Eight
A sound came from an open window on the third floor and Nico was sure it was Valerie swearing.
He was already leaving later than he’d like, and despite her many promises and reassurances to the contrary, she was running behind.
He was surprised—she’d been so organized when they’d worked on Malcolm’s event. “Not yet.”
“How’s Valerie doing?”
She’d sent him a text when he arrived with a series of exclamation points and COMING COMING in all caps, but Nico couldn’t tell if this was a result of her normal enthusiasm or the tension she’d mentioned last night.
He decided to split it down the middle. “She didn’t say but I assume nervous.
” This was reasonable. He himself felt marked concern about the potential mess this situation could cause.
It had more loose ends than a string factory.
The horn from a passing car almost hid Roger’s sigh. “I know you think this is a bizarre idea that has no chance in hell of working.”
“I didn’t say that,” Nico protested.
“Christ, you don’t have to. I’d think the same thing, but I have a gut feeling about this.
” Since Nico generally distrusted feelings over facts, this didn’t give him confidence, but he stayed quiet.
The decision had been made, and he could stay in Toronto alone or he could hang out with a vibrant woman in Mariposa all summer while maintaining a small degree of control over the situation. Tough call.
He also wanted to help Roger. It was his job, after all.
“We can make it work,” Nico said. “Do you want me to take over contact with the investigator and keep you updated?”
“What would I do without you? Thanks. Work usually slows down during summer but you’re sure accompanying Valerie won’t be too much?”
“Not at all,” he said honestly.
Roger paused. “I know you’re upset I kept this from you. I’m sorry for that.”
Nico’s throat tightened uncomfortably that he could have been so obvious. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not that I didn’t trust you,” continued Roger. “It was too hard to talk about.”
“I get it.” Nico did too. It was easier to deal with things by not saying them out loud.
“I only told Valerie because she needed to know why I wanted her in Mariposa. I’m glad I could tell you at the same time.”
That consideration made Nico feel better but also ashamed for the brief resentment he’d shown Valerie. He hoped she hadn’t noticed. “I’m happy to help.”
“Thanks for working with her on her backstory,” said Roger, as if that hadn’t provided the highlight of Nico’s week, if not month. Possibly year, despite the mixed feelings. “Good job. I knew I could count on you to think through all the issues.”
There it was, the appreciation for Nico’s effort that always made him feel like he’d made the right choice to stay with Roger. “Thanks.”
“I’d better get back on the road. Are you going to hit the market on the way?”
“Yes, I’ve got your list.”
“Don’t forget to grab some peanut butter. It’ll be good with the traffic jam.”
Nico gave the obligatory groan. Roger’s jokes proved the limitation of both the nature and nurture arguments, because there was no way being born a Badgerton or being raised in that stultified atmosphere should have resulted in a man with such a corny sense of humor.
A tumult came from the doors and Nico didn’t have to look to know it was Valerie. She waved frantically, although they were the only people on the street and he was three meters away. “Hi, Nico!”
Her hair looked more purple than red in the sun, and she was wearing a full black skirt, tight at the waist and coming to her knees.
Her top was blue and tied around her neck to leave her shoulders bare.
She smiled at him like they were old friends and he knew, somehow, she would smell sweet, like cookies.
She was also surrounded by enough luggage to outfit a cruise ship.
“I could have helped you with the bags.” He was irrationally upset at the thought of her hauling them down by herself.
Her eyebrows rose slightly. “Because I’m such a delicate flower?”
Answering either yes or no seemed problematic, so he turned his attention to the suitcases and tried not to pant as he hauled them into the trunk next to his single bag.
Valerie was not a light traveler and he had a newfound respect for the strength in those bare arms. “What’s in here? The kitchen sink?”
“Original.” Valerie came close to point at her luggage. She didn’t smell of baking, but roses. He liked it. “Clothes for sunny days, cool nights, and rain, as per your extremely comprehensive list. Shoes. Swimsuits. My crochet. Needlepoint. Knitting.”
“How many crafts do you need for eight weeks?” He pulled down the trunk, jumped back when it ricocheted up, then shifted the bags around to make them fit.
“I like to rotate them so I don’t get bored.”
He opened the car door and she slid in. Nico lifted his eyes from where the hidden slit of her skirt spread to reveal her thigh as she kept talking. “They also give me a reason to sit quietly and listen to people.”
“Knitting as a reconnaissance tool.”
She shot him some finger guns. “Spycraft 101. I did an online course offered by MI6.”
“You did?” He couldn’t tell if she was kidding because all options seemed possible when it came to Valerie. Since they were now coworkers, instead of client and vendor, she’d relaxed and the parts of her energetic personality he’d only previously glimpsed were on full and glorious display.
“No, but I feel that’s advice they’d give. The crafts give me an excuse to fade into the background.”
He respected that kind of forward thinking, although he couldn’t picture a situation where Valerie could fade into anything.
Nico negotiated the parking lot that was Dupont Street as she fiddled with the radio and landed on something with an excessive BPM that sounded like Saturday night at the club.
She wedged her shoulder into the seat to face him and Nico kept his eyes ahead so he wouldn’t get distracted.
He could listen to Valerie or look at Valerie, but doing both was a lot.
“Tell me again who’s going to be there,” she said.
“I sent you the family tree.” Since it was his job to make sure this stupendously off-the-wall plan went as painlessly as possible, Nico had taken refuge in the comfort of overpreparing.
“That was limited to names and I want the editorialized version. Give me all the dirt and sparkle.” Out of his peripheral vision, he saw her sudden smile. “By the way, I loved how you made the photos into leaves on the tree.”
He’d spent an hour manipulating the faces to fit because he thought she’d get a kick out of it and was deeply satisfied to know he was right.
Valerie tapped him on the arm, for no other reason than she seemed to feel like it.
He’d noticed she was tactile, but her touches were spontaneous rather than calculated, as if she used physical connection as another method of communication.
Unlike the invasive and smothering embraces he’d endured from his family before he learned to sidestep and keep his distance, these felt more like an invitation than an intrusion.
“I know that Malcolm and Harriet had four kids: Penny, David, Peter, and Roger,” she said.
“Correct. Peter died five years ago, but his widow, Alice Morton, is good friends with Roger. She’ll be up this summer working from the cottage.”
“Peter was the second youngest.” Valerie had done her homework. “If you have an even number of kids, does that make him the second middle child? Do the two kids become upper and lower middle? Over and under?”
“Senior and junior.” Nico would never normally talk to anyone like this, but he enjoyed it with Valerie. It was a bit like flying and he felt triumphant when she laughed.
“Penny married John Willis and they have two kids,” said Valerie, like she was reciting a poem.
“John always stays in Toronto but Penny and their son, Brayden, will be at the cottage. You’ve talked to Penny.”
“I have.”
He was impressed at her neutral tone, given the criticism she’d endured from Penny Badgerton-Willis, but continued his lecture.
“Brayden is twenty-four, and his parents say he’s finding his passion, which has cycled through personal training, photography, and trying to start a pop-up nightclub.
Sloane is younger and a serious equestrian, like Olympic team level.
She’s in England so you won’t meet her. Penny herself goes to galas and events to represent the Bread Company on behalf of Roger. She also owns an art gallery.”
“Art gallery?”
“It represents geometric artists.”
Valerie looked nonplussed, then grinned. “Are they cubic or cubists?” She laughed at her own joke, and Nico knew she and Roger would get along.
“The gallery looks for artists who explore the geometry of space through color, but it also runs a lending program for the Badgerton art collection.”
“Unbelievable.” She paused. “That comment applies to having enough art to be called a collection and also lending it out to the plebs.”
“Penny feels strongly about the role of art in creating a civilized society. She says it’s her mission to bring thought-provoking art to Canadians to cultivate their minds and elevate their aesthetic taste.”
“How generous. So I can rent that portrait of Malcolm?”
“Do you want to?”
“Hypothetically.”
“Well, no. The collection goes to corporate clients, so bank lobbies and CEO offices.”
“Oh.” She didn’t sound too disappointed. “David is the oldest brother? What’s he like?”
“David enjoys being a misanthrope.” Nico was possibly biased as David was an obstacle to Nico’s improved workflow plans.
He disliked change and viewed any suggestion as a challenge to his authority.
“He works at the Bread Company as senior vice president for operations. He’s married to Jennifer and their daughter, Fernie, is twenty-six. She’s an influencer, or wants to be.”
“And Jennifer?”
“Jenn takes care of the house and does volunteer work. She used to work for the Bread Company in logistics. It’s where she met David.”
“She quit?”