Page 39

CHAPTER 39

Owen watched out the window fondly. “Look at them. They’re getting along so well!”

“Goodie. I’d hate to see them break up.” Maarja refused to look. Instead she shredded cheese and beat eggs.

With his first sign of snappishness, Owen said, “You would. In this family, you need every ally you can get.”

“I’m not of this family.” She could do snappish, too.

“Maybe you should have explained that before I let you blast my living room ceiling!”

“Fair enough.” She took a breath. She was a fool if she let weariness alienate the guy who was cooking her breakfast. “Did I see you at Mrs. Arundel’s funeral?”

Owen grimaced. “I’m objectionable to some of the less enlightened family members, and I wanted that dear lady’s send-off to be lovely and as peaceful as she deserved.” He hugged her shoulders. “Thank you for trying to save her.”

“I wish I…”

“I wish, too. I loved her dearly, as did Connor, and now that she’s deceased, the crooks and killers in the family are restless and jockeying for position.” He took a breath. “If I’d been at the funeral, Connor would have had to behave like a civilized person instead of the Arundels’ biggest mouth.”

“Biggest ass,” Maarja muttered.

“Ha! Yes, exactly. My thanks; you’ve certainly taken the pressure off me as the unwanted in-law!”

“Glad to help.” She had always done sarcasm well, but she was becoming one of the world’s leading experts.

“What exactly is going on?” Owen wanted a rundown.

“I don’t know where to start. What have you heard?” When he told her, it was almost everything, so Maarja filled him in on the details of the previous night: the bottle, the ceremony, the escape without cell phones—she let him fill in the blanks about what happened after the dinner in the Live Oak kitchen—their wakening to the news of Connor’s death, the calamitous drive up the coast, and the explosion of the elevator.

As she spoke, Owen was on his phone looking stuff up. “Caltrans reports a slough-off on the Pacific Coast Highway. A car went over the edge and burst into flames.”

“May they burn in hell,” Maarja said fervently.

“You must have been tossed around by that stunt driving.” Owen looked at the length of her bare leg. “Honey, you’ve got bruises!”

She pulled the leather aside and winced at the ladder of black and blue climbing up her thigh. “In the adrenaline rush, I didn’t realize.”

“Connor had laser surgery, so I’ve got ice bags in the freezer, a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol, and a year’s supply of arnica.” Owen shot her a wry grimace. “He is such a baby. Go into the bathroom and strip down. I’ll get you a robe, and we’ll check you out.”

She looked at him like, Huh?

“I said I was a contractor. If I had a nickel for every framer who’s ever needed his boo-boo fixed on the spot, I’d have a shitload of nickels. Now go.” He waved his hand at the bathroom beside the kitchen. “We’ll make you more comfortable.”

When she and Owen came out of the bathroom, Connor and Dante stood in their damp boxers and stared at them, at Owen’s dark blue bathrobe wrapped around her.

“Connor, get the ice bags out of the chest freezer. We’ve got to stop the swelling in her elbow and her hip.” As Connor headed into the utility room, Owen glared at Dante. “Someone didn’t take good care of his new wife!”

Dante didn’t protest his innocence, but instead drew Maarja gently into his embrace. “You should have said something.”

“I’m okay,” she mumbled. “I’ve been bruised before.”

“Saving your mother!” Owen snapped at Dante.

Dante helped her to the table and sat her down. Kneeling beside her, he said, “Maarja, you have to tell me. I’m here to care for you, always.”

He actually looked guilty. Anxious.

“You must be hurt, too!” she said.

“Swimming in that frigid pool took care of my bruises,” Dante assured her.

“Sissy.” Connor dropped eight ice bags on the table. “Let me know if you need more.”

Dante looked at her knee and clucked like a mother hen, then examined her elbow and helped Owen attach the ice bag with a long elastic strip.

When she’d taken the Tylenol, and Dante was satisfied Maarja had been made as comfortable as possible, they settled down at the round table while Owen poured coffee for the guys. He told Maarja, “You’re tired and we don’t want caffeine to dilate your capillaries, so you drink water and milk.”

She wanted to object that she needed caffeine, but…he was right, and she liked the mothering. “Thank you,” she said meekly.

“I looked up everything Maarja told me.” Owen placed wheat toast, scrambled eggs, crisp bacon and sausage, and a huge bowl of fruit before them. “San Francisco cops are investigating a suspicious explosion in the Arundel building. The elevator blew up. People were trapped on all floors. Dante Arundel has been reported missing.”

Heads nodded. As the platters changed hands, they were quickly emptied and everyone dug in.

Maarja found herself feeling better with every bite—amazing how medicinal food could be to a too-long empty stomach—and when she smeared blackberry jam on her toast, she broke the silence. “This stuff is great!”

Owen beamed. “Connor is a lousy cook, but he makes the pickles and the jam! Oh, and he cans the garden tomatoes!”

Maarja looked at Connor. “I had no idea you had a talent that didn’t include—”

Connor clamped his hand over hers and looked at her appealingly.

She finished, “—yelling at me in public.”

He lifted her fingers and kissed them. “It will never happen again. I’ve been taught better manners.”

Maarja thought he meant today, with Dante’s fists, but Connor turned to Owen and they exchanged a smile.

“I can make jam, too.” Dante used his deep sexy voice. “What kind do you like?”

“I like them all, but…peach. And apricot.” She could see his brain store the information away. Connor and Owen exchanged another smile, and she thought rather uneasily that Dante was… Well, he was courting her. With homemade jam, since he couldn’t yet give her a peaceful life.

Maarja smiled as she ate, and when she had put enough in her belly to allow her brain to kick in, she said, “Someone managed to infiltrate the Arundel home and set the explosives to kill Mrs. Arundel. At the same time, all Mrs. Arundel’s art was highjacked by Serene and her gang, and my sister was badly hurt. That all speaks to a coordinated effort by a person or persons deep in Mrs. Arundel’s confidence.”

“I never believed they could kill her.” Connor sounded prosaic, but his voice broke.

“They tried before,” Dante pointed out.

“Food poisoning. A runaway car. Nothing that could be pinpointed as an assassination. But an explosion in her own house! So public, so powerful, so unquestionably a murder!” Owen stood and started stacking the plates so vigorously one chipped. He swore and kept stacking.

Connor stood and poured more coffee for the men. “Some of the family and the hangers-on aren’t happy about Aunt’s efforts to move the Arundels into legal and less easily profitable methods of earning a living.”

“I told you, Connor, it’s not about money, it’s about power.” Owen spoke with certainty.

“Money is power,” Connor replied.

“Not everybody with money chooses to crush their opponents into the dust. Every person given power becomes like Sauron, determined to rule them all and bind them in darkness.” Owen saw Maarja look longingly at the coffee.

Dante observed the interaction through lowered lids that might have meant he was weary, but Maarja knew also meant he was sifting through the facts. “Someone has been trying to kill Mère for a while, thinking that when that occurred, I’d be malleable and eager to return to the old ways.”

“Because you’re a weakling easily led by others.” Connor couldn’t have sounded more sarcastic.

Dante gazed at him. “I have been careful to give that impression.”

Connor looked dumbfounded. “You…you actually think anyone will believe that?”

“Not completely, because since the explosion no one has come forth to offer their advice and support.” Dante managed to remain still, not a flicker of the eyelash, yet radiated danger.

Or perhaps Maarja knew him too well.

“Maybe because they know you’re totally pissed off about your mother’s death and would look suspiciously on the first person who offered advice.” Connor stood and started cleaning up the dishes. “They might think you can be manipulated, but you’re still deadly.”

“The person who offers the deal is the traitor,” Maarja recited.