we can use."
" I hate the way that sounds."
" You'll hate it even more if you and your baby end up with nothing."
" That's what my neighbor said."
" Your neighbor's right."
" So what do I do now?" she asked.
" I need a list of everything that's missing. Some photos of the house before, if you have any. Some photos of it right now. Any witnesses who might have seen your husband loading up the moving van. We'll hire an investigator to find out what he did with the furniture. Then I talk to his attorney."
She looked disappointed. "I thought you'd talk to his attorney right now."
" We don't want to tip our hand." He hated that look in her eyes, as if he'd somehow failed to measure up.
" I'm more worried about how to pay my bills."
" You have the money from the checking account," he pointed out.
" Right," she said, meeting his eyes. "That should last me until the baby graduates high school."
There was no mistaking the sharp edge to her words. He had to change direction fast or lose the moment.
"I have some ideas." He glanced at his watch. "It's almost noon. Why don't we continue this over lunch?"
La Perroquet was a little jewel of a restaurant tucked into Palmer Square: whitewashed stucco walls , lots of flowers, a table for two outside in the enclosed garden. Early autumn sunshine streamed down on them, filtered through the leafy maple trees that had been around when George Washington walked those Princeton streets.
" I used to do this all the time," Molly said as she closed her menu.
Spencer Mackenzie aimed one of his edgy grins in her direction. "Eat?"
" Lunch," she said, tapping his forearm lightly with the edge of the menu. "I am descended from a long line of lunching ladies. It's my birthright."
" We must be related," he said. "My mother's made a career of it."
She grinned back at him. "You're Jewish, too? With a name like Mackenzie, I would never have guessed."
" Kelly isn't a Jewish name," he observed.
" My mother's Jewish, my father's Catholic," she said.
" Must have been great around holiday time."
" Great and confusing. My lunching genes, though, come straight from my mother."
" Lunch crosses all social and religious barriers. The UN should hold peace talks over lunch. Then we'd get somewhere."
She laughed out loud for the first time in weeks. "I nominate you for secretary of state. You're very diplomatic."
" Not often enough. Ask my family."
He t old her a story about the time his mother went into labor at Tavern on the Green and ended up giving birth in the back of the family limousine en route home to Greenwich.
" I shouldn't laugh," she said, doing exactly that. "God knows where I'll end up giving birth."
" In a hospital room," he said, "exactly the way you have it planned."
" From your mouth to God's ear." She speared a leaf of romaine with her fork. "Right now I'm not sure how I'll pay the doctor's bill."
" That's what you have me for," he said. "I'll worry about bills. You worry about decorating the nursery."
She took a deep breath then met his eyes. "And who's going to worry about paying you?"
" That's how you know I'll do a good job," he said, that poster-boy grin making a reappearance. "It's in my own best interest."
' You sound like a lawyer," she observed with maybe a touch more sharpness than she'd intended.
" We're not all bastards," he said.
" You read my mind."
A little while later t hey stepped out into the afternoon sunshine. "Feel like walking?" he asked.
" Why not?" she asked. "There's no place I have to be."
" You don't remember me, do you?" he asked as they strolled to the corner of Nassau Street and the Square. "We've met before."
She searched her memory bank but came up blank.
"Deni's wedding last year," he said. "We did a tango."
She stopped and stared at him. "That was you?"
" None other."
" I stepped on your foot at least three times."
" Four," he said. "Not that I was counting."
" I owe you an apology," she said as they started walking again.
"
" I hate the way that sounds."
" You'll hate it even more if you and your baby end up with nothing."
" That's what my neighbor said."
" Your neighbor's right."
" So what do I do now?" she asked.
" I need a list of everything that's missing. Some photos of the house before, if you have any. Some photos of it right now. Any witnesses who might have seen your husband loading up the moving van. We'll hire an investigator to find out what he did with the furniture. Then I talk to his attorney."
She looked disappointed. "I thought you'd talk to his attorney right now."
" We don't want to tip our hand." He hated that look in her eyes, as if he'd somehow failed to measure up.
" I'm more worried about how to pay my bills."
" You have the money from the checking account," he pointed out.
" Right," she said, meeting his eyes. "That should last me until the baby graduates high school."
There was no mistaking the sharp edge to her words. He had to change direction fast or lose the moment.
"I have some ideas." He glanced at his watch. "It's almost noon. Why don't we continue this over lunch?"
La Perroquet was a little jewel of a restaurant tucked into Palmer Square: whitewashed stucco walls , lots of flowers, a table for two outside in the enclosed garden. Early autumn sunshine streamed down on them, filtered through the leafy maple trees that had been around when George Washington walked those Princeton streets.
" I used to do this all the time," Molly said as she closed her menu.
Spencer Mackenzie aimed one of his edgy grins in her direction. "Eat?"
" Lunch," she said, tapping his forearm lightly with the edge of the menu. "I am descended from a long line of lunching ladies. It's my birthright."
" We must be related," he said. "My mother's made a career of it."
She grinned back at him. "You're Jewish, too? With a name like Mackenzie, I would never have guessed."
" Kelly isn't a Jewish name," he observed.
" My mother's Jewish, my father's Catholic," she said.
" Must have been great around holiday time."
" Great and confusing. My lunching genes, though, come straight from my mother."
" Lunch crosses all social and religious barriers. The UN should hold peace talks over lunch. Then we'd get somewhere."
She laughed out loud for the first time in weeks. "I nominate you for secretary of state. You're very diplomatic."
" Not often enough. Ask my family."
He t old her a story about the time his mother went into labor at Tavern on the Green and ended up giving birth in the back of the family limousine en route home to Greenwich.
" I shouldn't laugh," she said, doing exactly that. "God knows where I'll end up giving birth."
" In a hospital room," he said, "exactly the way you have it planned."
" From your mouth to God's ear." She speared a leaf of romaine with her fork. "Right now I'm not sure how I'll pay the doctor's bill."
" That's what you have me for," he said. "I'll worry about bills. You worry about decorating the nursery."
She took a deep breath then met his eyes. "And who's going to worry about paying you?"
" That's how you know I'll do a good job," he said, that poster-boy grin making a reappearance. "It's in my own best interest."
' You sound like a lawyer," she observed with maybe a touch more sharpness than she'd intended.
" We're not all bastards," he said.
" You read my mind."
A little while later t hey stepped out into the afternoon sunshine. "Feel like walking?" he asked.
" Why not?" she asked. "There's no place I have to be."
" You don't remember me, do you?" he asked as they strolled to the corner of Nassau Street and the Square. "We've met before."
She searched her memory bank but came up blank.
"Deni's wedding last year," he said. "We did a tango."
She stopped and stared at him. "That was you?"
" None other."
" I stepped on your foot at least three times."
" Four," he said. "Not that I was counting."
" I owe you an apology," she said as they started walking again.
"
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