Easy Loving Page 6

  “Do I have to go to New York? Or Los Angeles?”

  “Actually…Halladay is coming to you. He wants to see you in your natural environment, so to speak.” Margaret paused, dramatically. “He wants to do a segment for his show. Your studio, where you live, blah-de-blah.”

  “No.” Catherine shook her head vehemently.

  “You don’t have a choice, sweetie. Publicity is part of the deal, and since Doc Halladay is the star, he calls the shots.” Another dramatic pause. “If you don’t do this, the deal is off.”

  Catherine gazed haplessly at her studio. Filled with secondhand furniture and found treasures, it seemed amateurish and messy, more like a child’s playroom than the workplace of a serious artist. A real artist had handcrafted beechwood worktables, custom lighting, overhead projectors and chaise longues. Catherine kept brushes in old coffee cups and used pushpins to hang photographs on the walls. As soon as Doc Halladay saw her home, he’d know Catherine was a fraud.

  ‘‘Doc Halladay is rich. He probably has servants. I don’t even have good china. How can I let him in my house?”

  “You don’t have to impress the man with furs and feather boas. You’ve already impressed the hell out of him with your work. Trust me, he’s not going to do anything to make you look bad. It’ll be fun, sweetie. He’s a good sport and his people are total professionals.”

  Fun…Compared to displaying herself in public, breaking her fingers with a hammer would be fun. “Does this mean I have to do a book tour, too?”

  “Mmm. In a word, yes.”

  Catherine groaned again. “This is getting totally out of hand. I don’t know if I can do this. I’m so stupid around strangers. My hands sweat and my face breaks out. I stutter!”

  “Relax. Think about the money. Tons and tons of money. Think about awards and prestige and how this will establish you as the artist of the decade. This could be your life’s work.”

  Catherine pressed a hand flat between her breasts. “My heart is pounding already. I feel sick. You don’t know how terrified I am of public speaking. I can’t do it, Margaret.”

  “Yes, you can and you will. Even the best actors get stage fright. Tell you what, I’ll come out to Colorado. I’ll hold your hand. We’ll find you a hypnotist or some drugs. Whatever it takes.”

  “There’s no way to get out of it?”

  “I’m afraid not. You’ll do fine. I’ll make sure you do fine. Just keep thinking about the money.”

  Feeling as if she’d been handed down a sentence of execution, Catherine closed her eyes and rubbed her aching temples. “We’ll figure out something,” she said weakly.

  “That’s my girl!”

  “When does Doc Halladay want to meet me?”

  “Nothing firm yet. I got the impression it’ll be sometime next month. Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to prepare. You’ll be all right with this, sweetie, trust me. Who knows, you might find out you’re a ham at heart and you love it.”

  “That’ll take more than hypnotism, it’ll take a miracle.” She wondered if it were possible to hire a stand-in to impersonate her.

  After she hung up the telephone, she realized she hadn’t told Margaret about her engagement to Jeffrey. Nor had she mentioned Easy Martel—

  She gasped and caught the base of her throat with both hands. Easy! She envisioned him embroiling her in a court case over parental rights. Tying her up with lawyers and depositions. The story would show up in the newspapers. Or in the tabloids! Doc Halladay’s sole purpose in life was teaching children. He didn’t preach religion, but he did set a good example of respect, clean living and character. He wouldn’t like his book illustrator publicly unmasked as a liar who denied a man his parental rights.

  Oscar nudged her knee with his nose. He eyed her with an expression of concern. She ruffled his silky ears.

  “What do I do? I can’t ruin Elizabeth’s life just to keep Easy off my back.”

  She wanted advice, someone to talk to. Her parents might be interested in her news about getting married and her major book contract, but they always refused to listen to anything about the baby she’d given up. She wished desperately that her grandmother were still alive. She’d been able to tell Grandma everything and anything.

  That left only Jeffrey.

  She cupped Oscar’s muzzle in her hand. “What’s your gut feeling, old boy? Will Jeffrey have a fit if he finds out about Easy?”

  Oscar’s skinny tail whipped against a table leg with a loud whup-whup-whup.

  “Dogs have it so easy. No moral dilemmas. Just eat, sleep and chase bunnies.” She turned her attention to the answering machine.

  The message was from Jeffrey. He told her he had a big deal about to fall apart and he had to meet with his clients and the finance officer. He said the negotiations would probably run late, so he could not see her this evening. He promised to make reservations at a fine restaurant for a proper engagement celebration. “I love you!” he announced cheerfully before he rang off.

  “Love you, too,” she muttered. He’d been so accepting about her revelation. She asked too much for her fiancé to be so accepting about an old love shaking up her life.

  Grandma had told her often: “You can’t hide from life, honey. Life always finds you.” Grandma knew Catherine’s first response to most crises was to bury her head in the sand and hope the problem went away.

  Easy wasn’t going away.

  Knowing she’d have to deal with him, and sooner was better than later, she returned to the kitchen. She retrieved the envelope from the trash. Feeling like Bluebeard’s wife, she opened the envelope and spilled its contents onto the countertop.

  TELEVISION AND MOVIES portrayed private eyes living fast-paced, adventure-filled existences, with an endless parade of sexy dames, car chases and gun battles. In reality, Easy didn’t own a gun and didn’t want to; he spent the majority of his time either on the computer researching databases or waiting. Waiting for subjects to do something interesting; waiting for bureaucrats to decide if he had a right to public information; waiting for clients to pay their bills.

  At the moment he waited for Catherine. In the shade under a stand of ancient cottonwood trees, he sat in his car, watching the entrance to her driveway. He toyed with a pair of handcuffs, his only memento from his stint as a military cop. He hadn’t particularly liked the military—too many jokers telling him what to do—but he’d loved law enforcement. Despite the constant scramble for jobs and uncertain paychecks, he loved investigative work, too. He supposed if he had to support a wife and kid, he could always join the sheriff’s department. Or go to work for the district attorney’s office. For the sake of a family, he’d tolerate a boss.

  Uneasy with the direction of his thoughts, he tossed the handcuffs in the glove box.

  What are you doing, Tink? he thought Isn’t it clear enough for you?

  He’d taken a monumental risk in giving her that envelope. She could go to Livman, blowing Easy’s cover and John’s chances for justice.

  Engaged! He slammed the heel of his hand against the steering wheel. She’d known Livman only a few months. How could she agree to marry him?

  He vowed that no matter what, even if he had to kidnap her, she wasn’t marrying Livman. No way, no how, no time. He pictured himself doing an Errol Flynn number, swinging by a rope into a church and crashing the wedding. Now that would be exciting.

  His telephone rang, a birdlike trill. Hoping to hear Catherine’s musical voice, he flipped open the small unit. A woman with a raspy, rushed voice identified herself as a billing clerk for an insurance company. She needed information about an invoice Easy had submitted for services. About time, he thought. He’d done the job weeks ago.

  Movement caught his eye. The nose of Catherine’s Blazer appeared in the driveway. He interrupted the clerk. “I’ll have to call you back.” He snapped the telephone closed and reached for the ignition key. Catherine turned right, away from him. He waited a few seconds before pulling out of the sha
dows.

  Tailing Catherine on a rural road with light traffic was no simple task. So he lagged behind, relying on instinct. Where the road ended at the highway, the Blazer had disappeared. Easy guessed she headed toward town. He drove south. Past the hills, he spotted her white Blazer about a mile ahead.

  “Don’t go to Livman,” he whispered through clenched teeth. “Use your brains, Tinker Bell. I know you have smarts to spare.”

  She surprised him by turning left on Research Parkway. He goosed the accelerator to catch up to her, but remained in the left lane to take advantage of her blind spot. She turned right on Lexington. Cursing the traffic, knowing fancy maneuvers would alert Catherine to the tail, he drove to the next opening in the median and made an illegal U-turn. He swung onto Lexington and resisted the urge to speed. Because of a school, cops liked to nab speeders on this road. He reached Union, dismayed to have lost sight of the Blazer.

  From the corner of his eye, he spotted a white Blazer headed west on Union. Praying it was Catherine—and not one of the zillion other sport-utility vehicles in this mountain town—he thanked his lucky stars no other cars were close by as he swung into a wide right turn.

  Her mysterious journey drove him wild with curiosity. She couldn’t be going to Livman’s office. She might be meeting him for lunch, but he couldn’t think of any restaurant Livman would frequent in this part of town. The man preferred white-linen table service or yuppie chain joints with trendy menus.

  He caught up to her at a traffic signal. Three cars behind her, he hunched down low on the seat on the off chance she glimpsed him in her rearview mirror. When she turned toward the library, he felt a moment of triumph.

  He parked on the street leading to the library parking lot. His position gave him a view of the main entrance. She could have noticed him tailing her and had pulled into the lot to shake him. He waited to make sure she went inside. Even from a distance he recognized her bouncing blond hair and determined stride. She wore a pale blue sweater and a gauzy skirt that swung nearly to her ankles. He admired her pretty clothes.

  He settled his dark glasses more firmly on his face and pulled on a baseball cap and a light jacket. Not much of a disguise, but it helped him blend. He wandered to the library entrance. He dug through the jacket pockets and found an ancient invoice. It was big enough to look like something, so he pretended to read. Head down, he looked for her Blazer and finally spotted it parked along the north edge of the lot. He hung out until he felt certain she wasn’t coming out by another exit to give him the slip.

  He found her in the microfiche reading room. The envelope he’d given her lay on the table beside her. Newspaper clippings littered the table. From the doorway, he watched her scroll through files. She snatched up a clipping and appeared to compare it to whatever she saw illuminated on the screen.

  He slipped silently into the room to stand behind her. Over her shoulder he saw she’d pulled up a newspaper article about Roberta Livman’s death.

  “Now do you believe me?” he asked.

  Her entire body stiffened. She met the reflection of his face on the reading screen.

  “I could never make up something like this.” He snagged a nearby chair. He straddled it and folded his forearms over the backrest.

  “This isn’t my Jeffrey. You’re mistaken.” She kept her eyes on the screen. Her profile appeared carved from fine marble. “He’s never been married.”

  If her voice held a trace of conviction, he would have despaired. Weary resignation, however, gave him hope.

  “You have a copy of the marriage license and her death certificate. Look at the date on her obituary. It’s more than a month after she died. Her brother had to put in the obit because Livman couldn’t bother. He didn’t even bother telling her brother she had died. He had to read about it in the newspaper. You don’t know about Roberta, do you?”

  She turned her head slowly to face him. Her mouth set in a tense, unhappy line. Sorrow marked her eyes. “Why are you doing this to me, Easy?”

  “I’m not doing it to you, it’s for you.” He wanted to touch her so badly he had to clench his fists to control himself. “I don’t normally do this kind of stuff. I investigate insurance cheats. I find missing persons or dig around for hidden assets in divorce cases. But John is a friend of my sister’s, and you’re…a friend of mine.”

  She picked up the copy of Roberta’s death certificate. “It says here she died accidentally. Even if Jeffrey was married to her, it doesn’t mean he murdered her.”

  “She died six months ago.” He carefully touched her finger where that big blue rock glittered, looking far too large and gaudy for her delicately boned hand. “Now you’re engaged. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

  She jerked her hand away from his. Her chin jutted stubbornly.

  “I don’t know any authorities who are willing to say I have a case. I don’t have hard evidence. If I did, I’d show it to you.”

  “Then why are you doing this?”

  “Did Livman tell you about his wife?”

  She closed her eyes. “No.”

  “They were only married a year. Maybe it slipped his mind.”

  She shot him a hard glance. “I know Jeffrey. He is not a killer. He loves me.”

  He could almost feel her walls going up. Believing him meant believing the absolute worst about the man she loved. “Let me buy you lunch. Give me an hour to fill you in.”

  “Give me one good reason why I should? You appear out of nowhere. You make horrible accusations against the man I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. Why? What’s in it for you?”

  Good question. He stared at his hands, doubting if she’d appreciate knowing he’d begun dreaming about her every night. Every song on the radio reminded him of her. Every time he saw a blond woman, his heart lurched. He wanted the chance to kiss her again and hold her in his arms and make love to her to see if she still purred deep in her throat when she was happy. He wanted them to hold hands and make dumb jokes and play footsie underneath tables. None of the women he’d dated in the past twelve years had held his interest for more than a few weeks. He knew now that in the back of his mind—and his heart—he’d been waiting for Catherine. He wanted a second chance with her.

  “This isn’t a whim,” he said. “When John first told me about his sister, I didn’t see where he had a case either. He had no evidence. And he hates Livman. But he convinced me that he wants justice, not revenge. I can’t force you to help me. I can only—”

  “Help?” She straightened on the chair. “What do you mean, help you?”

  “You’re close to him. Maybe he’ll talk to you. If I can get a confession, it’ll mean opening up an official case.”

  She blinked slowly and touched her lower lip with the tip of a finger. A frown lowered her eyebrows. “You want me to spy on my fiancé?”

  “I’m not asking you to do anything except listen to me. One hour, okay?” He stood and extended a hand. “I know where we can get the best burgers in town. My treat.”

  “I don’t eat meat.” She stared past his proffered hand as if it were invisible.

  “A salad then. Or pancakes. Or coffee. Please, Tink, I really need you to listen to me.”

  She turned off the viewer and placed the microfiche sheets back in their envelope. She gathered the papers he’d given her. Her silence wore on Easy’s nerves. Repressing the urge to crack jokes or otherwise fill the void made his belly ache. Even as a teenager he’d never fooled himself into thinking he could tell what she was thinking. She’d been a delightful mystery, a puzzle to patiently work his way through. She’d been honest, though, and as straightforward as a shy girl could stand to be.

  “All right,” she finally said. “An hour. But you have to promise me something first.”

  He pulled her chair out for her. “Sure, anything.”

  “Promise me this doesn’t have anything to do with Elizabeth. You won’t pump me for information. You won’t try to find her.”

&
nbsp; Quick pain caught him unawares. Their lost child was another matter altogether, one he hadn’t fully processed beyond raw emotion. In the past few days, the prospect of finding Elizabeth had nagged like a low-level white noise in the back of his mind. It wouldn’t be too hard. He knew where Catherine had lived in Arizona. He could reason out which hospital Elizabeth had been born in, and figure out the date of her birth. From there he could probably trace” the adoption as he’d traced dozens of others.

  She backed a step. “Please, Easy, don’t do this to me. Don’t do it to her. If you care anything about her at all—”

  He displayed his palms in appeasement. “I promise! This isn’t about her or the past or even about us. I swear, Tink, on a stack of Bibles, I swear.”

  She backed another step and clutched the envelope over her bosom. “I don’t know if I can believe you.”

  “I never lied to you. I’m not lying now.”

  For a long time she stared into his eyes, seeming to seek the depths of his soul. “If you say one word about her, I’ll get a restraining order and have you arrested if you ever try to contact me again.”

  Chapter Five

  Catherine sat uneasily in the booth inside the coffee shop. Easy removed his baseball cap. A funny yearning came over her to finger comb his thick strands of hair into place. She pulled her attention away from his hair and looked around at the cheerful decor. She rarely frequented coffee shops or pancake houses these days, though once upon a time she and Easy had spent a lot of time in places like these. They had done their homework, talked, drank copious amounts of coffee and iced tea, and she watched him eat. In high school, she’d been self-conscious about her plump figure, so she never ate in public. Instead, she’d vicariously enjoyed his meals, amused and amazed by the sheer quantities of food he could scarf down.

  “Horse-boy,” she said softly.

  He arched his eyebrows, startling her with the realization that she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. Abashed at being caught reminiscing, she covered her grin with a hand.