Finding Isadora (10 page)

“
You called to apologize?” Now he sounded confused.

“
Well, no, but—”

“
Then get to the point.” Now he sounded utterly frustrated. He really was a panther. At least he snarled like one.

Except I could have handled a panther more easily than I could deal with this man. I tried to tell myself he must be having a bad day.
“I’m sorry, I guess you’re busy and—”

“
Isadora! Why did you call?”

I gathered my wits and cleared my throat.
“It’s Jimmy Lee. He’s been charged with arson and I wondered, uh…”

“
You want me to represent him?”

“
I was hoping that—”

“
Damn it, Isadora, just come out and say it. You want me to represent your father.”

What was this man
’s problem? On Saturday he’d seemed so in control. I hardly recognized this impatient, angry voice. I was so upset I was tempted to tell him to forget it. But Jimmy Lee really did need his help. “Yes,” I said firmly. “I do. I have some money saved and—”

“
I thought Jimmy Lee figured I was a sadistic bastard.” His tone was hard to read.

Was that the reason he was being so negative?
“Uh, well, he was just joking. I’m sure he really appreciated what you did for him. Anyhow, about your fees—”

“
Arson?” he broke in. “What’s the deal? He’s been charged? You mean, this just happened?”

“
Today.” Belatedly, I realized I should have gotten more details from Grace. “My mother says they arrested him and he’s in jail, and I guess he’ll be in court in the morning.”

“
They didn’t release him?”

“
No. They usually do, on an appearance notice or a recognizance.” When he was charged with disturbing the peace, the police always let him go on his own promise to appear in court at the appointed time. “But not this time,” I said slowly, again realizing the seriousness of the charge.

“
Hmm. He’s been a royal pain in the cops’ asses for a long time, but I wouldn’t have thought they’d detain him. What the hell do they say he burned?” His tone was almost normal now and I sensed he’d already taken on the case.

I let out a quick sigh of relief.
“A cosmetics lab. They use animals and—”

“
Got it. Okay, I’ll talk to the cops and go see Jimmy Lee. Is Grace involved?”

“
She hasn’t been charged but she says they were picketing there last week.”

“
I’ll talk to her, too. Give me her number.”

I did, then he said,
“Fine,” and the phone clunked down.

Gabriel was going to do it. That was all that mattered. It didn
’t matter that he hadn’t been nice—not even polite—to me. He was going to help Jimmy Lee. I pressed a trembling hand to my throat and felt my pulse thudding. It had been his abruptness that had set my nerves to jangling. That’s all it had been.

What was it that had
put him so on edge?

I dialed my mom
’s number. “Gabriel DeLuca will represent him. Remember, he’s the lawyer who got Jimmy Lee that tree-planting gig the summer you and I were in Boston?”

“
Oh yeah, I’ve heard lots about him though I’ve never met him. He’s one of the good ones.”

And he was Richard
’s father, a fact I’d yet to tell my parents. In fact, I’d never even told them that my fiancé’s dad was an activist lawyer. I’d wanted them to like Richard for who he was, not lament that he wasn’t more like his father. “He may want to talk to you. I gave him your number.”

“
Okay. Hey, Isadora, can you come over to the apartment? I’m stressing over this.”

“
You ought to be used to it by now.”

“
I never get used to it. Jail isn’t a safe place.”

When my parents were in university in Boston, they and a bunch of other peaceniks had been arrested at an anti-war demonstration. By then, jail was almost a habit for their group, in fact kids boasted about their arrests as if they were badges of honor. But this time was different. Another prisoner, a Vietnam vet,
no doubt suffering from PTSD, killed one of their friends.

In the decades since my parents had moved to Canada, Jimmy Lee had only been in jail a couple of times. The police here were more inclined to release on a promise to appear in court.

I remembered how worried Grace had been that time she and I were in Boston and Jimmy Lee’d been held in jail in Vancouver after chaining himself to a logging truck. Afraid that someone with a gripe against tree-huggers might go after him, Grace had been all set to fly home, then he called to say his lawyer had sprung him from jail. Gabriel. And he’d do it again.

But not until morning. Truth to tell,
Grace’s anxiety was contagious. “Yes, I’ll come over.”

“
I have a pot of lentil stew simmering. I’ll make cornbread. Can you pick up some wine?”

A
dinner party in honor of my father’s arrest. You had to love my family. For the first time since I’d answered Grace’s call, I found a smile. “Sure, and I’ll bring along the salad I was making.”

Before I left, I called Richard. When I got voic
e-mail, I left a message filling him in on what had happened, and saying I’d be at my parents’ place. I imagined him shaking his head as he listened. He wouldn’t like the idea of his future father-in-law being a jailbird, and he probably wouldn’t be thrilled about me enlisting his dad to help out, but hopefully he’d understand.

On the way to the bus stop, I popped into a liquor store. My parents didn
’t believe in wasting money on wine that came with a cork, so I picked up a box of Sawmill Creek merlot.

A couple of hours later, Grace and I had made significant inroads on the wine. Gabriel hadn
’t called, and I’d procrastinated about telling Grace that Jimmy Lee’s new lawyer was Richard’s father. My mother and I had passed the time reminiscing companionably about old arrests.

Grace sat in lotus position on a big cushion on the floor, a thick silver-streaked blond braid dangling over one shoulder of her multi-colored Guatemalan tunic. I was curled up in a corner of the faded couch stroking Woodstock, a one-eyed cat I
’d persuaded my parents to take in a few months ago. The battered stray had adapted surprisingly well to domesticity, and also to Martin and Jack, the abandoned kittens I’d given my parents a couple of years ago. They—a jumble of black and white fur—had spent the evening sleeping in a scruffy easy chair.

The entrance door buzzer rang and Grace started, then hurried to answer it.
“Yes, come in.” She punched the button and said to me, “That’s Gabriel DeLuca, downstairs.”

“
Here?” I leaped up. Damn him, he’d said he would phone. If I’d known he was going to come in person I’d have stayed home.

“
Let him in, honey,” Grace said, heading toward the kitchen.

Wait a minute.
Why would I have stayed home? There was no reason to avoid the man. Besides, likely that whole chemistry thing on Saturday night had been the product of nerves. When I saw him tonight, he’d be just another middle-aged man. No, he’d still be Richard’s father and Jimmy Lee’s lawyer. I wanted to make a good impression.

I ran my hands through hair that hadn
’t been combed since morning, and glanced down at my old jeans and long sweater. The sweater was a knitting project that, typically, hadn’t turned out like the picture on the pattern. I loved the nubbly beige cotton and the basket-weave pattern, but the neckline was too loose. Damn it, I should have worn a bra. My breasts were small and firm, so I didn’t really need one, but the sweater had drifted down, baring a shoulder like I was trying to look seductive. I tugged it straight. I hadn’t thought twice about wearing the sweater on the bus, but now I was self-conscious. This made twice I’d been unprepared for Gabriel, and I didn’t appreciate it.

When he knocked, I flung open the door, mad at him and at myself.
“I thought you were going to phone Grace. You said—”

“
Isadora? What the hell are you doing here?” he growled, sounding just as annoyed.

But his words barely registered
. I was too busy staring at him. If my problem on Saturday had been nerves, then I must have a double dose of them tonight. The tuxedo-clad man had been dangerous to my peace of mind, but this one was deadly. His dark hair was loose and wavy, slightly tangled, falling to his shoulders. His jaw sported a day’s worth of stubble. His chocolate truffle eyes were even more rich and sinful than I remembered. A black cotton turtleneck hugged his torso and ancient jeans clung to his hips, thighs, legs, and everything in between.

I was checking out my fiancé
’s father’s package—and liking what I saw. Feeling telltale heat rise to my cheeks, I dragged my gaze up to his face.

He was staring at me. At my face, not farther south. Had he seen where I was looking? Could I feel any more embarrassed?

“Jimmy Lee and I decided it was better for me to talk to your mother in person.” His scowl was as dark as his tone had been earlier on the phone. Clearly he was no more pleased to see me than I was to see him. Except… I couldn’t exactly say I wasn’t pleased, just desperately unsettled.

Unsettled. Was that how Gabriel had sounded on the phone? Not so much angry as unsettled? Belatedly, I realized we were still staring at each other and I hadn
’t answered his question. “Grace wanted company and asked me over.”

I backed away from the door so he could come in without brushing against me. He strode in quickly and I felt as if an energy field had passed by. How could he look so damned virile? It was almost ten at night and he must have worked a full day, then spent hours dealing with Jimmy Lee
’s problems.

“
Gabriel DeLuca?” Grace said, and we both turned toward her. Walking gracefully across the room, she wiped damp hands on her own faded jeans, then held out her right hand.

They shook firmly.
“Grace Dean,” he said. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you.”

“
You too. You’ve done some good work.”

“
As have you. And Jimmy Lee.”

“
Thanks for agreeing to help him.”

Their hands were still clasped and they seemed to have forgotten me. I watched them curiously, noting their immediate rapport. Though Gabriel was more than fifteen years younger, he and my mom were, in a way, veterans of the same war.

“Have you had dinner, Gabriel?” she asked.

“
Haven’t had time.” He flashed her a grin that, had it been aimed in my direction, would likely have knocked me off my feet.

She gave an understanding nod
. “I gather you know Isadora?”

How stupid to have procrastinated about telling her.
Now she and Gabriel would give my omission too much importance.

He shot me a glance that virtually smoldered with some emotion I couldn
’t decipher, then turned back to Grace. “Yeah, we’ve met.”

I found my voice
again. “He’s Richard’s father.”

“
You are?” Her brows rose. “But Richard’s name is Bracken.”

“
That’s his stepfather’s name. He took it when his mother remarried.” Gabriel’s voice was gruff and I detected a note that could be pain. Interesting. So the hurt between Richard and his father might run both ways.

Grace nodded slowly and I knew she
’d had the same thought. Too bad. My parents were already too critical of Richard. She crossed to the kitchen, saying over her shoulder, “I turned on the heat under the stew. We also have quinoa salad and cornbread.”

“
The stew’s vegetarian,” I said, “but the food’s not vegan. In case it makes any difference.”

His little bonding act with Grace seemed to have mellowed his mood. His tone, too, was pleasant.
“Sounds good to me. I don’t eat meat, but I eat everything else. Like you, Saturday night.”

So while I
’d been noticing what he was eating, he’d been watching me, too. Nervously, I said, “Yes, that pretty much describes me. I can’t understand how a vet can, in all good conscience, eat meat.”

“
You became a vegetarian because you’re a vet?”

“
No, I’ve always been one, like Grace and Jimmy Lee, and I’ve always loved animals, so—” I broke off, realizing I was, again, sounding like an idiot.

“
Richard eats meat.”

“
Yes. Uh, we manage.”

“
Sure.” He turned away and studied the apartment. I guessed he wasn’t surprised by its smallness, the threadbare nature of the comfortable furniture, or the many ethnic knickknacks and items of folk art. In his line of work, he’d probably seen a lot of apartments like this.