Moonlight Masquerade (11 page)

Reede stopped pulling on his cuff and gave his attention to what Sophie was saying. “Surely not everyone who can pay his bills is arrogant.”

“Maybe not,” Sophie said. “Maybe I'm generalizing based on my recent experience, but the man in the bar looked bored rich.”

“ ‘Bored rich,' ” he said and couldn't help smiling at her phrasing. He unbuttoned a cuff. “Was the man ugly?”

“No. He was actually rather handsome. Not as beautiful as Russell, but passable.”

Reede smiled broader. “You wouldn't like to go on a date with me, would you?”

Sophie was glad she was on the phone so he couldn't see her grin. After what Carter had said to her about her looks, it was nice to think a man did like her as a person. And Dr. Reede had never even
seen
her. That made her feel even better. “Yes,” she said, “that would be nice. When?”

Reede took a breath. “Saturday. In costume.”

“What?”

“We'll have a date in costume. For Halloween. At a house owned by a friend of mine. Eleven. We'll have lunch.” He knew his sentences were staccato, but he was so nervous he couldn't think clearly. “Afterward we can go to the McTern party. It's big. In costume.”

Sophie's first thought was that this wasn't possible. She didn't have anything appropriate to wear, and she had work to do. But then she remembered that she was no longer supporting her sister and stepfather, so she could afford to have only one job.

“Bad idea?” he asked softly in her silence.

“No . . . I . . . I rather like it, but I don't have a costume. Maybe Kim has one in her closet.”

Reede let out the breath he'd been holding. “It's all arranged. My cousin Sara will make anything you want. Any ideas on that?”

It had been so many years since there'd been any frivolity in her life, that Sophie was having trouble adjusting to the idea. She and Carter had never gone to a party together. He'd always said it was because he hated them and just wanted to be alone with her. At the time she'd been pleased by what he'd said. Now she realized it was because he didn't want people to see them together.

“I'll match you,” Sophie said.

“What does that mean?”

“If you go as Edward the Seventh, I'll go as—”

“Queen Alexandra.”

“Absolutely not!” she said. “I'll be Lillie Langtry.”

“Yeah?” Reede asked, smiling. “So how about Spider-Man?”

“Mary Jane.”

“Papa Bear?”

“Goldilocks for sure.”

“Is she the one in the blue dress with the head-band?”

“That's Alice in Wonderland, and you'd have to go as the Mad Hatter.”

“I could do that.”

“Well?” Sophie asked. “Who
are
you going to be?”

“I think I'll let my cousin Sara tell you. She makes costumes for all of us.” And she can tell me, he added to himself. What could he wear that would put Sophie in something red? And low cut?

Sophie was smiling deeply for the first time in a
very long while. “You have no idea what you're going to wear, do you?”

Reede laughed. “I am caught! None whatever. I've had a very busy morning and—”

“Does Sara know your sizes?”

“Six one, one eighty-five,” he said. “What about you?”

“Five three and you'd have to put me in a hospital before I told you how much I weigh.”

“That doesn't sound bad. I know a place—” He stopped as he remembered the circumstances of their meeting. “So should I pick you up at Kim's house tomorrow?”

“Sure. No, wait. I think I should move into my own apartment at Mrs. Wingate's house. I'm imposing too much on Kim.”

“So no one has told you?”

“Told me what?”

“Yesterday, Mrs. Wingate eloped with the gardener.”

“Oh,” was all Sophie could think to say. “I got the impression that she was an older woman.”

“Forties, not too old. Very elegant lady. It seems that while she was married to a man the whole town knew was abusive, she was in love with Bill Welsch.”

“And he's the gardener?”

“And a builder. He's a cousin of mine and he's a great guy. Anyway, when she and Bill left, one of her tenants, Lucy Layton, asked—”

“Layton?” Sophie said. “But that's Jecca's last name.”

“Nobody told you that either? Kim's husband's mother married Jecca's dad.”

Sophie had to think a moment to put that relationship
in place. “No, no one told me. So what did Mrs. Layton ask?”

“If she could buy the Wingate house. Travis—that's Kim's husband—wants to open a camp for inner city kids, and they want to use the big Wingate house as part of it.”

“I guess this means that the apartment is no longer available.”

Reede's first thought was to tell her that she could stay with him, but he refrained from saying it. What in the world was wrong with him anyway? He'd had dozens of offers from women in town, but none of them had interested him, but there was something about Sophie that intrigued him. Maybe it was the fact that she wasn't one of the women who was going after him with the subtly of a submarine torpedo.

Sophie was quiet as she thought about the problem of the apartment. This morning she'd been going through Kim's closet, rummaging about in her kitchen, and she hadn't liked doing it. It was Kim's house, and Sophie needed a place of her own. That she no longer had an apartment waiting for her was a blow.

Reede sensed that he'd inadvertently ruined the mood. “I'll find you a place to live,” he said. “My cousin Ramsey owns several properties. I'm sure he has something available.” Even if I have to buy it, he thought. “What are you doing today?”

Sophie hoped he was leading up to inviting her somewhere this evening. It would be nice to get to know each other better before the masquerade of
tomorrow. “The usual,” she said, which made no sense, as the job was so new to her that nothing was “usual.” “What about you?”

He couldn't tell her the truth, that he was putting all his time and energy into planning the next two days, so he said he had “medical work.”

“It must be wonderful to save lives.”

“It was,” he said, thinking of his past rescue work and of the clinics he'd set up. “I mean it is now. I better go,” he said.

“Yes, go save someone,” she said, and they hung up.

Reede clicked off his phone and leaned his head back against the seat. It had been even nicer talking to Sophie the second time. So now he had to drive back to Edilean and see his cousin Sara and talk about costumes. But as he reached for the ignition, his arm caught on his shirt.

“What the hell?” he mumbled, then remembered his guilty conscience when he'd been talking about nearly running Sophie over. When he couldn't straighten his shirt he stepped out of the car, unbuttoned it, and put it back on.

Once he was back in the car, he called Betsy. Since he was asking a favor of her, he reminded himself not to bark at her. But then, for the first time since Tristan had asked him to take over the job, Reede didn't feel like snapping.

“I know I gave you women the day off, but I need for you to get something for Sophie.”

“Anything for her,” Betsy said.

There was such feeling, almost desperation, in
her voice that for a moment Reede was embarrassed. Maybe he
was
a bit too hard on them. “Well, uh, she needs clay.”

“Clay? You want me to buy her some clay?” She sounded as though he'd given her a Herculean task, and he had to work to keep his retort to himself.

“Yes. Go to an art store or . . . I don't know where to go, but get her something she can use to make a sculpture.”

“Oh, you mean modeling clay,” Betsy said. On the back of a water bill envelope she wrote
Call Kim
and underlined it twice. “I'll gift wrap it. Anything you want on the card?”

He hadn't thought that far ahead. “Uh . . . Just write ‘Thanks, Reede.' ”

“I will. By the way, your mom told us about your costume for the big Halloween party. Do you like it? I think it's—”

This intimacy was more than Reede could take. “Yeah, it's great.” He clicked off. If Betsy liked the costume, that meant it was something her beloved Dr. Tris would wear. A James Bond tux? Or would he go as a superhero? Reede could imagine his cousin in a cape and tall boots. The image made him smirk in derision. He'd
never
be caught in a cape! But then, Tristan got the girl he wanted, so maybe . . .

Reede called his cousin Sara and yet again, his tongue seemed to stick in his throat. “I need a . . . a special costume. Something that's . . . For tomorrow.”

“I know,” she said. “Your mom's already ordered it. I had to get a new leather foot for the 830 to make it.” She was referring to her big Bernina sewing machine.

“Sara,” Reede said as he tried to recover himself, “I don't know what my mother is up to, but I do
not
want anything in leather. I need something for tomorrow, something . . . ” He hesitated. “A costume that . . . ”

“Reede!” Sara said, “I have two babies to take care of and a husband to feed, plus six costumes to finish by tomorrow night. I don't have time for you to tiptoe around. What kind of costume do you need?”

“Romantic,” he spit out. “Heroic.”

“Oh,” Sara said, “so it's true about you and this girl? Sylvia, is it?”

“Sophie—as I'm sure you know. She's going to wear a costume that coordinates with mine, so make it nice.”

“From what I've heard she should go as a barmaid.”

“Give me a break!” Reede said. “Can you do this?”

“I have a question.”

“If it carries the word
beer
it in, I'm hanging up.”

“How long has it been since you rode a horse?”

Sophie was sitting
on the stool at the kitchen counter and looking at the big box of clay that Betsy had given her. It was fine, white, and self-hardening, so perfect that Sophie felt sure Kim had had a hand in choosing it. The package had been gift wrapped with a card of thanks from Dr. Reede.

It had been so long since anyone—even she—had thought of herself as an artist, that all those years in school came back to her. How innocent their worries had been back then! Whether their professor was going to like their line quality, if he approved of Kim's silver designs, if Sophie's likenesses of her roommates would gain approval had been their biggest concerns. It had all seemed so very important. She remembered the fear and thrill at her first bronze casting. When it had come out perfectly, she'd had to resist the urge to cry in relief in front of her classmates. Later she'd danced about the apartment in triumph, and Jecca had shown up with a bottle of champagne. It had been a glorious day!

But soon after that Sophie had gone home to her mother's funeral and she'd taken on the responsibility of her young sister. Two years later she'd had to sell everything she'd made in school: paintings, fiber sculptures, even her precious bronze. They'd gone for a pittance, but at the time the money had enabled her to pay the utility bills.

The sight of the clay brought back bad memories, but the feel of it was making them fade. In their place were thoughts of what had made her study art in the first place. She remembered how much she liked to create things, to make something beautiful out of a formless lump.

And something else came to her: the kindness of Dr. Reede for sending her the clay. Her experience of men was that they gave flowers, candy, even lingerie, but she'd always seen those as an invitation to what
they
wanted. No man had ever thought of what Sophie wanted . . . needed. “Thank you,” she whispered as she got up and went to his bedroom.

Yesterday while she was cleaning, some photos had fallen out of one of Dr. Reede's jacket pockets. They'd all looked to have been taken in Africa and they were of grinning children reaching up toward the photographer. The fact that some of the children had deformities, missing limbs, and big bandages was overshadowed by their smiles. If the photographer was Dr. Reede, she could see why he wanted to go back there.

The last picture was different. There was a young, dark-haired man in the middle, but his face was turned away as two exuberant children rumbled his
hair. A baby was on his lap and three little boys, with their arms around Reede, were grinning at the camera.

All in all, it was a very happy scene, with enough joy in it to lighten a person's heart.

Since it was obvious that Dr. Reede didn't want the photo displayed, she'd put it in his empty bedside drawer.

She got the picture out and took it into the kitchen. As she propped it up beside the block of clay, she looked at it from an artist's point of view: proportion, composition, shadow.