The Seduction of Goody Two-Shoes

sake, I have a doctor’s-” She clamped it off there as a look of dismay flashed across her face, then looked away out the window and finished with a testy, “Just because I’m short, don’t underestimate me.”

“I’d never make that mistake,” McCall said fervently, meaning it-and also mightily intrigued by what she’d been about to say. A doctor’s…what? Permission slip? “But seriously-how come you knew about that switch?”

She flashed him a uniquely feminine look, lashes lowered, pleased with herself again. “Old VWs are very popular with us Save-the-Whales types, you know.” Practically purring with satisfaction, she gave her head a toss, and he was so distracted by the way the wind played with her cinnamon curls he allowed the VW to wander briefly onto the shoulder again. “I once rode all the way from Portland to the tip of Baja in one that was probably older than this. It was a convertible. Hardly anything was left of the top and you could see the road going by through the floorboards. There aren’t too many service stations in some parts of Baja, either, so you’d better know some basic auto mechanics.”

“And you do?” Just my luck, he thought sourly. Of all the women in this world, he had to hook up with Tillie Tune-up. “They teach you that back on the farm?”

“Well, it’s something you just sort of learn, actually, when you grow up on a farm. At least we-my brother and I-did. My mom made sure of that. At least the basics-things like how to change your own oil and tires and stuff.”

“Your mom?” He snapped her a look, thinking about his own fifties-style mother with her bright red nail polish and soft hands, leaning in admiring feminine helplessness over her mechanic husband’s shoulder while he checked the oil in her car. Ellie, he suddenly noticed, had almost boyish hands, freckled as her face, with short, unpolished nails. “Not your dad?”

She gave a light, gurgling laugh, full of amused affection. “My dad’s a newspaper columnist-Mike Lanagan, maybe you’ve heard of him? I don’t know, maybe he knew something about fixing cars once, but these days the most complicated piece of equipment he deals with is his new all-in-one-printer-scanner-fax machine.”

“Mike Lanagan.” McCall never knew how he kept his face blank, his voice neutral, utterly without inflection. Because it had suddenly dawned on him. Jeez. Mike Lanagan. Newspaper columnist. No wonder that name sounded so familiar. He took his time lighting a cigarette, and by the time he’d finished that task he was able to say in a normal, no more than mildly interested tone, “Newsweek, right?”

“Right!” She turned her head to beam at him, like a little girl delighted that he’d correctly answered her riddle.

McCall stared resolutely at the road ahead, not trusting himself to look at her. He cleared his throat and said carefully, “I thought he was based in Chicago. Doesn’t he also write for one of their big dailies?”

“Yeah, he does. When my brother and I were growing up he used to spend a lot of time in Chicago, but nowadays, with modems and stuff, he mostly works at home. Which is nice for my mom. Dad, too, I guess. He’s writing a book-nobody’s allowed to know what’s in it except Mom, but supposedly it’s about his early days as a journalist in Chicago, and how he and Mom met…”

“Yeah? How did they meet? A Chicago journalist and an Iowa farmer…”

“Are you sure you’re interested? It’s kind of a long story.”

McCall waved a hand at the ribbon of road walled in by jungle ahead of them and said dryly, “We’ve got a long way to go.” That’s the ticket, he thought. Keep her talking. Then maybe she won’t notice how rattled you are.

“It’s a pretty exciting story, actually,” said Ellie, shifting around in her seat in an eager, preparatory way. “First, Dad almost got killed by some hit men, because of this story he was working on. So he thought he’d better get out of Chicago for a while, but then he got lost in a thunderstorm and drove his car into a ditch, and that’s how he wound up in my mom’s barn…”

It probably was an exciting story, but McCall barely heard it. He just kept hearing the name Mike Lanagan, over and over again in his mind. Jeez, he thought, of all the women in the world I pick to get mixed up with…first Goody Two-Shoes, then Tillie Tune-up, and now…Mike Lanagan’s daughter.

Lucy came in for lunch red-cheeked and blowing on her hands. “Whoo-that storm’s coming in fast,” she said to her husband, who was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for her. “You know, I think it might even snow. I sure hope it doesn’t. Hope it holds off until after tomorrow, at least. Makes it so tough for the trick-’r-treaters.” She paused, noticing the manila file folder. “What’s that you’ve got?”

Mike shoved it forward a few inches with a forefinger, then brought it back. “It’s that file I was looking for-the one on Quinn McCall.”

“Quinn McCall? Who’s-”

“I told you I remembered a McCall. Did a whole series of columns on him a few years back. Seven, to be exact.” He tilted his head and made a small, appreciative sound. “He’s not a man you forget.”

Lucy had picked up the file and was flipping through it. She looked up, frowning and skeptical. “Oh, Mike, you can’t think Ellie’s McCall is this same person. Out of all the McCalls there must be in this world? That would be just too…I mean, coincidences like that don’t happen, except in books.”

Mike’s smile was wry. “No, actually, they don’t happen in books, at least not fiction, because people wouldn’t believe it. The fact is, they happen in real life all the time. The difference is, if it’s true, people have to believe it. Then they say, in awe, ‘My goodness, isn’t it a small world!”’

“Gwen always believed in Providence,” Lucy mused. Her smile, as she gazed at the man she’d been happily married to for…oh, so many years, was perhaps a tad misty. “You know she always said it was Providence made you take refuge in my barn-”

“-the very day your hired man quit,” Mike chimed in with her, laughing. “I know, I know.”

The laughter died, and his eyes grew thoughtful again. “I just keep remembering the last thing Quinn McCall ever said to me. It was after the last interview, the tape recorders were turned off, and we were packing up, saying goodbye. I asked him what he was going to do with himself, now that it was all over.”

“And?” Lucy prompted. “What did he say?”

“He said, ‘I’m gonna find me a beach. A long, long way from here.”’

They came to the hotel on the shores of Lago Bacalar late in the afternoon. They’d missed the turnoff specified in their instructions on the first pass and were halfway to Chetumal before they realized they’d gone too far. Then they’d had to ask directions twice before they found it, to McCall’s obvious irritation.

It had amused Ellie, actually, to discover that her new partner had such a tender ego-and oh, how that incident with the car had ticked him off, her knowing about that switch and being the one to find and fix the VW’s problem. Somehow, though, that common male malady only made him seem more human. Less…mysterious. In an odd way, more likeable. Maybe.

“Yes, Senor and Senora Burnside, your room has been reserved for you,” the desk clerk assured them, in the cordial but haughty manner of hotel desk clerks the world over. “And will you be staying more than one night?”

Ellie shot a quick glance at McCall, who was gazing around the lobby as if he hadn’t heard a word. She felt her cheeks grow warm. Dammit, why hadn’t she thought of this? Why hadn’t he? Clearing her throat, she stepped closer to the counter and inquired in a low voice, “Excuse me, but do you have any vacant rooms? My husband-”

The desk clerk looked alarmed. “Yes, senora, we do have rooms, but surely-”

“We have friends who may possibly be joining us later,” McCall interrupted in a voice as smooth as silk. “They weren’t certain what day they’d be arriving. Just checking…”

Ellie turned her head to stare at him. He was smiling at the desk clerk, showing more teeth than she’d have guessed he possessed, and carefully not looking at Ellie.

The desk clerk returned the smile-fleetingly. “Ah yes-I see. This time of year there should be no problem. Later, after the Day of the Dead…that is our busy time. Right now…plenty of rooms. Will you be paying with your credit card, Senor Burnside?”

McCall turned his smile on Ellie with a breezy, “Pay the man, dear.”

As she handed over the credit card that had been issued to her and her partner by the United States Government, her mind was racing jerkily to and fro-like a rabbit in a cage, she thought. Trapped. Nowhere to go.

Why didn’t I think of this? Spend the night in the same room with him? Impossible. No way. But he’s right, we can’t ask for two rooms. How would it look? We’re supposed to be married.