A Secret Life

Joan felt a chill. The regret she’d fully expected was upon her-even sooner than she’d feared. She started for her suitcase, but his hand shot out, grabbing her arm to stop her.

“I agree,” he said into the phone, giving her a look that clearly ordered her to stay put. Not that she could break the grip on her arm. Not that she wanted to. She should want to, she knew. But she didn’t. And there it was.

“Okay,” said Anthony. “Maybe Dallas for a few days.”

Business. He had already moved on. Something inside her died a whimpering death.

“Talk to you then,” he said and flipped the phone shut.

He stared down at her for a heartbeat, the earlier passion completely erased from his eyes. “We have a problem.”

She squared her shoulders. If he could move on, so could she. “What kind of a problem?”

His grip had loosened on her arm, so she reached for her suitcase.

“That was Samuel,” he said.

Joan stopped, her fear turning to Heather. “What’s wrong?”

“He thinks…” Anthony tucked the phone back into his pocket. “He saw someone dig up a baseball bat in his backyard.”

Joan squinted at Anthony. “So what?”

“The police thought his mother was hit with a baseball bat before she was shot. But they never found it.”

Joan nodded. “Okay. Yeah. I read that in the transcript.”

“If this is the baseball bat…”

A shiver of true fear ran through Joan. If this was the same baseball bat, there was only one person who would know where it was. “Then there really is a murderer out there.”

“And your book has made him nervous.”

She shook her head, taking an involuntary step back. “It’s not possible. I made it all up.”

“We can’t take that chance.”

“What do we do?”

“We go to Dallas for a few days. If Samuel’s right, you can’t be in Indigo right now.”

“But what about Samuel? What about Heather?”

“You’re the one the person’s scared of.”

“But I don’t know anything.” The whole situation took on a brand-new feeling of unreality.

“Samuel’s talking to Alain. Let’s give the police department a few days. We can stay with my parents until then.”

Stay with Anthony’s parents? With Anthony? With all that was going on between them? Bad idea. Really, really bad idea.

“I can go to Boston,” she said, even though she dreaded facing her own parents.

He stared down at her, looking all protective and Anthony again. She tried hard not to treasure that look.

“You honestly think there’s a chance in hell I’m going to let you out of my sight?”

“I fired you.” Her voice cracked over the words.

“We’re in this together, Joan. Together.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

JOAN AND ANTHONY headed straight for the airport after Samuel’s call. They managed to catch a red-eye to Houston, then they hopped an afternoon flight to Dallas and rented a car. By the time they pulled into his parents’ driveway, Joan was exhausted and a nervous wreck.

She fluffed her hair, checking the visor mirror to make sure her makeup wasn’t too badly smeared.

“You sure this is going to be okay?” she asked for the hundredth time.

“They’re thrilled,” he reassured her. “I haven’t been home in nearly a year.”

“I know they’re happy to see you. It’s me that might be the problem.”

He slanted her a look of frustration as he shut off the key. “They’re friendly people, Joan.”

“But I’m an uninvited guest.”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

He opened the driver’s door. “Let’s go.”

Joan took a deep breath. If Anthony’s family seemed at all uncomfortable, she’d go to a hotel. In fact, she’d suggested that to Anthony already. But he’d said his mother would be offended and might never speak to him again if they dared even suggest hotel rooms.

She stepped gingerly onto the concrete driveway and glanced around.

They were in an older, but very well-maintained family neighborhood. The lawns were lush, the hedges trimmed, and the driveways wound through generous sized lots to multi-story houses of brick and stone.

The Verduns’ house had a wide, front porch, with square pillars supporting the roof and double front doors, bracketed with sidelight windows. A rustic, willow furniture grouping on the porch looked like an inviting spot to spend a cool, fall evening.

She followed Anthony up the semicircular stairs, wondering how much he’d told them about her. Did they know she was a client? Did they think she was a friend?

As they stepped onto the porch, the double doors burst open. “Anthony!” A sixtyish woman burst through the entrance and pulled him into a warm hug.

“Hey, Mom.” Anthony responded by wrapping his arms around her and lifting her slightly off the ground.

Then he put her down, kept one arm around her and gestured to Joan. “This is Joan Bateman.”

“Joan!” The short-haired, rounded woman rushed forward again, this time wrapping Joan in an enveloping hug that lasted about five seconds too long for Joan’s comfort zone.

The woman finally released her. “Such a delight to meet you.”

“I’m happy to meet you, too,” said Joan, with a backward step.

Anthony immediately swooped in and put a hand on the small of her back. “Watch the stairs behind you.”

Joan stilled. “Right.”

She focused on Anthony’s mother. “I hope this isn’t an imposition.”

The woman smiled broadly and waved away her concern. “Nonsense. We’re thrilled to have you.” She smoothed her mint-green cotton blouse over her khaki shorts. “I’m Anna. Anthony’s father, Oscar, is in back in the yard. The-”

“Anthony!” Another body burst through the doors. A younger woman in denim shorts, flip-flop sandals and a blue-and-white striped tank top launched herself into Anthony’s arms.

Joan surreptitiously braced herself on the railing, just in case she was next.

“This is Nadine,” said Anna. “She’s Anthony’s brother Brett’s wife.”

The lithe and tanned Nadine pulled away from Anthony and tucked her long, dark hair behind her ears. She turned and stuck out her hand to Joan. “You must be Joan.”

Joan breathed a sigh of relief as she shook the woman’s hand. “Yes. Joan Bateman.”

Just then, a man who looked remarkably like Anthony appeared. “About time you showed up,” he boomed to Anthony with a hearty, backslapping handshake.

“And this is Brett,” said Anna.

Nadine took in Joan’s expression, then leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, “I was new once, too. Don’t let them intimidate you.”

“Thanks,” said Joan, wondering how far it was to the nearest hotel.

“Let’s not stand around our here on the porch,” said Anna, ushering them toward the door with expansive arm gestures. “Dad’s got the grill going.”

Joan followed Anthony and his slightly larger brother.

“Carlos is playing a gig in Amarillo,” said Anna as they made their way through a gold-and-tan-colored foyer, cluttered with shoes, tennis rackets and a guitar leaning up against the wall.

The living room looked well used, with worn, overstuffed leather furniture, a massive stone fireplace, plants on