Secrets (50 page)

She’d been bitten by a nasty bulldog as a girl and never cared for dogs since. But this one didn’t bark or bite that she could tell. It did push its snout into her hand. No manners at all in the entire species. But she’d bear with that to have her say.

Evvy opened her mouth to inquire about the condition of Rese’s soul when a coughing spasm seized her such that even the dog backed off. Rese reached out a hand to steady her. “Are you all right, Evvy?”

There the girl goes stealing her line. She wanted to know if Rese was all right with the Lord yet, if that doubting Thomas of a cook had spoken his piece, but she guessed he must have more to say, because once again the Lord had shut her up. “Fine,” she gasped between coughs.

Rese called the dog away from her hydrangeas and made him sit. Kind of a pleasant animal in a loppy-eared sort of way. “What is he?”

“Golden retriever and cocker spaniel, according to Lance.” Rese rubbed the dog’s head. “Smaller than a pure retriever, and you can see the spaniel in the eyes.”

“I suppose.” Evvy wouldn’t know a spaniel eye from a retriever eye, but she’d take her word for it. “You like dogs?”

“I love them. I always wanted one.” Rese squatted down and hugged the dog like a child. “Of course, Baxter is Lance’s dog.”

“You wouldn’t know it by the look on his face.”

Rese smiled. “He’s just a big pushover.”

“Like his master?”

Rese quirked her gaze up. “Hardly. Lance is more trouble than anyone I’ve known. Well…” She glanced toward the villa. “I guess that’s not really true. I’ve known some real jerks, and Lance isn’t. It’s just…” She shrugged.“I don’t know.”

Evvy laughed softly. “Sort of gets under your skin, doesn’t he?” She wasn’t sure if it was his boyish respect or his brazen disrespect that attracted her more. Someone had done a good job on that young man, Evvy decided, though Lance himself couldn’t see it. “You could do worse than that.”

“That’s what makes me wonder.” Rese stood up.

Evvy almost asked what she wondered, but she supposed she knew. Rese was insecure in her own worth. She didn’t know who she was and couldn’t see what Lance saw, what the good Lord saw.

With the dog wagging at her side, Rese turned. “I’d better get back. Lance’s friends are here from New York.”

“Don’t let that worry you.”

Rese looked puzzled, but didn’t ask. If she had, Evvy would have told her Lance was not the sort to be swayed by others, but Rese needed to see that for herself. A little of the edge was coming off, but she had so much to learn. Evvy didn’t know her story, but she saw a fierce determination and fortitude. The Lord could use that, if the girl would let Him. But would she?

Rese said, “It was nice talking to you.”

The dog slurped Evvy’s hand as she turned back to her house. She’d need a thorough washing, and she didn’t even have anything to show for it. Some- times she thought God was a great big jokester, giving her a hunger for souls, then making her nibble at the edges.

When she’d seen Evvy coming Rese had expected her to complain about the dog or something. Maybe she was paranoid, but where neighbors were concerned, she expected the worst. If they minded their business, she’d mind hers. But Evvy … well, Evvy was different. Why had she said that about not letting Lance’s friends worry her?

Did it show when she mentioned them? Did she sound possessive or insecure? Two things she despised and flatly rejected. Frowning, she left Baxter at the door and joined the men inside.

After a long evening of Bronx-style conversation—fast, overlapping, and punctuated with hand gestures—Rese sat in the small armchair they had brought up to the attic from the parlor. Strains of music coursed over her.

She did not have a very musical ear, but she could tell they were good. Lance and Rico’s harmony resonated. He had griped about Rico bringing the red guitar, but he played it now with loving fingers, and the energy between the three was mesmerizing.

She would let them live there free if they played Saturday nights, but she suspected that was not Rico’s plan. As close as they obviously were, there was tension between him and Lance, and it made her uneasy. What was that Mr. Samuels hungry for? Lance?

She dropped her head back against the chair and closed her eyes. He had been overqualified before she even saw this side of him. Multi-talented. What if Chaz and Rico had come to lure him back? Last night she had suggested he cut his losses and go, and he’d refused. But now?

Rese opened her eyes when the song ended. Rico looked ready to start another with the click of his drumsticks, but Lance slipped the strap over his head and set the guitar in its case. She had no idea how late it was, but she was tired. “All done?”

“You are.” Lance extended his hand.

She stood up. “I’m enjoying it.”

“You’re tired.”

She didn’t want him to exclude her. She had the feeling that, if she left them alone together, they might all be gone by morning.

They walked down and stopped outside her door. She groped for some- thing to say. “You guys sounded great.”

“Yeah, well, Rico and I’ve sung together since fifth grade. Chaz joined us four years ago. Another couple guys fill in as needed, but this is the core.”

And he loved it. She’d seen that the night he played alone, but it was magnified now. “Why did you break up?” She’d gathered that much from the comments over dinner.

“It’s not a lifestyle I want.” His brow pinched slightly.

There was more to it, she could tell, but she didn’t ask. Mostly because he was kissing her. Her heart rushed as she gripped his shirt. “I thought I would hate this. After Charlie, I thought I’d hate to be kissed.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

She laughed. “As if you would.”

“If it bothered you, I would. If it made you think of that. I want to erase it, wipe it out of your memory.” And he was doing a good job of it because, even though her chin was still tender, she did not want him to stop.

He drew back. “Will you sleep?”

She shrugged.

He glanced behind him at the kitchen table, reached down and snagged the Bible they’d left there. “How about a little light reading?”

If it had mattered enough for him to bring it on his bike when he had so little else, it might be worth a look. “All right.”

He studied her a moment. “Are you okay?”

He was reading her again like the open book she’d become. She nodded toward the attic. “What do they want?”

“Something that’s not going to happen.”

“You?”

He held her waist and considered his answer. But before he could say anything, she asked, “What are you doing here, Lance?” Showing up on her doorstep like a stray dog with nothing to show for all his talent.

For just a second his gaze wavered, then he said, “Looking for answers.”

Days ago she would not have understood that. Now she had so many questions she didn’t even want the answers. She looked into his face. “I hope you find them.”

Rese had asked, and he’d answered. But he’d told her nothing. Why was he there? To prove her property belonged to his grandmother? To claim a cellar full of vintage wine and whatever else might be down there? To vindicate a murdered man he’d never known?

Or maybe two. There was Quillan’s skeleton as well. Had he been shot in the tunnel? But he discounted that immediately. No assassin would arrange him so carefully, and why hide his body and leave Vittorio’s? As he’d told Rese, he did need answers. But when he found them, what would he do?

Lance sat down on the floor under the eaves in the attic. Rico had used most of dinner to complain about Steinbrenner losing half his starting rotation and, that in spite of a lineup that compared to the ’27 Murderers’ Row, they’d probably lose the Series again. Lance just believed that every time his team put on the pinstripes they would take it all. He’d been there opening day almost every season he’d been alive. The memory brought a pang now that added to the unease created by Rese’s questions. Who would he be if Antonia had not been run off her land, chased to the other side of the country?

He rested his forearms on his knees and watched Chaz and Rico roll out their beds. “So how’s the family?” His people were as much family to these two men as their own. Rico’s dad had spent more time in jail than out, and his mom had more than she could handle with her brood. She hadn’t known or cared where Rico was most of the time. Chaz’s parents were solid, but economic reality forced a geographical separation and loneliness that Lance’s family had eased.

Rico shook out the foot of his bag. “Your pop’s doctor says he works too hard; he should slow down.”

Lance smiled. “Fa-get-about-it.” The day Pop slowed down they’d be holding his visitation.

“Momma’s worried about you, says you took Nonna’s stroke too hard. She don’t know what’s going on, but she’s not happy her mother-in-law sent you all over the world on some secret quest.” His mother had worried every day of his life, and she’d always been a little resentful of his relationship with Nonna. But Rico was expressing his own frustration as well. Lance hadn’t told him his business, and Rico wasn’t used to being shut out.

Lance swallowed. “And Nonna Antonia?”

Rico held his gaze, trying to break through the barrier between them.

“She sent a message.”

Lance straightened. “She’s talking?” That had to be a recent breakthrough. He’d called regularly, but no one had said she could manage more than a word or two.

Rico rocked his hand to mean so-so.

“What’s the message?”

“Jack’s son.”

Lance frowned. Someone she wanted him to contact? “Who’s Jack?”

Rico shrugged. “She tried to say more. Something about a quill, but I must’a got that wrong.”

“Quillan? Quillan Shepard? Or maybe Nonno Quillan?”

Rico sat back on his haunches. “It’s hard, man.”

Lance knew it. He could picture her twisted-up face, her mouth trying to form the words, tears trickling from her eyes.

“She got all worked up when she heard we were going to see you. She does better when she’s not upset. Especially now that she’s home.”

Lance brightened. With all the help she had at home, she’d rebound for sure. His family was a throwback, mostly due to their owning a four-story building. With rents off Arthur Avenue what they were, most of them were glad to make use of the property. And Nonna thrived on her family.

But all of that seemed far away. He’d started to think of the inn as home, started looking ahead, making plans. Rese needed him now, and it felt right to be there for her. It felt better than right a few minutes ago downstairs. She was trying so hard to deal with everything. He admired her fortitude, even if he suspected there was tenderness inside that would be equally compelling if she ever let it show. He wanted to be there to see it.

But somewhere, entwined in all of that was what he was supposed to do for Nonna. He needed a clear path, and all he was getting were conflicting possibilities. He pressed his fingers to his brow and prayed.

Lance had said to start with the New Testament unless she wanted to boggle her mind. He didn’t realize it was already boggled. But she took the book and settled down in her bed.

She opened at the ribbon and her eyes went to the bold
Chapter 5
on the second column. Lance had underlined parts of it.
“Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand.”