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He was so unhappy, she thought with a twist of pain. And she had no idea how to help him.
Suddenly overcome by her own incompetence—if she couldn’t control a simple vacuum cleaner, how was she going to cope with parenting a traumatized little boy?—she sank to her knees. She glared at the vacuum and wondered what on earth to do now.
Frankly, she had no idea. As anyone could tell you, Faith was the world’s worst housekeeper.
It wasn’t something she’d ever been ashamed of before. She worked hard all day, and her interior design company was successful. So she hired a “domestic technician” to perform lemony magic at her apartment once a week.
Sometimes on Fridays Faith opened her door with her eyes shut, just to savor the sparkling fresh smell that said Delilah had been there. She valued a clean house, all right. She just didn’t have a clue how to make it happen except by writing a check.
Still, how hard could it be? She wiggled her middle finger down the tube of the vacuum, but encountered nothing but smooth plastic. She squinted into it, but saw only blackness. She tapped it against the floor as hard as she dared, but nothing emerged except a puff of dirt that billowed up into her eyes and mouth.
Coughing, she scanned the room. She could not face Reed Fairmont and tell him that she had lost a wrestling match with a vacuum cleaner. Especially after she’d so stupidly wept all over his shirt last night.
He undoubtedly already thought she was a weakling. She couldn’t add hopeless incompetent to the mix.
She was smart. She was creative. She could think of something…
Of course! A metal hanger.
Five minutes later she’d broken two fingernails, the stitches in her shoulder ached and the hanger was wedged down the long snout, as lost as the tassel. She rubbed her stinging, sooty eyes and made a mental note to give Delilah a raise. A big one.
“Well, well,” a dry voice observed. “You must be the new housekeeper.”
Faith looked up. A tidy little woman, probably seventy-something, stood in the doorway, a casserole dish in her hands and wry amusement in her sharp brown eyes. The woman was all skin and bones, but somehow so authoritative in her plain—but very expensive—black pantsuit that Faith found herself scrambling to her feet.
“Hi,” she said, trying to brush the dirt from her white polo shirt. How stupid to have chosen white! “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you knock.”
“I don’t knock,” the other woman said. “I’m Theo Burke.”
Faith hesitated, unsure whether that was a non sequitur.
“Good heavens.” Theo Burke chuckled. “That was pretty cocky, even for me. I just meant I have a key. Reed and I go way back. I’ve been bringing him dinner three days a week since Melissa died. Not that he needs it anymore, the lazy scamp. It’s just a habit now, but we both like it.”
“I can understand why. It smells fantastic.” Faith held out her hand, hoping it wasn’t too grimy. “It’s nice to meet you, Theo. I’m Faith Constable, Dr. Fairmont’s new housekeeper.”
“I knew it. They’re talking about you in town. They said you didn’t look like a housekeeper.” Theo let her gaze skim the mess on the floor. “I’m inclined to agree.”
Faith took a breath. “Well, I—”
“Not that it matters. You’re pretty enough, and young enough—no one will ever care. It’s only when you get to be an old prune like me that people expect you to be good at things.”
Faith stared at the older woman, wishing she could explain why she was here, why she was posing as a housekeeper, when even a blind person could tell she was nothing of the sort. She knew it didn’t really matter what Theo Burke, whoever she was, thought of her. But darn it—she was good at things. Lots of things. Just not domestic things.
“We’d better get this straightened up.” Theo set the casserole, which was wrapped in a thermal covering, on one of the elegant wooden end tables. “Don’t want Reed to come in and find the house a wreck on your first day. Melissa spoiled him rotten, of course. She was the perfect wife. She could scrub tubs, baste a pheasant and win the Miss America contest all at the same time. If she hadn’t been such a sweetie, every female in Firefly Glen would have hated her gorgeous guts.”
Faith blinked. This level of candor was rather amazing. The small-town style, no doubt. In the city, you were lucky to get a hello grunt.
“Anyhow,” Theo continued, “let’s see what can be done. How bloody was the battle? Did you actually kill the poor vacuum, or just maim it?”
“I—” Faith shook her head and numbly picked up the long gray nozzle. The looped end of a metal hanger stuck out like a rude tongue. “To be honest, I don’t know. It all started when I pointed that thing at one of the curtain tie-backs. It just got worse from there.”
Theo laughed, a surprisingly warm, pleasant sound, considering how acerbic her conversation had been so far. “Oh, this is just a flesh wound. Let Dr. Theo do a little surgery.”
As Faith stepped back, she noticed that Spencer had brought Tigger over to get a better look at Theo. Boy and dog were peeking around the edge of a large rose-colored armchair.
Theo saw him at that moment, too. “That your son?”
“My nephew.” Faith tried to motion Spencer out of hiding. “Spencer, this is Ms. Burke.”
But Spencer wasn’t moving. He was just a pair of round, dark eyes under a mess of spiky brown hair. He held Tigger tightly in his arms.
“None of this Ms. Burke stuff. Everybody calls me Theo. Everybody I like, that is, and I already know I like you, Spencer. Know how I know?”
Spencer’s brow wrinkled subtly. Faith could tell he was curious, but of course he didn’t say a word.
Luckily, Theo didn’t seem to require an answer. “I’ll tell you how I know,” she said, unscrewing the body of the vacuum with a tiny silver tool she had whisked out of her pocket. “I know because your dog likes you. Dogs know who the good people are.”
She held out the loose screw. “Hold these for me, would you, Spencer? And don’t drop them.”
To Faith’s amazement, Spencer inched out from behind the chair. He took three steps closer to the vacuum cleaner and opened his small palm. Theo dropped the screws into his hand and went on working, as if nothing peculiar had happened.
Faith, too, tried to pretend nonchalance. It was such a little thing, compared to the old Spencer, who had always been sociable and talkative. But the new Spencer rarely even made eye contact with strangers.
After a few minutes, Theo tugged out the green tassel. It was crumpled and dingy, but intact. Then she wiggled the hanger free, too.
She held it up with a smile. “You were lucky. Could have done some real damage with this, but you just melted the belt.”
She tilted her head and scrutinized Faith, who was sucking on her index finger, trying to soothe it where the nail had broken below the quick. Faith stopped with a guilty start and tucked her hand behind her back as if she had something to hide.
“Okay, I’ve got to know.” Theo grinned, suddenly looking twenty years younger. “It’s none of my business, but I’m going to ask you anyhow. I always do. Anybody can tell you that.”
“Ask me what?”
“What made a woman like you decide to take a job as a housekeeper? I’d be willing to bet the cost of that glamorous manicure that you’ve never actually touched a vacuum cleaner before.”
“Well, of course I ha—”
Theo’s prim silver eyebrows arched, and Faith’s fib died on her lips.
“You’re right,” she said. “I am very new to this. I’ve never used one of these canister vacuums, and I haven’t a clue how to baste a pheasant, either. Sadly, I’m no Melissa Fairmont.”
Theo let out a gruff bark of laughter. “You can say that again. Melissa could have built you a whole new vacuum cleaner with just this hanger, two stamps and a thumbtack.”
Faith smiled ruefully. So Reed Fairmont was used to living with a domestic goddess. Poor man. He volunteered to do a good deed, and look what happened. A domestic dummy invaded his lovely house, drenched his shirt and melted his belt. He was probably already kicking himself hard for being such a patsy.
She took a deep breath. “It’s all right, Theo. I think I know what you’re trying to tell me, and I really do appreciate the warning.”
Theo rose with a grunt and handed the screwdriver to Spencer. “Put that back together for me, would you, please? You saw how I took it apart, right?”
When the little boy accepted the screwdriver, Theo nodded briefly, then turned to Faith. “What exactly do you think I’m trying to tell you?”
“Well…” Faith felt herself coloring. “Just that Melissa Fairmont was a very unusual, very accomplished woman. And that Dr. Fairmont may be disappointed to discover how little his new housekeeper has in common with her.”
“Well, that’s part of it.” Theo smiled. “You may disappoint him in some ways. But you may also make him laugh.” She looked at the broken vacuum.
“In fact, I’m absolutely positive you will. And a little laughter may be what this house needs most of all.”
REED HAD TOYED with the idea of skipping dinner—he had plenty of work to do in the clinic—but he’d finally decided that would be too cowardly.
He had to sit down and share a meal with his new houseguests sooner or later. And, as he’d learned the first day at med school, when it came to facing a problem, sooner was always better.
It wasn’t, in the end, quite as awkward as he’d feared. Theo’s chicken-mushroom casserole was delicious, of course, and Faith had obviously worked to set a homey tone. She’d filled a small cut-glass bowl with yellow apples for a centerpiece, and she had found Melissa’s favorite green-flowered napkins, which looked great against the maple table.
She was good at keeping the conversation going, too. She showed an intelligent—though undeniably artificial—interest in every detail of his veterinary practice. To help her along, Reed trotted out his silliest stories—the duck that bit the sheriff, the lizard that liked to have his tummy rubbed, the bunny that hatched an egg and the cat that delivered her kittens in a birdcage.
He even mentioned that he was heading out after dinner to see those newborn kittens, and suggested that Spencer and Faith could join him if they liked.
But, though both he and Faith kept sending encouraging glances down to Spencer’s end of the table, the kid never cracked a smile.
When it was over, Spencer had dashed upstairs to his room, Tigger close on his heels. Now Faith and Reed were in the kitchen washing dishes in a silence that was strangely comfortable.
Suddenly the telephone rang. Faith whirled toward it so eagerly Reed thought for a moment she planned to answer it herself. She seemed to remember just in time that this wasn’t her house.
“Sorry,” she said. She backed away with a sheepish smile and returned to the sudsy water. But her posture was tight and wary. He could tell she was listening intently as he picked up the receiver.
It was just the Petermans, the overprotective owners of the spoiled lizard. Reed managed to assure them that Spike was quite contented, eating well, but not too much, missing them, but not too much, getting plenty of attention, but not too much.
Finally he hung up the phone with a chuckle and turned to Faith. “Spike’s owner. Apparently Spike suffers from separation anxiety. If he looks lonely, I’m supposed to give him extra food. Unfortunately, I’m having trouble reading the nuances of his facial expression. It always looks like a cross between superbored and mildly ticked off.”
She smiled half-heartedly. “Well, maybe lizard nuances are more in their body language.”
Reed shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe the Petermans are nuts.”
Truth was, though, Reed did believe in body language, in animals and in people. And right now Faith Constable’s body language screamed tension. She had wanted that telephone call to be someone else. But who?
He took Theo’s rinsed casserole dish from her hands and began rubbing it with his thickest kitchen towel. “I wondered—the way you went for the telephone. Are you expecting a call from someone?”
“Not expecting, really.” She tried to smile again, but it clearly was becoming more of a strain every minute. “Just hoping, I guess.”
He looked at her sad mouth and wondered if there was a boyfriend back in New York City, a guy who was ordinarily in charge of making her smile. “But I thought—I mean, who even knows you’re here?”
“Detective Bentley. He promised he’d keep me posted. About the investigation. About whether they’re closing in on…on—”
“On Doug Lambert.”
“Yes.”
“But it’s only been one day. Surely it’s too soon?”
“Yes. I know.” She took a deep breath. “I know it is.”
They worked in silence another moment, and then she spoke again.
“It’s just that…they did expect to hear from the florist today. The one who might have sold him the roses.”
“The roses?” Reed was careful to keep any overly curious quality from his voice. He didn’t want to pry, but he wanted to know everything he could. And it would do her good to talk about it. After her tears last night, she had seemed much more relaxed. She had let him guide her to the bedroom door as limply as an exhausted child.
“They found three rose petals in my kitchen that day, next to my sister’s body.” She scrubbed at an already clean glass so hard her knuckles turned as white as the suds. “The problem was that these roses hadn’t come from Doug’s regular florist. He sent me roses all the time, but not this kind.”
Reed wanted to take the glass out of her hand. She was holding it much too tightly. But he didn’t dare break the flow of words.
“These roses were a much rarer variety. At first the police thought that meant it hadn’t been Doug after all. But Detective Bentley sent the petals to a botanist, who said it was a variety called ‘Faith.’”
Reed made a noise in spite of himself.
A shiver seemed to pass through her, and the glass slipped, plopping into the water. She fished it out again with trembling fingers.
“I think that was when Detective Bentley began to believe me. He finally found the little shop that sold them. It was two blocks from my apartment. We’re waiting for the owner to get back from vacation, to see if he can identify Doug as the man who bought the roses that day.”
“Of course it was.”
“Yes.” Her voice was even huskier than usual. “But they need evidence. For a jury. For a conviction.”
Reed moved closer to the sink. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry that call wasn’t Detective Bentley.”
“It’s all right.” But her voice cracked, and he knew it wasn’t true.
She turned to hand him the glass. As he reached out, it fell from her shaking fingers and smashed on the wooden floor, splinters of crystal scattering in all directions.
He bent quickly, and so did she. As they knelt, their faces were only inches apart, and he could feel waves of stress pulsing from her. Her brown eyes were almost black, and a sharp sliver of glass glinted on her shirt, right over her heart.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, and he could feel her struggle to hold herself together, to keep her emotions from flying into a hundred different pieces, just like the glass. She gathered shards quickly, filling her palm. “Please. I’ll clean it up.”
He caught her by the wrist. “It’s all right,” he said.
“No, it isn’t.” She bit her lower lip hard and inhaled deeply. The pulse in her wrist was like a jackhammer under his thumb.
“I hate this,” she said. “This isn’t me. I’m not like this.”
“Like what?”
She held out her palm full of sparkling bits of glass. “Like this. Clumsy. Incompetent. You probably won’t believe it, but I have my own business. I’m good at what I do. I don’t break everything I touch.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“And I’m not weak. I never cry. Never. I don’t know what happened to me last night. I’d hate for you to think that I—”
A sudden noise in the kitchen doorway stopped her. She looked up and saw Spencer standing there, staring at them curiously. She glanced at Reed, who let go of her hand. She stood up, all the ferocity instantly draining from her expression.
