“I think they’re hoping you’ll end up more than my personal assistant.” He saw the pink rise into her cheeks. “I told them you’re dating a youth pastor.” She didn’t say anything to correct him. He concentrated on the road. “Did you get ahold of your aunt?”
“She’s busy this morning, but said she’d be home after one. It’s okay if you’d rather keep going. She won’t mind.”
He knew what she hoped he would say. “We have plenty of time.”
“We should have lunch before we go.”
He got the message. Don’t expect my aunt to give you so much as bread and water. “We can pick up sandwiches and have a picnic somewhere.”
They didn’t speak for a while. Roman could tell she was distracted by more than the scenery out her window. “What’s your aunt like?”
“She’s a good person. She made sure I had everything I needed. She never asked me to do anything more than she did herself.” Grace folded her hands. He’d noticed she did that when she was tense. “She told me to do the best I could at anything I did. She’s very hardworking and dedicated to her job.”
“Doing what?”
“She was an executive at the IRS.” She smiled slightly. “No need to worry about that. She now has her own business as a forensic tax consultant.”
He gave a slight laugh. “I’ll try not to get on her bad side.”
“It might be safer if we skipped the visit altogether.”
“Nice try, Grace. Tell me more about her. Is she a Bible-thumper, too?” He hadn’t meant to say that.
“Aunt Elizabeth took me to church every Sunday, but no, she doesn’t thump a Bible. Nor did my Sunday school teacher. Miranda Spenser might come over while we’re there.”
Roman sensed there was more she could tell him, but figured he’d find out what he wanted to know soon enough. They stopped and bought sandwiches, water, and a pink-and-blue hydrangea as a gift for the aunt. Grace gave him directions to Woodward Park, where they found a bench beneath an oak, near a pathway along the lakeshore.
“Did your aunt bring you here for picnics?” Roman took a bite out of his po’boy.
“No, but I came with Patrick. My ex-husband.” Grace folded the paper carefully around her turkey croissant. She seemed to have lost her appetite. She looked away. “I wish we had time to go to the Shinzen Japanese Friendship Garden. It’s really lovely.”
Another place she’d been with her ex? He uncapped his bottle of water. “I can imagine you on a cross-country trip. You’d want to stop at every weird tourist trap: tepees in Arizona, space alien museums in Roswell, New Mexico, a roadhouse with a bucking bull in Texas.”
“And you’d just want to keep moving.” She gave him a sad smile. “You’re right. I would want to make a lot of stops. Did you know there are over twenty national parks and monuments in Arizona alone, and another eighteen in New Mexico? I have maps.”
He grinned. “I’m sure you do, and the routes all neatly marked in red.”
“Everyone has a dream.”
“I don’t.”
“That’s depressing.”
Roman finished his water. “Tell me about it.”
Grace took the plastic water bottle from him, gathered everything, and threw it in a trash can. “My aunt hates it when people are late.”
Roman looked around as Grace gave him directions. She’d grown up in a nice, middle-class neighborhood. The tract houses looked the same except for the front yards, all well tended. Grace pointed out the house, which turned out to be the nicest one on the block. It had enough curb appeal to be a Realtor’s dream. The red front door could be a welcome or a warning.
Grace didn’t produce a key from her purse. She rang the bell and took a step back like an unwelcome solicitor preparing to have the door slammed in her face. Roman wanted to put his hand at the small of her back, but thought better of it.
She gave him an apologetic look. “If she doesn’t answer, don’t take it personally.”
“Why would I? She’s never met me.”
The door opened. Roman expected a grim-faced older woman in polyester pants and a flowered tunic. Elizabeth Walker looked ready to take office. She was attractive and fit for a woman in her forties, her makeup perfect, dark hair smooth. She stood a little over five feet tall, in black pumps, black slacks, a white silk blouse, and a single strand of pearls. Roman now knew where Grace had learned to dress as a professional.
“Hello, Aunt Elizabeth.” Grace offered the potted hydrangea. Roman bristled when the woman took it like a queen accepting a gift from a peasant too far beneath her to rate a thank-you. Then it occurred to him that he’d often treated Grace the same way.
Elizabeth Walker made room for them to enter. Her cool, hazel eyes fixed on him as he stepped over the threshold. Grace made formal introductions. Elizabeth had a firm grip. Plenty of women had looked him over before, but none the way this one did. He had the feeling she’d like to cut his heart out and put it on a scale.
“Why don’t we sit in the garden?” Elizabeth led the way through an immaculate and well-designed living room. She liked the same colors Grace did, but darker, more intense tones. He followed the two women out through the sliding-glass door, where he was invited to sit beneath a white pergola surrounded by a natural wonderland. The lawn could have served as a putting green. The waterfall in the back corner flowed into a pond with lily pads in bloom. Birds flittered and twittered around feeders; bees hummed. Roman didn’t have to wonder where the serpent was in this pseudo Garden of Eden. Elizabeth sat in a white wicker cushioned chair that looked like a throne.
Grace looked awestruck. “It’s beautiful, Aunt Elizabeth.”
Clearly, Grace hadn’t been home recently.
“It should be, considering the time and money I’ve spent on it.” She speared him with those cool eyes. “Grace told me you’re an artist, Mr. Velasco. What sort of art do you do?”
“A little of this and that.” He’d bet the cost of one of his paintings she’d already googled him or called one of her minions to pull his tax files. “Grace said you worked for the IRS.” She could get the full picture of what kind of art he did. Commercial.
“Once upon a time. You must be successful if you need a personal assistant. What exactly does Grace do for you?”
Grace spoke quickly. “I field calls, answer correspondence, pay bills, shop for groceries—”
Roman interrupted the flow. “Grace takes on whatever needs to be done so I’m free to paint.”
“Then your art isn’t all about waiting for inspiration.”
He stared back at her. “I paint what the market wants.” He waited for a snide remark, but she gave a simple nod and then told Grace to serve the refreshments. “There is a Bundt cake on the kitchen table and lemonade in the refrigerator. Make a pot of coffee, too. Miranda will be by shortly. I’ll have tea with lemon.”
Heat surged through Roman’s veins. He glanced at Grace, and saw she didn’t look the least bit upset that her aunt treated her like a servant. She stood and disappeared inside. Elizabeth leaned back and crossed her legs. Her hands rested on the arms of her throne. “So why are you here, Mr. Velasco? I know the spontaneous visit wasn’t Grace’s idea.”
“Why not?”
“She knows me well enough to give me a week’s notice.”
He leaned back, too. “I was curious.”
“Idle curiosity? Or is there a purpose behind it?”
“Why do I have the feeling you don’t like me?”
“I don’t have feelings about you one way or the other.” She tilted her head and raised one brow. “Yet.”
“I was curious what kind of family made Grace the way she is.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And what way is that?”
“She works hard and does well. I trust her with my finances.” That ought to tell this accountant something. “She’s a good girl.” That should tell her the rest.
“Is that your way of saying you two aren’t sharing a bed on this business trip of yours?”
“Your niece has the morals of a nun, Mother Walker.”
She looked amused, not insulted. “Good for her.”