Not a Moment Too Soon. Linda O. Johnston
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Solutions. He was not quite as tall as Hunter and barrel-chested, and had a brown mustache darker than the longish hair on his head. He wore a tweed sport jacket over a brown mock turtleneck. As he bowed his head in greeting, Shauna had the incongruous impression of old-world courtliness. If they’d been closer, she’d not have been surprised if he’d kissed her hand.
Arthur Banner, on the other hand, was tall, thin, reserved, and seemed to memorize everything about Shauna in a single, prolonged look with small but omniscient gray eyes. Hunter had told her about the police detective, whose nickname “Banger” was a joke, for he was trustworthy, an all-cop cop.
Margo had slipped past Hunter and now stood between the other two people in the room. “My friends BillieAnn Callahan and John Keenan Aitken,” she said, finishing the introductions. Not that Margo had said, but Shauna figured that BillieAnn and John were fellow actors. Though both were dressed casually, their self-possession suggested they awaited their next cue. BillieAnn was taller than Margo, but still resembled a pixie, with her short, wispy cap of dark brown hair around ears that protruded a little too much, pouty lips painted deep red with shiny gloss, and short, clingy blouse with flowing sleeves.
Aitken put a protective arm around Margo. He was of moderate height, slim, a Cary Grant type with an air of savoir faire punctuated by his raised chin and cool smile. The impression was destroyed, though, by his clothes: blue jeans and a muscle shirt adorned with the logo of a Hollywood theater.
“Can I get everyone something to drink?” Margo asked, as if this was a social gathering.
“I’ll get it,” BillieAnn said. But no one took them up on the offer, though Shauna was tempted. Her mouth felt dry.
Hunter sat down at the edge of one of two matched antique-looking sofas that faced one another, both with beige damask upholstery and carved backs and legs. He was brawny enough to look as out of place as the proverbial bull in a china shop. But maybe he liked this kind of furniture now.
Shauna noticed how he’d made himself right at home. And why not? Even though he was no longer married to Margo, he undoubtedly spent time here with their daughter.
Shauna ignored the hurt that constricted her throat. She was long past that particular pain.
As Shauna joined him, Margo’s friends resumed their seats on the sofa matching the one where Hunter and Shauna sat, and Margo slid between them. Simon and Banger sat once more on the high-back chairs they had vacated at the same end of the coffee table.
Vases, figurines and other knickknacks graced the table and glass shelves at the room’s corners. They looked old, too, and valuable.
A five-year-old child had played here? The place didn’t look childproof to Shauna, who made sure there were no sharp corners or anything she valued too much to get broken around Fantasy Fare, particularly in the small room where she told stories three nights a week. Just a lot of plants.
Margo rose again, as if too full of energy to stay seated. She walked to the side of the sofa where Hunter sat. And why not? She had every right to share his pain and partake in mutual comfort.
Instead, shaking her head, she moaned, “What are you trying to do, Hunter?”
She swayed, and BillieAnn and John immediately took their places again at her sides. She tossed them thankful smiles. “I promised to stay calm, so I will. But I told Hunter the kidnapper said we weren’t to tell anyone. And did he listen? No, he sent his assistant.” Pursing her lips, she blinked at Simon. “He called the police, which is even more against the rules.” Banger received her next fearful glower. “I couldn’t take any more, so I called BillieAnn and John. I know I can trust them, at least.” Her demeanor changing from anxious to angry, she took a step toward Hunter. “And then you bring this woman here.” Her glare at Shauna oozed malice. “Your old girlfriend. You told me about her before, and I recognized her name. Do you think this is a joke? Do you want Andee killed?”
Fighting the urge to wince, Shauna shifted her gaze to Hunter, to see his response to the verbal assault.
Cold fury gleamed in his green eyes. He stood and walked behind the sofa, glaring not at Margo but across the room, between Simon’s and Banger’s shoulders. When he spoke his voice was ominously quiet—a tone Shauna remembered well, from the end of their relationship. Then, when it was directed at her, it had churned her stomach, drawn tears into her eyes.
“I was out of town when you called, Margo. You know that. I didn’t want to wait to get a search for Andee started. That’s why I asked Simon to talk to you. He did the right thing by requesting police assistance. He called Arthur because we’ve worked with him before and know he’s a good guy.”
“But why her?” Margo cried. “She’s not a cop or an investigator. You told me she ran a restaurant. How will that help us find Andee?”
Shauna wasn’t about to explain her involvement. In fact, Hunter and she had discussed whether to tell anyone about her story. Their decision: no one but Simon. Hunter had insisted on telling him, since Simon was his closest friend, all-around assistant and near-partner in Strahm Solutions. He wouldn’t have to believe what he was told, but it would explain why Hunter had already asked him to start investigating stuff that otherwise would look off base.
And Margo? No way would Shauna want Hunter’s former wife to think of his long-ago lover as weird, an unnatural creature. Even if the thing she did that sounded weird was true.
Before Hunter attempted a reply to Margo, Shauna stood. “I understand how hard this must be for you, Ms. Masters. Hunter asked me to come here expressly to help you. I do own a restaurant. But I’m also a licensed psychologist and my specialty is working with people in crisis situations.” She felt the sting of Hunter’s glare but ignored it. Who knew? Maybe she could be of help that way. “I’m here for you to talk to, and if you’d like I can offer advice on coping with the stress.”
Ignoring Shauna, Margo moved from the circle of her friends. At Hunter’s side, she threw her head back and looked up into his face. “You brought your old girlfriend here to give me advice? That’s sick, Hunter. Get her out of here. Now.”
“I would welcome your advice anytime, Shauna,” said Simon in a British accent as upper-crust as his rigid posture as he stood and joined her. Shauna smiled gratefully at his teasing expression. Had Hunter told him about her story yet?
“Okay,” she said, in a tone that suggested she was bantering back, “I’d advise you to come outside with me while Hunter and Margo—”
“Bad idea.” Banger rose and strode toward Margo. “You don’t have to talk to Shauna or anyone about how you feel. But you’ve delayed enough. Now, we are going to talk. You insisted on waiting till Hunter got here before answering my questions.”
“I talked to Simon before,” Margo protested, “but—”
Banger continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “It’s time you cooperated with the police. So, we’ll sit down, Shauna included, and chat. Not your friends, though. They can come back later if you need company.”
“If she stays,” Margo hissed, “my friends can, too.”
Wondering why Banger, who didn’t know her background, wasn’t kicking her out, too, Shauna opened her mouth to say that was fine, she’d go—but Hunter gave a quick shake of his head. She didn’t want to argue with him.
She didn’t want to argue with anyone.
Least of all Margo Masters, whose emotions seemed to mutate moment by moment, from sad to accusatory, to who knew what?
Give her a break. The woman’s child was missing.
Hers and Hunter’s.
Once, Shauna had thought she would have Hunter’s child someday….
Dragging defeatedly, Margo retreated to the sofa and sat. BillieAnn joined her, and John took his place behind them both, one hand on Margo’s shoulder.
Margo aimed a baleful glance