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“Only if André says I have to,” she said reluctantly. “But I’ll go after work. I’m summarizing a report for the board. Besides, I promised Skipper I’d visit him this evening. I’m not making two trips to the hospital in one day.”
Nate straightened away from the door. “I hate to drag our heels in case somebody else gets wind of this. Let’s see what André and Mike want to do.”
“Deal.” She stuck out her hand and they shook. “It’ll frost in the French Quarter before André gives sports precedence over company finances.”
CRYSTAL HAD A PENCIL stuck in her hair, one between her teeth, and reports strewn all over her desk when her door swung open. Looking up, she saw Nate, André and his son-in-law, Michael, bearing purposefully down on her. “Hey, you guys are causing a draft,” she shrieked, grabbing for a couple of pages that had skittered to the floor.
“Sorry.” Nate closed the door while André and Michael collected the spreadsheets that had landed beside her desk.
“Nate brought us up to snuff on the Tanner deal. Thanks for calling this to Nate’s attention, Crystal.” André tucked the loose papers under her elbow. “Did Cale indicate what salary he’d accept? Can he be had for eighty-five thou?”
Crystal’s chin almost hit the desk. “Eighty-five thousand, as in dollars?”
André tugged at his lower lip. “Probably peanuts to him, all right. But he must have a fortune socked away. We’ll go with eighty-five. If he scoffs or claims to have another deal pending, angle for his bottom line. We’ll try to match it.”
“Why?”
“Why what?” André pursed his lips; Michael merely shook his head.
Nate grinned at Crystal. “I think it just frosted in the French Quarter, kid.”
She stuck out her tongue at Nate, but appealed to André and Mike. “Tanner has no experience. That salary puts him on a par with our managers.”
“We can afford it, can’t we?” Michael asked.
“Yes, but—”
“His name alone will raise our ratings. That’s our offer.” André dug a sealed envelope from his suit jacket and pressed it into Crystal’s hand. “The three of us are going to K-Paul’s for lunch and to organize some plans. Michael has an idea for sending Tanner into the community—chanty stuff, you know, to enhance the station’s image. I’m taking my cellular. Phone us with his answer.”
Crystal watched them walk out, talking animatedly. It was Caleb this and Caleb that. She felt like throwing up. André used to be so levelheaded. Having a son late in life must have affected his brain. Andy-Paul was barely six, but Crystal should have remembered seeing André racing around the yard at Lyoncrest, tossing various balls to the kid. Footballs. Soccer. Softballs. And where was Gaby during all this? Right out there with them, Crystal recalled. Gaby claimed Andy-Paul, a change-of-life child, was a miracle that had given her a new lease on life. That new lease on life had turned André and Gabrielle into sports nuts.
Crystal glared at the envelope. Why should she recruit a person whose profession she didn’t respect for a television station she loved? Because André asked you to.
Well, maybe Caleb Tanner had other plans. She could always hope.
Sticking the envelope in her purse, Crystal retrieved her sax. She left the stack of reports on her desk. “After this, I deserve the rest of the day off,” she muttered.
“I’m running an errand for André,” she announced to the bookkeepers working in the next room. “Field my calls, please, April. If Margaret phones, tell her to use my cellular number. It’s listed in the office directory in case she doesn’t have it with her.”
Ray Lyon burst out of his office across the hall. “What errand are you running for André?” He appeared agitated, more agitated than usual. “Did you mention something about a call from Aunt Margaret? André hasn’t heard from her, has he?”
“If you spent as much time phoning clients with delinquent accounts as you do with your ear glued to the door, profits would double.” Crystal wasn’t in any mood for Ray’s habit of butting into conversations that didn’t concern him. Nor did she care to discuss André.
“Don’t take my head off. Everybody’s talking about the old lady’s disappearance. If you ask me, it just proves she’s short a few dots on her dominoes.”
“Oh, right. Like you came from the deep end of the gene pool. Get a life, Raymond.”
He hitched up his pants. His too-pointed incisors were all that showed when he smiled. “You’ve grown awful big for your britches, missy. I’m gonna love watching the seams split when the balance of power shifts our way.”
Crystal honed in on his size-fifty-two waist. She did nothing more than arch one brow to send him skulking back into his office.
April left her desk and came to the door. “He’s worse than swamp crud, boss. But everyone’s worried about Margaret. Especially the old-timers.”
“Has anyone suggested where she might have gone?”
“No. All the guessing is what’s keeping the pot stirred.”
“I see.” But she didn’t really. She’d been telling herself that Margaret’s jaunt to...wherever was nothing to worry about. That it was her prerogative as a woman of stature and means. Crystal gnawed her lower lip. It just wasn’t like Margaret to worry her family—even if she’d been feeling smothered by their concern. “Has André or Gaby said anything in particular to put employees on edge?”
“Only that if Margaret calls, to let them know at once. You’ve got to admit it’s odd. People You’ve known her a long time say she dotes on André and his kids. Why would she go off without telling him?”
“She may dote on her son and grandkids, but Paul was the other half of her. Losing him dealt her a real blow. She said it was like having her heart tom in two.”
“I can’t imagine loving any man that much, can you, Crystal?”
“It’s possible. For instance—Andre and Gaby, Leslie and Michael, Nate and Jill, Sharlee and Dev. They’re all crazy in love.” She got a distant look in her eyes.
April screwed up her face. “Well, maybe they’ve found true love. My family, on the other hand, believes in supporting their local divorce courts.”
Crystal thought of her father and her ex-fiancé. They’d left footprints on her heart, her dad’s departure leaving the deepest depressions. “I’m not looking for love, April.”
“I hear that love strikes when you’re not looking. Hey, boss, weren’t you going somewhere?” April checked her watch. “We’ve been gabbing for ten minutes. I don’t know where you’re headed, but unless it’s a command performance with the IRS, I could be keeping you from meeting the love of your life.”
Crystal remembered her destination. Caleb Tanner. “I have a greater chance of being abducted by aliens,” she replied.
“Hey, if your love life sucks as much as mine does, I wouldn’t be so hasty to write those guys off. The little suckers are kinda cute, with their big eyes and all.”
Crystal walked away laughing. If April only knew how far off target Tanner was from her ideal lover. No one could be farther from it.
THE WEATHER HAD deteriorated. The sky was dark and with clouds. The monsoons were late, but it looked as if they’d finally struck. Crystal opened her umbrella at the first rumble of thunder. Sure enough, rain began to spatter from those ominous clouds. She debated returning to the office and charging a cab to André’s expense account. But before she could retrace her route, a streetcar arrived.
Laughter spewed from the car as the slanting rain chased her inside. Crystal vaulted aboard quickly and wedged herself in beside a group of German-speaking tourists. They also spoke French, so Crystal pointed out sights until it was time to disembark.
She waved goodbye. If she could have, she would have joined their tour of the Beauregard-Keyes House. Not that she hadn’t visited the historic cottage with its captivating gardens many times. It was more that she wanted to delay the inevitable.
“We’ll come hear you play at the jazz pub on Bourbon Street,” one of her new acquaintances promised just before she hopped out. “Friday night!”
Crystal waggled her saxophone case to let them know she’d heard. It doubled as a shield against the rain, which was falling in earnest now. Her red twill suit was wet through by the time she reached the lobby. She felt the soggy flop of her braid with every step she took. Outside Tanner’s room, Crystal spared the time to unbind the heavy strands. She almost never wore her hair loose. But she wasn’t here to impress Tanner. If André and Nate had hoped to do that, they should have come, instead.
She did, however, run a comb through her frizzy locks. Otherwise he’d take one look and head for the hills from whence he’d come. Are there hills in Texas? Skipper said Tanner had come to the Sinners from Dallas. That accounted for the difference in his drawl. His voice was rich and rough and slightly twangy.
Taking a deep breath, Crystal unearthed the envelope with the station’s offer. Then before she lost her nerve, she knocked.
“Stay out,” called the voice she’d been analyzing. It soared above a background murmur of several people talking.
Now what? Crystal weighed the order. If he had family visiting, she’d return another time. But if he was talking to his agent, she might slip inside and leave André and Nate’s offer with them.
The door gave easily under her hand. As she’d done yesterday, she tried to peer through the crack. No luck. She leaned around the door to see more clearly. Her hair slithered forward, obscuring her face.
“Well, hel-lo.” Cale clicked the remote and switched off the TV, which accounted for the voices Crystal had heard.
Perfect. He was alone. No lights flashed wildly on his monitor today. Likewise, the ropes and pulleys that held him immobile looked solidly hooked. One thing was different, though—a smile that spread crookedly from ear to ear. The smile made him look like a totally different man and gave Crystal pause.
“You’re obviously new on the ward, sweetheart. In spite of what you’ve probably been told, I don’t bite.”
“Your alter ego snarled Stay out?” Crystal couldn’t rein in a laugh.
“That’s before I saw you were prettier than a bushel of roses. Where’d you come from? The morning nursing shift reminds me of a Packer defense line.” He pretended to shudder. “Come talk to me. I’m really a likable guy.”
Crystal snorted. “Modest, too,” she said, using her instrument case to shove her way into the room. “Let’s get a few things straight. I’m not a nurse and I am not your sweetheart. We met briefly yesterday, Mr. Tanner. My name is Crystal Jardin.”
“We met?” His gaze shifted from her hair to the worn instrument case. Almost immediately his eyes lit up. “You must be the musician who shakes down the rafters. I did ask an aide to have you stop by last night. Guess you didn’t have a chance.”
“You heard my music all the way here? Sorry. Next time I’ll shut the door and mute the sound.”
His smile slipped. “You’ve got it wrong. I’m not complaining. Quite the opposite. That Latin tune you played was incredible.”
She blushed. “You know about music? Jazz?” That threw her. She’d have to revise her first assessment of Cale Tanner. “I guess you mean Cannonball Adderly’s ‘Jive Samba.’ He’s the master. I was spang-a-langing his piece, is all.”
“Spang-a-who-ing? You lost me.”
Ah. So he didn’t know the language of jazz. “Spang-a-lang is the rhythmic feel of a sound. Like, messing around trying to hit a certain groove.” Grasping for ways to explain, she said, “It’s the process of finding the ultimate groove.”
“Yeah. Gotcha. You know when what you’ve done gels. It’s the same in football. A lot of times there’re too many men between me and the goal line to see the play I made. But when I’ve connected with a receiver, I know in my gut.”
Crystal’s brow puckered. She didn’t think football compared to music and was on the verge of saying so when his face broke out in a lopsided grin. “Grab a chair and knock back a few songs, why don’t you?”
“Now?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“It’s lunchtime. And it’s not visiting hours.” She almost said she was here for another purpose entirely, but Crystal held off on that. Maybe it had to do with the light she’d seen burning deep in his eyes when he got the drift of spang-a-langing. Whatever else Tanner was, he felt strongly attuned to his sport. She sensed he was a long way from severing that bond. Maybe the rumors of his retirement were way off base.
“For what my insurance company’s paying for this private room, I ought to be able to have an orgy in here twenty-four hours a day if I choose.”
That comment was exactly what Crystal would expect of a football player. She didn’t realize her face showed her distaste so plainly until Tanner narrowed his eyes.
“We have met. I’ve seen that look. Where?” He scrutinized her from beneath indecently thick eyelashes for so long that Crystal felt uncomfortable. So uncomfortable she jumped when he snapped his fingers.
“Yesterday! The reporter.” He scowled at her saxophone. “Do you really play that thing? Or is this another trick to get an interview? If it is, you have ten seconds to vamoose, babe.”
He looked so menacing when he frowned Crystal didn’t know where to begin or what would buy her time. She set her instrument case on his bedside table and opened it to give him a clear view of the gleaming brass alto sax.
“I’m not a reporter,” she said quietly.
He crossed his arms across a muscular chest. “They fired you since yesterday?”
“My purpose for being here yesterday was to get your autograph on a football for a young friend of mine. He’s down the hall in the children’s long-term orthopedic ward.” She plunged a hand into her large jute handbag and produced the ball. “Darn, I returned the permanent marker to the nursing station. You don’t happen to have a pen suitable for autographing leather, do you?”
“You mean I almost killed myself over an autograph?”
“Well, yes, and I’m sorry about that, Mr. Tanner.”
“Caleb. Salesmen call me Mr. Tanner. You wouldn’t be trying to sell me a bill of goods, would you, babe?”
Crystal dealt him a withering look. The kind she reserved for the Ray Lyons of the world. “No one calls me babe. You may call me Ms. Jardin.”
Caleb sidestepped her remark as neatly as he avoided a pileup of defensive linemen. “Uh-huh. Give me the damned football.” Leaning over, he yanked open the center drawer of his nightstand and pawed around until he found a marking pen. “I should’ve guessed you don’t play that horn,” he muttered. “A woman doesn’t have the lungs to make a saxophone whisper one minute, then hold the note so long it spits fire.”
Crystal rammed Skipper’s football into Cale Tanner’s diaphragm with enough force to make him blow out an oof but not hard enough to add to his injuries. “Trumpets, tubas and trombones are horns, Tanner. Saxophones are wind instruments. I play all four. Women have plenty of wind.”
Caleb’s right eyebrow disappeared beneath a shock of wheat-gold hair. “They do at that, Jardin. I stand corrected.” As he lowered his laughing gaze, Caleb scrawled his name across the ball. “Does the kid have a handle?” he asked.
“Skipper West. Uh...Skip. Just make it ‘to Skip,”’ Crystal said, giving Tanner points for not taking his irritation at her out on the boy.
Tanner handed her the signed ball. His eyes returned to the saxophone as he capped his pen.
“Thanks. Skip will be in seventh heaven.”
“You’re welcome. If you’re really a musician who wanted me to sign a kid’s football, why barge in here claiming to work for WDIX-TV?”
“I do. I’m their business manager.”
The same eyebrow shot up again. “Busy lady. Business manager. Ace musician. Messenger for sick kids. Does that about cover your titles? Or is there a main man in the wings waiting to make you a missus something or other?” Cale wasn’t very discreet in grabbing her left hand to check for a ring.
Crystal laughed as she pulled away and stowed the football. “In addition to my work, I play at the Jazz Pub in the Quarter a couple of weekends a month. And I’m more than a messenger for sick kids, as you put it. I entertain in children’s wards around the city when I can, Mr. Tanner. There’s no time in my life for a man.”
“I thought we agreed. It’s Caleb. And you’re Crystal. Pretty name. Pretty lady. So you’ve sworn off guys. Pity.”
The rough singsongy caress of Tanner’s voice spiked a shiver of caution in Crystal’s stomach. Caution—or longing. She shook off the feeling. “I haven’t sworn off guys. There are six of ’em in Skipper’s ward. The oldest is twelve. They all got hurt playing ball. You don’t happen to have five autographed photos hiding in that drawer, do you? I promised I’d ask.” She paused for a couple of seconds. “These boys aren’t as lucky as you, Tanner. Pablo lost a leg dashing off the field after a wildly kicked soccer ball. He collided with a delivery truck. Skipper slipped and fell on a wet football field. Then four kids—who didn’t know he’d twisted his spine—piled on top of him. His injury may be permanent. Randy went for a basketball layup and slammed into a wall, resulting in major nerve damage that affects his whole left side.” Crystal stopped because all color had leached from Tanner’s face. “Sorry. I guess you understand what they’re going through.”
“Yeah, and I’m real lucky, too.” He slapped the mess of ropes and pulleys. “It’s been six weeks since I took the hit, and I still can’t bear weight on my right leg. In case you were fishing, Ms. Jardin, that’s not for publication. I will heal.”
“I told you I’m not a reporter.”
“I know what you said. I also know what can happen if information like that gets to the media. I’ll be out of a job. I don’t think you want that on your conscience, Ms. Bleeding Heart.”
“Rumors are already floating around. Pablo heard the techs in physical therapy talking. Will you play for the Sinners this season?”
“Hell, yes!” He tried to sit forward.
“Stop.” Crystal held him against the pillows. “I don’t want a repeat of yesterday.”
“Who’s saying I’m washed up?” Caleb demanded, every muscle in his long body tensing.
“Are you?” Crystal gave him a penetrating look.
Cale shut his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. “I’m lively as an electric fence. Give me one good reason I should discuss any of this with you.”
