Eighteen
Wes took his time assembling lunch, setting up in the kitchen since the weather threatened rain. He liked cooking for people, even if his mother grumbled about his food. Unsure if Nadine was vegetarian, he hadn’t bothered with meat in the muffuletta, depending on the olive tapenade to provide a depth of flavor along with the vegetables and cheese he’d layered in the ciabatta bread. With a pasta salad and fruit, it would be enough to get them through the afternoon.
White dust speckled Nadine’s dark hair when she came in to wash up at the sink. “Wes, this looks incredible.” She sounded astonished he could cook, and he tried to take it as a compliment and not an insult.
She sat down, and he poured them water. “You have dust on your face.”
“Oh.” She pawed at the smear, making it worse, until he handed her a napkin.
Wes let her serve herself first, trying to keep his pleasure at her rapt expression close to his chest until she tried the food. This was usually when the complaints came, and if he knew Nadine, she wouldn’t miss a chance to rag on him. He was used to it from home. Not enough of one ingredient. Too much of another. He knew his mother hated mustard. Did he hate his mother? No? But he included mustard, so he must hate his mother, who sacrificed so much for him. This was why she had to do all the cooking. He was lucky he had a mother, not like her, orphaned at the age of twenty.
To his shock, Nadine simply ate. She didn’t sniff at the plate and push it away, claiming she was no longer hungry. She didn’t open the sandwich to check what was in it or poke through the salad to leave a small hill of things she didn’t like on the side. “This is the best thing I’ve had in ages,” she said.
“Thanks.” Uncomfortable with her praise, since that was not the dynamic their relationship was based on, but somehow needing more, he said, “I wasn’t sure if you ate meat, so I skipped it.”
Nadine gave him a startled look. “That’s thoughtful.” She paused. “I prefer not to, but I won’t make a fuss. My pohpoh makes a chicken dish I love, so I eat that. You?”
“I eat anything.” His stomach was iron after decades of his mother’s cooking. She was so bad her congee somehow contained bits of uncooked rice.
“Anything? The water left over from boiling hot dogs?”
“Anything,” he said with emphasis. “Hot dog water, coffee-flavored yogurt, the leftover Halloween candy you find the next summer that’s stuck to the wrapper. You name it.”
“I stand corrected if slightly grossed out.” Nadine took another bite of her sandwich. “God, this is amazing. Anyway, I went up to the attic to see if it was as bad as I remembered.”
That was where she’d gotten dusty. “Is it?”
“Worse.” Her face had a worried frown, and Wes had an appalling impulse to smooth out the creases lining her mouth that he immediately axed. They were colleagues, and ones who had barely started improving their relationship. “We need a game plan.”
“I thought you had one.”
“I did. The plan was to organize her stuff and find our answer.” She speared some of the peach he’d sliced. “We need a better one.”
Wes couldn’t answer because Nadine was licking the peach juice from the corner of her mouth. He wanted to slap himself. Although she was getting easier to deal with, he wasn’t sure how he felt about her. There was history between them, and endless mistrust. What was he doing?
You don’t have to like someone to find them attractive , sang out a little voice in his mind.
Even that was too much. They were on a tight deadline. There was no time for finding anyone attractive. He was here to sort files in a dusty attic on his vacation, like all the cool kids did.
No wonder he was single.
Nadine insisted on tidying up after lunch to make it fair, so Wes went up to the attic with Murasaki trailing behind him on soft paws. Walking through the secret door, he immediately agreed with Nadine’s assessment.
“We’re screwed,” he told the calico.
The cat didn’t care, which was rude but expected.
Wes strolled around the attic to get a feel for the enormity of the task ahead. The lights weren’t strong enough, so they’d need flashlights or lamps for darker days. At least it smelled dry and not damp or moldy. The windows overlooked the back of Dot’s estate, which included the conservatory, some gardens, and a path leading to what he assumed was her personal forest. That was for later exploration, when he was so fed up with looking at documents he couldn’t bear to touch another piece of paper.
His phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket. Ella.
“Hey, big brother,” she greeted him.
His heart lifted to hear her sounding happy. In the year before she left, Ella was so withdrawn that he and Amy had become almost frantic with worry. Ella was one of those sunshine people, born to laugh and sing. It was worth the money to get her out of the house so she could blossom away from their mother’s shadow, and her time at school had transformed her.
“Hi, little sister.” He ran a finger across the seat of a green leather club chair, then wiped the filth off. He’d walk and talk. “How’s Vancouver?”
“Great!”
He frowned. He knew that voice and realized this wasn’t Ella’s true happiness. She was hiding something. “Ella. Spill.”
“How do you always know?” she complained.
“It’s a gift. What’s going on?”
“I have some good news and bad news.”
“Always the good news first.” He tried to keep his voice light.
“An opportunity came up. A graduate year abroad in Italy to study fashion design,” she said. “I was accepted into a program.”
“A prestigious program?”
“It’s okay. Good enough.” Ella routinely minimized her abilities and achievements, so he knew this meant world-class.
Wes couldn’t contain his smile. “I’m proud of you.”
“The bad news is I only won a scholarship. It doesn’t cover the room and board.”
Of course. Wes looked outside at the conservatory, not for the first time thinking about how unfair life was. “How much do you need?”
She told him, and Wes did some quick calculations. It was more than he would have expected, but he had enough.
“I want you to accept the offer,” he said firmly. “We can afford it.”
Ella paused. “Wes.”
“What?”
She made a snuffling noise that sounded like she was trying not to cry. “I knew you would offer, and I’m going to take it, but I feel bad. No one did that for you.”
“None of that,” he said. “What would you do if I had an opportunity like this and you could help?”
“I would,” she said instantly.
“See?” He leaned against the window. “Life’s cyclical. One day when you’re a famous designer, you’ll give me a hand, or Amy.”
“Thank you, Wes.” The relief in her voice was enough for him to know he was doing the right thing.
“When do you have to give your acceptance?”
She gave a short laugh. “Tomorrow. I wanted to make sure I couldn’t get the money anywhere else from the school or the program. Apparently I got the highest scholarship they offer, and student aid said it was out of their scope.”
“That’s my girl. You’ll have the money tonight.”
Ella paused. “What about Ma?”
Wes knew what she meant. “I’ll take care of it, Ella. I love you.”
They disconnected, and Wes saw Nadine watching him with an unreadable expression. “Ella?” she asked in a flat voice.
He put away his phone. It was ridiculous to think Nadine was jealous, and she’d be horrified to know she was coming off that way.
“My youngest sister,” he said.
“Oh. Oh, well. It’s none of my business.”
“If I have sisters?”
She went red, as if he’d caught her out, and turned away to inspect the attic. “Anyway. We don’t have much time. There are a couple ways to approach this.”
He hid his smile. She was in her element. There was a good chance her ideas were the same as his, but he’d have to be a real ass to ruin her fun when she was looking around with such bright-eyed determination. “What’s your option A?”
“Scattershot. We jump in and look at things as they catch our interest.”
“Not my favorite,” Wes said with a diplomacy that surprised him. “Too easy to lose track.”
“I agree. Option two is we work from one direction and look over everything in our path.”
“Like we’re beating the bush to flush out snakes?”
Nadine looked concerned. “Why would you want to do that? The snakes are minding their own business.”
“Hypothetically.”
“Doesn’t matter. Leave the snakes alone.” She went to sit down on the same chair he’d checked for dirt, but Wes stopped her.
“It’s filthy,” he said. “The snakes are not our focus. Is that your last option?”
“Yes.” She examined the chair he’d warned her off. “We need to do some cleaning so we don’t need hazmat suits.”
“Agreed, and also it’s time for my idea. I call it the scan and pile.”
Nadine tilted her head. “You want to do a lightning assessment of everything, put all the promising stuff in a pile, and then go through it in more detail.”
“Yes.” He was only a little surprised at how accurate her interpretation was.
“Normally, I’d say that’s not the worst idea, but we don’t have enough time.”
Wes poked around a rack of clothes. She was probably right, and he wasn’t too obstinate to admit it. “You win. I vote for the beating of the snakes.”
She grimaced. “Please don’t call it that.” Nadine walked over to the windows, and he tried to ignore the way her hips caused her skirt to sway. “It’s stifling in here. Do these open?”
“They’re painted over.”
Nadine, stubborn as always, had to check for herself, struggling valiantly with the lock before admitting he was right.
“We’ll bring a fan so we don’t die of heatstroke,” said Wes. “It’s early. Want to start now?”
“Hell yes.” Nadine was already halfway across the room.
He watched her go. Of all the people to be stuck with on this job, being with Nadine had a load of downsides. But he’d never have to worry about her work ethic, and that was a bonus. Back in school, they’d worked well together. He hoped time hadn’t changed that.
***
If those first hours of searching were an indication of how the next three weeks were going to go, Wes was in for a rough time. His skin felt gritty, and his pants had fingerprints from where he’d unthinkingly wiped his hands on his thighs. Nadine groaned and stretched, and he looked over to see her shirt riding up to show a thin line of pale stomach that he did his best not to stare at.
“You have a handprint on your shirt,” Nadine informed him from her side of the room. Her dark hair was a mess of waves from the heat, and her face flushed so red it almost obscured her freckles. “Did you bring water?”
“Was that my job?” He felt defensive, as if she’d found him lacking.
She didn’t seem to notice the tone. “Nah, I didn’t either.”
Wes waited for the blame, but all she did was yawn and make her way to the entrance.
As they passed Octavia curled up on one of the chairs in the reading nook, she opened one golden eye and gave a half-hearted swipe at Wes’s leg, which he dodged with expert timing. In the kitchen, they took turns washing, then drank a good liter of water before they were in any mood for conversation. Wes pulled his shirt away from his skin. A pro bodybuilder prepping for a competition couldn’t have sweat more.
“I assume you didn’t find anything good?” asked Nadine as she poured her fourth glass. She’d slicked her hair back with water, making her look like she was at the beach. Or fresh from the shower.
Wes focused on the conversation. “Old grocery bills from 1995. It’s shocking how cheap everything was.”
She put down her glass. “I found some clothes. Nothing in the pockets, but it looks like she went through a real camouflage phase before she became a devotee of the caftan.”
“Like army camo?” He tried to picture Dot in fatigues and failed miserably. She had been more about the bedazzled life.
“No, like the clothes you wear when you want to blend in and not be noticed. Navy dresses and nude pumps and beige turtlenecks. Office stuff.”
“I can’t picture her in that. It must be from another woman.”
“The styles were from the 1980s.” She shrugged. “You could probably make a killing at a vintage store with them.”
“Brent can add that to his list of things to sell. It’ll add a few bucks to the millions he’s going to make from whatever is in the art warehouse.”
Nadine laughed, then rubbed her forehead. “There’s so much. What if we never get an answer?”
“We will.” He couldn’t let her get discouraged before they started, so he steeled himself for a pep talk. “You’re a…uh. Yeah. You’re a good reporter, Nadine.”
She smirked at him until he added, “Almost as good as me.”
She pretended to throw some water at him, then checked the fridge. “We need some groceries. Are you going to stay here tonight?”
He shook his head. “I’m coming back tomorrow. I can go to the store if you tell me what you like. How about you?”
“I have plans for tonight, so it would be great if you could pick up a few things.” Erma jumped on the counter to sit down in a loaf with her paws tucked under and regarded them with disdain. Nadine reached out, but the cat leaned away to look at Wes with her big eyes, and gave a little trill.
As he pet the cat—she was cute, he had to admit—Wes tried not to think about Nadine’s plans. He assumed if she had a partner, he’d have heard about it, but life had taught him assumptions were often wrong. It also felt weird to ask, as if he wanted to know for a reason other than curiosity.
Nadine smiled and his heart skipped. “I’ll be here at ten tomorrow morning,” she said.
“I’ll be here at nine.” Not knowing why, he held out his hand like they were sealing a deal.
“Eight it is.” She didn’t hesitate before taking his hand in hers, that little secret smile still on her face.