl is important to me. She makes me feel special, like I'm the most important guy in the world."
"Special, my ass. She's been feeding you a line, all right."
"I know it sounds that way, but it's not the kind of thing a guy can put into words."
"Just goes to show she's a tricky one," Chále said. "You don't need a woman like that, believe me. I had a feeling you were in trouble the very first time you told me about her. You used to have her come over and model for you, and she had a boyfriend at the time."
"It wasn't like it was nude modeling. I had her draped in sheets. She was supposed to be an angel."
"Some angel."
"She brought her boyfriend with her the first couple of times. He'd sit on the sofa smoking Marlboroughs until he finally figured nothing was going to happen and let her come over on her own."
Chále took a long pull on his beer. "And that's when things got interesting, as I recall."
"Can I help it we fell in love?"
"Maybe you fell in love. She saw a chump who'd put a roof over her head and take care of her. That's how all women are."
Joe's voice took on an edge. "If Elise wanted a man to take care of her, she's had lots of opportunities to do better. She makes good money. She doesn't need me."
"Not any more, obviously, but she did then. You paid her school debts, then let her live off your nickel so she could paint." Chále shook his head. "You're not in love. You're whipped."
Joe knocked his empty bottle to the floor. The other men at the bar turned to look, but quickly returned their attention to their drinks upon encountering Joe's hostile glare. With deadly calm, he said, "Friend or no friend, you've got no right to go saying things like that."
Chále lowered his eyes. "You're right. I kind of stepped over the line just now. I'm sorry."
Joe rested his elbows on the bar and buried his face in his hands. "I'm sorry, too. I know you're just trying to help."
Chále motioned for the bartender to bring his friend another drink. "You may hate me for this, and that's your prerogative, but I feel like it's my duty to say I hope you don't find her. You're in for nothing but trouble if you do. Even if that is your kid, and even if she never looks at another man again, you're still going to have to live with knowing what she did." He shook his head. "Whatever my problems are, and I've got plenty, at least I don't have to worry about my Inez. She's no beauty, but I'm no prize myself. We may be simple folks, but we never have to doubt the love is there."
Chapter Twenty-One
The spires of St. Vincent De Paul's rose like gloomy watchtowers over the shotgun shacks of the Latin ghetto. In the waning light of day, the sun cast shadows on the gargoyles and flashed menacingly off the rose window. The parking lot was crowded for early evening Mass, but Joe found a spot near the edge of the lot and made his way to the heavy double doors. He stepped inside, pausing a moment so his eyes could adjust to the dim light of the vestibule. In the main chapel, he could hear the priest intoning the words of Communion.
The familiar words about drinking the blood of Christ gave Joe an uncharacteristic shiver, but his business wasn't in the main chapel. Quietly slipping his keys into his pocket, he turned toward the smaller devotional chapel, dabbling his fingers in the holy water and crossing himself before entering.
The chapel was oppressive with incense, quiet and darkness, except for a faint bit of light coming from a side window and an array of candles in red glass votives clustered around the feet of a life-sized statue of the Virgin Mary. Joe took a few steps toward the statue but hesitated when he noticed an elderly woman in black kneeling in front of her, whispering a rosary.
He sat on one of the half dozen pews and waited for her to finish, closing his eyes and willing himself to relax. Finally the woman rose to her feet and made her way up the aisle, silent as a ghost. Had Joe not opened his eyes at just the right moment, he might not have noticed her departure.
Looking around to make sure the chapel was really empty this time, he made his way toward the saint again. First he stood at her feet looking up at her. Then he climbed the broad pedestal to examine her more closely. He spotted a few nicks on her hands and rubbed them thoughtfully, but other than that, he was satisfied. She was free of dust and the wood had been well cared for. Almost as an afterthought, he examined her velvet robes. From farther back in the chapel he had noticed silver spangles adorning her gown, but closer examination proved them to be little tin hearts, keys, cars, houses, animals, and just about anything else the pedestrian human mind could think of, pinned to her robe by adoring parishioners. She had become a Virgin of Lost Things.
Amused, Joe stepped down from the platform and turned as if to leave. But a few steps from the door, he stopped. He returned to the saint's feet and glanced around the empty room as if someone might have wandered in during the time he had been there. Then he solemnly lit a votive, knelt and bowed his head. After a few moments, he got to his feet. He cast a hopeful look at the face of the Virgin, then with a shake of the head at his own superstition, he turned again to leave.
This time he got into the vestibule before being stopped, this time by a real person. Mass was letting out, and as he worked his way through the crowd, someone called his name.
"Urgulano, is that you?"
Joe scanned the faces of the people milling around him.
"Over here!"
Joe spotted a thin, gnarled man in a worn leather blazer and he made his way over to him. "Chále!" he said, gripping the man's hand, "Or should I still call you Cholo? How are you, man?"
"Menos mal. What brings you back to the old 'hood? Once you get out, you're not supposed to come back. Didn't anyone ever tell you that?"
"Can't help returning to the scene of the crime, I guess."
"Hey, I heard that. How've you been? You're the last person I thought I'd see hanging around here."
"I'm in town on other business," Joe said vaguely. "I had a little time to kill and thought I'd check up on a couple of my statues." He motioned with his head toward the Virgin's devotional chapel. "But what about you? This church, or any church for that matter, is the last place I'd expect to find you."
Chále looked abashed. "Well, you know how women are. They have expectations and Inéz just loves the church. She'd be here for every Mass and probably start a few of her own if I gave her half a chance." He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and rocked back on the heels of his boots. "I come with her and the kids once or twice a week. Keeps the home life peaceful, if you know what I mean."
Seeking to avoid a discussion of home life, Joe made a show of looking around. "So where is Inéz?" he asked. "How's she doing?"
"She's picking the kids up from the nursery. She's doing great. Gonna have another kid in the spring."
"That makes how many now? Three?"
"Three?" Chále laughed. "You've been gone way too long, man. "We're up to five now, and the new one will make six."
"That's a lot of mouths to feed," Joe said.
"Sure is. And work isn't always easy to find, either."
"So things aren't so good?"
"Oh, they're all right I guess. Could be better, but hey, what couldn't?"
"True enough."
Chále scoffed. "'True enough.' Listen to you, Mr. Famous Artist! As if you'd know anything about that any more."
"I do all right," Joe said. "But just because a few people know my name doesn't mean I'm out buying yachts. I have my problems just like anyone else."
"Well, you sure don't look it." He gave him a playful punch on the arm. "You in town long?"
"I hope not. I'd like to leave tomorrow, if I can get my affairs wrapped up by then."
Chále's face fell. "That's too bad. I was thinking if you had a little time, we could go get a beer, hang out, maybe shoot a little pool. It would be like old times. That is, if you're not too fancy for your old friends."
Joe grinned. "I'll never be too fancy for my friends, and I could stand to take my mind off a few things."
"You free later on? I gotta get Inéz and the kids home, but after that I usually head to the ice house for a couple cold ones. Gotta wash away the taste of those communion wafers, you know."
"I'll meet you there. Just tell me when."
The familiar words about drinking the blood of Christ gave Joe an uncharacteristic shiver, but his business wasn't in the main chapel. Quietly slipping his keys into his pocket, he turned toward the smaller devotional chapel, dabbling his fingers in the holy water and crossing himself before entering.
The chapel was oppressive with incense, quiet and darkness, except for a faint bit of light coming from a side window and an array of candles in red glass votives clustered around the feet of a life-sized statue of the Virgin Mary. Joe took a few steps toward the statue but hesitated when he noticed an elderly woman in black kneeling in front of her, whispering a rosary.
He sat on one of the half dozen pews and waited for her to finish, closing his eyes and willing himself to relax. Finally the woman rose to her feet and made her way up the aisle, silent as a ghost. Had Joe not opened his eyes at just the right moment, he might not have noticed her departure.
Looking around to make sure the chapel was really empty this time, he made his way toward the saint again. First he stood at her feet looking up at her. Then he climbed the broad pedestal to examine her more closely. He spotted a few nicks on her hands and rubbed them thoughtfully, but other than that, he was satisfied. She was free of dust and the wood had been well cared for. Almost as an afterthought, he examined her velvet robes. From farther back in the chapel he had noticed silver spangles adorning her gown, but closer examination proved them to be little tin hearts, keys, cars, houses, animals, and just about anything else the pedestrian human mind could think of, pinned to her robe by adoring parishioners. She had become a Virgin of Lost Things.
Amused, Joe stepped down from the platform and turned as if to leave. But a few steps from the door, he stopped. He returned to the saint's feet and glanced around the empty room as if someone might have wandered in during the time he had been there. Then he solemnly lit a votive, knelt and bowed his head. After a few moments, he got to his feet. He cast a hopeful look at the face of the Virgin, then with a shake of the head at his own superstition, he turned again to leave.
This time he got into the vestibule before being stopped, this time by a real person. Mass was letting out, and as he worked his way through the crowd, someone called his name.
"Urgulano, is that you?"
Joe scanned the faces of the people milling around him.
"Over here!"
Joe spotted a thin, gnarled man in a worn leather blazer and he made his way over to him. "Chále!" he said, gripping the man's hand, "Or should I still call you Cholo? How are you, man?"
"Menos mal. What brings you back to the old 'hood? Once you get out, you're not supposed to come back. Didn't anyone ever tell you that?"
"Can't help returning to the scene of the crime, I guess."
"Hey, I heard that. How've you been? You're the last person I thought I'd see hanging around here."
"I'm in town on other business," Joe said vaguely. "I had a little time to kill and thought I'd check up on a couple of my statues." He motioned with his head toward the Virgin's devotional chapel. "But what about you? This church, or any church for that matter, is the last place I'd expect to find you."
Chále looked abashed. "Well, you know how women are. They have expectations and Inéz just loves the church. She'd be here for every Mass and probably start a few of her own if I gave her half a chance." He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and rocked back on the heels of his boots. "I come with her and the kids once or twice a week. Keeps the home life peaceful, if you know what I mean."
Seeking to avoid a discussion of home life, Joe made a show of looking around. "So where is Inéz?" he asked. "How's she doing?"
"She's picking the kids up from the nursery. She's doing great. Gonna have another kid in the spring."
"That makes how many now? Three?"
"Three?" Chále laughed. "You've been gone way too long, man. "We're up to five now, and the new one will make six."
"That's a lot of mouths to feed," Joe said.
"Sure is. And work isn't always easy to find, either."
"So things aren't so good?"
"Oh, they're all right I guess. Could be better, but hey, what couldn't?"
"True enough."
Chále scoffed. "'True enough.' Listen to you, Mr. Famous Artist! As if you'd know anything about that any more."
"I do all right," Joe said. "But just because a few people know my name doesn't mean I'm out buying yachts. I have my problems just like anyone else."
"Well, you sure don't look it." He gave him a playful punch on the arm. "You in town long?"
"I hope not. I'd like to leave tomorrow, if I can get my affairs wrapped up by then."
Chále's face fell. "That's too bad. I was thinking if you had a little time, we could go get a beer, hang out, maybe shoot a little pool. It would be like old times. That is, if you're not too fancy for your old friends."
Joe grinned. "I'll never be too fancy for my friends, and I could stand to take my mind off a few things."
"You free later on? I gotta get Inéz and the kids home, but after that I usually head to the ice house for a couple cold ones. Gotta wash away the taste of those communion wafers, you know."
"I'll meet you there. Just tell me when."
Chapter Twenty
Brent sat on the desk chair in Joe's room. "I don't think she called. She's making up a story to keep us here."
"It's plausible enough that Elise wouldn't want to see us right now. Besides, there's not a whole lot we can do. Cece is the only one who knows where she is and we don't have any other good leads. I don't think we've got much choice except to humor her unless we can track down that Perry Clyman guy, who gave her the fake ID."
"I’m going to do a web search on him, now that I have reliable wi-fi service, but in the meantime maybe Sylvia knows something. Maybe Elise told her where she planned to go next."
Joe scoffed. "As if that druggie friend of yours would tell us anything."
"It's worth a shot." Brent dug in his pocket and pulled out the blue post-it they found in Elise's office. "Do you want to call this number, or should I?"
"She's your friend, if you can call her that."
Brent took out his cell phone and punched in the number. He listened a little while, then hung up. "Went to voice mail."
"Well, if we're not going to see Elise tonight, it looks like I'll have to find something to do, or else spend the night stretching canvases for Cece."
"What's wrong with that?" Brent gave a little half-smile. "Since she's such a big fan of yours and has no interest in you in any other way, I would think you'd be glad to do her a favor. Maybe you can weasel some information out of her."
"Not likely. She'll just talk my ear off about the local art scene. Besides, maybe I can think of more exciting things to do on a night in my hometown than play with canvas and wooden frames, okay?"
Brent shoved his phone back in his pocket. "Sorry if you can't take a joke."
"I put up with you, don't I?"
Brent stood up. "I think I'll look up an old friend tonight, since it looks like we're stuck here. And who knows, maybe I'll get lucky and run into someone who's seen her."
Joe nodded. "I've got a couple churches I'm going to check on. It'll keep me busy to get out and see how some of my statues are doing. Better than hanging around this place."
"Especially since the hostess can't wait to jump your bones."
"Will you stop that? You're pissing me off even more than usual."
"Okay, but when she shows up at your door in the middle of the night wearing nothing but a negligee, don't say I didn't warn you." Brent shoved his hands in his pockets and left the room.
Joe reached for his jacket and keys. On his way out, he stopped to talk to Cece, who he found sprawled across a hulking green sofa, flipping through a book. She looked up when Joe walked in and removed her reading glasses. "Is there anything I can get for you?"
"No, everything's fine."
"Are you sure? You're welcome to watch TV, help yourself to anything in the fridge, whatever you want. And later, if you don't mind, I'd love to have your help with those canvases."
"I've got a few artworks I want to go check up on and I don't know what time I'll be back."
Cece sat a little straighter. "I'm often up late."
"We'll see."
Cece faked a smile. "If I learned anything from being married, it's that when a man says 'we'll see,' he means no." She sighed. "How late will you be out? I can have Lupe fix you something to eat or draw your bath when you get in, if you like."
"I don't want you or her putting yourselves out on my account. You've been very generous, and I appreciate it."
Cece waved a hand. "Friends should always be there for friends."
Joe frowned. "So do you think she'll really want to talk to me tomorrow, or was she just putting me off so she can get away again?"
"I think she means it. She's got some things she needs to sort out first. A woman's instincts are often right, you know."
"I think she's wrong in this case. She shouldn't have run away. It's not going to solve anything."
Cece shrugged. "It might solve more than you think. Even if it doesn't, it's what they do in her family and it's worked before."
"I'd hardly say that."
"Don't you think so? Cece's eyes widened in surprise. "It got her mother out of the trailer park and into a middle-class home with a reliable breadwinner."
"Yeah, real reliable. Abandoned his family to take off to God knows where."
"But it turned out okay. Her mother found herself another man. Elise may not have liked him, but at least he stuck around. And he did pay for all that dance training."
"As if that was the most important thing."
"It got Elise a scholarship so she could leave that hick town and go someplace where her talents would be appreciated."
"So she could get mixed up with weirdoes in a city she didn't hardly know," Joe pointed out.
"But it also got her to a place where she could build her own future. Here she had friends, even when they weren't the best influences. She found people who were willing to look out for her."
"If you can call it that."
"I do call it that. What about me? What about that dancer friend of hers, Lamia? What about you and Brent--"
"Don't remind me about him."
"I'm sorry," Cece said, her green eyes wide with sincerity. "That was tactless of me. But he did help her out in school, you know. And after she gave up her dance scholarship, it was Brent who got her that job at the art supply store so she could finish college. It was also because of him that she ended up in the passion play at the cathedral, or didn't you know that? If Elise hadn't ended up playing Mary Magdalene that night, you two might never have met. Please don't tell me I misremember."
"No, you're right. I had done some sculptures for the church, and they unveiled them during a big Easter celebration." He smiled, remembering. "I almost didn't go, even though I was the guest of honor. I don't like to go where people are going to fuss over me. But when I saw Elise playing the Magdalene that night I just knew she had to be the one to model my next statue."
"That girl is blessed with good bone structure," Cece admitted.
"I don't even think Elise realized she did so much for me. She thinks all she does is just stand under the lights in my studio, but it's more than that. She inspires me. I've had other models, but none like her. She never wanted things from me like all the other girls, and the funny thing is that the less she wanted from me, the more I wanted to give."
"So you see?" Cece said, returning to their original topic. "Running away from home did her a lot of good. If she hadn't, would she have met someone like you who would treat her right?"
"Maybe not. But we're talking about something different here. She's running away from people who love her. She's running nowhere."
Cece sighed. "You have a good point, but if you go pressuring her right now she'll just keep running."
"I know. It's hard, though."
"If there's anything I can do--"
"Thanks," Joe said. "But right now all I really need is to get out for a little while, check on my statues and clear my head a little."
"That's the best thing," Cece agreed. "Get a different perspective. If I go to bed before you get back, I'll tell Lupe to wait up for you."
"That won't be necessary."
"Don't be ridiculous. I pay her very well not to mind."
"Thank you, then. I'll try to be quiet when I come in."
Cece laughed. "Make as much noise as you want, Joe. It's good to have a man around the house for a couple of days. Noise comes with the territory." She picked up her book and settled back into the depths of the sofa. "You just go on and amuse yourself, and don't worry about putting us out. That's what we're here for."
"It's plausible enough that Elise wouldn't want to see us right now. Besides, there's not a whole lot we can do. Cece is the only one who knows where she is and we don't have any other good leads. I don't think we've got much choice except to humor her unless we can track down that Perry Clyman guy, who gave her the fake ID."
"I’m going to do a web search on him, now that I have reliable wi-fi service, but in the meantime maybe Sylvia knows something. Maybe Elise told her where she planned to go next."
Joe scoffed. "As if that druggie friend of yours would tell us anything."
"It's worth a shot." Brent dug in his pocket and pulled out the blue post-it they found in Elise's office. "Do you want to call this number, or should I?"
"She's your friend, if you can call her that."
Brent took out his cell phone and punched in the number. He listened a little while, then hung up. "Went to voice mail."
"Well, if we're not going to see Elise tonight, it looks like I'll have to find something to do, or else spend the night stretching canvases for Cece."
"What's wrong with that?" Brent gave a little half-smile. "Since she's such a big fan of yours and has no interest in you in any other way, I would think you'd be glad to do her a favor. Maybe you can weasel some information out of her."
"Not likely. She'll just talk my ear off about the local art scene. Besides, maybe I can think of more exciting things to do on a night in my hometown than play with canvas and wooden frames, okay?"
Brent shoved his phone back in his pocket. "Sorry if you can't take a joke."
"I put up with you, don't I?"
Brent stood up. "I think I'll look up an old friend tonight, since it looks like we're stuck here. And who knows, maybe I'll get lucky and run into someone who's seen her."
Joe nodded. "I've got a couple churches I'm going to check on. It'll keep me busy to get out and see how some of my statues are doing. Better than hanging around this place."
"Especially since the hostess can't wait to jump your bones."
"Will you stop that? You're pissing me off even more than usual."
"Okay, but when she shows up at your door in the middle of the night wearing nothing but a negligee, don't say I didn't warn you." Brent shoved his hands in his pockets and left the room.
Joe reached for his jacket and keys. On his way out, he stopped to talk to Cece, who he found sprawled across a hulking green sofa, flipping through a book. She looked up when Joe walked in and removed her reading glasses. "Is there anything I can get for you?"
"No, everything's fine."
"Are you sure? You're welcome to watch TV, help yourself to anything in the fridge, whatever you want. And later, if you don't mind, I'd love to have your help with those canvases."
"I've got a few artworks I want to go check up on and I don't know what time I'll be back."
Cece sat a little straighter. "I'm often up late."
"We'll see."
Cece faked a smile. "If I learned anything from being married, it's that when a man says 'we'll see,' he means no." She sighed. "How late will you be out? I can have Lupe fix you something to eat or draw your bath when you get in, if you like."
"I don't want you or her putting yourselves out on my account. You've been very generous, and I appreciate it."
Cece waved a hand. "Friends should always be there for friends."
Joe frowned. "So do you think she'll really want to talk to me tomorrow, or was she just putting me off so she can get away again?"
"I think she means it. She's got some things she needs to sort out first. A woman's instincts are often right, you know."
"I think she's wrong in this case. She shouldn't have run away. It's not going to solve anything."
Cece shrugged. "It might solve more than you think. Even if it doesn't, it's what they do in her family and it's worked before."
"I'd hardly say that."
"Don't you think so? Cece's eyes widened in surprise. "It got her mother out of the trailer park and into a middle-class home with a reliable breadwinner."
"Yeah, real reliable. Abandoned his family to take off to God knows where."
"But it turned out okay. Her mother found herself another man. Elise may not have liked him, but at least he stuck around. And he did pay for all that dance training."
"As if that was the most important thing."
"It got Elise a scholarship so she could leave that hick town and go someplace where her talents would be appreciated."
"So she could get mixed up with weirdoes in a city she didn't hardly know," Joe pointed out.
"But it also got her to a place where she could build her own future. Here she had friends, even when they weren't the best influences. She found people who were willing to look out for her."
"If you can call it that."
"I do call it that. What about me? What about that dancer friend of hers, Lamia? What about you and Brent--"
"Don't remind me about him."
"I'm sorry," Cece said, her green eyes wide with sincerity. "That was tactless of me. But he did help her out in school, you know. And after she gave up her dance scholarship, it was Brent who got her that job at the art supply store so she could finish college. It was also because of him that she ended up in the passion play at the cathedral, or didn't you know that? If Elise hadn't ended up playing Mary Magdalene that night, you two might never have met. Please don't tell me I misremember."
"No, you're right. I had done some sculptures for the church, and they unveiled them during a big Easter celebration." He smiled, remembering. "I almost didn't go, even though I was the guest of honor. I don't like to go where people are going to fuss over me. But when I saw Elise playing the Magdalene that night I just knew she had to be the one to model my next statue."
"That girl is blessed with good bone structure," Cece admitted.
"I don't even think Elise realized she did so much for me. She thinks all she does is just stand under the lights in my studio, but it's more than that. She inspires me. I've had other models, but none like her. She never wanted things from me like all the other girls, and the funny thing is that the less she wanted from me, the more I wanted to give."
"So you see?" Cece said, returning to their original topic. "Running away from home did her a lot of good. If she hadn't, would she have met someone like you who would treat her right?"
"Maybe not. But we're talking about something different here. She's running away from people who love her. She's running nowhere."
Cece sighed. "You have a good point, but if you go pressuring her right now she'll just keep running."
"I know. It's hard, though."
"If there's anything I can do--"
"Thanks," Joe said. "But right now all I really need is to get out for a little while, check on my statues and clear my head a little."
"That's the best thing," Cece agreed. "Get a different perspective. If I go to bed before you get back, I'll tell Lupe to wait up for you."
"That won't be necessary."
"Don't be ridiculous. I pay her very well not to mind."
"Thank you, then. I'll try to be quiet when I come in."
Cece laughed. "Make as much noise as you want, Joe. It's good to have a man around the house for a couple of days. Noise comes with the territory." She picked up her book and settled back into the depths of the sofa. "You just go on and amuse yourself, and don't worry about putting us out. That's what we're here for."
Chapter Nineteen
Cece breezed into the dining room as Petra was setting plates of roast beef sandwiches and potato salad in front of her guests. Her face fell. "You didn't want the shrimp salad? Well, roast beef is more manly, isn't it?" Her hand trailed across the back of Joe's chair as she passed behind him. "Petra!" she called after seating herself at the head of the table. "Bring me a cup of chamomile. Té manzanilla." She cast a glance toward the men as they wolfed down their sandwiches. "And are the cookies done? Galletas?"
Petra nodded.
Cece waved her hand, shooing her back into the kitchen. "Gracias, Petra."
After the maid scurried away, she rested her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands. "So," she asked Joe, "What do you think of my studio?
Joe looked up from his sandwich and started to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth before remembering he had a napkin. "Very nice. Hard to beat something like that, with so much natural light. I like it."
Cece seemed pleased. "You know, you're welcome in there any time. In fact, maybe you can give me a hand. I need to stretch some canvases, and I could use some help."
"I've never made a canvas before."
"Really? Your wife never asked you to help with hers?"
"No, Elise likes to do things on her own. That way she's sure they get done her way."
Cece considered. "Well, I say why make a job harder than it has to be, although there's really not that much to it. It helps to be strong, so I know you'll be great help. Maybe tonight or tomorrow?"
Brent spoke up before Joe could answer. "We won't be here tonight or tomorrow. You're going to call Elise, remember?"
Before Cece could speak, Petra reappeared with a steaming cup of tea and a matching plate piled high with shortbread cookies. Cece directed her to put the plate in the center of the table and accepted her cup of tea, making a show of stirring and blowing on it so she wouldn't have to speak.
"So when are you going to call?" Brent asked, ignoring Joe's sharp kick under the table.
Cece turned wide green eyes on him. "Just when I said I would, and no sooner. You really don't need to be so anxious. She's not going anywhere right away."
"That's what she told you last night," Joe said in conciliatory tones, "But we wouldn't put it past her to change her mind, especially if she thinks we might be getting close to finding her." He pushed his empty sandwich plate out of the way and reached for a cookie. "It seems like whenever we get close, something happens and she gets away."
"And I don't have all the time in the world," Brent said testily. "I walked away from a job and a wife to come here. If I don't go back pretty soon, I may not be able to go back."
"Call and explain why you're delayed, if that's all you're worried about," Cece said. "This is a nice big house, plenty of privacy."
Brent hesitated. "That's not really the issue."
Cece reached for a cookie and dunked it in her tea. "Is it your accommodations, then? You're welcome to stay as long as you like, no pressure. Eat what you want, drink wine from my wine cellar, watch satellite TV, use my wi-fi...I'm a woman of substance, in case you hadn't noticed, and I want you to consider this your own home."
"We appreciate it," Joe said, not allowing Brent to respond. "But we really can't stay. We just want to know where Elise is so we can get her."
"Of course. She's a lucky woman to have two men who love her so much." Cece stifled a giggle as Joe and Brent exchanged quick, hostile looks. "Why don't I go upstairs right now and call? Then once we've got that behind us, maybe we can talk about more pleasant things." Cradling her teacup and saucer, Cece left the room.
Petra nodded.
Cece waved her hand, shooing her back into the kitchen. "Gracias, Petra."
After the maid scurried away, she rested her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands. "So," she asked Joe, "What do you think of my studio?
Joe looked up from his sandwich and started to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth before remembering he had a napkin. "Very nice. Hard to beat something like that, with so much natural light. I like it."
Cece seemed pleased. "You know, you're welcome in there any time. In fact, maybe you can give me a hand. I need to stretch some canvases, and I could use some help."
"I've never made a canvas before."
"Really? Your wife never asked you to help with hers?"
"No, Elise likes to do things on her own. That way she's sure they get done her way."
Cece considered. "Well, I say why make a job harder than it has to be, although there's really not that much to it. It helps to be strong, so I know you'll be great help. Maybe tonight or tomorrow?"
Brent spoke up before Joe could answer. "We won't be here tonight or tomorrow. You're going to call Elise, remember?"
Before Cece could speak, Petra reappeared with a steaming cup of tea and a matching plate piled high with shortbread cookies. Cece directed her to put the plate in the center of the table and accepted her cup of tea, making a show of stirring and blowing on it so she wouldn't have to speak.
"So when are you going to call?" Brent asked, ignoring Joe's sharp kick under the table.
Cece turned wide green eyes on him. "Just when I said I would, and no sooner. You really don't need to be so anxious. She's not going anywhere right away."
"That's what she told you last night," Joe said in conciliatory tones, "But we wouldn't put it past her to change her mind, especially if she thinks we might be getting close to finding her." He pushed his empty sandwich plate out of the way and reached for a cookie. "It seems like whenever we get close, something happens and she gets away."
"And I don't have all the time in the world," Brent said testily. "I walked away from a job and a wife to come here. If I don't go back pretty soon, I may not be able to go back."
"Call and explain why you're delayed, if that's all you're worried about," Cece said. "This is a nice big house, plenty of privacy."
Brent hesitated. "That's not really the issue."
Cece reached for a cookie and dunked it in her tea. "Is it your accommodations, then? You're welcome to stay as long as you like, no pressure. Eat what you want, drink wine from my wine cellar, watch satellite TV, use my wi-fi...I'm a woman of substance, in case you hadn't noticed, and I want you to consider this your own home."
"We appreciate it," Joe said, not allowing Brent to respond. "But we really can't stay. We just want to know where Elise is so we can get her."
"Of course. She's a lucky woman to have two men who love her so much." Cece stifled a giggle as Joe and Brent exchanged quick, hostile looks. "Why don't I go upstairs right now and call? Then once we've got that behind us, maybe we can talk about more pleasant things." Cradling her teacup and saucer, Cece left the room.
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