"Let's hope not," I said as my stomach bunched. I hated men who moved too quickly.
"Right this way," Estevan said as he led me toward a dark section. As we approached a table I clenched my teeth to hide my disappointment. The man seated at the table had a receding hairline, large ears, and fishy-looking lips. His torso was thin, along with his shoulders, and his eyes had a nervous cast to them. He was dressed in a brilliant green suede jacket, white turtleneck, and black pants. It suited him—he'd make a good turtle.
As we approached he looked at me and his mouth hung open. I forced a plastic smile to my lips while inwardly vowing to boycott Mama Dell's forever. Estevan stopped in front of the table and said, "Señor, your guest has arrived."
"Whoa," Turtle said, looking up at me.
Still smiling tightly, I stuck out my hand and said, "Hello, I'm M.J. I'm pleased to meet you."
"Whoa," Turtle said again.
Estevan pulled out my chair and I sat down, wondering how I was going to get through the evening with Chatty Cathy here. "I love your jacket," I tried.
"Whoa."
I nodded my head. "Yeah, you said that a few times now," I said as I snapped my napkin and smoothed it onto my lap.
Turtle gulped audibly.
I held in a sigh and went for small talk. "I was expecting someone in black. I mean, Mama Dell said that you would be dressed in black."
Turtle ogled me silently, his eyes crawling from my chest up to about my neck, then back again. I eyed the breadbasket and thought about tossing a roll at his pointy head to get his attention back to my face. "Anyway," I said, dipping my chin to try to meet his gaze, "like I said, my name is M.J."
Turtle gave my eyes a quick glance, then headed south again to rest on my décolletage.
"And you are?" I said through gritted teeth. I was two seconds away from pulling back my chair and running for it.
"Too overcome by your beauty to speak," a deep baritone said over my left shoulder.
I turned in my chair to see Steven Sable grinning at me. I also noticed he was wearing black pants, a black silk shirt, and a black blazer. Gil and my bird were right: He was most definitely delicious. "Hello," I said, looking back and forth between Turtle and Steven.
"Are you here to meet the man from Mama Dell's?" he asked me, the mischievous grin never leaving his features.
"You 're my date?" I asked, standing quickly, a huge sense of relief flooding through me as I realized I didn't have to spend one more second with Whoa Turtle.
"Yes," Steven said. "And I believe this is his," he added, indicating a woman behind him with a blond pageboy and a dark green blouse.
Turtle looked from me to the blonde and said to Steven, "That's okay; I like this girl better."
The blonde looked insulted, so I wasted no time. Grabbing the woman by the arm before she had a chance to run, I said, "Ha! He is such a funny guy! Boy, are you going to have a good time tonight or what? Now sit yourself right down here, honey—see that? I've already wanned it up for you. Okay, you two make some magic together, and remember, the wine here is fabulous! I suggest a bottle … each." And with that I grabbed Steven's hand and pulled him back over to Estevan.
"Señorita, I am most sorry. I did not realize Mama sent me two couples for dinner tonight."
"That's fine, Estevan, don't worry about it. But now we'll need a table, preferably as far away from them as you can get."
"Sí, sí. Come, I will put you in the window so that passersby can see what beautiful people frequent my restaurant."
A minute later Steven and I were sitting pretty at a table by the large picture window. Estevan had bustled off to get us a complimentary bottle of wine, and I realized then that I was struggling with what to say next. We sat there for a few moments looking at our menus and taking small peeks at each other. I don't know why I hadn't noticed it this afternoon, but Steven had marvelous features: strong jaw, full lips, fabulous eyelashes. Taking him all in visually, I couldn't help but wonder why this rich, good-looking doctor would need a matchmaker to fix him up. He seemed the type to be dripping with women, a girl in every port, so to speak. Catching me looking at him thoughtfully he asked, "You wish to ask me something?"
"No," I said, my eyes darting back to my menu. "Well… yes," I said a second later.
"I'm listening," he said, still gazing at his own menu.
"It's just that of all the people I would expect to need Mama Dell's services, you are definitely not one of them."
"Why would you say that?" he asked me as he closed his menu and set it down in front of him.
"Have you seen you?" I asked, waving a hand at him.
"Every morning in the bathroom mirror," he said matter-of-factly.
"You know what I mean," I said. "Don't girls just throw themselves at guys like you?"
"Guys like me?"
"Yeah. You know, rich, handsome doctor types?"
Steven chuckled and swept a hand through his black hair. "So your impression of me is that I am … how do you Americans say … not getting any?"
I blinked at him a few times. Was that my impression? "No," I said as I closed my own menu. "It's just that I would think that you would look at this type of thing as a waste of time when you could just as easily—"
"M.J., I can assure you that I am not having trouble gaining the attention of the women," he said, the deep rumble of his voice reverberating off the windowpane next to us.
"Confident, are we?" I said.
"No. I am just stating the truth of things."
"Then why go to a matchmaker?"
He chuckled softly as he leaned in over the table toward me, holding my gaze with his black eyes. "I did not go to a matchmaker. After leaving your office I stopped for an espresso. While I was at this shop for coffee, I met the charming patron known as Mama Dell. She began talking with me and told me that she knew of a beautiful woman I must meet, and she offered to arrange this for me. At first I was cautious, but she persuaded me with her … eh … Southern hospital."
"Hospitality," I said, smirking a bit. I had to admit that I found Steven's abuse of the English language quite charming.
"Yes, yes," Steven said, waving his hand. "Shall we order?" he asked as our waiter appeared at our table.
By the time we'd given our order and had our glasses filled with wine, I'd managed to get a little grip on my attraction to the man in front of me, and I did that by reminding myself that if I didn't bring Sable's business back, Gilley would have a giant cow. Sadly, that meant I couldn't very well mix business with pleasure. What happened after Steven's case was solved, however… well, I'd just have to leave that up to fate.
"As it happens," I began in my most professional voice, "I had my business partner try to reach you after you left our office."
"Yes, I received his voice mail," Steven said coolly.
"I've had a chance to discuss your terms with him, and I believe we can reach an agreement that will be mutually beneficial to all parties."
"I see," Steven said as he picked up the basket of bread and offered it to me. After I declined, he pulled out a piece and began buttering it. "You're willing to allow me to come along?"
"Yes," I said, studying Steven closely. I didn't know what it was with this guy, but I was having a heck of a time getting a good read on him. "That is, in part, yes."
"In part?" he asked, meeting my eyes again.
"I'm not a private investigator. I'm a ghostbuster. And even though I hate that particular connotation, it does specify what I actually do. I help those poor souls who are stuck between this world and the one beyond to move forward, to bust out of their prison, so to speak, and go to where they belong. If, in doing that, the truth of your grandfather's demise comes out, well, then, that's just gravy. I cannot guarantee that what I discover will be satisfactory to you."
Steven studied me for a while, chewing his bread and looking thoughtful. "So tell me this: How am I to know that you are not lying?"
I frowned at the
question. "Excuse me?"
"As you indicated, I am quite wealthy. And in this time of sorrow, most vulnerable. How do I know what you say is true?"
Now, I get this question all the time, but the way Steven said it, with just a hint of condescension, pissed me off. "How do your patients know when they come to see you that you're for real?" I snapped, crossing my arms and sitting back in my chair.
"Because I have diplomas and certificates which prove that I went to school, graduated, and passed the medical boards in both Germany and this country. Did you go to school for this? Do you have diplomas I can see?"
"Yes, I went to school, but not for this. They don't teach what I do in college, Steven." I didn't bother telling him I'd spent only two years in a community college. Best not to elaborate here.
"You see my dilemma, then," he said, wiping the corners of his mouth with his napkin. "I will need some kind of"— he paused, searching for the word—"proof before I agree to hire you."
"You know, it's amazing to me that you doctors get stereotyped as egomaniacs. Truly, you're one of the humble ones," I snapped. My temper was flaring. I didn't care if this man was delicious. Currently he was one of those appetizers that looked good on a buffet until you tried a tiny bite; then you wanted to stuff it into a cocktail napkin before the hostess could see you.
"Humility has nothing to do with this," Steven said. "In my country, women like you are scorned. They are the Gypsies that prey on tourists and use their magic tricks to deceive the foolish. No one in my standing would ever think to hire someone like you. And I am only considering this because I am without hope. So, you wish me to hire you? Then I will need to see some proof of your abilities before I do so." He finished by leaning back in his chair. The suspicious look he gave me said that he would be watching me carefully, waiting to catch me in any sleight of hand.
I snapped my mouth shut, realizing that it had been hanging open slightly as I soaked in that Steven was associating me with petty thieves. "First of all," I began, my voice dangerously low, "I am no Gypsy. I am a legitimate businesswoman with a unique talent that very few people possess. Second, and most important, what you're not getting," I said, stabbing a finger at him, "is that you don't make the rules, Doc. I do."
With that I got to my feet and threw my napkin on the table. I was about to turn on my heel when the insult of being referred to as a possible charlatan got the better of me. Hesitating a moment to turn my internal intuitive switch to the on position, I snapped, "You want proof? Fine, here's your damn proof. Someone named Miguel says to tell you he was stupid to have gone swimming in that river when the current was too strong. He says it's not your fault that you didn't jump in after him. He says you did the right thing running for help instead, because if you had tried to save him on your own, you would have drowned too.
"And someone named Rita is laughing about something to do with an object that had religious value, and she's pointing to you and what you did with it. It's something she would have been very upset about when she was here, but now she sees the humor and thinks it was very funny."
I finished my little demo with a flourish as I reached down and grabbed my purse. Glancing back up as I turned to leave I got a huge measure of satisfaction from the look of complete and utter shock on Steven's face. "Still want to see my diploma?" I demanded. When he didn't answer, I said, "Didn't think so," and stormed out of the restaurant.
Chapter 3
It was chilly outside, and the wind had picked up. The air was thick with moisture, and the clouds overhead were an ominous gray. I struggled quickly into my coat, pulling the belt tight around my waist and turning up the collar. I could only hope I'd make it home before the first raindrops. Taking a step forward, my very spiky heel caught in a crack in the sidewalk, and as I tried to twist it loose the heel came off. "Son of a … !" I hissed as I stopped to pick up the heel. "Why me?" I asked plaintively as I shoved it into my coat pocket and looked around for a cab. There were none to be found. "Rassa-frassa-rassa… !" I groused, and began limping quickly down the street up three inches, down three inches, up three inches, down three inches. To make matters worse, the up and down of my walk was making my dress ride up even more than it had before. I must've looked like a freak bobbing up and down, pulling at my dress.
I got about a hundred yards when out of the corner of my eye I saw a car keeping pace with me. I stole a quick glance and noticed a shiny black Aston Martin crawling along beside me. I snapped my head back to the sidewalk and concentrated on my up-down walk, discreetly pulling on my dress and feeling my cheeks grow hot at the spectacle I had created.
"M.J.!" I heard Steven call from inside his car.
"Go away!" I said, and kept walking.
"Can I offer you a ride?" he asked.
"Go. Away," I repeated, my jaw clenched and my brows lowered.
To my horror I heard Steven chuckle. "It's about to start raining, you know."
The very moment he finished this sentence, the sky above us lit up with a bright light, and the crack of thunder caused me to jump a foot. I looked from him to the sky and snarled, but kept limping.
"You're going to get wet in a moment," he coaxed, still following along beside me. "Why don't you let me take you home?"
I gave him one of the dirtiest looks I could muster. "If you care about seeing tomorrow, Sable, I would suggest you put that car in gear and move along." And then the sky opened up and water came pouring down. I shrieked and pulled the collar of my coat up as high as it would go, while looking for an awning that I could duck under.
Just as I spotted one a block away, the rain stopped hitting me in the face and I noticed someone standing to my right. I looked up to see Steven holding an umbrella overhead and wearing a wide grin on his face. "Come, let me take you home."
I looked from him to his car parked right next to us, then to the awning way down the street. I was cold, wet, and three blocks from home, not to mention that there was a blister on my foot the size of Texas.
"Fine," I said, giving in. Steven opened the passenger-side door for me and waited until I was settled in before he shut the door and went around to the driver's side. I noticed with a teensy bit of relief that the seats in the Aston were heated.
When Steven was seated, I said, "I live a few blocks from here. Just keep heading in this direction and make a left at that brick building by the fire station."
Steven clicked his seat belt and said, "Buckle up." He then waited until I groaned and fastened my seat belt. A moment later we were zipping down the street at a good clip, and I almost relaxed until we passed my condo.
"Hey!" I yelled, pointing behind me as we flew past. "That was my stop!"
"Yes, you said that earlier."
"You were supposed to stop!" I yelled at him.
"I decided to do something better."
"Better? What could be better than taking me home?"
"Taking you to my place."
"What?!"
"Taking you to my house to cook you dinner and apologize for my behavior in the restaurant."
I was speechless. I just looked at him for a long moment with my eyes wide and my mouth open, thinking about the several different responses that I could lob at him, but nothing felt really appropriate. I settled for, "Oh."
Fifteen minutes later we entered a part of Boston with the kind of real estate that came with price tags so high that if you had to ask, "How much?" you most definitely couldn't afford to live there. We stopped in front of an elegant brownstone lit up like a Christmas tree. Every single light in the house seemed to be on, and a few of the windows had the curtains pulled back to reveal snapshots of the lovely interior.
"Here we are," he said easily, then looked at my feet. "Hey, one of your heels came off," Steven said.
"Nothing gets by you, does it?" I deadpanned as I got out of the car. While I held the umbrella, Steven unlocked the front door and held it open for me while I did the up-down thing into his house.
As I en
tered the foyer, my breath caught. The front entry was gorgeous. It became apparent that Steven had marvelous taste as I glanced around at the white marble floor, golden yellow walls, and elaborate molding. A beautiful vase was artfully displayed on a podium, and a carpeted stairway with an iron railing led to the second floor. "Like what you see?" Steven asked me, a confident smirk turning up the corners of his mouth.
"It'll do," I said, putting what I hoped was a breezy look on my face. "But I'd watch your electric bill. Looks like you have every light in the place switched on."
Steven took my coat, hanging it in the closet before shrugging out of his. "My home was broken into recently, and the police said that extra lighting was a good detriment."
I smiled. "You mean deterrent."
"Yes, yes," Steven said with another wave of his hand. "My English is not so good as it once was. Now, how about dinner?"
"Ah, yes, you promised me some eats," I said. "I only hope you can cook as well as you can decorate."
Steven smiled wolfishly at me. "Oh, I can cook, all right," he said, and took my hand as he led me out of the front foyer.
I hobbled through a corridor and around a corner to the kitchen that would put most restaurants to shame. There were walnut-colored cabinets, stainless-steel appliances, a huge gas-powered stove and warming oven, and countertops covered in brown-and-black marbled granite. "Sit," Steven said, pointing to an island where I noticed two stools artfully situated at one end. "I can apologize and cook at the same time."
Taking my seat and removing my shoes I asked, "What's your specialty? Grilled cheese on white bread?"
"I am cooking you shrimp scampi over angel hair pasta with a white wine sauce."
"Ah," I said, raising an eyebrow. "Well, if you're out of white bread and cheese, I suppose that's an okay alternative."
"As I said, I must apologize for my rude behavior at the restaurant," he said as he pulled down a bottle of wine from a built-in wine rack above the sink. "All my life I've been a man of science. My mother tried to give me a sense of faith as well, but I've always thought that if you can't… ehm … like with a ruler?"