Taken by Barbara Freethy Page B

were playing cards, but judging by the array of colorful chips piled in the center of the table, they were not playing bridge. Cigarette smoke hung thick in the air. A half-empty bottle of bourbon was surrounded by used shot glasses. Old Broadway tunes played in the background of their rather loud conversation. To say Kayla was surprised was to put it mildly. She barely recognized the woman shuffling the cards like an experienced dealer.
    The conversation at the table ended abruptly when one of the women spotted them. “Charlotte,” she said. “You have company.”

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    Her grandmother turned her head, her blue eyes surprised but sparkling. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair looked blonder, shorter; she must have gotten it cut recently. She was different, Kayla thought, younger, prettier, and definitely livelier than she’d been in the past two years. Why hadn’t she noticed the changes before? Had she been so caught up in her own problems?
    “Kayla,” Charlotte said. “I didn’t know you were coming over. This is my granddaughter, girls.” She set her cards down and stood up. She was taller than Kayla, about five-foot-eight, and she moved across the room with energy and grace. She gave Kayla a hug and a kiss on the cheek before turning an inquisitive gaze on Nick.
    “Have we met?”
    “No. I’m —”
    “Grandma — what is all this?” Kayla asked, cutting him off. She didn’t want him to say his name until she was ready.
    “It’s Friday-night poker,” Charlotte replied. “The girls and I have a weekly game now. We’re very good at Texas Hold ’Em. When we get better, we’re going to take a bus trip to Tahoe and win some money.”
    “What happened to bridge?” Kayla wasn’t sure she liked this new rendition of her grandmother.
    “Bridge is an old lady’s game,” Charlotte replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Meet my friends. That’s Bernice in the yellow. She lives next door.”
    “I remember. Hi, Bernice.”
    “And next to her is Donna from church, and Kathleen, who has a condo a couple doors down.”
    “Hello,” Kayla said as the women waved to her.
    “Since Kayla hasn’t introduced us, I’m Charlotte Hirsch,” she said to Nick. “And you are . . . ?”

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    “Nick Granville,” he said, shooting Kayla a pointed look that told her that if she wasn’t going to get on with it, he would.
    “I was going to tell her,” Kayla said defensively.
    “She asked; I answered,” he replied.
    “I don’t understand. What’s going on?” Charlotte asked. “This isn’t Nick.”
    “Actually, it is.” Kayla searched for the right way to begin, but what could she say that would make a confusing situation understandable? “I wish there were an easy way to tell you this, Grandma, but there isn’t, so I’m just going to say it. The man I married is not who he said he was. He took on Nick’s identity as a cover. His real name is Evan Chadwick.” She let the words sink in, then continued. “He lied to me about everything, and it appears that he’s not just a liar but also a thief. While Evan was living at Nick’s house, he stole his money, got into his bank accounts, and basically took over his life.”
    Her grandmother’s jaw dropped in amazement. “Are you serious?”
    “Yes.”
    “Oh, dear. You must be so upset, Kayla.”
    “I’ve had better days.”
    Charlotte nodded. “We need to talk.” She turned back to her friends, who were listening with avid curiosity.
    “Ladies, if you’ll excuse me for a few minutes . . .”
    “Take your time,” Bernice replied. “We’ll have a drink while you’re gone.”
    Her grandmother led them into a small room off the living room where she did her sewing and reading.
    She sat down with Kayla on the love seat while Nick hovered in the doorway. Kayla had a feeling none of them 52
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    would be going anywhere until he had the answers he wanted.
    “Now tell me again what’s happened,”