He took a couple more steps into the room, shaking his head. “I have to go through everything myself anyway.”
Joan nodded in understanding. “You need to know if anything is missing.”
Samuel crouched down and flipped through a discarded photo album. “I doubt there’s anything missing.”
She glanced around at the destruction. “How could you know that?”
“I don’t remember the guy carrying anything.”
“Well, we know he didn’t find the money.” It had seemed like such a good plot twist at the time. Now she wished she’d used something else,
Samuel picked up a cracked picture frame, blew off the dust, and straightened to set it on an oak end table. “I have half a mind to hide some cash in the walls myself. Let them take it and put an end to all this.”
“A hundred thousand dollars?”
He turned his head and lifted his eyebrows.
“You have that kind of money?” she asked.
“I live a frugal life.”
He’d saved that much money on a carpenter’s salary? What was he doing working in Indigo, Louisiana? He should invest in the market, open his own business.
He reached down and picked up another leather-bound album. “Not that I want to blow it on some thief.”
“You know, Charlie Long says my stint on his show might reopen the investigation.” She wasn’t convinced Samuel’s father was innocent, but the possibility of looking at the case again might be a small consolation to Samuel.
“Might help me more if you told everybody there wasn’t any real money involved.”
“That’s true,” she said with a nod. It wasn’t a bad idea.
Samuel disentangled a lamp from the debris and straightened the shade. “I was joking. They’d never believe you. In fact, some people would take it as proof the money existed.”
“What makes you say that?”
“They’ll think you’re after it for yourself.”
“If I wanted it for myself, I would have stolen it before the book was published.”
“Maybe.” He paused. “Except that you didn’t expect people to ever find out you lived in Indigo.”
Wasn’t that the truth. She put a hand on his arm. “I really am sorry this turned out so bad for you.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Sure it is. I wrote the book.”
He cocked his head and gazed down at her. “You been beatin’ yourself up about this?”
She shrugged.
He cracked a smile. “Well, get over it, kid. Shit happens.”
Her eyes suddenly burned. With everything crashing down around their ears, Samuel had it in him to care about her feelings. He was an extraordinary man. She wished she’d taken the time to get to know him before this.
She sighed. “Sometimes I feel like everything I touch turns to crap.”
“You’re really not much like your sister, are you?”
Joan shook her head. No, she’d never been as capable as Heather.
“She got the confidence, and you got the guilt?”
“Maybe. But it’s only because everything she does turns out right.”
“That’s a laugh,” said Samuel.
“You should hear her play the violin.”
“It’s all an act.”
Joan rolled her eyes. “A person can’t fake playing the violin.”
“They can fake liking the violin.”
Joan shook her head. “I don’t think so.” Passion was what separated average musicians like Joan from great musicians like Heather.
“Heather fakes everything,” said Samuel.
Boy, did he have that wrong. “No, she doesn’t.”
“I think she hates her life.”
“Trust me, Samuel. Nobody hates a private jet, five-star hotel suites and first-run Broadway tickets.” Heather was vivacious, enthusiastic and happy doing pretty much anything. Joan was often envious.
Samuel’s smile turned speculative. “So, have you asked yourself why she’s still here? Instead of, say, taking in a Broadway play?”
“Because she wants to get me to Paris.”
“Why should she care if you go to Paris?”
Heather hadn’t made a secret of it. “Because I’m an embarrassment to the family.”
“You think?”
“What else is there to think?”
“No walls broken up here,” Heather called from the top of the stairs.
Samuel glanced up. “That she’s jealous.”
Joan blinked. “Of
Samuel just smiled.
“It could still be a treasure hunter,” Anthony said as he trotted back down.
At the sight of Anthony, Joan’s stomach went tight.
He looked so relaxed, so at ease, so unconcerned that they were never going to see each other again.
“I’m going to announce there isn’t any money,” she said, striving for the same air of unconcern. “On
“I told her it wouldn’t work,” said Samuel.
“You’ll only fuel more speculation.” Anthony sounded certain.
“I have to do
“We could torch the house,” Anthony suggested.
“No!” Heather jumped forward. “This is a heritage house. Look at the moldings. Look at the scrollwork-”
“I was joking,” said Anthony.
Heather scowled. “It wasn’t funny.”
“We could do a stakeout,” said Samuel. “Lie in wait and catch them when they come back.”
Heather stared at him. “What makes you think they’re coming back?”
Samuel gave her a cocky grin. “To get the money.”
“I’m in,” said Heather with a rapid nod.
Joan sighed. “I have to go to L.A.”
“That’s important, too,” said Anthony.
“Right,” she said. While Heather helped Samuel fix her sister’s screw-up, Joan herself would be sitting in a green room somewhere, contributing to the effort by sipping champagne.
JOAN BATEMAN was destined for greatness.
Anthony could see it. Charlie Long could see it. Even the script girl could see it.
The other two guests scheduled for Friday’s show got bumped, and Charlie finished the complete hour with Joan. Anthony had never admired her more. And he’d never felt like a bigger fool. He’d blown the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.
Charlie thanked and congratulated her. What’s more, he took that extra five minutes to chat with her and introduce her around. She was on her way to the top, all right.
Anthony realized he had to find her a new agent before he went back to New York. Off the top of his head, there was Calvin Brick. Of course, he was more of a publicity hound than Anthony. Or Tristan Tremayne. But Tristan was known to sleep with his clients. No way was Anthony pushing Joan toward him when she might be feeling vulnerable.
Adrianna Carmichael had handled plenty of bestsellers, but she had burned some editorial bridges, too. That
