The question was abrupt. He was intrigued, but he followed her lead and changed the subject. When Rudolfo came to ask how their dinner had been, Joe had a question for his old friend, too. “Rudolfo, could you use another waitress?”
Rudolfo looked back at him skeptically, then groaned.
“Well?”
“Actually, yes, I could use a waitress. A good one. A good girl.”
“Can I send someone around to see you?” he asked.
“Send her next week. Monday. If I like her, she’s hired. She’s got to be a good girl.”
“She will be, or I swear…I’ll wash dishes for a week.”
Rudolfo sniffed. “I have a very good dishwasher. The mechanical kind.”
Joe grinned. “Okay, so I’ll bus tables and man the steaming monster, how’s that?”
Rudolfo pointed a finger at him. “You will work for me. Like a green immigrant. I’ll work you hard.”
“It’s a deal.”
Rudolfo sniffed and left them.
Leslie stared at Joe, smiling again. “You’re going to get a prostitute to work here, aren’t you? Do you do that often?”
“I believe in this woman,” he said simply.
She touched his hand where it lay on the table. “We can try, but we can’t always change the world, you know.”
He felt a stirring, which he firmly banished. “Let’s just say I’m doing this one for Genevieve,” he told her.
She nodded, a small smile curving her lips. Her brilliant gaze met his. She did understand.
Lord, it would be easy to fall in love with this woman.
As Matt had.
Back at Hastings House, he walked her to the door. He was surprised when she walked in and left the door open, letting him follow. In the foyer, she turned to look at him. “I find it very hard to accept that what happened was an accident.” She hesitated. “Matt was writing about the missing prostitutes, you know. Trying to arouse public awareness and sympathy. I’d really love to know more about the gas lines and how the explosion might have been rigged.”
“Well, it’s impossible to discover anything now,” he said.
“Why?”
“Why?” he repeated, grimacing as he stared at her.
“Why?”
“Leslie, haven’t you noticed? Everything in the house has been redone to work with electricity. There are no more gas lines.”
“Oh,” she said, flushing. “I hadn’t noticed.”
He frowned suddenly. “Leslie, don’t go sharing your suspicions with everyone, all right?”
“I haven’t, not exactly, but…”
“Please. Just don’t.”
“You’re suspicious, too.”
“And investigating is what I do for a living.”
“But I can help.”
“Oh?”
“I have…instincts, sometimes. Look, I just don’t like to be laughed at, and I hate it when people call me the psychic. I’m not psychic. But I know…things, sometimes. Please, will you let me help? Even with your missing girl?”
He felt his heart pounding.
If it means spending time with you, you bet. Oh, you bet.
No, she was Matt’s fiancée.
But Matt was…
Dead.
“Sure, we’ll talk,” he said. He extended his hand to shake hers good-night. All she needed was Matt’s trusted cousin turning into a lech.
But damn, he was only flesh and blood.
Stop.
Forgive me, Matt. God help me, I’ll keep my thoughts to myself.
“We’ll talk,” he repeated. “But if you want to help me, you have to promise you’ll be careful about what you say—and what you do.”
“Cross my heart,” she swore with an enchanting smile.
“All right, then. Now,” he said, glancing at his watch—almost eleven. “I’m getting out of here. You can still get a good night’s sleep.”
“Sure. Thanks. How do I reach you?”
He gave her a card. “Call me anytime.”
She smiled.
“What?”
“People seem to think I’m like a hothouse flower. I get that all the time, mostly because people are worried and want to take care of me. But…well, I will call you.”
“Good night, then. Lock up.”
“You bet.”
“Set the alarm.”
“Oh, yeah. It’s state-of-the-art.”
He forced himself not to look back as he exited the house.
Upstairs, television on, back in her nightgown, Leslie walked to the window, almost expecting to see a man leaning against the lamppost.
But he wasn’t there.
She smiled. She felt better for having met Joe, though she still couldn’t believe he had startled her so badly that she had passed out. But for a minute…just for a minute…she had thought Matt was back. In the flesh.
No, Matt was only in her dreams.
Was Joe right, though? That the explosion hadn’t been an accident? The idea had certainly occurred to her time and time again that Matt had been targeted.
And what about Genevieve O’Brien? Could she possibly help Joe find her?
She was excited at the thought, though also a bit chastened by the thought that the only people she’d found to date had been dead.
“Hey,” she commanded herself. “Get back to reality here. You still have work to do at the dig.”