Chapter 5
Although the rain had stopped by the time Daniela left campus that evening, the humidity clung stubbornly to the air, as unwelcome as toilet tissue stuck to a pair of designer pumps.
As she drove through the tree-lined streets of the King William District, she fantasized about taking a long, relaxing shower and unwinding with a glass of pinot grigio and a good book—something that didn’t include lengthy discussions of torts and statutes of limitation.
After a day spent researching case briefs and how best to write one, she’d reached her statute of limitation.
Not for the first time, she questioned her sanity in agreeing to go undercover as a law student, of all things.
Around the corner from her house, she slowed to a stop sign and watched as an elderly couple meandered across the street with a gray-bearded miniature schnauzer in tow.
They smiled at her, and she waved at them and thought how refreshing it was to be on friendly terms with her neighbors.
Not like before, at the apartment building where her neighbors had blasted music at all hours of the day and regularly stole her parking space.
She’d patiently bided her time, saving up enough money to buy a house in the King William District, where she’d dreamed of living ever since attending an art show at the Blue Star Arts Complex as a little girl.
The historic town ran parallel to the San Antonio River, and featured grand old Victorian houses and quaint bungalows painted in sedate hues of surrey-beige, sèvres blue, hawthorn-green, frontier-days brown and Plymouth Rock-gray.
Many years ago, the city’s most famous literary personality had caused an uproar in the community by painting her house a shocking shade of periwinkle-purple.
Many of the town residents had protested her decision, claiming that the house’s contemporary color scheme was inappropriate for the historic district.
The controversy had drawn the attention of the local media, who printed a flurry of articles on the topic.
In the end, the author won the battle against her neighbors, and her purple house now drew almost as many tourists as the town’s other attractions, which included a charming array of tiny shops and restaurants, two museums and more bed-and-breakfasts than Daniela could count.
Twenty minutes after leaving Northbridge University, she pulled up in front of her house, a one-story beige bungalow shaded by large pecan trees and boasting a wraparound porch. The lawn was a tidy swath of green, the shrubs meticulously trimmed by her own hands.
But as Daniela steered her convertible into the driveway behind a black BMW, she was too distracted by the sight of the vehicle to pause and admire her landscaping skills, as she often did. Grabbing her purse and backpack, she hurried from the car and into the house.
She skidded to a halt at the entrance to the kitchen.
Seated at the breakfast table, shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows as he feasted on a plump piece of fried chicken, was Kenneth. The plate before him was piled high with candied yams, collard greens and macaroni and cheese.
At Daniela’s appearance, he glanced up and froze, midchew. His eyes flickered with guilt and then slid away at the murderous look on her face.
“The rolls are almost ready, baby,” their mother announced, oblivious to Daniela’s arrival as she leaned down to peer into the oven. “Do you want one or two?”
“As many as you can fit into a glass,” Daniela snarled, advancing on her brother like an enraged lioness. “Because when I get done with him, he’ll be sucking his food through a straw!”
Eyes wide with alarm, Kenneth lurched from his chair as Daniela charged him, teeth bared, fists raised and ready to do damage.
“Daniela!” With a speed that belied her sixty-one years, Pamela crossed the room and planted herself squarely in front of Kenneth just as his sister came within striking distance.
Wearing a mint-green chenille robe and matching bedroom slippers, Pamela stood at just five-two. Skin the color of mocha cream maintained an elasticity that defied gravity. Her short silver hair had been cropped into stylish layers that accentuated her fine-boned features.
She wagged a reproachful finger at her daughter. “Stop this! What has gotten into you?”
“Me?” Daniela cried in disbelief. “I’m not the one who has you slaving over a hot stove when you’re supposed to be in bed resting!”
“Hey, I didn’t ask Mom to cook for me!” Kenneth protested over his mother’s head.
“That’s right. He didn’t,” Pamela affirmed. “I wanted to cook. Beats lying around in bed all day feeling sorry for myself.”
“You have the flu, Mom,” Daniela pointed out in exasperation.
“Had the flu. Sister Jenkins came by this morning and prayed over me. I’m all better now. Prayer works. Isn’t that what I’ve always taught you and your brothers?”
“Mom—”
“Not another word about it, Daniela. Who’s the RN in this room, me or you? Now, why don’t you have a seat and let your brother finish his meal in peace? I’ll fix you a plate too, if you’d like.”
“I’m not hungry,” Daniela grumbled, reluctantly allowing herself to be ushered into a chair at the antique cedar table. Kenneth eyed her warily as he sat down and picked up his abandoned chicken breast.
Pamela gave her daughter’s shoulder a gentle, conciliatory squeeze before shuffling away to check on her rolls.
“Oh, good, they didn’t burn,” she murmured, removing the pan from the oven. The mouthwatering aroma of honey rolls saturated the air, mingling with the other yummy scents that had greeted Daniela upon entering the house. Her stomach growled loudly, drawing a knowing grin from Kenneth.
She skewered him with a look. “You could’ve at least tried to stop her from cooking,” she accused, her voice pitched low so their mother wouldn’t overhear and come to his rescue again. “But I guess your appetite takes precedence over her health.”
Kenneth frowned. “That’s not true, El. I left work early just to check up on Mom. I was worried about her.”
“Oh, yeah?” Daniela glared pointedly at the smorgasbord on his plate. “Sure have a funny way of showing it.”
With a shrug, he shoveled a forkful of collard greens into his mouth and chewed, blissfully unrepentant.
Daniela sucked in her breath to keep her traitorous stomach from rumbling again. Okay, so maybe she was a little hungry.
“How was school today, baby?” Pamela asked, materializing at her daughter’s side with a plate laden with food. Before Daniela could utter a word of protest, Pamela slid the plate under her nose and handed her a fork.
“Eat,” she ordered in a tone that brooked no argument—the same tone she’d once used to inform Daniela that under no circumstances could she wear a gown with a plunging neckline to her prom, no matter what her friends or Instagram baddies were wearing.
Daniela obediently dug into her meal.
“I was just telling your brother that I’m so proud of you for going back to school,” Pamela remarked, filling two glasses with sweet tea and serving the drinks to her children.
She pulled out a chair and sat down beside Daniela.
“I remember how unhappy you were at that CPA firm, the long hours you worked, the vacations you accrued but never took. No amount of money or company perks could compensate for how miserable you were at that job.”
Daniela frowned, fork halfway to her mouth. “I never told you I was miserable, Mom.”
Pamela gave her a quiet, intuitive smile. “You didn’t have to tell me anything, darling. A mother knows these things.” She pursed her lips, her hazel eyes narrowing thoughtfully on Daniela’s face. “Just as I can tell now that something’s weighing on your mind.”
Daniela thought of Caleb Thorne, and resisted the urge to squirm in her chair like a second grader caught cheating. Everyone at church, both young and old, believed Pamela Roarke had the gift of prophecy.
Sometimes Daniela wondered if they weren’t on to something.
She stalled for time by biting into a hot, moist roll and savoring the burst of honey in her mouth.
Across the table, Kenneth ate with gusto, but she knew that he, too, was awaiting her response.
She and her brothers had decided not to tell their mother about the undercover assignment because they knew she would never approve of the deceptive scheme.
“The only thing weighing on my mind,” Daniela finally said, “is all the reading I have to do between now and tomorrow morning. And that’s just for CivPro.”
Her mother’s brows furrowed. “CivPro?”
“Civil Procedure.”
Pamela smiled. “My baby, the law student. I must admit I was a little worried when you first told me you were enrolling in law school. I didn’t want to see you jumping into another stressful career.
But Kenny assured me that your law degree would come in handy for the agency, since you guys often work with the courts.
” She gently patted Kenneth’s arm. “It was awfully sweet of you to give your sister this opportunity, and to allow the business to cover her tuition. Thank you, baby.”
“No thanks necessary, Mom,” Kenneth said gallantly. “Daniela walked away from a lucrative career to help me and Noah establish the agency. She’s been invaluable to us and our clients. As far as I’m concerned, sending her to law school is the least we can do.”
Pamela beamed proudly at her son. Daniela did a mental eye roll.
“And to think you wanted to hurt your brother when you walked through that door,” Pamela lightly scolded her daughter. “Shame on you.”
Daniela scowled. “He had it coming.”
“Nonsense. There’s nothing wrong with me wanting to have a hot meal ready for you after a long day of classes. Did you get much studying done at the library?”
“Sure,” Daniela mumbled vaguely. Another image of Caleb’s sexy face intruded on her thoughts, bringing warmth to her cheeks.
Do I make you nervous, Miss Moreau?
I think you’re fully aware of the effect you have on people, Professor Thorne.