Double Trouble (20 page)

“Yeah. It’s just . . . I hate not knowing where you are and if you’re okay.”

Really?
Oh, her heart shouldn’t leap so wildly at that. So what? She was his employee; of course he wanted her to be safe.

“And I hate babysitting. Dally’s in the other room. Probably sulking because I won’t let her go out to the Rockets game this weekend.”

See
 
—it wasn’t about her. He was bored. “There’re only six days left. Dally testifies on Monday.”

“You’re doing a great job.”

PJ pressed her hand to her face. “No, I’m not. Yesterday I blamed Sammy for breaking into Dally’s house and accused him of stealing from his grandma. And unless Morgan and I
come up with some new signals and learn them right so she can call the pitches, the Rockets are going to lose the final game of the regular season. And then there’s Connie, who isn’t speaking to me because I got Boris a job as a car thief.”

“Calm down, Princess, and start at the beginning.” Jeremy sounded as if he were trying not to laugh.

“It’s not funny, Jeremy.” But his use of the forbidden nickname made her turn off the television. Lie down on the sofa, imagine him sitting across from her
 
—and while it was her dream, maybe she’d add a foot massage. In her mind, he sat there, the moon on his face, his smile rakish, those eyes watching her with something akin to amusement.

“1-800-Trouble-Solver at your service.”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“You just have to face the facts, Princess. It’s never going to happen.”

“What?”

“You being perfect. I mean, you have to have a few flaws for us commoners to relate to you.”

“Funny.”

He went quiet on the other end. Then, “PJ, you’re a woman who, let’s say, seizes opportunity. But you have to stop trying so hard. You’re already a good PI.”

“I am?”

“Well, you will be.” His voice softened. “Stop trying so hard to prove yourself.”

Had he been talking to Gabby?

“I should probably start with confessing my crimes, then.”

“What, did you steal home?”

“Oh, you’re a funny man.”

“Just a little softball humor.”

“How about this, smart guy. I broke in to the office and hunted down an insurance fraud, right there in your files.”

“You broke in to the office?”

“Well, see, like I said, Boris got arrested for carjacking, and I think it’s an insurance scam, and I remembered that you did some investigation
 
—”

“I found a number of insurance agencies that had listed stripped vehicles as totaled and sold them to a local wrecking company in town.”

PJ smiled. “You’re pretty good.”

He gave a low chuckle that rumbled through the phone line. “I thought so. Most of them were high-end SUVs or trucks. It bothered me.”

“Well, Boone’s on the case now.”

“Boone?” Something sharp edged into his tone. “You were with Boone?”

Of
course
she was with Boone, and a defensive tone nearly found her lips as she said, “Boone was trying to help me.” But she tempered it, because, well, was she
with
Boone? “He was going to hold Boris unless I threw him a bone, so we did some investigating together. . . .”

“Oh.” Only it sounded like . . .
oh
. Or,
no
. Whatever it was, however, he covered it up with a fast “He’ll take care of the case? There’s no reason for me to be worried, right?”

Worried? He worried about the case . . . or her? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. “Yeah, he’s looking into it.”

“Good.” Jeremy paused. “So . . . you told Boone yes, then.”

The way he said it, suddenly all business, created an ache
right in the center of PJ’s chest. “No, actually.” She barely breathed the words, as if testing them.

“You told him no?”

Was there a little rise to his tone? As if fueled with hope? surprise?

“I . . . well, not exactly. I haven’t answered him.”

The silence on the other end stretched out so long, PJ checked her phone to see if they were still connected.

Finally, again, “Oh.”

That was it? She wasn’t sure why she pressed her lips together, why her throat tightened. It wasn’t like he was the one standing between her and Boone. No, it was more the old PJ in her path, while the new one hovered like a specter, haunting their future. . . .

Still, his single nonword was a punch, like the one delivered back at the gym.

“PJ, are you still there?”

She closed her eyes. “Umm-hmm.”

“So, what were you doing before I called?”

She flicked the television back on. Muted it as Gregory Peck followed Audrey Hepburn through Rome. “I was watching an old movie. You probably don’t know it
 
—it’s called
Roman Holiday
.”

“
Roman Holiday
. Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn, about the princess who tours Rome for a day and falls in love with a newspaperman. Great flick.”

She wanted to see his face. He had a way of lifting one side of his mouth, his eyes full of mischief, when he teased her. “I don’t believe you.”

“Please. I’m a huge Audrey Hepburn fan. Some guys hang
out at the bar; I go to old movies in the park. And this is my favorite. The princess running around Rome, thinking that the reporter guy has no clue who she really is, and all along, he not only knows but is trying to protect her
 
—”

“He’s not trying to protect her! He’s using her to get a scoop!”

“But then he falls in love with her. Because everyone else sees her the way they expect to, but he sees her for who she really is. A woman with spunk and laughter. A woman he wants to be with but can’t.”

PJ opened her mouth and nothing came out.

“A woman he wants to be with but can’t.”

Why couldn’t he?

Just as the question was finding its way from her heart to her mouth, Jeremy gave a low laugh. “I love the part where they’re sightseeing, scooting around Rome on that moped. Having fun together.”

“What
 
—
what
are you talking about? The entire time he’s deceiving her, taking pictures of her, leading her on.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like he minded having a good-looking princess on the back of his bike. A part of him had to be falling for her right then.”

PJ pulled out the Cheese Nips. “Oh, please.”

“If you’ll remember, he did tell the judge they were going to the church to get married. Can you say
Freudian slip
?”

“She assured him she wouldn’t hold him to it, and he didn’t argue.”

“Some guys have a hard time saying what they feel. Maybe he wasn’t ready to propose or anything, but some part of him wanted to communicate that he liked her. A lot. That he liked
spending time with her. That she was fun and interesting and made him laugh, despite her crazy driving.”

The Nips became sandpaper in her throat. She got up and maneuvered by the glow of the television light to the kitchen, where she drew some water from the tap.

“You know my favorite part in the entire movie?” Jeremy asked when she didn’t say anything, when she couldn’t think of anything to say. “The wall of wishes. All those plaques of people who wished for something, stuck them on the wall, and then saw their dreams come true. Wouldn’t it be great to . . . wish big, then know that it would happen?”

PJ sputtered, coughed.

“Are you okay?”

She slapped her chest. “Yes. Yes. Just went down the wrong pipe.”

“I’ll bet you loved that scene where he fought the Secret Service and saved her.”

No, no, Jeremy, go back. What would you wish for?

But maybe she didn’t want to know. Not yet. So, “Hey, she did her own saving! She smashed a guitar over a guy’s head.”

“Sorta like throwing donuts, I s’pose.”

“Whatever gets the job done, pal.” But she smiled at his tone as she wandered back to the television. And wouldn’t you know it, there was the kiss, Hepburn and Peck, right there on the screen. “She was pretty, wasn’t she?”

“Sure. But I’m partial to redheads. Like Lucille Ball.”

She could practically see Jeremy’s smile. “Very funny. You want to know what my favorite line is? Well, besides when he tells her that she should always wear his clothes?”

“She should.”

“What’s with guys wanting girls to wear their clothes?”

“I think it’s the girls wanting to wear the guys’ clothes.”

“You’ve never let a girl wear your jacket?”

Silence. Uh-oh.

“Never had a girl I wanted to wear my jacket.”

“Never?”

“I haven’t had much time for, well, jacket wearing. Tell me your favorite line.”

“Fine. It’s when they’re standing there, after their adventure, realizing what they feel for each other, and Joe, the reporter, says, ‘Life isn’t always what one likes, is it?’ And the princess says, ‘No, it isn’t.’ It’s their way of declaring their love for each other.”

“No, it’s not. That’s their
wish
. They want the world to be different. A world in which they could be together. And that’s why they never declare their love
 
—because they don’t want to break the magic.”

“You know this movie scarily well.”

“Told you. I love Audrey Hepburn.”

“Methinks you’re a romantic, Jeremy Kane.”

“If you’re talking poetry and roses, probably not. But, maybe . . . if I found the right escaping princess, I might be that guy.” He gave a sigh, long and loud and theatrical. “She’d probably leave me and break my heart, just like Audrey.”

Break his heart?

“You told Boone yes, then.”

“In the meantime,” Jeremy continued, “if you want, we can do lines from
My Fair Lady
. Another great story about a woman who’s transformed by a man.”

PJ simply couldn’t keep up. Didn’t know if she even should.
“Oh, is that what
Roman Holiday
is about? I thought it was she who did the transforming
 
—or perhaps redeeming
 
—of Joe. Turned him into a nice guy.”

“I guess you could say they redeemed each other.”

The chinchillas had begun to settle, their screaming dialed down to an occasional squeal. On the screen, the credits began to roll.

Finally Jeremy broke the silence. “You going to be okay over there?”

“I’m okay, Jeremy. Just alone.”

“Sorry about that, Princess. But if it makes you feel any better, I’m alone too.”

No, actually . . . it didn’t make her feel any better at all.

“It’s not that I don’t love you, but when does the next train leave?”

PJ stood on the back step of Gabby’s house, her hand raised to knock, listening through the screen door. She knew she was early for her dancing lesson with Sammy
 
—frankly she wanted a few pointers on how to stay ahead of his feet. The last two nights had been an exercise in pain. If the guy hoped to tango Morgan around the dance floor, he’d have to learn to count first. Dally must have worn her steel-toed industrial boots when dancing with him.

Not that PJ was any Ginger Rogers. But at least she knew which foot to lead with.

“Are you out of your mind, sending him off alone? Are you sure you’ve thought this out?”

Sending who off alone? PJ recognized Gabby’s voice, but who was she talking to? PJ eased open the door, sticking her head inside.

“Oh, I don’t know you as well as I did when you were a child. But you were one of the dumbest children I ever met!”

What? PJ came through the kitchen and found Gabby standing with her back to the door, wearing a red hairnet, white gloves, an elegant black coat, pajama bottoms, and heels.

Playing to her audience through the front picture window.

“Gabby?”

The woman spun, eyes wide, her hand to her chest. “Oh . . . Alfred! I’m glad to see you. Which of these two fabrics do you like best?” She picked up two pillows from her sofa.

PJ looked from the pillows to Gabby, who wore an expectant expression. “Uh, the blue one?”

Gabby gave a little shake of her head. “You
probably
hate them both.”

“I do?”

“So do I.” She tossed them aside, lowered her voice. “Why don’t you skip garbage disposals and have a drink with me?” She smiled at PJ, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

“Uh . . .”

Gabby angled her head forward. “Line?”

Line? PJ held out her hands in surrender.

Gabby rolled her eyes, put a hand to the side of her mouth, and stage-whispered, “Haven’t you heard? I’m no longer a part of the cocktail party set. I’m the lady in Houghton with a rich, full life.”

“I’m the lady with the rich, full life?” PJ studied her for sweat across her brow, maybe glassy eyes. “Okay, Gabby, what’s the deal? Stop it.”

“Why . . . am I bothering you?”

“Really, you’re sorta scaring me.”

Gabby smiled wickedly and laughed, reverting back into some role with her sultry voice and the way she batted her eyes. “You’re a liar.”

What? “I’m not a liar.” Okay, so maybe she was a little liar, but it was for a good reason, and . . .

Gabby sashayed over to her, swinging her hips. PJ was pretty sure even she couldn’t move like that. The elderly woman trickled her fingers down PJ’s arm. “I bet I just make you nervous, that’s all.”

“Yes. That’s a safe bet.” PJ peered out the front window.
Please, Sammy, show up soon.
All Gabby’s words about not losing her mind now pinged in PJ’s.

“You can relax now. I’m leaving. I have a performance to give.” Gabby danced out of the room, back into the kitchen, leaving PJ standing in the front room, baffled. Maybe Evelyn was right. Maybe . . .

“Oh, PJ
 
—
Please Don’t Eat the Daisies
!” Gabby’s head poked around the corner. She’d lost the hairnet. “I’m pretty good, aren’t I? I remember when Doris got that role. Oh, she was so thrilled.”

“
Please Don’t Eat the Daisies
?”

Gabby came in, took PJ’s arm, drew her into the kitchen. “How about some tea?”

The coat and gloves hung over the back of a kitchen chair, the heels tossed beneath the table. “Of course, I do
Calamity Jane
much better.” She broke into song, holding her hand to her chest, dancing. “‘Once I had a secret love that lived within the heart of me . . .’”

“Gabby, are you okay?”

“‘All too soon my secret love became impatient to be free. . . .’”

“Gabby, you’re freaking me out!”

She stopped singing and sighed. “Oh, fiddle-dee-dee. Haven’t you ever wanted to disappear inside a movie?”

The teakettle on the stove began to whistle.

PJ pulled out a chair as Gabby turned off the kettle and pulled two teacups from the cupboard. “Have you eaten supper yet?”

“I had yogurt and a bowl of microwave popcorn.”

Gabby shook her head. “And you say
I
frighten
you
.” She poured water into the cups. “Sugar?”

“Yes?”

“Okay.” She turned and dumped a spoonful into PJ’s cup.

Oh . . . not . . . oh, well. PJ examined her for any more craziness as Gabby set her tea on the table and shook her head. “Now, tell me, how do you like dancing?”

Dancing? So she remembered their lessons. And she
had
called her PJ. . . . “I think the tops of my feet are purple.”

Gabby laughed. “Sammy’ll get it. And so will you. Let him lead a little more. He’s not very confident, and he needs someone to trust him.”

“Hence the bruised feet.”

“Well, no one gets it right off. That’s why it’s called practice. Why, Fred used to be in the studios for hours and hours. And you know how good he was.” She smiled at a vision somewhere beyond PJ’s right shoulder. “The key is to stop looking at your feet. You’ll only trip over them.”

Gabby’s gaze came back to PJ’s as she dipped her spoon into a saucer of strawberry jam, then ladled it into her tea and stirred. “Oh, by the way, I saw him.”

PJ had her gaze on the jam now dissolving into the tea. Did Gabby know that wasn’t sugar?

Her worry must have shown on her face because Gabby laughed. “We drank it like this during the war when sugar was rationed.”

“Uh, who did you see, Gabby?”

“Roy. Or Guy. Or something like that. I can’t remember his name.” She flicked her wrist. “He was outside, twice now.”

“Roy?” The mysterious
R
?

“Dally’s boyfriend. I saw him in his car
 
—once watching the house, once driving by.”

A shiver tickled down PJ’s spine. “When was this?”

Gabby closed her eyes. “It sometimes gets so cloudy. I’m pretty sure yesterday or the day before . . . No, it was . . . Oh, I don’t know. I remember you had your softball equipment with you.”

The night she’d been kidnapped? “What did he look like?”

“Oh, the same. Tall, dark hair. I never liked his eyes.” She took a sip of her tea, leaned forward, cutting her voice low. “Always seemed like he was hiding something.” She leaned back and gave PJ a knowing nod.

“Do you think he’d ever want to hurt Dally?”

The cat jumped up on the table. “Oh, Simon, why do you do that?”

PJ reached out a hand and ran it down the cat’s body. He let out a rumble.

“I don’t know. Dally broke his heart. You know men.”

Not really. But she did have a clue how it might feel to break a man’s heart.

The cat’s gaze was on the spoon. Before PJ could catch him,
he swept his paw across the table and the spoon clattered to the floor. Simon peered over the edge. Let out a mew.

“He’s always pushing things off the table. Shoo.” Gabby waved her hand and Simon jumped down.

Outside, PJ heard the Charger pull up, a thunderous roar that could probably be heard in Tibet.

“I’ll tell Sammy to take it easy on you, Dally. I know your big game is coming up this weekend.”

PJ expected a wink, something, but Gabby just patted her hand and got up to greet Sammy at the front door.

* * *

“I think I can actually feel my feet.” PJ closed the screen door and stood on the back steps of Gabby’s house after her Friday night dance practice, letting the night fall over her. The brisk smell of a fall storm ladened the air, a few scattered leaves running for cover in the wind. Gooseflesh pimpled on her forearms.

“Very funny, PJ. I’m getting better.” Sammy hiked one foot onto the stoop, swinging the keys to his Charger on his finger. “If you’d just let me lead, that would help.”

“Hey, I’ve never been good at following.” However, she smiled at Sammy. Despite his bulk, he had begun to move like a dancer, with more confidence in his step as he twirled her around the room or sent her out in a turn. “You’re great at the waltz, but I think I like swing dancing the best.”

“Just wait until I toss you in the air.”

How had she missed Sammy’s boyish charm? or worse, ever believed he could have meant his grandmother harm?

“Oh, I think you’ll have to reserve that move for Morgan.”

Inside, Gabby was preparing a cup of tea. PJ glanced toward the house, then lowered her voice. “I hate to ask this, but . . . have you ever seen your grandma . . . act out a movie?”

Sammy grinned. “Like, for example, anything starring Doris Day?”

“Yes!” PJ nearly crumpled with the relief coursing through her “Yes. I caught her the other day acting out
Please Don’t Eat the Daisies
. She wanted me to participate!”

“Be glad she didn’t put a top hat on you and make you sing ‘Singin’ in the Rain.’”

“I was afraid that she’d . . .” PJ shrugged, not wanting to put form to her fears. “Do you know if she ever found her necklace
 
—the one she called me about on Sunday?” She added a chagrined smile. “Sorry about that again.”

“You’re forgiven again. She hasn’t found it yet. She’s awfully sensitive about it because Grandpa gave it to her. This isn’t the first time it’s gone missing, although the last time, we did find it behind the bedside table. I think she takes it off in her sleep. We’re always finding her jewelry in the cushions of the sofa or under her bed.”

“But jewelry is missing, right? Your mother practically accused me of stealing.”

The wind stirred the leaves, unhinging a few more early victims and tossing them into the yard. “Yeah, I think so. Jewelry and maybe some other things. Keys. A watch I’d left here. Things
are
disappearing. . . .”

“Maybe she’s taking them off and then forgetting she’s doing it.”

What seemed like panic entered Sammy’s eyes. “Do you
think she’s getting Alzheimer’s?” He shot a glance at the kitchen, where Gabby moved against the outline of the curtain.

“I don’t know. We just need to keep an eye on her, I guess. But I’m glad to know I’m not the only one enlisted as a silver screen stand-in.”

Sammy pocketed his keys. “Thanks, by the way.” He held out his arm, and she shoved hers through it. “You make a great Ginger Rogers.”

They rounded the corner of the house. “And you’re getting there, Fred.”

A car parked in front of Sammy’s Charger pulled away from the curb, tearing down the street.

PJ stilled. “I wonder who that was.” Her eyes scanned the road for Lee, her heart thumping like Doppler in her throat.

“You okay?” Sammy stopped, looked at her. “You’re shaking.”

PJ untangled herself from his arm. “I’m fine . . . just remembering my adventure in a trunk.”

“Let me walk you home.”

“All the way next door?”

“Hey, those steroids need to be good for something, right?”

“Hah.” But she let him walk her around the fence and up the front walk, let him wait until she closed and latched the door. And double-checked the latch.

She kept the lights off as he walked away and finally got into his car. Lightning crinkled the dark sky, and far away, thunder shook the night.

PJ blew out a shaky breath. She had to admit that she’d be glad when this assignment ended. For a moment, she debated calling Jeremy.

Jeremy. Not Boone.

She crossed her arms and leaned her head against the doorjamb.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m alone too.”

His parting words wouldn’t leave her. Those, and his comment about breaking the magic of their relationship. Okay, so he’d been talking about the characters in the movie. Technically. But she didn’t have to be a supersleuth to recognize the parallel. They did have something between them, a friendship that made her feel alive and new.

“I guess you could say they redeemed each other.”

Maybe. Because in Jeremy’s eyes, she saw a different woman than the one reflected in Boone’s. Around Jeremy, the baggage of her past didn’t press into her, and she could taste the beginnings of something new, not unlike the fragrance of fall, the hint of change in the tang of the breeze.

After another cascade of thunder, rain began to ping on the roof. PJ moved to a window, watching lightning fracture the sky.

In the split-second flicker of light, she saw a figure standing in Gabby’s backyard. Hunched over, knees to the ground.

Gabby.

PJ ran through the house, her pulse beating her to the door as she flung it open, tore down the steps slicked by the rain. She splashed across the backyard, hooking her hand on the rail, rounding it. Mud splattered her legs as she ran up the alley. “Gabby!”

The woman looked up at PJ, her face barely visible under the clouds that manacled the sky. Rain poured down her face in rivulets
,
her pink housecoat like parchment as it pasted to
her body. She pushed her hands through the mud. “Where is it?”

PJ dropped to her knees, grabbing Gabby’s arms. “Gabby, what are you doing?”

“I dropped it
 
—I dropped Seb’s necklace!” Gabby’s face was wretched with smeared mascara and pasty red lipstick smudged beyond the outline of her lips. “I came out after Simon
 
—that stupid cat
 
—and slipped. My necklace must have fallen . . .” She pressed her hand to her throat, leaving behind a muddy print.

PJ took her hands. “Gabby, you weren’t wearing your necklace today. Remember? You lost it a few days ago. You haven’t found it yet.”

Gabby stared at her. “I haven’t?”

“I don’t think so.” PJ put her arm around the older woman’s thin shoulders. Under the driving rain, Gabby seemed to melt away to nothing more than bones. “We need to get out of the rain.”

Gabby’s breath caught and she shook her head. “What if it’s true, Dally?” She put her grimy hands to her face, her eyes round with something that resembled fear. “What if I am losing my mind? I know I had that necklace. Just today.” She sat back in the mud with a plunk, drawing her knees up. Staring out into the darkness, the rain hollowing her face, she aged by decades. Her hands were gnarled and dirty, her hair flattened and slate gray, her feet bony and misshapen. “What if Evelyn is right?”