Tell tale tit,
Your tongue shall be slit,
And all the dogs in our town
Shall have a bit.
— Nursery Rhyme
“You’re sweating, honey,” Maisie said, watching from her perch on the side of the bed, her legs crossed at the knee, blowing on her still-wet nails. “Not a pretty picture, I have to tell you.”
“So leave,” Annie said from her position, flat on her back on the floor, the floor she’d be staying on until her heart rate dropped from its breakneck pace. She’d run in place for ten minutes, then dropped to the floor for fifty pushups. Girl pushups, granted, with her knees on the carpet, but fifty just the same. Anything to try to burn off some of her frustration at not being allowed to take a morning run on a lovely Saturday, orders of Grady Sullivan. She was hot, sweaty, and still mad as hell.
“Can’t, honey,” Maisie chirped. “I’m your bodyguard while Grady’s out golfing with the lawyer, remember? Besides—wow, how about that!—this is my room.”
Annie pushed herself onto her side, propped up her head with her bent arm. “My bodyguard, sure. Just as long as defending me doesn’t include maybe breaking a nail.”
“Granted, there is that.” Maisie, one hand still held out in front of her, looked down at Annie. “Are you going to be lying there long, honey? Because, well, I think you could do with a shower, if you know what I mean. Now go on, mush, mush, and then we can go downstairs and mingle before dinner. I’m not the sort that can stay cooped up too long. I get testy.”
“As compared to your usual unfailing kindness and politeness,” Annie grumbled, remembering how Maisie had told her this morning that she either had to take her shopping bags out of the secretary’s room or hang up the clothing before she opened a window and tossed everything out. Maisie, it would seem, did not like clutter. Which pretty much explained why Annie was still dragging her feet about taking her purchases to her own room.
“Exactly,” Maisie said, smiling. “Isn’t it nice how we understand each other, honey? Oh, and I think you really should reconsider that blue dress I saw in your bags. Uh-uh, honey, not your color at all.”
“You looked through my shopping bags?” Annie pushed herself to her feet, wondering when she’d given up any shred of privacy she might once have had. “Who said you could do that?”
“My room, honey,” Maisie said, standing up, smoothing down her bright yellow skirt with the red rickrack around the hem. “Also, I’d hoped there might be something in them that I might want to borrow.” She rolled her big, round eyes. “Color me optimistic!”
Annie gritted her teeth and opened the closet door, to pull out the blue dress she’d thought hidden inside the plastic garment bag it had come home in. Over the sound of Maisie’s theatrical groan, she then gathered underwear from one of the shopping bags piled on the floor and headed for the bathroom.
Fifteen minutes later, her hair still damp, Annie was stripping off the grey-blue dress that had turned her complexion to dirty putty, slipping instead into a denim skirt and soft lime green cotton sweater.
“Not a word,” she warned Maisie as she came out of the bathroom a second time, then sighed, shook her head. “Oh, all right. I give up. I didn’t try it on in the store because I only had an hour to shop. How did you know it would look like that?”
Maisie preened like a satisfied cat. “What can I say? It’s a gift. Some of us just know, honey. Others of us— you, for instance—don’t.”
Annie reminded herself that she was getting out of Maisie’s room today, so instead of choking the woman, she just put down her comb, pushed at her curls, which were still being obedient thanks to her very good haircut. “I’m breaking out of here, Maisie,” she said, realizing she’d been locked in this room with the secretary for the past five hours, ever since lunch. “You coming with me or not? And, please, don’t think of this as an invitation.”
“We have to go to your room if we’re going anywhere, and you can take the bags with you, and don’t forget the stuff in the closet. You can carry it all, can’t you? My nails are still wet, not that I would have offered. Oh, and don’t look so mad, it isn’t my fault. I know I said I wanted to go downstairs and mingle, honey, but we can’t, not really. Strict orders from Grady. But I have an idea. We can just stay here and look you up on the Internet while we’re waiting for the boss man to get back.”
Annie already had her hands full of bags, but she let them drop as she turned to look at Maisie. “Look me up on the Internet? Why?”
“Because Grady told me to do it, that’s why. I just did Yahoo! so far, and got forty-eight hits with different varieties of Annie Kendall. None of them in Pennsylvania, either, not that you told us where you’re from, now, did you, honey? After working on Charles Dickens for hours and hours, I thought maybe you’d take pity on me and help me out here. Are you going to help me out here, Annie?”
Annie saw something flash in Maisie’s eyes, a definite glint that hadn’t been there before, and had a sudden epiphany. Maisie made a lousy roommate, hogging the covers and sleeping almost sideways, leaving Annie only about two inches of mattress. She was brassy, she was sarcastic, and she was a neat freak. She played at being outrageous, maybe even was a little outrageous, but—and this is what Annie decided now—she wasn’t anybody’s dummy. Grady wouldn’t hire a dummy.
Maisie was trying to coax her into helping her, and doing it very smoothly, too.
“Grady ordered you to check up on me?” she asked warily as Maisie hopped down from the high bed. The desk near the window was set up with laptop computer, printer, and a stack of files Annie would give her eyeteeth to read.
She’d seen the stack before, but the idea of a file containing information about her sitting on that desk had effectively narrowed her interest.
“Which one is mine?” she asked, heading toward the desk.
“Uh-uh,” Maisie said, plucking a manila folder from Annie’s hands before she could read more than “Archie Peevers” on a white label stuck to it. “Not unless you play nice.”
“Play nice,” Annie repeated, her thoughts about Maisie now confirmed. She’d play along, but only for so long. “Oh, okay, I get it. I show you mine, and you show me yours.”
“Honey, I wouldn’t show you mine if you begged. I’m not into that stuff,” Maisie said, pulling out the antique side chair and sitting down, flipping open the laptop.
“You know what I meant,” Annie grumbled, looking around until she spied a small bench in front of the dressing table. She tugged it across the floor and sat down on it, plopping her elbows on the desktop. The bench was a good four inches shorter than Maisie’s chair, and definitely not built to be used with a desk, which left Annie feeling like the naughty second grader forced to sit in the little chair next to the teacher until she could behave and go back to her own seat.
“I know what I meant, honey,” Maisie said as the laptop hummed and the Yahoo! web site appeared on the screen. “Now watch.”
She went to the “people search” section on the server and typed in “Annie and Kendall.” Moments later, much to Annie’s shock, up came a listing of forty-eight names. Ann Kendalls. Annie Kendalls. Annie as a middle name, bracketed by the person’s first name and “Kendall.”
“Those are addresses beside each name!” Annie said, her eyes wide. “And telephone numbers! I don’t believe it. And what’s that—over on the end?”
“That’s where I can refine the search, learn more about any of these people. But this is just amateur night, honey, just my first stop on the way to learning what you ate for breakfast last month and who you kissed in your first game of spin the bottle. My first was Lenny Bertlemann. I looked him up once, and he’s doing time for car theft. But, honey, could he kiss!”
Annie dropped her head in her hands. She’d never gotten further on the Internet than the shop-at-home pages. Yes, she’d heard about the Internet’s powers, the world’s loss of privacy thanks to everyone’s mad need for information, but she hadn’t connected it to herself, until now. “I think I’m getting a migraine. And I don’t get migraines.”
“Yeah, yeah, honey,” Maisie said, tapping her on the head, bringing her attention back to the screen. “So, which one are you? Come on, honey, I’ve baby-sat you all day, and you haven’t exactly been a barrel of chuckles. You owe me.”
Annie was tempted. She’d thought coming here would be informative, and maybe even a bit of a lark. That’s how Poppy had played it, anyway. But she wasn’t having fun, and so far her visit had been anything but informative. Someone had tried to kill Archie, her room had been broken into, and her clothing destroyed. She’d been threatened, and Bunny Uno had bit the big one. No, not a lot of chuckles in this little game.
And then there was Grady. A guy who should have meant nothing to her was meaning more to her each moment. Meaning enough to her that, yes, she would like to tell him the truth, just so she’d never again have to see question in his eyes. Those damn green, bedroom eyes.
So, yes, she was tempted to just tell the truth, let it all hang out. But she couldn’t, and she knew she couldn’t.
“I’m out of here,” Annie said at last, standing up, pushing at the bench with her foot, aiming it in the direction of the vanity table. “I’m an American citizen, I have my rights, and I’m not going to help you. Stick that in your Yahoo! and see what you come up with!”
“Is there a problem, ladies?” Grady asked, having just opened the connecting doors between the bedrooms.
Annie stiffened, then whirled around to confront him, ask him how he dared to be investigating her like she was some low felon or something.
Only she didn’t say a word. She couldn’t. He was standing there, lounging, actually, one broad shoulder against the doorjamb. He had on loden green slacks, a predominantly white, striped golf shirt open at the neck. His forearms glinted with golden hairs over golden “golfer’s tan” skin. The back of his neck and his nose were also faintly sunburned. And he had a bad case of “hat hair” that looked... well, that looked absolutely adorable.
She could smell the warmth of the day on him, and fresh-mown grass, and just plain man.
She longed to strangle him. Right after she threw him down on the nearest available horizontal space and stripped him to his tan line.
“We were just having a little girl talk, honey,” Maisie said, when Annie remained silent, staring while trying hard to pretend she wasn’t staring. “Weren’t we, honey?”
“Huh?” Annie said, then realized she’d just mentally forgiven Grady for wanting to investigate her, for the Great Fire of London, for any still-unsolved ax murder, even for butting into the express line at the grocery with more than twelve items, just in case he’d been guilty of any of that. She’d forgive him anything when he smiled like that, when he looked at her like that.
Which made her even madder.
“What we were doing, Grady,” she corrected, “was looking up Annie Kendall on the Internet, so that your trusty little snoop here could try to figure out who I am. On your orders, right?”
“Guilty as charged,” Grady said, pushing himself away from the doorjamb. “But why the outrage, Annie? You knew I’d have to do it sooner or later. What did you come up with, Maisie?”
“Not a lot,” the secretary admitted. “Except that she won’t help me, which means she’s hiding something, right?”
“I am not!” Annie said, trying not to remember that her driver’s license and other identification had until last night resided inside a plastic bag hung inside the toilet tank in her room. “And, for the umpteenth time, I shouldn’t be a suspect. Why aren’t you working with the real suspects?”
“Like Jefferson Banning?” Grady asked.
“Yes! Like Jefferson Banning,” Annie agreed quickly. “What did you find out about him today?”
Grady started back into his own bedroom, crooking his finger to indicate that Annie should follow him, then shaking his head at Maisie, who grumbled under her breath but stayed put.
“She’ll just listen at the keyhole, but I try to comfort myself that she’s at least going to have to work for anything she learns,” Grady said as he crossed his hands at his waist and, in one swift motion, pulled off his golf shirt.
And there were the tan lines, at the base of his neck, halfway up each nicely defined biceps. Sometimes, for the sake of one’s sanity, wishes really shouldn’t come true.
Annie tried not to gulp as she walked over to the window, figuring the scenery outside the window wouldn’t be as dangerous as that on this side of the glass. His hair was actually mussed into bangs—bangs!—that made him look so young and sweet and adorable she could tie a blue ribbon around his neck and set him in the middle of her bed. Yes, definitely her bed.
“So what did you find out?” she asked, trying to concentrate on what was supposed to be the subject at hand.
“He’s got a long, not always straight drive, is cool as ice over a twenty-foot putt, but he can’t chip worth a damn,” Grady said. “You’ll probably want to keep your back turned for a minute.”
She agreed, because she’d heard a zipper open and her imagination was already running at maximum speed. Actually seeing Grady without his slacks could lead to an overload. “Do you have to do that?”
“I do,” Grady answered from somewhere inside his closet, his voice faintly muffled. “I wanted to shower at the club, but we were running late, and then Dickens waylaid me downstairs to warn me that it’s nearly time for the dinner gong, so I have to skip the shower and dress while we talk.”
“You’ve got hat hair,” she pointed out, still concentrating on the garden below the window.
“I know,” Grady said, emerging from the closet in light tan slacks and a white dress shirt, and going over to the dresser. She watched as he peered in the mirror as he pushed back his hair, getting it off his forehead. She felt so deprived. “It’s a part of my boyish charm,” he told her.
“Think so, huh?”
He turned, flashed her a grin that was probably illegal in three states. “Oh, definitely. Especially since I can now tell you that Jefferson Banning, Esquire, is back on our list of suspects.”
Okay, so now he had her full attention. “How so?”
Grady pulled a pair of dark brown slip-on loafers over his tan socks. “Because he kicked his ball out of the rough on number six when he thought I wasn’t looking, and gave me the wrong score on a par five. The fifteenth hole, as I recall it.”
Annie was silent for a few moments, then said coldly, “That’s it? That’s your reason? Wow. Hanging’s too good for him.”
“Scoff if you must, Ms. Kendall,” Grady said, running a finger along her jaw as he walked past her to unlock the desk drawer and pull out his pistol and shoulder holster, “but this is scientific stuff. If you cheat on the golf course, you’ll cheat anywhere.”
“Anywhere?” Annie watched as he shrugged into the shoulder holster. She didn’t know how, but wearing the gun made Grady look even sexier. There was probably something wrong with her, some leftover awe from watching Bonnie and Clyde dozens of times in her youth, and she’d have to examine her reaction later. For now, she wanted to hear more from Grady.
“Anywhere,” Grady repeated seriously. “And what better way to cheat than by charging Archie an arm and a leg for his little house calls, and then hiding some extra bucks for himself in Archie’s will? His wills, I should say. I said it before. Old rule, Annie, the more you mess with something, the more likely it is that something gets overlooked. Like, say, a million dollar gift to his faithful lawyer.”
Annie watched as he shrugged into a navy sport coat that pretty much finished off his GQ image. Thanks to great tailoring, the bulge of his holster didn’t even show. “But, wouldn’t Jefferson be losing all those hefty fees if Archie were dead?”
“More than made up for by being named executor. Besides, who says Archie won’t decide to replace Banning one of these days. He’s got to have thought of it,” Grady said, shooting his cuffs. Then he stood in front of her, tying what had to be the proverbial old school tie of blue and maroon stripes.
She reached up, fixed his collar, which had a small wrinkle in it. “Now, isn’t this all domestic?” he said, standing so close to her Annie experienced a slight difficulty in remembering how to breathe. “Chatting before dinner with the little woman.”
“Yeah,” Annie said, trying to step past him. “Just you, the investigator, and me, one of the suspects, and the gun in your shoulder holster. I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy, too.”
Grady stepped to his left, blocking her way. He put his hands on her shoulders, looking down at her, his expression serious at last. “Annie? I have to investigate you, you understand that. I have to investigate everyone.”
“Some investigating, playing golf with the suspects. Want to take me bowling?” she shot back at him. “Who knows, I might use a trick ball.”
“Forget Banning,” he said, shaking his head, his gaze still locked with hers. “Maybe I’m reaching here, granted. The guy’s got a win-win situation going on, and makes money whether Archie lives or dies. Although he did kick his ball out of the rough,” he ended, smiling.
“Then why did you bring it up?”
“I was stalling, trying to figure out a way to get you to smile at me again, like me again. Did it work?”
“I don’t dislike you,” Annie told him. Man, she was becoming a master of the understatement. “But it hurt, Grady. I thought we were in this together. Allies.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” Annie said, amazed at how much she meant what she said.
They remained where they were, Grady’s hands on her shoulders, Annie looking up at him, smiling slightly as she saw the new sprinkling of freckles under his eyes.
She lifted a hand, touched his jaw. “Better today?” she asked, the words coming out in a breathless whisper.
“Let’s try it out and see,” Grady answered, his mouth beside her ear. “Do you remember where we left off?”
“I think so,” Annie said, tilting her head so that he could nibble on her neck. “Right about there... and maybe there...”
When his mouth claimed hers, Annie forgot any lingering hurt or anger and gave herself over to the moment. Gave herself over to Grady, who stepped forward just another little bit, placing one thigh slightly between her legs, bringing her body closer to his.
“Hey!” Maisie’s shout was followed by a rapid pounding on the connecting door. “I’m not hearing anything! What’s going on in there?”
Grady straightened, then leaned forward again, pressing his forehead against Annie’s. “If we open a branch office in Timbuktu, I could transfer her there.”
Annie smiled slightly, trying to regulate her breathing. “You couldn’t do that to the Timbuktuians.”
“I heard that!” Maisie called out. “Very funny, honey—not!”
“Come on, let’s go down to dinner,” Grady whispered quietly. He put a finger to his mouth to warn her not to speak, then slipped a hand down Annie’s arm, took hold of her hand as they quietly walked toward the door. He was always holding her hand. She’d always thought she’d feel too confined if someone was always touching her, holding her hand, stuff like that. But now she liked it. It made her feel safe, and very close to him.
As they walked past the connecting door, Grady suddenly pounded the side of his fist on it several times before pulling it open. “You coming to dinner?”
Annie could see Maisie as she screwed up her face, one hand clapped to her ear. “Everyone’s a comedian these days. You have to put your head down on that pillow and go to sleep sometime, honey,” the secretary told him as she stomped into the room on her four-inch heels, headed for the door to the hallway. “Think about it.”
“Is there a key?” Annie asked, laughing at the expression on Grady’s face.
“Nope,” Grady said, squeezing her hand. “But I think I have a solution that will keep me from Maisie’s revenge.”
Annie bit her bottom lip, tried not to shiver. “Really? And what would that be? Will I like your solution?”
“Oh, brother, you two make me want to puke,” Maisie said, leaning around the doorjamb and rolling her eyes at them. “Let me do this in words of one or two syllables, okay? He wants you to distrust Banning because Banning was giving you the goo-goo eyes the other night. And you, honey, you’ve been looking for an excuse to say yes ever since you first laid those weird eyes of yours on him. So just”—she made twirling motions with her hands—“just go do it, okay, and stop making me sick. Now come on, I think I need a drink.”