Her Husband-To-Be. Leigh Michaels
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time what Deke Oliver really was. She might have gone straight ahead and fallen in love with the man she’d thought him—and in the long run, that would have hurt even worse.
Yes, she was lucky that things had turned out as they had. Pam seemed to think Deke haunted Danielle’s every waking moment—and in a sense she was right. He was always there, in the back corner of her mind, lurking. But not because she missed him. Not because she mourned for him. Not because she regretted their breakup.
It was because her judgment had been so badly off target. She’d been in real danger of tumbling headlong for Deke Oliver when Miss Fischer’s quirky legacy had brought the real man to the surface, and the shock had battered her even more than the loss of her friend.
Now she was afraid that it might happen again. If she’d been so wrong about one man, what was to keep her from misjudging another?
She didn’t hear the car in the driveway till it was almost under the porte cochere. The Jablonskis, back from whatever errand had taken them away? An unsuspecting guest, arriving on schedule? Since she didn’t relish getting involved in either scenario, Danielle stepped quickly around the corner of the house rather than be caught standing in the driveway. She caught just a flash of a dark green car as she made her escape; the driver might have had an equally brief glimpse of her but only if he or she was looking in precisely the right place.
Her hands in her pockets, Danielle continued her circuit of the house. She was halfway around now anyway, so she might as well check the other side on her way back to her car.
She strolled around the back porch, the most utilitarian feature of the house’s exterior, and started up the side, where French doors in the dining room looked out over a slate-paved patio where Miss Fischer had served mint tea on warm summer afternoons. But when she saw the patio, tucked into a sort of nook between the dining-room wall and the end of the front porch, Danielle stopped dead in her tracks.
Scattered over the dark gray paving stones were bits of broken plaster. Kate’s figurines, she thought as she stooped to pick up a fragment. It was the face of a shepherdess; Danielle remembered noticing that particular statue on one of the few visits she’d made to the Merry Widow after the Jablonskis had moved in.
She scuffed at the pieces with the toe of her shoe At first she’d thought the figurines had simply been heaved from the end of the porch onto the slate below, but none of the bits was larger than her hand and most had been reduced to little more than white dust—as if they’d been pounded to pieces by a hammer. And the moss that had lain undisturbed between the stones for decades was gouged in places as if the weapon that had shattered the figurines had slipped now and then. As if it had been wielded in fury and none too carefully.
And if Kate’s figurines had been smashed by a furious hand, Danielle thought numbly, what of Kate herself?
The sign on the front door had taken on a more sinister tone. “I don’t like the looks of this at all,” she muttered.
A deep, slow voice said from behind her, “It is rather a mess, isn’t it?”
Danielle jumped and spun around to face Deke, standing on the grass at the very edge of the patio. “What are you doing here?” she gasped. That was stupid, she told herself. Like you’ve got a right, and he doesn’t!
“Probably the same thing you are,” Deke said mildly. “Joe came by my apartment this morning to drop off a key, and—”
“Oh, it was nice of you to warn me before the gossips decided that Kate and Joe just walked out. If I’d known you were taking care of the place...” She paused. “Come to think of it, why are you taking care of the place? I didn’t realize you and the Jablonskis were pals.”
“We’re not. And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know it myself till half an hour ago. I was out with a client when Joe came by.”
“Of course,” Danielle said sweetly. “Dear Norah.”
“So he left the key with the shopkeeper downstairs, and I didn’t get the message till I came back after lunch. Joe said something about their marriage hitting the wall.”
“That explains it,” Danielle murmured. She bent and placed the shepherdess’s face gently on the slate.
“The Merry Widow claims another set of victims? I thought you didn’t believe in that nonsense.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “As a matter of fact, the gossips have it just about right. With a divorce pending, neither Joe nor Kate has any interest in the business. So they’re simply walking away from it.”
“Giving up?” Danielle was startled. “They’re sacrificing the work and the money they’ve put into it?”
Deke nodded. “And washing their hands of the whole deal.”
Danielle sighed. “Well, that’s a relief.”
“Oh, really? Then you can deal with the whole mess, since you’re so pleased.”
“I didn’t mean... I was only saying it’s a relief to know that I’m not going to find Kate in the basement with her head bludgeoned in. If he could do this to her figurines—”
“Who said he did?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Of course it’s not. It’s quite possible she did it herself. At least Joe had enough sense and self-control to let somebody know what was going on. Kate seems to have just vanished into the sunset. But why are we fussing over figurines when we have plenty of important things to argue about?”
“Like what? It’s not our prob...” She paused. “Oh.”
Deke nodded. “I see you haven’t quite forgotten the terms of the sale after all. Since we sold the Merry Widow to the Jablonskis with a private arrangement and financed it ourselves instead of making them get a mortgage from a bank—”
“You don’t need to rub it in. I remember perfectly well that the contract sale was my idea.”
Deke hesitated for a second as if he’d like to agree. Instead, he said coolly, “I wasn’t placing blame, only stating the facts.”
And my prissy Aunt Edna wears army boots, Danielle thought.
“It’s beside the point that if we had insisted on a mortgage instead of agreeing to the contract, we’d be free and clear right now and the bank would be deciding what to do with the Merry Widow. We didn’t, so here we are—stuck once more with the biggest white elephant in Elmwood.”
“It’s not a white elephant,” Danielle said automatically. “Just because it’s big and awkward and impractical and not in the best part of town these days doesn’t mean—”
“How else would you define ‘white elephant’, Danielle? But since you’re convinced of its value, I’ll tell you what—my share’s for sale, and I’ll give you a great price. But no more contract arrangements. It’s cash on the barrelhead this time.”
“You expect me to buy you out? Not likely. I don’t want this place any more than you do—and we all know what the probability is of you settling down and wanting a house near a school with room for a dozen kids.”
“I’m glad we’ve at least got that much straight this time around.”
Danielle gritted her teeth. She’d already said far too much. And slugging him wouldn’t do any good; she’d probably break her hand against that granite jaw.
Dammit, Miss Fischer, she thought, why did you have to go and create this mess? Why didn’t you take the easy way and just leave the place to the historical society?
She didn’t realize she’d actually spoken the thought until Deke answered. “Because they didn’t want it. Remember? We tried that route already.”
Danielle tried to will away the evidence of her embarrassment, but her cheeks stayed hot and her tongue felt fat and useless.
Deke